by Bobbi Smith
"I want your help." His answer was simple as he leaned forward resting his forearms on the table.
"What kind of help?"
"I understand you're the best tracker in the territory." Chance watched the other man carefully as he spoke.
"Some say so," Burr spoke without pride or conceit.
"I need to hire you to take me to my brother."
"Who's your brother?"
"Doug . . . Doug Broderick."
At the mention of Doug's name, Burr's eyes narrowed, and he drew back slightly, sitting back in his chair to take another drink. "I've heard the name," he said stiffly, not giving away anything yet.
Since the word had gotten out that young Broderick had struck a rich vein up in the mountains, many had tried to locate his mine just so they could kill him and take the gold. This one's approach—claiming to be a relation—was far more clever than anything the others had done, but Burr was not about to fall for it.
"Then you can help me." Chance felt relieved to at last be getting close to his brother.
"I didn't say that," Burr told him flatly.
"You mean you won't?" Chance was confused. "I'll make it worth your while. I'm willing to pay five hundred dollars if you'll take me to him. I'll give you half up front and the other half when we get to Doug."
"If you're from back East, how is it you know about me?"
Chance realized the tracker's motive then and relaxed. "Doug wrote the family about you. He said you were the only one I should talk to here in town—that he couldn't trust anyone else. I have his letter with me if that will help convince you that I'm really his brother . . ." He withdrew the missive from his shirt pocket and handed it to Burr.
Burr read the letter carefully and thought it looked authentic enough, but he still harbored some doubts. He just didn't take chances when lives were at stake. In low tones, he asked, "Says here, he sent a map."
Without another word, Chance pulled out the carefully folded map and gave it to him. He waited in silence as the older man studied it.
Burr recognized right away that the map was accurate, and his suspicions died. This man was Broderick's brother.
Glancing back up at Chance, Burr wondered what to do. Lord knows, he and Rori could use the money. But since he'd made it a practice to keep her away from whites, safe from the hurt and harm that might befall her at their hands, he was hesitant to hook up with this man for the extended length of time it would take to guide him through the mountains to his brother's mine.
Burr knew he could leave Rori behind at their small cabin, but he didn't like the thought of her living alone for that long. She was older now, eighteen, and he knew firsthand what terrible things might happen to her if he wasn't there to protect her . . .
Reluctant as he was to have Rori around this good-looking white man, the fact that she had never shown any interest in men convinced Burr to take the job. The money Broderick was offering to pay was substantial enough to make their lives comfortable for some time to come.
"Put this away someplace safe," Burr told Chance as he folded the map and handed it back to him. "You told anybody what you're doing?"
"No. You're the only one."
"Good." He looked at him with renewed respect. He always admired a man who could keep his mouth shut.
"So do you believe me now?" Chance still didn't know where he stood with the man.
"I'll take you to him," Burr answered, draining the last of his beer and setting the mug down heavily on the table. "We'll leave at sunup."
"I'll be ready."
Rori and her dog, Big Jake, sat on the edge of the rough-hewn sidewalk outside the saloon. She was impatiently waiting for her grampa to emerge. Clad in a loose-fitting outfit of buckskin shirt, pants and mocassins, her long, ebony hair pulled into two feather-decorated braids and her battered, floppy, wide-brimmed hat worn low over her face, she looked much like a twelve-or-thirteen-year-old, half-breed boy.
The fact was, everyone in town thought she was a boy, and neither she nor her grampa had ever seen the need to set them straight. They didn't particularly like the townspeople, and they knew the feeling was mutual.
"You oughtta get out of town you filthy half-breed!" Fred, a good-sized white boy of about thirteen, taunted hatefully from where he stood across the street with two friends the same age.
Rori bristled at the remarks, but said nothing. Her grampa had taught her long ago not to react to such insults and slurs, explaining that the people saying them were just ignorant. He'd warned her early on that things were not going to be easy for her because her mother had been a Pima Indian and her father white. The supposedly "civilized" white folks didn't approve of such marriages, no matter how much love and devotion was shared.
