Blaze of Lightning Roar of Thunder

by Helen A Rosburg

  Ring was instantly and fully alert. This was not a populated area, and he was far from the main road. So he was about to confront either a band of outlaws, or a herd of mustangs. He sincerely hoped it was just the horses.

  Even Sandy roused a little as the pounding of hoofbeats drew nearer. Ring sat straighter in the saddle.

  They were mustangs. They ran lightly, riderless. And they weren’t shod. The animals were his livelihood, and he knew them as well, he guessed, as he knew himself.

  An instant later, the herd turned a bend in the riverbed and galloped into view. The sight of them quickened the pace of Ring’s pulse. They were good-looking horses, in fine condition. Under any other circumstances …

  “Damnation,” Ring mumbled unconsciously. His jaw dropped.

  It looked like a wild animal at first, a cougar maybe, clinging to the bay’s back. But cougars were farther up the mountains. A bobcat or a lynx? Too big. And no cat he knew of had a long, black mane like that.

  Ring whistled under his breath. Then the herd spied him and veered sharply to the left. The creature on the bay mare’s back had not anticipated the move. Unprepared, it sailed straight on while the mare wheeled to the east. The body landed in the riverbed with a thump and a grunt. The horses galloped rapidly out of sight.

  Nothing could have amazed Ring more. Sandy momentarily forgotten, Ring swung out of his saddle and strode quickly to the girl sprawled in the river’s sandy bed.

  “Uh … are you all right?”

  No response. Ring felt a prick of apprehension. She lay facedown, arms akimbo. Could her neck be broken? Cautiously, Ring knelt at the girl’s side and grasped her wrist.

  The pulse was strong. Most likely, she was simply stunned. Ring took a deep breath, got a careful grip, and eased the girl over onto her back. His heart did a funny little jump in his chest.

  Ring didn’t have much time to contemplate the girl’s extraordinary beauty. Her eyelids fluttered open. And her eyes went wide with terror.

  “Whoa, there. Easy,” Ring soothed, as he had a thousand times before with skittish horses. And as with skittish horses, it didn’t always work.

  The girl scrambled to her feet, prepared to bolt. Her eyes darted about as she backed slowly away from Ring, like a cornered animal assessing its chances to escape.

  “Hold on now,” Ring said. “I ain’t fixin’ to hurt you. Anyway, looks like you already did a pretty good job of that yourself.”

  Though blood ran down her shins from skinned knees, the girl did not acknowledge Ring’s comment in any way. But she did stop moving.

  “Look if you’re … if you’re okay, I’ll be moving on. I got me a real bad hurt boy over there, and I need to get him into town.”

  It was Ring’s turn to back away. The girl watched him for a moment, then her gaze slid in Sandy’s direction. Her expression of terror softened.

  Hope leaped suddenly in Ring’s breast. “You … you wouldn’t know anything about doctoring, would you?”

  The girl’s features hardened in a way that vaguely frightened Ring. “I only know about burying,” she said.

  The flat tone of her voice increased Ring’s curious sense of apprehension. He tipped his hat to her and took another step backward. His fear for Sandy had returned in spades. He didn’t even stop to question what such a lovely young woman was doing all alone in the middle of nowhere riding a wild mustang bareback. Something about her seemed to suggest she would have a very good answer. And he wouldn’t like what he heard.

  “I’ll be getting on, then. Good day to you.”

  He felt the girl’s eyes burning into his back when he turned around. He fitted his left foot into the stirrup.

  “Wait.”

  He froze at her terse command. “That boy’s dying.”

  “I guess I know that, ma’am.” He swung into the saddle.

  “Follow me.”

  Ring hesitated only a moment. The girl was strange. The whole incident was strange. But she was right. Sandy was dying. He might as well stop here. It was as good a place as any to die.

