This beautiful, delicate creative, whom he loved with every fiber of his being, was his now, no matter what else happened in his life. And she had a name that matched her loveliness.
Her name was Dancing Snow Feather!
Chapter Six
The campfire burned softly as the meat of a deer cooked on a spit over it, thick and juicy.
Sam Partain and his gang were washing in the river not far from the clearing where the food cooked and their horses were tethered.
They were laughing and splashing each other as they bathed the smell of death and smoke from their bodies.
“We got the son of a gun,” bragged Ace, one of Sam’s men, his long stringy black hair resting on his shiny, wet, muscled shoulders. “Did you see the look in that gambler’s eyes when you first shot his wife in the head, then aimed the gun at him? You’ve been itchin’ to kill that son of a gun for a long time, and you did, Sam. Good for you. Good for you.”
“He didn’t die all that quickly,” Sam grumbled as he ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. He was a tall, thin man, with shaggy whiskers. “If I had it to do over, I’d have shot him again in order to keep him from taking hold of his wife’s hand like he did. I wanted him to spend eternity alone, damn him.”
“The main thing to be glad of is that no one is left alive to tell what we did, and that we are far enough away from that stinking town not to be blamed for the killings,” Ace said. “As it is, there ain’t no chance in hell of anyone bein’ on our trail, because we made certain that everyone was dead.”
“But there is one thing left undone,” Sam said as he climbed from the river and squeezed water from his hair.
“And what’s that?” asked Tom, another one of the gang members, as he climbed out and stood beside Sam.
“The daughter of that cheatin’ polecat gambler,” Sam said, stepping into his breeches, and then pulling a shirt over his head.
“Why mess with her?” Tom asked as he quickly dressed, too. “We’re lucky we got away with what we done with no one bein’ the wiser. Why take the risk of searchin’ for the woman?”
“Because I am a gambler, that’s why,” Sam growled as he sauntered over to the campfire and pressed a finger into the hot meat, checking it for tenderness.
“We’re better off the way we left things,” Ace said, sitting down on a blanket and pulling his boots on as the other men came from the river, water running from their flesh.
“I ain’t gonna rest until I complete my mission,” Sam said, sitting and pulling his own boots on.
“Mission?” Ace asked, squinting his eyes.
“Yep, mission,” Sam said, combing his fingers through his hair to remove the tangles. “Before that gambler died, I forced the truth outta him about where his daughter, Nicole, was. She openly snubbed me back in St. Louie one time too many. The bitch. I swore to myself that I would get even with her for that. Well, I now know that she is on her way to Tyler City. She could arrive any day. I plan to be nearby when she arrives. Soon as I get my belly filled with deer, I’m leavin’, and so are all of you, to find that smart-breeches of a daughter.”
“We got away without bein’ caught and now you plan to go back to Tyler City because of a mere woman?” Tom asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Not a mere woman,” Sam grumbled. “Walter Tyler’s daughter. She’s the last piece of the revenge I planned to make Walter pay for makin’ a fool out of me with his cheatin’.”
“She ain’t worth us all gettin’ caught and taken to jail and hanged for the crimes we done,” Ace said tightly. “Sam, you’d best rethink your plan. We’re well off now. Let’s just hightail it outta this area and find someone else to challenge with a game of poker.”
Sam jumped to his feet.
He grabbed Ace by the throat and yanked him to his own feet.
Sam spoke tightly into Ace’s face. “Now, you look here,” he growled. “I’m the one who makes the plans. You are the one who helps me carry ‘em out. If you want to challenge my right to lead this gang, well, all you have to do is say so. I’ll beat you with pistols, not cards, or words.”
“No, no,” Ace choked out, trying to yank Sam’s hand away from his throat. “I’m with you, Sam, whatever you say. All the way.”
“Well, that’s more like it,” Sam said, yanking his hand away from Ace’s throat.
He laughed good-naturedly as Ace fell clumsily to the ground, his face red. Ace rubbed at his neck, gasping for air.
Sam sat down again beside the fire. “One of you gents cut off a piece of that meat for me,” he said, smiling at each in turn. “And then after my belly is full, we’ll head out and find us a pretty little thing named Nicole. Yep, we’ll take turns with ‘er. How does that sound, gents?”
They all laughed crudely and nodded.
“I have to have her,” Sam said as Tom handed him a nice chunk of meat. “I’m going to teach her what it’s like to be taken by a true man. I truly won’t rest until I have her, the daughter of the man who again shamed me in front of a whole saloon of people by beating me at that game of poker today.”
As Sam chewed the meat, its juice rolling from the corners of his mouth, he smiled as he thought about how he had made that idiot gambler pay for what he’d done to Sam Partain.
Yep, he’d made his enemy pay by killing him and his wife and all of the people who’d been ignorant enough to take up residence in the small town of Tyler City.
Now? Once he found Nicole Tyler, he’d amuse himself with her for several days, then kill her.
