The Rogue

by Janet Dailey

  Waves of heat washed through her, the heat of desire. She stared at her plate, fighting back the flood of longing, and tried to concentrate on the words he was saying instead of the ache in the pit of her stomach.

  “. . . take an extra string of horses and enough supplies for a week, just in case. We’ll leave tomorrow at first light.”

  The Major nodded agreement with the plans and asked, “Who are you taking with you?”

  “Rube, Guy, myself, and probably Don.”

  This time Diana didn’t invite herself along. Guy gave her an expectant look. He seemed extremely tense, deeply troubled, and angered by something. It was a razor-sharp glance he darted at Holt, but he didn’t say a word.

  Diana spent the afternoon doing the ranch paperwork. By dinner’s end, she was ready to escape the confines of the house, but she wandered no farther than the wood porch. Using an upright post as a backrest, Diana sat on the porch railing, her legs stretched out on the flat board. She watched a lingering sunset painting the distant mountain slopes with yellow and orange.

  From the lengthening shadows of the shade trees, she saw Guy approaching the house. Instead of walking onto the porch, he came to the rail where Diana sat. He looked up at her, his expression confused and tense.

  “Will you walk with me? There’s something I have to talk to you about.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to beg off by saying she was tired, but the urgency in his tone made her decide to go along. He wasn’t suggesting a romantic stroll, hand in hand into the sunset. Something was seriously bothering him, and it wasn’t her.

  “All right.”

  She swung her legs off the rail to hop to the ground. Guy’s hands closed around her waist to help her down. Then he shoved them in his pockets and started walking back through the trees, his stride long and revealing an inner agitation. When they were away from the house, Diana put a hand on his arm to stop the running walk.

  “What is it?”

  Guy stared at her, searching her face with an intensity that brought a frown. “Has the Major said what he plans to do about the white stallion?”

  “No.” Her frown deepened.

  “He hasn’t talked to Holt about it?”

  “All they have discussed is getting the mares back. Why?”

  “Because I think . . .” He raked a hand through his sandy hair. “I think Holt is going to kill him.”

  “What? Did he say that?”

  “No.” His hand doubled into a fist, clutching the air as if trying to grasp some invisible line and hold on. “It’s just a feeling I have. But I know Fm right.”

  “No.” Diana didn’t want to believe it.

  “You know what he thinks about the stallion,” Guy argued. “He considers it a pest, a nuisance. He’d have no more compunction about killing it than a fly. Don’t you see? Holt probably wouldn’t say anything about it to the Major, because I don’t think the Major wants to have the stallion destroyed.”

  “I think you are being overly dramatic.” She moved away to escape the mist of panic Guy was trying to envelop her in. He caught at her arms and turned her back to face him.

  “What if I’m right? What if, when Holt rides out of here tomorrow morning, it’s with every intention of coming back with the stallion dead?”

  “Then you’ll have to stop him— if that’s what he intends to do.”

  “Me? How? Who’s going to listen to me? Holt? Rube? Don? They all think I’m still a snot-nosed kid. Besides, he can convince them of anything. Rube and Don will do whatever he tells them. I couldn’t stop them. He’s the boss. But you, you’re the Major’s daughter, you could.”

  “Holt would never listen to me,” Diana argued.

  “But if you were along, he might think twice. And the other two would listen to you, because you would be speaking for the Major. He may not hold the reins, but he still owns the bridle. You’ve got to come with us.”

  “No.” She turned her head away. Guy didn’t know what he was asking. “You talk to the Major.”

  “It wouldn’t do any good. Holt and the Major are as close as . . .” Guy impatiently searched for a comparison.

  ... a father and son.” Diana’s voice was flat.

  “Yes, as a father and son should be,” he agreed. “It’s up to you, Diana. Do you want the stallion dead?”

  “No!”

  “Then do something.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and forced her to look at him. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful animal in your life than that stallion? Wild and proud and free. Picture him with a bullet hole in his head and his brains spilled all over the ground. That’s what’s going to happen, Diana!”

