“We move on,” Keso said. “I haven’t seen any smoke signals since yesterday—maybe that was only one stray warrior up in the cliffs.”
“I wonder what happened to that pack mule?” Cleve grumbled, “I was hoping we’d find it—lots of food and supplies in those packs.”
“And other things,” Keso reminded him. “You’d better hope it’s just out there roaming around lost. There’s panthers and bears in this area—they might have caught it.”
At least the men had their rifles, Wannie thought with relief, although they’d hesitated to use them because of the sound echoing through the mountains. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
Keso nodded. “Probably not more than fifteen or twenty miles from the White River Agency—we might go there.”
Cleve swung up on his horse. “If the Utes are really on the warpath, won’t they attack that first?”
“Maybe not. There’s probably at least a dozen men at the agency and they’ll be armed. Besides, if Meeker managed to get a message out, troops will be coming in.”
“But the nearest troops are a couple of hundred miles away in Wyoming,” Wannie thought aloud.
Keso shrugged. “It’s the best I can offer right now, brat. That other deserter might also be lying in wait for us along one of these trails.”
“I had forgotten about him.” Wannie remembered the way the man had galloped out after he’d seen Keso cut Clem’s throat. “As scared as he was, I don’t think he’ll stop to ambush anyone. I’ll bet he’s out of the country as fast as he could travel.”
They mounted up and rode on, keeping to the timber line as they descended down the Western slope so they wouldn’t be spotted if there were hostile sentries on the cliffs. Keso rode ahead, scouting the area.
She was so tired, she dozed in her saddle as her mare walked along the trail. Up ahead, she saw Keso rein in, dismount, squat down. After a long moment, he turned and walked back up the trail, leading Spirit. Keso’s face was grim. “Well, the question’s been answered about where the pack mule might be.”
The look on his face warned her of trouble. “You think maybe that deserter found it?”
Keso shook his head. “You can stop worrying about the deserter, Wannie.”
“What?” Cleve rode up beside her and reined in. “You’re talking in riddles, Evans.”
The breeze picked up suddenly, and Wannie took a deep breath and gagged on the scent. Death. It smelled liked death.
Before Keso seemed aware of what she intended, she dismounted and tried to brush past him but he caught her arm. She jerked out of his grasp and ran toward the scent.
“Wannie, come back, you don’t want to see that.”
She had to know. If something had killed the strayed mule, they could at least get some food out of the pack.
“Oh, my God!” She put her hands to her mouth to keep from screaming as she came to an abrupt halt. Now she knew what had caused the high, thin scream yesterday. Lying at her feet was a rotting blue bundle that had been a man. He had been scalped and his eyes stared unseeing into the sky. The deserter wouldn’t be ambushing anyone.
Keso was right about one thing: there was no question who had ended up with the pack mule. Sticking in Bill’s chest was a shiny big butcher knife with the brand name, Brewster Industries, on the bloody handle.
SEVENTEEN
As Cleve joined them, the three of them stared at the tortured body for a long moment.
Then with a low moan, Cleve stumbled into the brush and vomited.
Wannie, who had felt a little weak herself, was both embarrassed and sympathetic as she watched Cleve. Next to her, Keso sighed and rolled his eyes.
“He can’t help it,” she said in her fiancé’s defense, “where he’s from, things like this don’t happen.”
Cleve staggered out of the bushes, his face pale, his blond hair tousled. “I—I want to get out of this damned country.”
“Easier said than done,” Keso said. “First, we’ve got a man to bury.”
“Couldn’t we just leave him?” Cleve argued. “He wasn’t anybody important and those savages may be watching us at this very minute.”
“Cleve!” Wannie gasped, “I can’t believe you said that.”
“Remember,” Keso reminded him, “he was scalped with one of your family’s knives and because of you, dozens of Utes are now better armed. Pity any poor devil who meets up with them.”
They didn’t have shovels, but they did the best they could scraping a shallow grave out of the rocky terrain. When they were done, Wannie said a few words over the grave while Cleve watched the cliffs around them with trepidation. “Hurry up! Let’s get out of here before they come back.”