  The girl took off at a run. He was surprised by how quick she was. He reined his mare around and followed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LOUISA’S KNEES ACHED A LITTLE AS SHE RAN. THEY had taken the brunt of her fall from the mustang. But she ignored the pain. It was nothing. She had buried her entire village with at least one broken rib, if not more. She was certain the knotty lump under her left breast would remain with her for the rest of her life. She had other reasons to run lightly, swiftly, over the uneven ground.

  In almost two months, Louisa had seen no one. She had wished it that way. It was that very reason she had made her home amid the cottonwoods at the river’s bend. No one came this way. No one. Until now.

  Louisa did not turn to see if they followed. She knew they did. She could feel the vibration from their horses’ hooves close behind. She felt something else as well.

  There was no harm in the cowboy or his young friend. As soon as she recovered from the shock of her fall, and finding herself almost literally in a stranger’s arms, she had known she had nothing to fear. Goodness almost seemed to emanate from the man. And she felt genuine distress for the injured boy. He was barely older than Tomas.

  So she had volunteered to help. Although her offer was not entirely altruistic.

  A tiny spark of hopeful excitement warmed Louisa’s breast. The hand of fate, perhaps, had guided the cowboy, and his horse, to the cottonwoods at the river’s bend.

  The high country, several days north of where she had once lived, boasted only a few prickly pear cacti among the rocks and ubiquitous mesquite. Louisa easily dodged the minor obstacles in her path and soon had the leafless grove in sight. She wove her way through the trees to the eccentric dwelling she had fashioned for herself, and disappeared inside. She heard the horses come to a halt.

  Ring had never seen anything like it. He never would have been able to imagine anything like it either. The main part of the dwelling, it appeared, was an abandoned shepherd’s hut. Around it the girl had built a makeshift fence of fallen limbs and branches, lashed together with long, fine twigs, probably water-soaked to make them pliant. She had placed other limbs crosswise over the top of the rude structure to make a kind of shelter that surrounded three-quarters of the hut. Ring shook his head in wonder.

  “Take the boy off the horse,” came a voice from within the shadows. “Lay him by the fire.”

  Ring dismounted and went quickly to Sandy’s side, anxiety once again tying a knot in his stomach. As gently as possible, he untied the boy’s necessary bonds and took him in his arms. His weight seemed nothing, and Sandy didn’t so much as moan when his bad leg slid down over the saddle leather. Ring felt sick.

  “Here,” the girl directed. “Bring him over here.”

  Ring entered the shade of the peculiar shelter and saw through the open door of the hut that she had made a deep, soft bed on the floor with blankets and furs. Ring lifted his brows, and when she nodded he knelt and laid Sandy down. The girl took over at once, carefully bundling the boy to the chin.

  “Look to the fire, please,” she asked him. “You’ll find a pot full of water. I’ll need it boiling.”

  Ring hesitated before he moved to do her bidding. Sandy was as still as death. But he lived, for the girl took a dipper of water from a bucket and held it to his lips. When he didn’t react, she parted them gently with her fingers and tried again. Though a good deal spilled over his chin, he obviously took the rest. Ring saw the boy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  “Please … the fire,” the girl repeated.

  Ring unfolded his lanky frame and moved to the front of the lean-to. There was a small, circular fire pit and what looked to be a pile of dead ashes. He looked about for something to stir them with, and noted a number of things. Slightly taken aback, he reached for something that looked like it might be a fire poker, and stirred the ashes.

  They had been expertly banked. When
he realized they were alive, he reached for a small pile of kindling that had been neatly stacked nearby and fed the warming glow. It ignited instantly. He was not surprised to find a half-full pot of water conveniently at hand, along with an obviously homemade tripod. He arranged the whole of it over the stirring blaze.

  “Have you got it going?”

  He supposed he had. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Silence ensued. Balanced on his haunches, Ring turned and peered into the hut.

  The girl still patiently coaxed water down Sandy’s throat. She looked up at him briefly, and Ring had the oddest sensation. For a moment it was as if he looked into the bottom of a deep, deep well. He felt dizzy, and strangely disoriented, almost as if he were falling forward, down into the depths, to a place he would never be able to come out of again. Ring shook his head and returned to his senses. The girl had resumed her task. Ring wondered if it was his imagination, or if he had really seen Sandy’s eyelids flicker.

