Rosanne Bittner

by Paradise Valley

  She turned and busied herself with moving her bedroll closer to the fire, refusing to think about Sage’s touch, his concern for her wounds. She absolutely could not let him see her as frail or unable to cope. Any time she had shown weakness around her father, he beat and belittled her. And James simply expected her to be strong and do her share of the work. He’d allowed no time for nursing aches and pains… not even after giving birth. The next day she’d gone right back to her chores. Men didn’t like weakness in a woman, and she doubted that deep down Sage Lightfoot was any different.

  She fixed her bedroll near the fire and sat down, laying the gun beside her. She leaned close to feel the warmth of the flames, while Sage tended the horses, talking soothingly to them for a few minutes before sitting down across from her. He kept his repeating rifle next to him and reached out to warm his hands over the fire.

  Maggie winced with pain as she lay down and pulled a quilt over herself. How she longed for a real bed, or even the comfort of the extra quilts in the back of her wagon. “Are you sure they’re gone?” she asked Sage. “I’ll stay more alert if need be.”

  “They’re gone, but I’ll keep a watch and give you a nudge if necessary.”

  “You need to sleep too.”

  “I’ve gone all night without sleep before.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair I should rest and not you.”

  “You’ve been through hell the last couple of days and nights. And Henry only added to your injuries. Get some rest. You’ll get plenty more when we get to the ranch house.”

  “I’m just fine, thank you.”

  “No, you’re not just fine. Quit trying to prove how strong you are. I can see that for myself. And by the way, you did a good job with the horses. That couldn’t have been easy for someone your size. You’re quite a woman, Maggie Tucker.”

  Maggie took pride in the remark. “I told you I could hold my own and wouldn’t be a burden.”

  Sage put a last piece of wood on the fire. “That you did, ma’am. That you did.”

  It was the last thing Maggie remembered before weariness claimed her. Before she fell into a much-needed sleep, she wondered if Sage Lightfoot heard the things she said when she was trying to soothe the horses… about her life in Missouri… about her loveless marriage.

  Six

  Maggie was never happier to see the sun rise. The long, terrifying night was over, and the light brought no sign of wolves, other than the ones Sage had shot. He shoved the carcasses over a ledge. After drinking down cold coffee and eating one biscuit each, they packed up and left, watering their horses and filling their canteens from Blackberry Wash.

  “If it gets any warmer, we’ll have to be alert for flash floods,” Sage warned.

  Maggie couldn’t help wondering at how quickly the weather could change in this country—calm one day, dangerous the next, then calm again. Apparently, a serene stream of water could suddenly turn into an angry river with one storm.

  Thankfully, last night’s howling wind had blown the snow into deep drifts in some places, but left the ground bare enough in others that they were able to travel without too much difficulty. As the sun rose, its light created an array of purple, green, and gray colors on the western mountains, all made more brilliant by a contrast of bright white snow.

  If not for the pain that wracked every inch of her body, made worse by the bitterly cold morning, Maggie supposed she could better appreciate the beauty of this land. The mountains were higher and far more intimidating than she’d imagined when she and James first left Missouri. How foolish they’d been to think they could find their way over those imposing rocky peaks on their own. Now, as she and Sage rode along the foothills at their base, the Rockies appeared more formidable than from a distance.

  They continued north, sometimes on obvious trails, sometimes up rocky slopes and through narrow crevasses. By noon, the sun warmed the air to the point that Maggie removed the wool shawl from her head, but kept it around her neck.

  “How much farther?” she called to Sage.

  “We should be home by late tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve spoiled your plans for going after those men.”

  “Quit apologizing for something that’s not your fault.” Sage reined his horse to a halt and let the packhorse amble up beside him. He lit a smoke and studied the trail. “See those trees up there? We’ll be riding through timber soon. There’s a line shack in those pines where we can take shelter tonight. We might run into some of my men by then, for sure, by tomorrow. Beyond the trees is a big valley.”

  “Paradise Valley?”

