Rosanne Bittner
Page 3
Four
The wind blasted them with an arresting chill as Sage rearranged supplies on his packhorse so that Maggie could ride it. “You’re so small. I don’t think your weight will make a whole lot of difference,” he yelled above the howling wind. “You do ride, don’t you?”
“Of course. I’ve been riding since I was a little girl.”
“I don’t have reins for this horse.” Sage looped the lead rope over the animal’s neck then fashioned it into a makeshift harness. He handed her the extra length of rope. “Use this to hang on, and guide her the best you can. Her name is Nell. She’s dependable.”
Maggie shivered into a wool coat. She wrapped a shawl around her head and neck. “It was so calm and sunny yesterday,” she shouted.
“Yeah, well, that’s Wyoming for you. Spring in high country is damn unpredictable. Fact is, I smell snow in the air.”
“Snow!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But it’s May!”
“And you’re not down South.” Sage placed his hands around her waist and lifted her easily, setting her on the packhorse. “And don’t expect the wind to stop blowing, even when it warms up,” he added. “It’s most always windy in this part of the country.” He slid an old Sharps carbine between three ropes on the side of the horse. The gun was one thing the outlaws left behind after raiding Maggie’s camp. Her father used it for hunting, and now, Maggie wanted to bring it along for her own protection.
“You said you know how to shoot this thing,” Sage told her. “I hope that’s true. In this country you never know when you might need it.”
Their gazes held for a moment, and Sage realized she understood all too well.
“I’ve hunted black bears with this gun,” she answered. “I expect I can use it on any animal out here… or any man.”
Sage felt like an ass for saying anything. He looked away and stuffed his hat tighter around his head. “Hang on!” he yelled as he mounted the lead horse. “Come on, Henry. Let’s make time before the snow hits.”
He was worried. Sudden snowstorms this time of year could be dangerous. A blizzard could turn a three-day ride into ten if they had to hole up somewhere. He hoped the men he was after were also caught in this. That would hold them up too. If he were lucky, they’d get lost and freeze to death. His biggest worry was getting Maggie Tucker to safety… and hoping his men were able to stick to spring roundup. It was important that they find as many as possible of the scattered herd as quickly as they could. He was concerned mainly for the new calves. A heavy spring snow could bury the fresh grassland and the calves with it.
No amount of snow should last long this time of year, he told himself in an effort to soothe his own worries. He’d lived in this wild land long enough to know when a whopper was coming. He could only hope this one would be short-lived. He headed north, with the wind sweeping against them from the west, howling down the mountains like wolves. Henry balked a little, but the sturdy, dependable horse plodded on, which was why the roan gelding was one of his favorites. He glanced back at Maggie, feeling sorry for the way she hunkered down against the wind, looking so small. She’d been through more in the last two days than any woman should have to suffer in a lifetime. She knew absolutely no one else out here and had nowhere to go, but unlike another woman he’d once cared about, this one didn’t complain.
Joanna. What a mistake that was, but it still hurt. Maggie Tucker was a far cry from that woman. He could tell she really meant what she said about finding her husband’s killers, and foolish as the idea was, he couldn’t blame her for wanting revenge.
Why in hell do you care? He had no answer for that one. After what happened with Joanna, it was stupid to care about any woman ever again. Right now, it didn’t matter. The weather was worsening. They plodded on, and within two hours, blinding snow cut sideways in front of them, a solid white wall that blocked Sage’s vision. He knew how easily a man could get lost in this, even one who knew every inch of the land. He’d known men to die two feet from their own front door, or to ride off a cliff because they didn’t know it was there.
One thing he recognized now was Blackberry Wash. He knew it by the rusty red color of the wet sand the horses churned up with their hooves. If he turned west and followed the wash to the black rock formation a half mile ahead, that would lead them into a canyon that would get them out of the wind. In that canyon was a cave where they could take shelter. It was even big enough for the horses.