He waited until all of his men were comfortably full, then stood up quickly and placed his doubled fists on his hips.
“It’s time to go and find us a certain pretty lady,” Sam said, his voice tight with lust.
He ignored the looks that said none of them wanted to go with him. They knew they must, or be shot.
He owned them all, body and soul.
Chapter Seven
Exhausted, both mentally and physically, Nicole rode onward. At least now she was no longer on flat land where she felt like an easy target for Sam Partain, should he be looking for her.
She still found it hard to believe that her mother and father were dead. If only her father had kept his word about not gambling anymore, perhaps they would still be alive.
Yet when she stopped to think about it, she realized a few hours of poker today could not have caused the fury that must have been festering inside Sam Partain for a long time. His rage was such that he had not settled for killing only the man he obviously hated, but also everyone else that could identify him as the killer.
The whole town of Tyler City was wiped off the map before it was even really known outside the circle of people who lived there.
It gave Nicole the shivers to think that Sam Partain had gone to such lengths to find her father, tracking him to this new town that had sprung up out of nowhere in only a matter of months.
If Sam had been so determined to find her father, would he not be as determined to find her?
She hoped that she was wrong about his continuing need for revenge. She prayed that he was satisfied with having rid the world of the man who had obviously become a thorn in his side long ago.
Her face chapped from the tears she had shed and wiped away so often with the back of her hand, her eyes stinging from crying, Nicole kept riding up the mountain pass she had only recently discovered.
She was so glad there were many miles between herself and the massacre behind her.
Her greatest regret—one that might haunt her the rest of her life—was that she had not felt it was safe enough for her to take the time to bury her parents. She would never forget the sight of them lying there, side by side, their hands clasped together lovingly. In that last moment of their lives, they had reached out for each other, proving just how much they had loved each other.
She knew how much her mother had loved her father. She had stood beside her husband through both good and bad times.
H
er mother had scolded her father time and again about his love of poker, and yet she had never threatened to leave him if he would not put that ugly pastime behind him.
He had always reminded his wife that his skill at gambling was the reason they lived in a fine home and had the best of food. It was the reason his wife had worn the most beautiful clothes and hats, outfits that would compete with those of the richest, best-dressed women in America.
Nicole knew that her mother had been vain, so vain that she had gone along with her husband and his way of making money.
Nicole would never allow herself to be vain. She didn’t want a huge home or a closet full of fancy clothes.
She…just…wanted a life.
She wanted to be a teacher. Even that now might be impossible, if Sam Partain had anything to say about it.
She tried to focus on other things besides the ache in her heart and the fear that plagued her like a toothache that would not go away.
The mountain pass was such a lovely, peaceful place, with water rushing down the mountainside in a waterfall. The sun cast its light into the waterfall, and she could see all the colors of the rainbow twinkling back at her.
But that, too, was a reminder of her mother, of how the diamonds she had worn around her neck and on her fingers always sparkled with the same rainbow colors when the light fell on them.
She just could not seem to get away from reminders of her mother. Even now, she smelled the wondrous scent of roses coming from a vine growing wild up the trunk of a tree. The pink flowers contrasted beautifully with the white bark of the birch tree.
Her mother had always carried the scent of roses with her, for once her husband had won a bottle of French perfume intended for the loser’s fiancée.
The frightening howl of a wolf jerked Nicole’s mind back to the present, reminding her that she was becoming lost in memories again. She needed to concentrate on her present predicament.
She must be more alert.
She was the only one who could look out for her future. She was alone now.
Totally alone.
She looked in the direction from where she had heard the mournful howling. A shudder went down her spine when she heard it again. This time it sounded like not only one wolf, but two. She could hear them calling from one bluff to another.
And then she had a thought that made her turn icy cold inside.
She remembered that Indians often mimicked animals and birds, using the sounds as signals to each other when they did not want anyone to know they were near.
Could the howls she had heard not been made by an animal at all, but an Indian? Were the Navaho Indians, who were known to live high on this mountain, spying her?
If she went farther, might they suddenly come down from their hideaway and keep her from going nearer their home? Might they kill her?
“I must stop,” she whispered, drawing her horse to a sudden halt.
Yes, she was now afraid to go farther, yet at the same time she could not retreat. She felt trapped, like moles back in St. Louis that had been trapped in their underground tunnels when her father put pitchforks down into the ground on both sides of where they were tunneling to impede their further progress.
Nicole had always turned her eyes away when her father had then dug up the blind, furry creatures. She had never known exactly how he had killed them.
Yes, she did feel as though she were in a trap. Would she always be afraid of who might be around the corner waiting for her?
She had gone to school to become a teacher. That was still her goal in life.
It might be the only way to keep her sanity after what she had experienced today.
In the distance, she saw a perfect place to stop. A bluff shadowed the land below it, and a slow, trickling stream was close by.