  “Is the water boiling?” the girl inquired.

  Ring looked into the pot. “Yes, ma’am. It is.”

  The girl set her water vessel by Sandy’s head and rose as gracefully as a cat. She passed by him as she left the shade of the lean-to and disappeared around the corner. Curious, Ring followed.

  She walked quickly through the trees to the edge of the river, knelt, and brushed dirt away from something. Ring peered over her shoulder.

  A rough-hewn wooden lid was revealed. The girl lifted it, and Ring saw a hole cleverly lined with river stones. Inside was the skinned carcass of a rabbit. Ring blinked.

  “I was going to roast this,” the girl said. “But I’ll boil it instead. The broth will be good for the boy.”

  Ring could only nod. He was thoroughly astonished. She seemed to read his thoughts.

  “It stays cooler down there. The ground is damp.” The girl returned to the shelter and disappeared inside.

  Louisa was concerned for the boy’s leg. Once she had him warmed and hydrated again, she had examined the broken limb. She admired the way the cowboy must have set and held it straight, but the ride hadn’t done it any good. It was more swollen than it should be and probably needed to be broken and reset. But she feared that skill was beyond her. She also feared the pain would push the boy over the edge. He was barely holding on as it was. The rabbit broth, seasoned with sage and salt, would do him good.

  “It’s ready,” Louisa said to the cowboy. “If you’d open that box over there, you’ll find everything we need.”

  Ring did as he was asked and was surprised yet again. The wooden chest contained a cast-iron skillet, coffeepot, tin plates and cups, utensils, and small stores of coffee, sugar, flour, and salt. He took out what he thought they’d need.

  “Here you go,” he said, and handed the items to the girl. “It’s a real nice setup you have here. Out here in the middle of nowhere like you are, mind if I ask how you manage to set such a fine table?”

  Louisa looked at the cowboy and smiled slowly. She liked him. She supposed she’d tell him the truth. “I killed a man,” she replied simply.

  Ring swallowed. “You killed a man,” he repeated stupidly.

  “Yes. For the money.” Unconcerned, she ladled broth into a tin cup and carried it to the boy. She touched his cheek, and his eyes opened slowly. Supporting his neck, she gently lifted his head. “I want you to try to eat a little of this. You need to get your strength back.”

  Ring wasn’t sure he heard right. The girl before him, the girl who so tenderly nursed Sandy, couldn’t possibly have just said she killed a man for money. Unnerved, he said the first thing that came to his mind.

  “Well, he must’ve needed killing, then.”

  Louisa allowed herself the luxury of another small smile. It had been a long time since any humor had entered her heart.

  “Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly. “He did.”

  Ring licked his dry lips. It was almost too much like a very bad dream. He’d hit his head maybe, instead of the girl, and had conjured this strange place and its even stranger inhabitant.

  The boy was taking the broth. Louisa even thought she saw a tinge of color in his cheeks. It would be good, she thought, good to save him. She looked up at the cowboy.

  “Your friend is probably going to have a limp, but at least he’ll be walking. Does he have a name?”

  “Sandy,” Ring said. All of a sudden it seemed a little easier to breathe. “And I’m real grateful to you.”

  This time Louisa smiled with genuine pleasure. “I’m glad I was able to help. And … the man I killed? The money was bounty money.”

  “Bounty money.” Ring didn’t think he’d ever repeated himself so much in his entire life. What was it about this girl?

  “You were right. The man needed killing,” Louisa continued. “Although I hadn’t really meant to kill him.” And she hadn’t meant to tell this cowboy so much, but talking to him felt good. She hadn’t talked to anyone in a long time. “He was wanted by the Mayer sheriff, dead or alive, for raping a widow lady who lived outside of town.”

  Ring watched the girl’s face change as she related the story. Her soft and lovely features appeared to harden before his very eyes.