  “No!” She shut her eyes, but it only made the mental image clearer.

  “You’ve got to come along.”

  “Holt won’t want me to go with you.”

  “So what? He couldn’t stop you the last time, and he sure as hell won’t be able to stop you now. You’ve got to come along.”

  Diana hesitated. There was just enough logic in the conclusions Guy had drawn to make it the truth. Didn’t she know how ruthless Holt could be? Hadn’t he indicated before that he felt the stallion should be destroyed? Hadn’t she seen the look of a hunter in his eye?

  “I’ll come,” she agreed at last.

  “I knew I could count on you.” Relief swept over Guy’s face. “I knew you’d be on my side in this. I’m going to enjoy seeing Holt’s face when I tell him.” He laughed with triumph. “They’re getting everything packed and ready to go for in the morning. I’ll go down now to let them know you’re coming so there’ll be provisions for you.”

  “All right.” She was less enthusiastic about her decision, but once committed, Diana wouldn’t back down. “I’d better get my things ready.”

  The birth of a new day came silently. There was little talk among the departing group of riders. What was exchanged was said in hushed tones. The Major had not been surprised by Diana’s decision. He had said he expected it. Rube and Don had welcomed her into the hunt. Holt had not offered her any greeting at all.

  They crossed the valley to the mountains at a shuffling trot. Don was in charge of the fresh string of horses and Rube led the two packhorses. Guy rode beside Diana while Holt took the lead. Their destination was the waterhole in the mountain canyon. Holt occasionally checked the stallion’s trail to verify that their general directions were the same.

  An hour into the mountains, Diana noticed a pair of circling dark objects in the sky. “Look.” She pointed.

  “Yes, I see them. Those scavenging ravens are having a feast on something,” Guy commented with grim acceptance of nature’s laws.

  The farther they rode, the closer they came to the area where the scavenging birds were gathering and landing. The dead animal was going to be very close to the route they were taking. A gully cut down a mountain slope by the runoffs of rain yawned ahead of them. They had crossed it before, the first time they had gone after the stallion. Its sides were steep, but negotiable by a horse and rider.

  Holt reined his horse in at the edge, paused, then sent his horse down the slope. His descent was followed by a chorus of caws and flapping wings as the large black birds took flight in alarm. As Diana and Guy reached the gully, Holt was dismounting. At the bottom was the body of one of the colts. Holt crouched on one knee beside the inert form. A gagging lump was in Diana’s throat as Rube and Don rode up.

  “Its neck is broken.” Holt straightened, his mouth hard and thin.

  “Prob’ly took a tumble comin’ down this gully. Poor thing was prob’ly all tuckered out after comin’ all this way. It’s a shame. It’s a goddamned shame,” Rube grumbled.

  “Get a shovel out of one of those packs so we can bury him.” Holt’s horse was nervous, tugging at the reins, disliking the smell of blood and death.

  When the colt was buried, they pushed on, a solemn group. At the waterhole, there were fresh tracks, lots of them. The stallion had brought the mares here and left.
Diana stared at the churned-up earth.

  “He was trainin’ them new mares.” Rube spoke behind her, reading the curious expression on her face and guessing what she was thinking. “A wild stallion always has to teach a new mare to take his orders. Sometimes he spends hours bunchin’ ’em together or sendin’ ’em runnin’. He’ll even keep ’em from water ’til he says it’s okay. He probably had a time with that mare that lost her colt.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” Diana shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun and looked back to the waterhole where the others had taken the horses to drink. “Where do you think they are now?”

  “Ain’t nowhere near here, I’m a-bettin’. We’d better be gettin’ back with the others an’ see what Holt has up his sleeve, don’t ya think?”

  Together they returned to the waterhole, Diana walking to her horse and Rube moving toward Holt. He was uncinching his saddle. He flicked a glance at Rube and continued his task.

  “We’re saddling the fresh horses. Don, Guy, and I are going to ride out and see if we can locate the herd. You can set up our base camp here.”

