by Bobbi Smith
Sheri followed in his wake, amazed at his ability to find a trail where there seemed to her to be none. They walked at a steady pace, pausing only briefly so she could catch her breath every mile or so. It was a strenuous trek, but Sheri did not lag. She endured even though the heat of the day grew oppressive. Occasionally Brand would stop and hunker down to read signs along the trail, but each time his concern was for naught. And she was glad.
When they finally reached the water hole, she was more than ready to rest. She thought briefly about food, but she was past being hungry. Traveling as far as they could as fast as they could was all that mattered.
"Do you think any of them are coming after us?" she asked.
"No, not yet."
She started to kneel down and get a drink of the water.
"Don't drink anything." It was a harsh order.
Sheri glared at him. They'd just walked miles to get here. She was thirsty, and she didn't understand why she couldn't have a drink.
"Why not?" she asked sharply, suddenly weary and needing a simple drink of water to ease her anxiety. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?
Brand circled the small natural basin, studying the land as if searching for something. Then he knelt down and scooped up a handful of water and drank it himself.
"All right. You can drink now."
"What was that?" she demanded, her mood testy. "Some kind of Apache ritual where you have to circle the watering hole and then be the one to take the first drink?"
He looked up at her strangely, wondering where she could ever have gotten an idea like that.
"No," Brand answered. "I was looking for dead animals or insects to see if the water was bad. I took the first drink to make sure it was safe for you."
Sheri was suddenly humbled and embarrassed by his explanation. Her irritation vanished. "So that's how you do it. . . . Look on the ground for dead animals and insects. I'd never thought of that." She made a mental note.
"And neither do many others of your kind. That's why they don't last long out here."
"How is it you know this land so well? Have you traveled these mountains a lot with the cavalry?"
Brand paused to look around him, trying to see the mountains through her eyes. They were harsh in their glory, but they were a stark, mighty reflection of his Indian heritage. "My people often crossed these mountains when I was a boy."
"So that's why you know them so well." She was amazed by his unerring sense of direction. There was no doubt in her mind that she was lucky to be with him. Without him, she would have been lost forever in this jumble of rocks that the people from the Territory called mountains.
She had always thought mountains were supposed to look like the pictures she'd seen in bookssnowcapped and covered with thick pine forests that harbored wildlife like deer and antelope and harmless creatures of beauty. Clear, rushing, sparkling streams were supposed to tumble down the mountains' sides, feeding a multitude of cool, beautiful lakes. Instead, here she was hiking through something she was sure had a lot in common with hellit was hot, dry, and miserable, with people trying to kill you at every turn. She smiled wryly at the thought.
"Something is funny?" he asked, seeing her smile.
"Not really. I was just thinking how much these mountains have in common with hell."
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to go on.
"They're hot, dry, and downright miserable, and there's someone just waiting for the chance to kill you at every turn."
"Legend has it that all the Indians climbed to the tops of the mountains at the time of the big flood. When the waters receded, the bad Indians had turned to stone, so you're not far wrong."
Sheri stared up at the jagged peaks again and studied them in the light of his story. She could almost make out what looked like faces, frozen in the rocky landscape. She was beginning to understand why the Apache often hid there. It would be easy to blend in as you lay in wait and not be seen until it was too late for your hapless prey to escape. Brand had done that exact thing in the cave.
She took a deep drink and grimaced. It was far from the sweet-tasting water she was accustomed to back home, but at this point, she was just thrilled that it was wet and not going to poison her.
Seeking a bit of shade in the shadow of a boulder, she sat down for a while. She smiled again as she thought about all that she was learning, whether she wanted to or not. Unable to help herself, she took out her pencil and paper and started to write, quickly jotting down everything they'd done that day.
In detail, she described the assault on the cave and Brand's valiant defense of her. She wrote of binding his wound with his shirt and of how it had felt to touch him and nurse him. Description after description followed as fast as she could record them, for she sought to commit to paper all the things she was experiencing. There were so many details she wanted to remember, so many things that would prove to Tim De Young that she did know what she was writing about. She'd show them all, and in the end it would all be worth itproviding she found that Maureen was safe at the fort.
Brand had replenished the canteen and was keeping watch. He noticed how quiet she'd become, and he glanced over at her to find her bent over her papers, writing diligently. The memory of what he'd read that morning returned, and he found he was curious to know what she'd written.
"What are you doing?"
"I want to write down everything," she replied. "So much has happened today. I want to make sure that I get it all down on paper while it's still fresh in my mind. My readers will be fascinated to learn how you make sure the water is safe and they'll want to know the story about the flood."
"You'll have to finish later," he said with little emotion. "We need to move on."
"Is something wrong?" She was instantly worried again.
"Not yet, but we're in the open. It would be easy to spot us here if someone is after us. We'll find a place farther on to hole up for a couple of hours. You can write more then."
Sheri thought it was odd that he was suddenly being so solicitous of her craft. It was strange, but she was glad of the change. He was almost being nice. She put her things back in her bag and stood up, ready to follow him. The revolver she was carrying seemed to grow heavier with every step, but she wasn't about to complain. She had helped save them once by using it, and she would do so again if she had to.