  “He hurt her, and left her for dead. She told me he’d bragged to her that she wasn’t the first, that he had a lot of notches on his gun.” A short, bitter bark erupted from Louisa’s throat. “So, I went after him. He wasn’t hard to find. I just let myself be seen around the area, and it wasn’t long before he came after me. That was his first mistake.”

  “And his second?”

  “He didn’t believe I’d shoot him if he didn’t take his hands off me.”

  It was Ring’s turn to smile. “I hope the bounty money was good.”

  “It wasn’t much. Mayer’s a small town.”

  Ring nodded. “I know of it. Behind Copper Mountain to the west.”

  Louisa nodded. “But it was enough money to buy some of the things I needed.”

  The girl’s expression had softened once again. A hundred questions crowded Ring’s head. How had she come to be here, off by herself this way? And how had she come to earning bounty money for a living? But all that seemed a little too much at the moment. Ring cleared his throat.

  “I’d just like to say again, ma’am, that I’m real grateful you were here, and we found you. I don’t think Sandy would have made it, otherwise. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to know your name.”

  There it was again, that hardening. Her eyes narrowed, too. Ring wondered what could be so difficult about such an easy question.

  “I don’t have a name,” Louisa said in a flat tone. “Why don’t you tell me yours instead?”

  “Ring.” He tipped his hat. “Ring Crossman, ma’am. But I guess I need to call you something. It wouldn’t be proper-like, to say ’hey, you’, now would it?”

  To his chagrin, her expression didn’t alter. “I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  He was nice. Very nice. She hadn’t meant to be so rude. “I have no name because it, along with the rest of my life, is in the past. I cannot, will not, ever go back. To any part of it. I will only go forward and do what has to be done.”

  He heard the apology in her tone. And had one more brief, dizzying glimpse into the deep, black well. He didn’t want to look again, and understood there could be something so painful, so terrible, that she didn’t want to either.

  “I’m a fair hand at names,” Ring said at length. “I train wild horses to sell … when I’m not off lookin’ for a doctor, that is … and I have to call every one of them somethin’. I like to give ’em names after their personality, or appearance. You mind if I give you a handle I can hold?”

  In spite of herself, Louisa was intrigued. Having been alone so long, she hadn’t thought about a name. She supposed it was time. Besides, she was curious about what he’d say.

  “All … all right,” she said tentatively.

  “Well, I don
’t know much about your personality, having just made the pleasure of your acquaintance. But you sure do have one outstanding physical characteristic.”

  “I do?” Louisa’s eyebrows arched. Her hands went to her face, touching it, as if trying to find something new and different.

  “Not your face,” Ring said, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Your hair. Here.” He touched his left temple.

  “There’s … there’s something in my hair?” Louisa mirrored Ring’s motion.

  “You mean you don’t … you don’t know?” Ring wondered how long it had been since the girl had looked in a mirror. But it was no problem. He had what she needed.

  Louisa watched the tall, lean cowboy stand and go to the pack on the back of his saddle. He pulled something out, a razor it looked like, and a sliver of mirror. He handed it to her.

  At first all she saw was her nose and eyes. She held the mirror farther away from her face. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “It’s like a blaze of lightning,” she heard Ring say distantly. She touched the jagged streak that ran above her left temple and disappeared into her thick, black hair. It traced, precisely, the bullet’s path.

  It was also the exact replica of the scar her brother’s killer wore on his cheek. The hand of God?

  Or the devil?

  It didn’t matter. It simply didn’t matter. She touched her fingers to the ragged streak of white in her hair.

  “Blaze,” she heard Ring say from the end of a long, dark tunnel. “How ’bout I call you Blaze?” “Blaze,” Louisa whispered. “Blaze …”

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS COLD, SO COLD. BLAZE LAY WRAPPED IN HER blankets, with two of her coyote skins pulled over that, and still shivered in the predawn chill. She was sure there was frost on her nose, and ducked under the covers.