Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15)

by Georgina Gentry

  Cleve still seemed inclined to argue. “Isn’t that out of our way?”

  Keso didn’t pause as he gathered up things. “Cleve, you can stay here and argue if you want, or even try to go back the way we came, but I’m taking Wannie west.”

  “A few puffs of smoke may not mean much.” Cleve said.

  Wannie looked at him and sighed. “Cleve, if Keso says there’s danger, listen to him. He knows this country.”

  “You have more confidence in him than you have in your own fiancé?”

  She thought about it a minute. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

  “Why, Wannie, you disappoint me, I—”

  “Brewster,” Keso said and his tone was as threatening as a rattler’s warning. “Get moving, or we’ll ride out and leave you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare! Why, my father—”

  “To hell with your father,” Keso snarled as he paused in checking his rifle. “Don’t you understand? This is one mess your daddy’s money won’t get you out of. Now, get a move on!”

  Keso’s tone left no room for argument, Wannie realized. He was in command here, but then, Keso was in his element against hostile nature and people. Abruptly, that seemed so much more important than knowing the latest style in gentlemen’s waistcoats. “Keso, I’ve got most of it. What about the tent?”

  “Leave the tent. We’re going to be moving too fast to use it and the extra weight—”

  “I paid good money for that tent.” Cleve was almost livid.

  “Maybe the Utes will find a use for it.” Keso began saddling horses. “You coming, Brewster, or are you going to stay here to greet them?”

  For a long moment, she was afraid her fiance might continue to argue. Instead, he began to gather up things and saddle his horse.

  Keso saddled her filly and frowned at the overloaded pack mule. “I wish we didn’t have that mule to worry about. It’ll slow us down.”

  “Egad, you aren’t going to leave my trade goods,” Cleve snarled. “That stuffs worth a lot of money.”

  “More than your scalp?” Keso said, pausing as he tied his blanket roll behind his saddle.

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Cleve said. “I’m sure when the Utes see what I’ve brought to trade, they’ll listen to reason.”

  Keso snorted with laughter. “Tell them who your daddy is, too, Brewster. A lot of them speak English—they used to scout for the whites. Come on, Wannie.” He lifted her to her saddle and handed her the reins. She watched him mount up, thinking how lithe and strong he looked leading out on the trail. Still grumbling, Cleve fell in behind her, leading the loaded mule.

  They spent the day following a crooked trail that gradually descended down the Western slope. When Cleve argued they could save time by riding the straight trail that ran across miles of treeless prairie rather than keeping to the woods, Keso pointed out they would also be easier to see if there were any Ute war parties in the area.

  Late in the afternoon, they stopped to rest and water the horses in a small, clear creek.

  “Brewster,” Keso said, “tie the horses and that mule out to graze for an hour or two. We’ll rest here.”

  “Don’t you think we should ride on while we’ve got daylight?” Cleve asked.

  Wannie shook her head. “Keso knows what he’s doing.” She had supreme confidence in him.

  Keso said, “We’ll have to cross that big stretch of prairie ahead before we can get back to the grove. I’d rather do that after dark. Now, let’s eat a bite and get some sleep.”

  Wannie and Keso staked out the horses and Cleve tied the mule out to graze in a little clearing. They had some hardtack, smoked jerky, and a drink of water from the spring.

  Cleve was grumbling as he ate. “The only good thing about this is what a rousing adventure tale it’ll make back in the city.”

  “Cleve,” Wannie said, horrified, “don’t you realize this is serious?”

  Cleve laughed. “If we run into any hostiles, I’ll just offer them a few beads or junk out of my trade stuff. They’ll let us go.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Keso said. “The most valuable thing we’ve got isn’t trade goods.”

  “Like what?” Cleve said.

  Keso looked at Wannie and didn’t say anything.

  She felt a chill go up her back at the thought. “Oh, Keso, I’m afraid.” She ran to him without thinking and he hugged her for a long moment.

  “You trust me, Wannie?”