Damn it all to hell! This storm was making him lose precious time. Then again, he didn’t expect to have a lot of trouble finding the men who’d done this, even if he ended up a week or more behind them. There was a time when he wasn’t much different from their kind. He could think like them when he had to. They would most likely hide out for a while to the west or to the south along the Outlaw Trail… country he knew well. For now, he turned west himself, into the wind, and followed the red sand. He glanced back to check on Maggie, worried that she was so small the wind would blow her right off her horse, but there she was, bending into the wicked gusts and hanging on. The woman had grit—that was sure.
It seemed to take forever to reach the black rocks. When they finally came into view, Sage followed the wash right into Wolf Canyon, a place rightly named. He could only hope a pack of wolves weren’t already holed up in the cave he planned to use tonight. He sat a little straighter as the wind eased within the shelter of sheer rock that now protected them. Still, the howling grew worse as the battering fury whistled hauntingly through precipitous cliffs and crevices above. He stopped Henry and motioned for Maggie to ride beside him so he wouldn’t have to scream to be heard. “There’s a cave not far ahead where we can take shelter till this blows over,” he told her.
Maggie nodded. “Whatever you say. You’re the one who knows this country.”
They plodded onward until Sage spotted the cave. He urged Henry over layers of red rock and shale, careful to choose the most solid ledges until they reached the cave, which was curved inward to the west, so that when they rode into it, there was no wind at all. Still, it was damn cold.
Sage dismounted and walked over to lift Maggie down from her horse. “We’ll have to stay here—probably for the night.” He looked around. “I’m glad to see wolves didn’t already decide to come here.”
“Wolves?”
“This is Wolf Canyon. You’ll know they’re around come nightfall.” He pulled up the collar of his sheepskin jacket, noticing how red her freckled cheeks were. “You gonna be warm enough?”
She danced around a little, huddling into her coat. “Oh, I’ll survive. I just need a blanket or two. I’m glad we got a couple of quilts out of the wagon before we left.”
Sage looked around, seeing a small pile of wood stacked in the corner. “Sometimes my men use this cave. Trouble is, outlaws like it too. Either way, whoever was here last left some wood. I think with what’s here and the bundle we have tied on the packhorse, we can make a decent fire when it gets dark. If we can leave here in the morning, by tomorrow night we’ll head into some timberland, so we’ll have more fuel for another fire. We’ll leave the saddle on Henry and the gear on Nell. They’ll stay warmer that way.”
Sage untied some blankets and pulled his rifle from its boot. He walked to a spot in the cave where there was soft earth rather than shelf rock. “This is the only spot that isn’t hard on your hind side.” He tossed Maggie the quilts. “Might as well sit. You can sleep if you want. Nothing else to do. Besides, we’ll both need our rest. Likely the wolves will keep us up most of the night.”
“Shouldn’t we build a fire to keep warm?”
“No. There’s only enough wood to make a fire after dark. We’ll need it more to keep the wolves away than for our own warmth.” He sat near her, wrapping a blanket around his legs and keeping his rifle close. “Nothing to do now but wait this out. I wish I could make something hot, but like I said, we can’t build a fire yet. Out here survival comes before comfort.”
Sage looked into her eyes… green as prairie grass, they were. He shook his head.
“Don’t laugh at me, Sage Lightfoot,” Maggie warned. “I mean it when I say I want those men dead, and I intend to help do it.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that.” He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he wondered how in hell he was he going to protect her on such a journey in wild country. You’re a damn fool, Sage Lightfoot.
Maggie lay down and curled into the quilts, her back to Sage. He studied her a moment, thinking how much warmer they’d be if they got under those quilts together. He sure wouldn’t mind it, but Lord knew she’d probably shoot him with her pa’s old Sharps if he even suggested such a thing. He cursed the awkward situation he’d got himself into.
Five
Maggie jolted awake at a snorting whinny from Nell. Henry joined the mare in that kind of screeching cry a horse makes when frightened.
“Get up!” Sage told her, giving her a nudge. He laid a six-gun beside her. “They’re here.”