Keso checked his saddle girth. “Let’s take stock first. We’ve got two rifles, a little ammunition, four blankets, and whatever smoked jerky and hardtack was in our saddlebags. That and a canteen each is going to have to last us for probably a week.”
The thought was sobering, Wannie thought. Thank God Keso was here.
“I don’t see how things can get any worse,” Cleve grumbled, “why doesn’t the army do something?”
“They probably will as soon as they know the Utes are on the warpath,” Keso said, “but it’ll be too late for us. We’re strictly on our own now. Here, Wannie, let me help you.” He put his hands out for her small foot and boosted her into the saddle. “Come on, Brewster, it won’t do any good to whine—let’s get moving.”
They rode a good part of the morning, stopping now and then to rest the horses. Cleve complained constantly about everything. He was nothing but a spoiled boy, Wannie thought with disgust, not a man.
Along in the afternoon, Wannie’s mare began to limp.
“Uh-oh,” Keso muttered as he dismounted and picked up the mare’s front hoof. “She’s gotten a stone lodged.” He look his knife and pried it out. “There, girl, is it okay now?”
Wannie encouraged the mare forward but the mare took a few hesitant steps and limped doing it. “Oh Keso, Dancer’s lame. Now what?”
Keso sighed and shook his head. “We’ll have to unsaddle and leave her, brat. Maybe she’ll find her way back to the cabin when the hoofs better.”
“I didn’t think things could get any worse,” Cleve complained, but he didn’t offer to help unsaddle Wannie’s mare.
Wannie patted her mare’s nose as Keso unsaddled. “Good-bye, girl, you’re smart enough to find your way home.”
Cleve’s pale eyes brightened. “If the nag shows up by herself, won’t the Evanses send help?”
Keso shook his head. “By that time, we’ll be dead or will have ridden out of this hostile country.”
Cleve stared around the perimeter of the boulders and rocks. “Are they out there watching us?”
“Who knows?” Keso looked at the horizon.
Wannie’s heart went to her mouth at the thought, but Keso patted her shoulder. “You’ll be all right, Wannie. A few Utes aren’t about to make a liar out of me.”
“What do we do?” Cleve asked. “There’s three of us and two horses. Wannie, I guess you can ride behind me—”
“No,” Keso said as he finished hiding Wannie’s saddle, “old Blue can’t carry double—we’d lose him next.” He swung up on his big stallion then held out his hand to Wannie. “Come on, brat.”
She always marveled at his strength. He lifted her lightly to the leather skirt of the saddle behind him. She put her arms around his waist and leaned against his broad back for a long moment and closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his muscles rippling under the rough shirt. His strength and calm confidence was so reassuring. When she opened her eyes, Cleve was glaring at her. Immediately, she straightened up and allowed space between herself and Keso, hanging onto his waist primly.
Keso reached back and patted her thigh. “You ready?”
“Ready, Keso. What do we do now?”
Keso put one hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun and studied the horizon. “Stay close t
o the timber line until dark.”
“Suppose they’re up there in the rocks?” Cleve’s voice rose hysterically. “Suppose they’re just playing cat and mouse, waiting to pounce on us?”
“Suppose they are?” Keso said calmly, “I reckon there’s not much we can do about it. They can outrun us since we’ve only got two tired horses between the three of us. And thanks to you,” he reminded the other, “they’re well armed.”
They rode out, leaving the mare grazing peacefully behind them.
Cleve let Keso take the lead. He didn’t trust the redskin so he didn’t want him behind him and besides, if they ran into a war party, Keso would take the first bullet. As the hours passed and they rode the narrow trail, Cleve had to grit his teeth; he was annoyed at the way Wannie held on to Keso’s waist, sometimes resting her face against the muscular back. Damn her, didn’t she think Cleve could see what she was doing? Or was she still not aware how that Injun felt about her? One thing was certain, her estimate of Keso was going up with every hour that passed. Keso knew nothing about fashion or proper etiquette, but out here in this wild, hostile country, he could do a better job of looking after a woman than Cleve could. They were reverting back to the law of the jungle, he thought bitterly, where being a hunter and a strong protector was more important to a woman than having an eye for fine jewelry.