  Diana turned at his announcement. “Here?” she questioned his decision. “But if our camp is here, the horses won’t come in for water.”

  “The stallion won’t. If the mares get thirsty enough, they might.” He swung the saddle off his horse to the ground and draped the damp pad over the horn. He never once looked at her, only through her at the others. “We’ll be back in three hours.”

  Twenty minutes later the three men had changed to fresh horses and were riding out of the canyon. Rube and Diana set to work establishing their camp. Rube chose a site a discreet distance from the water to enable the smaller wild animals to come and drink without feeling too threatened by humans.

  When the men returned in three hours, the camp was all set up. The horses were staked out to graze. A fire was burning, started by a grumbling Rube, who claimed it was the only reason he was along. Diana had their meal all prepared and ready to cook. The coffee had already boiled.

  “Did ya see him?” Rube waited to take the reins of the horses as the men dismounted.

  “We didn’t even get a glimpse of him,” Guy answered as Holt walked to the fire and poured himself a cup of coffee without so much as a glance at Diana, who stood right beside it.

  “Didn’t ya trail him?”

  “We lost the tracks in some rough ground, made a couple of sweeps in the area, but couldn’t pick it up again.” Don walked to the fire. He was a small wiry man with balding hair and had a perpetual smile weathered into his face and a complexion that blushed easily. “Damn, that coffee smells good. Where are the cups?”

  Together Rube and Guy unsaddled the horses, rubbed them down, and staked them out with the others. Diana started cooking the meal, Holt’s silence pressing on her like a deadening gloom. Don wasn’t extremely talkative, either, influenced by Holt’s lack of conversation and a natural reticence about making casual conversation with the Major’s daughter.

  They were all seated around the fire, cross-legged, plates balanced in their laps, eating. “It ain’t a-gonna be easy gettin’ close to that goddamned stallion this time,” Rube said, chewing his food as he talked. “I’ll bet he’ll spook at his own goddamned shadow. Chances are he’s gonna see us long before we see him, an’ he’ll send them mares a-flyin’ when he does. We got ourselves a job cut out for us this time. What we need is an airplane.”

  “What we need is a heliocopter in this terrain, but we might have to do some explaining if we rented one.” Holt scraped the last bit of food from his plate and set it down. Rolling to his feet, he walked to the fire and refilled his cup. Without a word, he left the camp circle and wandered into the dusky shadows.

  “What’s with him, anyway?” Rube mumbled, but no one answered.

  When the others were finished, Diana cleaned up the dishes and packed them away. The coffeepot was practically empty. She swished the grounds.

  “I’m going to get some water for coffee in the morning,” she told the others.

  “I’ll get it for you,” Guy offered, springing to his feet.

  “No, thanks. I have to make a trip out there, anyway.”

  She walked the short distance to the waterhole. Scrubby cottonwoods rose on the near bank of the water. Through the shadows cast by their limbs, Diana saw the moonlight glinting on the smooth surface of the water. It was a beacon to show her the way.

  Kneeling on the sandy edge, she let a little water flow into the coffeepot, swished it around, and poured it on the ground. Then she dipped the pot deeper into the water to fill it. A red light glowed a few feet away, the burning tip of a cigarette. It was Holt. He had seen her come and hadn’t spoken.

  “The silent treatment isn’t going to work,” Diana said irritably. “If you think by shunning me, my feelings are going to get hurt and I’ll go back to the ranch, you’re wrong.”

  “Why did you come?” His voice came to her from the night’s stillness, low and impersonal. “Couldn’t you stand the thought of being separated from Guy for a week?”

  She rose, rigid and angry that he could accuse her of wanting anyone else. “That had nothing to do with it.”

  “Didn’t it?” He moved from the concealing shadows, looming in front of her, the brim of his hat shading his face.

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “Your sudden decision didn’t have anything to do with that furtive little stroll you and Guy took last night, out in the trees where no one could see you.”