Maggie blinked, confused. She sat up, realizing only then how hurt she still was. Every bone and muscle ached, and laying on the cold cave floor the last few hours hadn’t helped. The sound of low snarls brought her around to what was happening. She ignored her pain as she jumped to her feet.
Wolves!
“Try to keep the horses calm,” Sage told her. “And keep that gun handy. You don’t need to hit anything. Just firing it toward the entrance will help, but I should be able to hold them off that way myself. Stay with the horses.”
Maggie noticed that while she slept Sage had built a fire near the cave entrance. By its glow she could see shining yellow eyes… several pairs! Fresh horseflesh was mighty tempting to wolves hungry from a long, lean winter. She picked up the six-gun and hurried to the restless, frightened horses. She laid the gun on a nearby rock shelf and grabbed Henry’s harness just as Sage fired his rifle into the darkness beyond the light of the fire.
There came several yips and whines, and both horses reared slightly. Maggie took hold of the rope around Nell’s neck, hanging on to both mounts as best she could in spite of her own pain. “Whoa, babies, whoa! It’s gonna be okay.”
“Keep them calm as you can,” Sage said, adding another piece of wood to the fire, while he kept a constant eye on the cave entrance. “There’s nothing in here to tie them to, and when they’re this scared they could bolt and run. Those devils out there will get them for sure then, and we’ll be stuck without horses or supplies. It doesn’t take much for a man to die out here without his horse.”
Restraining two good-sized equines was not an easy task for a five-foot-two, hundred-pound woman who couldn’t name one body part that didn’t hurt, but Maggie was not about to complain. She’d never had much experience with wolves, certainly not back home. Since coming west her only experience had been hearing them howl in the distant mountains and foothills.
This was different, and she understood now the real danger… and the stories she’d heard about how aggressive a hungry wolf could be.
Sage fired another shot, and Maggie controlled the horses with all her strength. She urged them farther back into the cave, keeping her voice calm.
Henry was the most difficult. His near-deafening whinnies hurt Maggie’s ears, and he tugged so hard that she thought her arm would come right out of its socket. She wanted to scream to Sage that the horse might get away, but she was bound and determined to prove to Sage Lightfoot that she could hold her own and would be no bother when the time came to go after the outlaws who’d attacked her. She’d be damned if she’d do one thing to make Sage think she couldn’t take care of herself. This was her first test, and she’d damn well pass it, pain or no pain.
Another gunshot.
“Whoa! Whoa! It’s okay, big fella.” Maggie talked constantly, making up anything she could think of, so that the horses constantly heard her voice.
More growls. More gunshots. A barrage of curses and name-calling from Sage. Somewhere deep inside, Maggie wanted to smile at the adjectives the man used to describe the vicious, snarling, preying beasts that would likely kill her and Sage in order to get to the horses… if not for Sage’s constant shouting and gunfire.
“I’m from Missouri,” she told the horses. “James and I had to go to Omaha before we came here. You should see it. That was the first time I’d ever been to a big city.”
More gunfire. More cursing. More growling. More screaming whinnies. More yanking and rearing and snorting and head-tossing.
“Easy… easy… easy!”
Henry gave a sudden jerk that brought sharp pain to Maggie’s left wrist. She nearly let go, but managed to keep her grip.
“At the train station in Omaha there were a lot of other people heading west. They had guides there too, with advice and maps and such,” she continued, wondering how long this agony would continue.
More gunfire. More cursing. “…must be twelve or fifteen of them,” Sage grumbled. “Now you know why this is called Wolf Canyon. Trouble is, they think they own this place. Actually, they do.”
Another gunshot. “Tonight this cave is mine, you sons of bitches! And so are these horses!” Another gunshot. A loud whine from one of the wolves. More growls. “Go find yourselves a rabbit.” Another gunshot. “And don’t be going after my cattle!” Another gunshot.
Maggie hung on, telling Henry and Nell about her trip west, how different this country was from Missouri, how she wished her husband had traveled with a regular wagon train rather than striking off on his own. “I wouldn’t be in this mess right now, and James wouldn’t be lying in his grave if he’d listened to me. He was real stubborn, James was.”