  Sage nodded. “That’s it. The grass looks yellow now, but within a month or so it will be plenty green—prettiest sight you’ll ever see. It took me some rough living to build this place—a few battles with renegade Indians and outlaws—but it’s all been worth it. I’m up to about sixty thousand acres and counting. With the railroad going through Cheyenne, I can run my cattle down there and ship them off to the packing houses in Omaha and Chicago.”

  Maggie noticed a hardness in his demeanor—that hint of a man capable of violence. She wondered if all that land had been obtained lawfully. “No wife to share this with? No family?” she dared to ask. From the angry look that came into his eyes, she immediately regretted the question.

  “Almost.” He looked away, obviously upset. “She decided she couldn’t take the loneliness of life out here.” He hesitated and pulled his hat lower. “It’s a long story, and this isn’t the place or time. Besides, we don’t know each other well enough for it to matter.”

  He straightened in his saddle and was quiet a moment before continuing.

  “The men we’re after worked for me,” he told her, obviously changing the subject. “They were buffalo hunters I’d hired to hunt deer and other game to keep up my food supply. Sounds strange that a man who raises beef needs to hunt for meat, but why kill your own cattle when there’s plenty of wild game? We were low on food, and we’d been through a rough winter. I needed every man to help find stranded cattle and to get a count on how many head we’d lost. One day when most of us were scattered on a cattle count, the bastards killed my best hand, an Indian named Standing Wolf. They raped his wife in front of their little boy, then ransacked my house and stole a good deal of money from me.”

  “How awful,” was all Maggie could say.

  “Yeah, well, I should have seen it coming, but I was too anxious about dying cattle to pay enough attention to my gut feeling about the sons-of-bitches. Sorry for the hard language.”

  Maggie noticed the flex in his jaw, and again, she felt the thick hint of violence in the man. “The way other people behave isn’t your fault, Sage,” she tried to soothe.

  “Yes, it is, because there was a time when I wasn’t much different from men like that, though I’d never hurt a woman. I’ve always considered myself a pretty good judge of men. I should have seen right through them. That’s what riles me the most.”

  Maggie studied him, thinking how helpful he’d been so far. “I don’t believe it when you say you were like them once.”

  “Believe it. That’s why I know how to track them.”

  “Why didn’t you at least bring some of your own men along?”

  “It’s roundup and branding time, and like I said, it was a hard winter. Barns and fences need mending. The cattle need to be culled into those that will be sold and those that won’t. The ones too weak and sick for any use will have to be put down.” He met her gaze again, and there was a chilling coldness now in his eyes. “Besides, this is personal. It’s something I have to do myself.”

  The look he’d given her was unnerving. “Well, I hope you understand that I feel the same way, and that’s why I’m going with you. Believe me when I say I can hold my own. I’ll not be a burden.”

  He sighed. “I still need to think about that,” he said. He kicked his horse into a gentle trot. “Let’s go.”

  Sage moved his horse forward, saying nothing more as they
moved across the wide grassland toward the trees. The horses plodded through deep snow in some areas, their hooves making swishing sounds in the soft grass and deeper drifts.

  “When we reach the trees, we’ll make camp,” Sage called to her. “We’ll have some fuel for a fire, and the trees will block any wind that might come up.”

  Within an hour they headed into a heavy stand of pines. Then it happened. No warning. A grizzly charged out of a thick stand of smaller trees before they, or even the horses, realized it was there. Henry reared in terror. Sage pulled his six-gun from the holster at his hip, but as he did so, the bear lunged, digging its claws into Henry’s chest. The frightened, wounded steed twisted away. Horse and man crashed to the ground. Sage rolled away, and immediately, the bear was on him.

  Seven

  Henry took off running, and the pack mare skittered backward, then reared. Maggie hung on for dear life. “Whoa, girl! Easy!” Nell whinnied and shied even farther away as Sage wrestled with the grizzly. Maggie figured it was a she-bear and that a cub or cubs were close by. She managed to jump off Nell, then yanked her pa’s old Sharps from the ropes at the horse’s side before the mare bolted away.