All afternoon, Cleve studied the horizon, expecting to see war-painted braves topping the ridge and coming at them any moment. The rest of the time, he was forced to watch Wannie riding intimately with her arms around Keso’s waist, her breasts pressed up against that muscular back. Cleve tried to make plans.
Was there any way to rid himself of Keso? After all, two horses between three people was a distinct disadvantage, but if Cleve could figure out a way to leave that Injun behind and take his stallion, two people could escape just fine.
The problem was killing Keso in a way that Wannie would think the Utes did it, Cleve thought as they rode along in the fading afternoon. They only had the two rifles and Keso was a better shot than Cleve. Was there any way to shoot him in the back and let the Utes take the blame? That was going to be difficult without Wannie seeing what had happened. Cleve would have to do some planning and be very clever over the next several days.
One thing was certain: he’d never get as good a chance to get rid of that savage rival. Cleve could never be certain Wannie would marry him unless he eliminated Keso. Her attitude toward the big Indian seemed to be gradually changing from a sisterly affection to a woman’s passion right before Cleve’s eyes. Worse yet, he wasn’t even certain whether she realized it or not.
Keso kept his keen eyes trained on the ridges around them as they rode, aware both of Cleve’s glare and Wannie’s soft curves pressed against his back. Just the heat of her ripe body made him think forbidden thoughts when he had more important things to mull over right now.
The trio was in bigger trouble than Keso had let on. He didn’t want to scare Wannie and that city dude was liable to puke his guts out if he realized just how desperate their situation was. He’d seen other signs besides smoke signals. The western slopes were alive with Utes and their killing of the deserter showed they had thrown all caution to the winds. Something had finally pushed the Utes into war and there was no turning back for them now.
This trio could easily disappear and never be seen again. Of course, the war parties wouldn’t kill Wannie—she was too pretty. She would become a prize to be fought over and soon would be warming some warrior’s blankets and producing sons for him.
The thought angered and upset him. He felt her body warm against his back, her soft breasts pressed into the rough fabric of his shirt. He glanced down at her slim arms around his waist with all the diamonds and jewels. Wannie would always be a pretty, delicate princess playing dress-up. Without thinking, he reached down to give her hand a reassuring pat and thought about the silver ring he still carried. She would never wear it or even know about it, but as far as he was concerned, his love was for always. She might love that slick dude and marry him, but Keso would love her and only her forever. For that reason, he had to save Cleve Brewster’s life and get him out of this rough country in one piece even though it would be so tempting to abandon the dude to the mercies of a Ute war party. Whatever made Wannie happy, Keso would do.
The afternoon passed slowly as they rode the narrow trail that snaked gradually down the west slopes toward the flat areas beyond the mountains. Behind them, tall peaks called the Maroon Bells towered and the wind blew through the pine and spruce. The September day was crisp with the coming of autumn. Under different circumstances, Keso would have enjoyed this ride immensely with Wannie pressed against his back, her slim arms hanging onto his waist. He could fantasize that she loved him and that they were riding to a hidden dell where they would spread a blanket and make love as the sun gradually set and threw long purple and pink shadows across the mountains.
It was dusk when he finally reined in. “We’ll rest awhile and give the horses a chance to graze, then we’ll ride on under cover of darkness.” He swung down off Spirit.
“Ride on?” Cleve grumbled. “I’m worn out—I can’t sit a saddle any more.”
“You can and you will,” Keso said sternly, “or you’ll be left behind. Remember, we’ve got some bare country to cross and we’ll be easy to spot in the daylight.” He reached up to help Wannie from the back of the saddle. She tried to stand, but her slim legs buckled under her and he had to catch her and carry her over under a pine tree.
“I—I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I don’t mean to be so much trouble.”
He knelt and brushed her hair out of her face. “It’s okay, honey,” he whispered, “I know you’re tired.”
“Damn it, I’m tired, too,” Cleve said as he dismounted stiffly. “The only one who isn’t is Hiawatha here.”