They traveled on, past the greasewood and palo verde, past the saguaro and barrel cacti, past the Joshua trees and ocotillo. The trek seemed endless. Sheri almost asked him where exactly they were bound, but she knew what his answer would bethey were heading for the fort. She just didn't know if they were going there by way of China or if he knew a secret passage that would bring them safely back to McDowell.
Again they moved in a steady rhythm, and Sheri found herself becoming almost numb to the harshness of it. When, at long last, Brand found a suitable place for them to rest, she was more than ready. Though she was fully clothed and was wearing her hat, the hot Western sun was baking her. She wondered how it was that Brand did not burn, traveling shirtless as he was, but then remembered his Indian blood. The only happy thought she could come up with as she trudged on was that she was glad it wasn't August.
When they finally found a suitable place to rest for a while, she all but collapsed on the hard ground. There was shade, but it didn't offer much in the way of relief from the heat. Trying to distract herself from thoughts of her physical discomfort, she took out her paper and pencil again and once more set to work.
Sheri knew she had to use this trek of theirs in the book. She wasn't quite sure exactly how Rachel and Mercy were going to end up lost and wandering alone in the wilderness, but they were. Brand the Half-Breed Scout would have to rescue them, of course. That was what heroes did, but she was going to enjoy writing the Eastern women's reactions to the wilderness as she was experiencing it right now. She could just imagine how she would be reacting if she were out here alone without Brand's guidance and protection, and it
was those thoughts and feelings that she needed to capture in the book. Her readers had to believe that it was all really happening.
Brand was growing annoyed when he found himself continually looking over at Sheri as she busily wrote down all her thoughts. He needed to rest and to keep an eye out for trouble, but he was having little success doing either with her sitting so near. It irritated him that he found his gaze drawn to her over and over again. He studied the slight tilt of her head, the way her eyes lit up when she thought of a new idea, and the way she frowned in concentration when she was writing a lengthy passage. He wondered what was in her notes, then grew even more angry with himself for the thought. He shouldn't want her. He shouldn't be attracted to her. He shouldn't care about her book. It troubled him that he was losing his objectivity where she was concerned.
''It's hot," she declared, unbuttoning a button high on her blouse to try to cool off a little.
Brand's gaze traveled the path of the vee of pale flesh she'd just revealed to him by that simple move. She hadn't meant it to be a seductive action, but the way the soft, white material clung to her in the heat, revealing the fullness of her breasts, created a heat deep within him that had nothing to do with the weather. He frowned, his expression turning black.
"Is your arm hurting?'
Her question surprised him, and he shrugged in response.
"You look like you're in pain. I'll be glad to take another look at it, if you want me to."
"No." His answer was sharp, encouraging no discussion. He did not want her anywhere near him. He did not want her hands on him. His temper was sorely stretched as it was, and he didn't need any further contact with her. That would only make things more difficult.
"When are we going to get back to McDowell?"
"On foot, it could be days."
Sheri groaned inwardly. 'I don't suppose there's any hope that we could find a horse out there somewhere, is there?"
"Only in your book."
"It's a shame that reality isn't as convenient as fiction. If I had my way, the cavalry would come charging over the hill right now with Sergeant O'Toole in the lead and rescue us from our plight."
"O'Toole would be your hero then."
"Anybody would be my hero who showed up right now with a horse."
"Even Lieutenant Long?"
"There are limits to the lengths I'll go to get rescued." She slanted him a smile.
Her smile jarred him. He stood up abruptly and asked in a hard tone, "Ready?"
"Do I have a choice?" she asked with a weary half-grin.
"Not if you're coming with me. You can stay here if you like, waiting for the calvary, but I think it might be a very long wait." He moved off, scowling, not waiting for her.
Sheri quickly stowed her things in the bag and rushed after Brand. She kept up, following in blind obedience, saying very little and concentrating only on matching his longer strides.
As the hours passed, she let her thoughts drift to the night to come. It promised to be even more interesting than the day had been, though she wasn't sure that 'interesting' was quite the right word.
True, she would be sleeping out under the stars. The trouble was, as much as she'd wanted to experience a night out on the trail on a scout, she was enough of a city girl to have wanted at least the comfort of a bedroll, a campfire, and a hot meal to go along with it. She stifled a sigh and kept walking.
Chapter Nine
Brand, the Half-Breed Scout. or Trail of the Renegade
The Escape
Rachel led the way as she and Mercy slipped out of the Indians' camp. They crept from shadow to shadow until at last they were far enough away that they could run. It was a dark night with no moonlight to guide them, and that cover of darkness was both a blessing and a curse. It helped them elude detection, but hampered a quick escape.
Mercy followed Rachel without making a sound. She had always considered herself a prim and proper lady, a teetotaler who disdained the use of liquor for any reason save medicinal, but not anymore. As the two of them disappeared into the night, she was praying silently and fervently that every last Apache warrior would get knockdown, falling-over drunk. She wanted them all to pass out and not wake up until late the next morning, and they seemed to be well on their way to making her prayer come true. Mercy hated to admit it, but she supposed demon liquor did have a useful purpose after all.