Yes, she would go on at least that much farther. She would spend the night.
If she felt it was safe enough, she might spend several more days and nights there.
Determined to fight off the fear that had been her companion since she left the scene of her parents’ murder, Nicole inhaled a deep, quivering breath, and sank her heels into the flanks of her horse.
She didn’t get far before she saw the figure of a man stretched out, asleep, on a blanket. He was lying beside the stream in the shadow of the very bluff that she had chosen for her own campsite.
She wasn’t certain what to do.
If there was only one man, she wouldn’t feel so terribly threatened. Yet, she reminded herself, it took only one man to kill you.
Should she make a quick retreat before he woke up? Yet if she did, perhaps Sam Partain would be waiting for her when she left the mountain.
So she had to make a choice.
This lone stranger?
Or Sam Partain and his gang?
It did not take much thought to know which she preferred.
This stranger might even help her, whereas she was certain Sam Partain had plans to kill her.
She rode onward, slowly, her eyes never leaving the sleeping form of the man.
She gasped when she was finally able to make out the man’s features.
He was an Indian.
He was scantily dressed in a breechclout and moccasins. And his long black hair was spread out beneath his head.
Breathing hard, she stopped her horse. What should she do? Shouldn’t she fear Indians far more than Sam Partain?
Yet this was only one Indian. Surely he had traveled alone away from his stronghold for one reason or another.
Her eyes widened then, and she no longer wondered why he was there, all alone. She could see red spots on his body.
And she knew what they were, for she had suffered from the same malady when she was ten years old. Measles.
This Indian had measles.
She recalled how ill she had been with the disease. She had been in bed with a high fever for about three days, and she had been terribly weak.
Because the disease was so contagious, Nicole’s mother had put her in a room and let no one enter, not even the servants. When they brought her food, the tray had been set outside her closed bedroom door. After she knew that no one was out in the hallway, she would open the door, take the food and eat what she could, then set what was left back outside in the hallway again.
Apparently, this man had also tried to isolate himself from all others.
She drew rein and dismounted. She secured her horse’s reins to a low tree limb, then tiptoed closer to the sleeping Indian.
Now that she was closer than before, she noticed something else about him. Besides the red spots and the flush of fever in his cheeks, she saw how uniquely handsome he was.
She was so taken by his sculpted features, she paused to stare at his face. For a moment she forgot that she should be afraid, that she was in the presence of an Indian.
She had seen many on the riverfront in St. Louis, where they came in their canoes to trade their rich pelts, but she had never been so close to one.
When the Indian suddenly rolled over onto his other side, groaning, Nicole was shaken out of her reverie. Once again she was very aware of his illness.
His back was covered with spots.
He was shivering with fever.
He was a person in need of help.
But she recalled the tales of Indian atrocties she had read about. Wouldn’t she be placing herself in mortal danger even by staying there, much less getting closer to him, to offer help?
He rolled again to his other side, so that his face was now facing her, and she gasped in horror when she saw that his eyes were open. He was looking straight at her.
She expected him to leap up and come after her, perhaps use that big, fat knife that rested in a sheath at his right side.
But instead his eyes closed again and he seemed to drift off, perhaps too feverish to have even recognized her as being white.
She started to run back to her horse, but again his eyes opened and he reached a shaky hand out toward her. The
n, to her amazement, he spoke in perfect English.
“Help me,” the man gasped, looking at her through fever-bright eyes.
Recalling once again how ill she had been with the measles, and seeing the plea in this warrior’s midnight dark eyes, Nicole knew that she could not just leave him there. He was defenseless against roaming forest animals, as well as enemies that might walk on two feet.
She could not help wondering if he had been banished from his village because of his illness. Did his own people not care whether he lived or died?
If that was the case, he had been treated with cruel inhumanity. She felt she must prove to him that not all mankind was heartless and uncaring.
Again she heard the howl of a wolf, surely the very same one she had heard earlier. Again she wondered if it was an Indian, who might be telling others that a white woman had found their sick brother.
Would they sweep down on her and stop her from helping him? She would not doubt that at all.
Today she had witnessed the evil man was capable of.
Those who were white had killed many of their own skin color. Would not men of red skin kill their own if they felt threatened by him?
And they would kill her just as heartlessly.
Ignoring her worst fears, she stepped closer to the Indian. His eyes had closed again. Was he pretending to be asleep, so that he could grab her when she got close enough?
Or was he truly asleep again, the illness robbing him of his strength, as it did when she had had the same disease?
Her heart pounded as she stepped even closer to him. She stopped just a heartbeat away from him and gazed down.
She now realized that he was probably in his mid or late twenties, with a body that most any white man would kill for.
Such muscles, such smooth skin, oh, so much of everything that awoke feelings within Nicole she never knew existed!
She had to forget all that for the time being and do what she could to help him. She just hoped that her attempt to be a Good Samaritan would not end in her own death.
Savage Dawn Page 4