  She looked up at him. “You know I do.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you—I promise.”

  “What a pretty picture, ” Cleve said, his tone sarcastic. “Wannie, you could at least show a little confidence in your fiancé.”

  What had she been thinking? “I’m sorry, Cleve. Of course I have confidence in you.”

  “Let’s all shut up and get some sleep,” Keso said. He lay down, put his hat over his eyes, and was asleep in seconds.

  Wannie stretched out on the grass near him, wishing they were all three back at the cabin. Cleve lay down on her other side, grumbling about things in general. Keso was right, she thought with a sigh, Cleve might be handsome, but he was spoiled and whiny. She was so very tired.

  It was almost dark when Keso shook her awake. “Hey, brat, we’ve got to be moving on.”

  “Already? I’m so tired.”

  His expression turned gentle. “Honey, I’m sorry. I wish I could let you sleep, but we’ve got to make time while it’s dark.”

  She sat up and he put his jacket around her shoulders. “Keso, you’ll get cold.”

  “I’ll be okay. Besides, we’ve got a worse problem than that.” He walked over and kicked Cleve’s boots none too gently. “Wake up, Brewster, we’ve got trouble.”

  “What?” Cleve ceased snoring and sat up, running his hands through his hair. “What is it now?”

  “It’s my fault, I reckon, for not checking behind you,” Keso said. “I should have remembered you didn’t know about things like that.”

  Wannie felt apprehension. “Oh, Keso, what is it?”

  Keso frowned. “I’ve been looking over an hour and now it’s getting dark, so we may not find it.”

  The horses. She looked to where she and Keso had staked them out then breathed a sigh of relief as she saw all three still grazing peacefully.

  Cleve said, “What are you talking about?”

  Keso turned and nodded toward where Cleve had tied the mule. There was no mule. “The mule’s come untied and wandered off.”

  Cleve began to swear. “Have you looked for it?”

  “Now, Brewster, what do you think I’ve been doing this past hour? There’s no telling where it is.”

  “All my trade goods,” Cleve said.

  “Trade goods, hell,” Keso said, “all our supplies except the little bit tied behind each saddle. If you thought we were toughing it before, rich boy, wait ’til you see what it’s going to be like the rest of this trip.”

  Another thought crossed Wannie’s mind as she got up. “Cleve, the trade goods—what are they?”

  He shrugged, “You know, beads and bright cloth, a few copper pots and kitchen things. Why?”

  She looked into Keso’s dark eyes and saw them widen with horror as the point she was making dawned on him.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, “butcher knives—dozens of big butcher knives.”

  Even Cleve paled. “You—you don’t think the Utes might find that mule—?”

  “They’re as liable to as anyone,” Keso said, “and all our extra ammunition and food’s in that pack.”

  Looking into Keso’s grave face, she knew that the trio was in serious trouble.

  “Egad,” Cleve said as he got up, “I just can’t believe this is happening to me. My father has considerable influence in Washington. If we can just find a telegraph station or an army post—”

  “Brewster, don’t you understand?” Keso said. “We’re on our own—just the three of us having to live off the land
and dodge Indians while we travel hundreds of miles. No one is coming to help us and your damn pack mule is going to aid the hostiles if they find it.”

  Wannie took a deep breath and squared her small shoulders. “Keso’s right, Cleve, all we can do is stop whining and push ahead. Keso will get us out of this if anyone can.”

  Keso smiled at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Wannie. Now let’s mount up and see how much ground we can cover before daylight.”

  It was a long, cold night. Wannie had never been so miserable as when she was riding through the darkness. Autumn was turning into early winter at this high altitude and there was a light frost dusting the trees and grass. If she was cold, she figured Keso was more so, since she wore his jacket. She watched his broad back ahead of her on the trail, confident that if anyone could get them out of this predicament, it would be Keso Evans. She had a feeling he hadn’t been named “the Fox” for nothing. Behind her, Cleve grumbled and complained all night about being cold or hungry. Cleveland Brewster, Jr.’s elegant manners weren’t of much use out here in the Colorado wilderness—he seemed more like a spoiled college boy than a man.