  “Please, God, help me!” Maggie yelled the words aloud. She brought up the Sharps and aimed, frightened to death that if she fired at the wrong time, she’d hit Sage instead of the bear.

  Sage rolled himself into a ball to protect his face and chest. Maggie could see he was trying to unsheathe a knife from where it was strapped near his boot. Once the bear was on top of him again, Maggie squeezed the trigger. The old rifle boomed, kicking her hard in the shoulder. She stumbled slightly but didn’t fall.

  For a moment, everything went quiet. Then the bear rose and turned, looking straight at Maggie as though dumbfounded. Maggie fired again, aiming right between the eyes. The bear took two steps on its hind legs then fell. A stunned Maggie stared in amazement.

  Everything happened so fast it was difficult to take it all in. She’d actually shot a grizzly! She’d shot a black bear once in Missouri, but the monster she’d just put down was many times bigger than anything she’d ever seen back home.

  Sage lay still. Panic gripped Maggie as she hurried closer and nudged the bear with her rifle to make sure it was really dead. A bloody hole gaped in its forehead, and the animal did not stir. Maggie wasn’t sure where she’d hit it the first time, if at all. Maybe the sound of the gunshot was what made the beast leave Sage and stand on its haunches.

  She carefully walked around the bear then hurried to Sage, who’d rolled onto his back, groaning. Maggie gasped at a rip in his scalp and across his chest. Blood seemed to come from everywhere, and the right sleeve of his leather jacket was completely torn off, a large gash in his arm bleeding profusely. Quickly, Maggie ripped at the one slip she wore, tearing off a strip of fabric and pulling away what was left of the jacket sleeve. She wrapped the makeshift bandage tightly above the gaping wound in Sage’s upper arm.

  “Don’t you die on me and leave me lost out here alone, Sage Lightfoot!”

  His reply was another groan.

  Maggie looked around, realizing the first thing she had to do was get the horses back. She and Sage would die out here without them. “I’ll come right back! You hang on!”

  Reluctantly, she left him and ran into the open field beyond the trees. Both horses moved restlessly several hundred yards in the distance, calmer but still skittish. Maggie knew that once she got hold of them she’d have trouble getting them back anywhere close to Sage. They’d shy away again because of the dead bear. She’d have to find a place to tie them upwind from the carcass.

  She hurried her stride, wanting to run, but afraid she’d scare the horses off again. She needed a canteen to wash Sage’s wounds. Whiskey would be even better. She guessed Sage to be a man who didn’t mind taking a swig once in a while, which meant she might find a flask of liquor in his gear.

  She approached Henry, talking softly. “It’s okay, boy. Nothing’s gonna hurt you now.” The horse whinnied, its nostrils flaring slightly. He balked sideways. “Poor thing. You were still spooked from those wolves last night, and now this. Remember me? I’m the one who held on to you last night and kept you safe.”

  She managed to get a little closer then grabbed his halter. “Good boy! You’re okay now.” She walked him closer to the packhorse, thinking what a good job Sage did tying on the supplies. Not one item had come loose during Nell’s rearing and running. The mare hung its head and nibbled at the yellow grass. Maggie grasped the rope harness and led both horses to a spot in the trees. She checked the gashes on Henry’s chest. They were already scabbing over, and she noted the horse didn’t seem to be limping. She could only pray the wounds were superficial and that the faithful mount would be able to carry Sage to help.

  She hurriedly rummaged through Sage’s saddlebags and found a pint of whiskey. “Just as I thought. You do imbibe.” She figured she’d better find out if the man was a hard drinker before she left with him in pursuit of the outlaws. From what she’d witnessed of her father growing up, as well as the men who’d attacked her, it seemed liquor had a way of changing a good man into a beast.

  No matter now. He could be bleeding to death. She loosened the canteen from around Henry’s saddle horn, took a towel from the supplies on the packhorse, and ran back over to where she’d left Sage. He was on his hands and knees, trying to get up.

  “Sage, stay down,” she called to him. “Let me put some whiskey on those wounds.”