Henry seemed to calm down a bit. She pulled his head toward her and placed her cheek against his snout. “It’s okay, boy.” She managed to pull both horses farther from the entrance, praying there weren’t bats hanging above her head. “James and I didn’t really love each other the right way. I guess he wanted a woman to do the cooking and such, somebody to help on the farm.” Maggie sometimes wondered how it would feel to be truly loved and adored.
More gunfire interrupted her thoughts. Henry shuffled and reared. When he came down, one hoof landed on Maggie’s right shinbone. She cried out.
“You all right back there?” Sage yelled.
“I’m fine!” she insisted. “Whoa, boy, whoa!” Her leg hurt fiercely, but Sage needed to concentrate on the wolves. She’d tell him later about her leg. “I reckon I’m done with men, after what happened a couple nights ago,” she continued more softly to the horses. “I’ve yet to find one who has anything soft about him. My ma died when I was only nine, and she never gave Pa a son, so he worked me like I was a son, and sometimes, he’d beat me. James—he was never mean to me, but he was never one to show much affection.”
The horses calmed again. Maggie kept talking. Things quieted. After a few minutes, Maggie realized there had been no more gunshots. Soon, the only sound was the crackling of the fire.
“I think they finally gave up,” Sage called to her. “I’d hang on to those horses awhile longer though. Are you able?”
“’Course I’m able,” Maggie answered. I think my wrist is sprained, my shinbone is cracked, and every part of me hurts so bad I need to cry, but I’m not about to tell you, Mr. Sage Lightfoot! You’ll get no excuse to leave me behind when you go after those killers. She prayed silently for the strength to hang on as long as necessary.
She began singing a lullaby she remembered her mother always used to sing to her. It had never left her, even after all these years since her mother passed. She remembered her mother was pretty, a small woman with red hair and pretty eyes—a soft voice—a gentle touch. She’d never known much about her—why she’d married somebody as mean as Maggie’s pa was. She felt sorry for Louise Tucker. She, too, proba
bly never knew the right kind of love from a man.
“Sweet Maggie, my Maggie, you’re soft to the touch. Let mama kiss you, she loves you so much,” Maggie sang, realizing her mother made up the song. It was special, just for her Maggie. She wanted to cry at her only memory of gentle touches and loving arms. That was a long time ago, and she hadn’t known anything like it since. The only thing that came close was the strange comfort she took when Sage Lightfoot grasped her shoulders so tenderly after he buttoned up her dress. No man had ever touched her that way, with reassurance, and that instinctive signal that she didn’t need to fear him.
But then, he could be hard as nails. She reminded herself she knew absolutely nothing about the man, and she’d better be wary. There was one thing most men seemed to want and need an awful lot of, and she wasn’t about to give that to any man ever again. James had made it a chore… and the outlaws had made it sickeningly ugly. If Sage Lightfoot decided he needed it too, he’d find a bullet in him!
She kept singing and talking, not sure for how much longer. She wondered if she might be asleep on her feet, or just in a daze from all the pain. A man’s voice startled her.
“You can lie back down. I think the wolves are done with us.” Sage took the rope and reins from her. “You all right?”
“I… Henry kicked me in the shin, and I hurt my wrist, but I’ll be okay.”
Sage grasped her arm and pulled her toward the firelight. He kneeled down and pushed up the skirt of her dress to study a bruise and broken skin on her shin. “He kicked you, all right.” He pressed around the bruise. “I don’t think anything is broken, but you’ve got quite a welt here.” He rose. “Let me see your wrist.”
Maggie pulled away, afraid to appear weak. “I’m fine. Really. But it sure will feel good to sleep a little while. I think I’ll bed down closer to the fire. It’s so dang cold in here.” She forced herself not to limp as she retrieved the six-gun from where she’d left it. “I’ll keep this with me in case you need help again staving off more wolves.”