  Maybe she was changing, too. She glanced down at the expensive ring, jeweled pin, and gold bracelets and thought how little they were worth out here. At this moment, she would have traded all her jewels for some hot food and extra clothing. Sometimes when she looked up in the moonlight, she could see her own breath hanging on the frosty air. Her hands were cold since she had no gloves. She took turns putting one hand in her pocket while holding the reins with the other.

  She began to think the night would never end. Ahead of her, Keso rode without complaining, even though she knew he had to be cold and miserable. Behind her, Cleve did nothing but complain, although he had the warmest coat of the three.

  Toward dawn, they heard a faint, high sound carried on the wind. They reined in.

  Cleve asked, “What was that?”

  There was no mistaking the terror in his tone. She glanced back it him. The moonlight shone on his pale hair and on the sweat of his pasty face, even though the night was cool.

  “Hush,” Keso commanded, standing up in his stirrups and listening intently. “I’m not sure—it was so faint. Could have been the wind.”

  All three of them listened. Her filly stamped its hooves and the sound echoed in the sudden stillness.

  “What I want to know,” she whispered, “is how far away was it and where?”

  Keso shook his head. “No way to tell. What I do know is I don’t want to ride any farther in this direction until I figure out where it came from.” He dismounted. “Let’s rest here awhile.”

  “I’m so cold,” Wannie whispered.

  “I know, honey.” He came over and held up his hands to help her dismount. She slid off into his arms and let him hold her against him for a long moment. His big body was so warm, his wool shirt rough against her chilled face. He took her hand in his and rubbed it between callused fingers.

  “By God,” Cleve grumbled, “I’m cold. I want to build a fire.”

  “Brewster,” Keso said and there was no mistaking his tone, “if you try to build a fire, you might end up roasting over it.”

  “You better not threaten me with violence,” Cleve blustered. “You wouldn’t dare—”

  “I wasn’t talking about me,” Keso said.

  Oh my God, she thought. “Are we—are we in any immediate danger, Keso?”

  He held her close and patted her. “Of course not, brat,” he whispered, “I was just scaring your prissy boyfriend. We’ll be okay.”

  Somehow, she knew he was lying so she wouldn’t be scared. Keso had never been a good liar. “Can we sit down a little while?”

  “Sure,” he said and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry we don’t have any coffee.”

  “You’re trying to blame everything on me,” Cleve said. “I can’t help it if I don’t know anything about tying mules—that’s the stableboy’s work—”

  “Oh, shut up, Brewster,” Keso snapped, “I’m tired of your constant carping. If there’s any major fault, it’s mine. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into bringing you out into the wilderness—you belong at a cotillion or a croquet match.”

  They led the horses over and staked them out to graze. Wannie sat down on the ground and drew herself into a small ball, trying to stay warm. As she dosed off, she felt Keso wrap a blanket around her shoulders and murmur something.

  She smiled up at him sleepily. “What was it you said?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It sounded like for always. What did you mean?”

  “Hush, Wannie, and get some sleep. There’s no telling what we’ll be facing tomorrow.”

  Whatever it was, she thought as she put her head on her knees and dozed, Keso would take care of it; he always did.

  The dawn came cold and gray.

  Wannie sighed. “I’ve never been so cold.”

  “I’m sorry, Wannie,” Keso said gently. “We’ll be moving to a lower altitude—maybe it’ll get warmer later in the morning.”

  Cleve was stomping his feet. “Have we got any food?”

  Keso walked over and dug around in his blanket roll. “Very little. Most of it was on the pack mule.”

  “Couldn’t we shoot some game?” Cleve said.

  Keso considered it. “Maybe later. We don’t know who’s out there listening and sound carries a long way. How are you with a bowie knife or a snare?”

  “Don’t be silly—I’ve never used those.”