  “For your information, all we did was talk, and I don’t give a damn whether you believe me or not!” Liar, a little voice inside taunted.

  “Talk?” Holt mocked her. “You spent a very long time talking.”

  “We had a very fascinating subject to discuss—namely, you.” She saw his head draw back in surprise and knew she had scored a point. “Guy believes that you plan to kill the stallion. He intends to stop you.”

  “And you?”

  “I don’t want to see him killed. I’m sure the Major doesn’t, either.” She could feel the air crackling with his anger.

  “We have two horses dead, the stallion, and now the colt—both of them because of that wild mustang. If a coyote got in a chicken coop, you’d shoot him. If a mountain lion started attacking the cattle, you’d track him down and kill him. If a sheepdog began killing sheep, you’d have him put away.” He spoke in an ominously low voice. “What does it take to make the two of you see that this horse is just another animal that’s gone bad?!!”

  “You are going to shoot him.”

  “No. We are here to get the mares.”

  “Holt—”

  “Diana?” Guy was calling for her.

  “Go on. Lover boy wants you.” Holt stepped away.

  Diana hesitated, but she didn’t want Guy finding her with Holt and have to fend off all his jealous questions. She picked up the coffeepot and started back for camp.

  “I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you.” Guy met her halfway.

  “I’m a big girl.” She laughed away his concern. “I can take care of myself. And if I can’t, I have a healthy scream.”

  Fifteen minutes went by before Holt came back to the fire, approaching the camp from a different direction. Diana knew he hadn’t wanted Guy suspecting that they had met or talked when she had gone to the waterhole.

  An hour later they were all stretched out in their bedrolls. When Diana fell asleep, she dreamed about the hours she had spent with Holt in the hotel room. It was a warm, wonderful dream where everything was perfect, minus the bitter ending.

  A hand touched her shoulder and a familiar voice told her to wake up. She opened her eyes and looked into Holt’s face. Suddenly it all seemed part of her dream. She smiled at him, all loving and soft.

  “Wake up,” he told her again, his jaw hardening.

  “Good morning.” It was almost a purr.

  Her arms curved around his neck and she stretched like a cat. Diana saw
the frown on his face, but she knew how to make it go away. Lifting her head, she pressed her lips against his mouth, moving, tasting and persuasive. His momentary resistance gave way to hard demand. His kiss drove her backward against the hard ground, a hand cupping her breast. Her lips parted to experience to full ecstasy of his possessive kiss.

  Suddenly, there was nothing as Holt abruptly levered away from her, cursing silently beneath his breath. The gray eyes were cold and angry when he looked at her startled and confused face.

  “Fix the coffee while I wake up the others.”

  The dream vanished as Diana realized where she was. Her gaze swept the half-circle of sleeping figures. Shaking in reaction, she sat up and reached for her boots.

  The breakfast was thrown together in a hurry, not one of her better efforts, but no one seemed to notice; or at least they were too polite to comment about it. Don was saddling the horses while Diana finished cleaning up. She noticed he had saddled neither of her horses.

  Holt handed her his empty cup and Diana challenged: “Why isn’t my horse being saddled?” When he didn’t immediately answer and gave her one of his shuttered looks instead, her temper flared. “If you think I’m going to hang around this camp like some squaw while you go out looking for the mares, you had better think again.”

  “You—”

  “I don’t take orders from you.” She never gave him a chance to answer. “Don, saddle my horse!” Diana called to the hand. “I’m going with the rest of you.” And she turned back, challenging Holt to override her command.

  “It’s your neck.” With an invisible shrug, Holt turned away.

  All day they searched for the stallion and the mares, coming back to the camp at noon to change horses and eat. Twice they caught a glimpse of the band, miles away and running. At nightfall they returned to the camp, hot, tired, and hungry.

  The second day proved as unsuccessful as the first. The third day wasn’t any better. As the horses entered the canyon at a tired shuffling trot, Diana felt there was an acre of Nevada soil clogging her pores. When they dismounted at the camp, she handed her reins to Guy.