“Cleve!” Wannie rebuked him, “that isn’t fair! Why, I’m counting on Keso to get us out of here.”
“You don’t have any faith in my ability, is that it?”
“Oh, shut up, Brewster,” Keso commanded, “things are tough enough without your whimpering.” He handed Wannie his canteen.
“It’s getting cold,” Cleve said. “Can’t we build a fire?”
Keso sighed. “If you do, a Ute war party may roast you over it. If you don’t care about yourself, Cleve, think about Wannie.”
She looked up at him as she handed the canteen back, uneasy about changes in the way she was perceiving Keso. “What are you hinting at?”
Keso hesitated. “Never mind. We’re back to smoked jerky and hardtack.”
“I’m hungry,” Cleve said, “and I want something better than that. You’re the big hunter—get us some food.”
“Cleve!” Wannie was genuinely shocked. “Don’t talk to my brother that way.”
“May I remind you he’s not really your brother?”
She looked away guiltily, not replying. With every hour that passed, she was thinking of Keso less as her big brother and more as a man—all man.
Keso said, “Maybe by tomorrow, we’ll be near some prospector camps or run across an army patrol out looking for that pair of deserters. Then maybe we’ll be safe.”
Wannie had never felt such exhaustion, but she managed to splash water on her face and go off in the bushes to relieve herself. Then she settled on the blanket Keso spread for her and ate the smoked jerky and hardtack greedily. As she finished up and licked her fingers, she suddenly realized Keso wasn’t eating. “Where’s yours?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
She knew he was lying. Keso could never look her in the face and lie to her. “Oh, Keso, you gave me your share, too, didn’t you?”
He hesitated. “What if I did? I’m stronger than you are and can go without food longer.”
“I feel terrible about this.” She noted Cleve was gobbling up his share without any hesitation.
“It’s okay, Wannie,” Keso soothed her, “maybe I’ll snare a rabbit t
onight and we’ll reach a place where it’ll be safe to roast it. Now settle down—we need to get some rest so we can ride on later.”
Cleve wiped his hands on the grass and grinned. “Wannie, since it’s cool and we’re short on blankets, maybe we should curl up together to conserve body heat.”
Keso glared at him. “Sounds like a good idea, Brewster. I’ll sleep in the middle.”
“But, I—”
“That’s a good idea, Keso,” Wannie said and began to spread the blankets.
“Never mind,” Cleve snapped. He got his blanket and curled up in the brush alone. “Remember, Wannie, you’re my fiancée.”
Wannie stared after him with puzzlement as he lay down in the grass. “Now what do you suppose he’s upset about?”
“He just doesn’t adjust well to adverse conditions,” Keso said and lay down next to her, pulling a blanket over them.
She felt a trifle uncomfortable about curling up with Keso, but after all, they were both fully dressed and he was her brother. “This ground’s pretty hard,” she muttered.
“Here, put your head on my arm, brat.” He pulled her up against him and tucked the blanket over her.
She started to protest that this probably wasn’t proper, but in this desperate situation, it seemed almost ludicrous to worry about propriety. Besides, Keso’s big body radiated heat and she was cold. Wannie put her head on his arm and let him pull her close. Funny, she thought sleepily, she almost seemed to fit into the curve of his big body. She lay her face against the warm, scratchy wool of his coat and threw her arm across his massive chest. He reached over and gave her a comforting pat, and kissed her cheek.
“ ’Night, brat.”
“ ’Night, Keso. You think we’ll make it out okay?”
“Sure,” he whispered and patted her again, “don’t worry.”
Wannie relaxed in his arms and smiled as she dropped off to sleep. Keso seemed so competent. In all these years, she had believed him and he’d always told her the truth. Keso knew everything there was to know about her and he didn’t care about her past. A thought crossed her mind. She had lied to Cleve about her background. Should she tell him? And if she did, would Cleve still want her to be his bride? For a man with Cleve’s blue-blooded background, it would be a great shock to find out her mother had been the madam of Denver’s most notorious bordello. She would have to tell him, she thought sleepily, she couldn’t stand the tension of waiting for years to see if her terrible secret would surface.
Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15) Page 23