  He fell to a sitting position, looking at her with bewilderment in his eyes. “What happened?” He tried to wipe blood from his eyes.

  “A grizzly was on you before either of us knew it was around,” she answered. “Don’t stand up. You’ve lost a lot of blood. I can’t pick you up if you pass out.”

  Sage frowned, looking from her to the bear, then back at Maggie. “You all right?”

  “I’m okay.” Her hands shaking, Maggie poured some water from the canteen onto the towel, realizing that the urgency of their situation caused her own pain to leave her. “Sit still, and let me wash away the blood so I can see how bad things are. James was attacked by a wild pig once. Oh, man, it was something awful to see, I’ll tell you. I swear a wild boar is just as dangerous as that big grizzly over there.” She gently washed some of the blood from his face. “If I nursed James through that, I guess I can take care of you too. Soon as we get help, I’ll make sure someone tends to Henry. He’s got some cuts, but I don’t think they’re serious.”

  He grasped her wrist. “Did you put down that bear?”

  “Yes, sir. I managed to yank my pa’s old rifle from Nell’s side as she ran off. That bear hovered right over the top of you, and that’s when I fired. I’m not sure where I hit her, but she stood and looked straight at me. I’ll tell you, I’ve never been so scared in all my life as when I realized that she-bear was going to come after me. I aimed for between the eyes and let go. When she fell you’d have thought we were having an earthquake.” Maggie uncorked the whiskey. “Hold still now. I’m gonna dump some of this on the gash in your scalp and on your chest and arm.”

  Sage jerked and gritted his teeth at the sting.

  “Sorry.” Maggie pulled open his ripped jacket and shirt and poured more whiskey on deep gashes on his chest, then on the bloody bandage around his arm. “We’ve got to get you to help as quick as possible. You’ll need stitches. I’m scared you’ll pass out, and I’ll get us both lost. Then you’ll die, and I’ll—well, I don’t know what I’ll do then. You sit here a spell, get your bearings, and then, maybe we can get you to the horses. They’re tied not too far off, upwind of the bear.”

  With his good arm Sage grabbed the towel and used the damp part to wipe at his face again. “Hold up there.” He squinted as a shaft of sunlight hit his face. “Do you mean to tell me you shot that bear? Then you got the horses, thought to tie them upwind, and find that whiskey—” He looked her over in a way that made Maggie a bit uncomfortable. “You’re
one hell of a woman—more than I even thought.”

  Their gazes held, and Maggie realized how close they were—that she’d just treated wounds on a near stranger’s bare chest. She scooted back. “Well, I take that as a compliment.” She handed out the flask of whiskey. “Here. Drink a little.” Sage kept watching her as he downed some of the whiskey. She grabbed the flask from him then.

  “That’s enough. It’s one thing for you to pass out from loss of blood—no sense having you pass out from too much drink. Besides, we’ll need more of this to put on your wounds again later.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned sideways against a tree. “There’s another flask… in my other saddlebag.”

  Maggie recorked the whiskey. “That so?”

  He stole a sideways glance at her. “Yes, ma’am.” He grimaced again. “Don’t worry. I can handle my whiskey.” His eyes looked glassy. “I think you’re right about… these wounds… catching up with me.”

  “You’re losing a lot of blood. We’ve got to get you away from here before the wolves get a whiff of that dead bear.”

  Maggie rose. She looked around for Sage’s hat, then spotted it lying several feet away. She grabbed it and put it on his head, wanting to keep the wound there covered. “Can you stand? Lean on me, and I’ll do my best to help you get to the horses. If you can get up in the saddle, I’ll climb up behind you and put my arms around you, so you’ll have some support. You just need to stay awake enough to tell me where to go.”

  Sage got to his knees, then leaned over and groaned. Maggie threw the bloody towel around her neck and shoved the flask of whiskey into a side pocket on her wool coat. She hung the canteen around her shoulder and then grasped Sage by his good arm. “Here. Stand up. We’ve got to get away from here.”