"Are you doing all right?" Rachel whispered as she stopped behind a huge boulder and waited for Mercy to catch up with her.
"Yes. The farther away from them I get, the better!"
They moved onward as quietly as they could over the rough terrain. Slowly but surely the sounds of the warriors' revelry faded away and they were alone in the night. Both women almost felt like celebrating, but they knew the terrible truth. If they weren't many miles from there by dawn, the renegades would be able to find them easily. They could not stop their flight. They had to keep moving.
And then it happened. . . . Just as they thought they were nearing safety. . . . A man stepped out of the shadows before them.
Mercy couldn't help herself. . . . She screamed.
It was near sundown when Brand finally reached the site he'd been heading for.
"We'll camp here," he announced, looking back the way they'd come to make sure no one was following.
All was quiet, save for the rustle of a roadrunner hurrying through the brush.
"Here?" Sheri looked at the setting in disbelief. Though the view of the canyon was good and no one would be able to sneak up on them, she saw absolutely nothing about the place that looked as if they could lie down comfortably here, let alone get some sleep.
"Duck down and follow me in."
Sheri couldn't figure out what he was talking about, and then he disappeared right before her very eyes. Startled to think that there was more to this site than just the outcropping, she stooped down and crawled after him.
Though sometimes she did question him, she'd always believed he was good at what he did, and he reaffirmed that belief yet another time. Following his lead, she found herself inside a small, cool, lowceilinged chamber just big enough for the two of them.
"Good. No one's been here."
"You've been here before? How in the world did you ever find this place?"
"When I was young, my friends and I used to come here to hunt and track. We found it by accident one day, and it became our secret place." He looked around, satisfied that they would be able to sleep there safely. And he did need some sleep, not to mention some food.
Sheri looked around the dimly lit hole in the rock that would be her bedchamber for the night, hoping to find a place to sit down. The low ceiling was annoying, and she wanted to relax . . . as much as she could relax considering their circumstances. She gave a deep sigh and started to sink down in one corner near a small pile of rocks.
"Don't move!" Brand's order was abrupt and harsh.
"Why? What is it now? Do you have to check for dead animals to see if this is a safe place for me to sit down?" she asked sarcastically. She was tired, more tired than she'd ever been in her life, and she wantedno neededto rest.
She looked up at him to find him coming toward her, his knife drawn, a murderous look in his eye. She swallowed and almost took a step back, thinking that she had pushed him too far, that he was coming after her. "Brand? What?"
And then she heard itthe unmistakable sound of a rattlesnake.
Sheri gasped in understanding and stood stock still as, with one fluid motion, Brand threw his knife within inches of her leg. She heard the impact, and the ominous sound of the rattle instantly died.
"Oh, God," she breathed when she looked down to see the snake curled up within striking distance. "How did you even see it?" She backed away, horrified.
He ignored her question as he moved forward to retrieve his knife. He picked up the dead rattler and held it up for her to see. It was nearly four feet long and as thick as her arm.
"It's huge. I didn't
know they got that big."
She watched as he sat down and began to skin the snake.
"What are you doing? That's disgusting. Aren't you just going to throw it away, so it doesn't start to smell?"
He looked up at her. "This, Miss St. John, is our dinner. Unless you don't want to eat tonight."
"Dinner?" The word was a horrified squeak.
"As soon as I finish cleaning it, I'll cook it. Then I'll be able to put the fire out before it gets dark."
Sheri swallowed nervously, testing her stomach's readiness for snake meat. Her stomach did roil uncomfortably, but she wasn't sure if that was from the thought of eating the snake or from the fact that she was very, very hungry.
Again, she told herself that this was a learning experience. She was doing research, but she still dreaded taking the first bite. Then logic asserted itself, and she realized that it was far, far better that she was biting the snake than that it was biting her.
That rationalization settled it for her. She was hungry. She would eat.
Still, once the decision was made, her mind started playing jokes on her, conjuring up such gourmet titles for her soon-to-be entrée as Roast of Rattler, Filet of Fang, Sidewinder Scallops, and Breast of Reptile. Breast of Reptile? She repeated that one in her mind, wondering if a snake had a breast.
Dinner. Ummmm.
Sheri thought about writing down her entrée names, but didn't. She didn't think her book was going to be particularly funny. In fact, there wasn't a whole lot that was funny in her life or in the book right now.
"Can I sit down now?" she asked almost timidly.
"You're safe," he told her, still concentrating on preparing the food.
Sheri dropped down on the hard cave floor and sighed. A feeling of despair threatened. So far, she'd managed to keep her spirits up, but exhaustion and hunger were taking their toll. She tried to draw upon that inner spirit of hers that always egged her on to try to do more, to try to be the best. She reminded herself of why she was thereto show Carroll and Condon that she could write "real" Westerns.