  “Too bad,” Keso said, “we may be depending on those for food soon.” He handed out a little hardtack and some smoked jerky.

  Wannie bit into it gratefully. As hungry as she was, it tasted as good as anything she’d ever had at a fancy dinner party back East. She noticed then that Keso wasn’t eating. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I—I already had some.”

  She didn’t think that was true. “You’re doing without so there’ll be more for me, aren’t you?”

  “Of course he is,” Cleve snapped and kept eating. “That makes him look so damned noble!”

  “Cleve, you astound me,” she said. “Gentlemen don’t swear in front of ladies.”

  “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he said peevishly. “Gentlemen don’t seem to be making much of an impression on you these days.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, big, bulging muscles and the ability to fight like a pit bull impress you more.”

  She looked at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “Yes, you do, my dear, you just won’t admit it—maybe not even to yourself.”

  “Stop it, both of you,” Keso commanded. “We’ve got more important things to worry about right now than a little lover’s spat.”

  Keso was right, she thought. Cleve did seem so petty and eager to bicker. The problem was that as the son of a rich, important man, Cleve was used to having everything his way. He didn’t know how to deal with adversity or the wilderness and was ill-equipped to do anything about either. Cleve was almost as helpless as she was in this hostile environment.

  “We’ll ride on,” Keso said, “and keep to the tree line so we won’t be easily spotted by any lookouts who might be up in the rocks.”

  “Who put you in charge?” Cleve grumbled.

  “Brewster,” Keso said, “you are welcome to go it on your own any time. In fact, I’d like that, but Wannie stays with me.”

  “Well, she’s my fiance—naturally, she’d go with me.”

  Keso put his hand on the hilt of the big bowie knife in his belt. “She stays with me.”

  “Stop it, you two.” Wannie made a gesture of dismissal. “Cleve, be sensible. Keso can handle all this better than you can, so let him.”

  “Well, thanks for the vote of no confidence.”

  She looked at Keso—big, strong and capable—going without food and his coat for her sake. Somehow, she wasn’t thinking of
him as a brother anymore. That was crazy, she thought. “Keso, what shall we do?”

  “First, I’m going to tie my knife to a stick and see if I can spear a fish in the creek.”

  Cleve snorted. “I thought you said we couldn’t build a fire?”

  “We might have to eat it raw.”

  “What?” Cleve said. “I’m not used to eating meat raw. I’m used to choosing a good white wine to go with broiled trout—”

  “Oh, shut up, Cleve,” she snapped. “Can you do anything besides complain?”

  “Wannie, I’m seeing you in a whole different light these days.”

  “The feeling’s mutual, Cleve.”

  “Wannie, you know what Indian turnips look like?” Keso asked.

  She nodded. “I’ll look around and maybe I’ll find some wild onions, too.”

  “Just don’t get too far away,” he cautioned.

  She was lucky. She searched diligently and was rewarded with a few berries, Indian turnips, and wild onions.

  The men came back within an hour. Keso carried two good-sized trout. Cleve was grumbling about tripping and getting his shirt wet. “Do we dare light a fire?”

  Keso considered. “If we build it small and keep it under a rock ledge where the smoke doesn’t go straight up.”

  Cleve pulled matches out of his wet shirt. “Without matches? I suppose, Evans, you’ll do an Indian thing and rub two sticks together to get a fire?”

  “I could if I had to,” Keso said, “but I’m smart enough to keep my matches in a little metal match safe.” He reached in his pocket and pulled them out.

  “We haven’t got any pans,” Cleve noted.

  “Thread everything on sharp sticks and roast it,” Keso said.

  Again, when the food was cooked, he made sure Wannie got most of it, although she argued that he should take more. She noticed Cleve ate his greedily and didn’t offer to share. The fish was probably the best she’d ever eaten, she thought as she put each warm, crisp bite in her mouth. The Indian turnips and the wild onions had flavored it. She shared the tart, juicy wild berries with the men and wiped her hands on the grass. “Now what?”