Burr had also prepared her to handle just about any situation that might develop, and so, as the gang of youths moved threateningly across the street toward her, she let her hand fall to her waistband where her knife rested easily in its sheath. Rori knew she would do nothing to provoke them. She would remain quiet and hope they would lose interest in her.
"Red nigger!!" another one named Dorcas hollered in a hate-filled voice.
Big Jake, a huge, golden, thick-chested, short-coated mongrel, tensed as he recognized the threat in his tone. The way the group was coming at them made him definitely uneasy, and he growled low in his throat.
"Easy, Big Jake," Rori murmured, refusing to be baited into a fight.
The monster of a dog quieted instantly, but the tension did not leave his body. He remained as he was, sitting close beside her, his ears cocked forward, alert against danger and ready to defend her no matter what the odds. Rori had rescued him from death when he'd broken his hind leg as a pup, and his first owner, an old prospector with no time to waste on an injured dog, had been about to shoot him. She'd nursed him back to health, even though his back leg would never be completely normal again, and he had been her devoted companion ever since. Big Jake would do anything to protect her.
"Whatsa matter, Injun? Ya 'fraid?" Dorcas called out, trying to humiliate the breed into a fight.
"I heard half-breeds ain't nothing but lily-livered, thievin' bastards. Looks like I heard right, huh, Fred?"
"Sure does, Sammy. Just look at him," the one named Fred sneered. "He ain't even gonna stand up for himself! All he's got is that sorry excuse for a dog to protect him!"
Derisive laughter erupted from the others.
"Maybe that dog's the half-breed's daddy!" Sammy mocked. "I heard them Injun women spread their legs for anything!"
Rori could stand just about any kind of teasing, but the last remark sent pain searing through her. From what little she could remember, she knew her mother had been a warm, loving woman, and this cruel ridicule hurt too badly to ignore. Rori wanted to scream at them that they were wrong, that they didn't know what they were saying. She could feel the heat of their hatred, a vibrant, almost living thing. It was almost without conscious thought that she came to her feet.
Feeling safe because of their number, the jeering boys had been hoping the half-breed would react. They were spoiling for a fight, and when Rori moved, they were ready. The boys had been carrying small rocks, and they took vicious aim, hurling them with all their might.
Burr had taught Rori never to show any emotional weakness, yet she couldn't prevent the small cry that escaped her as one of the stones glanced off her cheek drawing blood. Big Jake exploded into action at the attack, launching himself ferociously at their assailants and knocking two of them to the ground with remarkable ease, his powerful jaws clamping down on the forearm of a youth who tried to hit him. At the boy's wild scream of terror, the other two surged to help him, beating on Big Jake with all their might to force him to let go.
"NO!" Rori shrieked in mindless fury. No matter what Grampa said, she couldn't let them hurt Jake. She couldn't! Without another thought to the overwhelming odds or her own safety, she entered the fraças.
When she joined the struggle, Dorcas a
nd Sammy forgot about the dog and turned on her. Big Jake kept his restraining hold on Fred as Rori took on her two bigger assailants. Burr had long ago taught her how to fight and survive, and she utilized that knowledge and ability now. Moving with great speed and agility, she practically danced around her opponents as they tried to get a hand on her. Her hat flew off as she moved quickly and precisely, kicking out at the two bullies with brutal accuracy. Her aim was true, and Sammy fell to the ground holding himself in breathless agony as he rolled around in the dust of the street. She felt a thrill of revenge over having laid him low, but it was short-lived as Dorcas charged, tackling her from behind and knocking her to the ground.
"Hold on to the red bastard, Dorcas!!" Sammy snarled in a red haze of hate. "I'm going to kill the son of a bitch!!" He struggled to his feet and staggered toward where the half-breed was fighting off Dorcas with remarkable ease.
Rori heard Sammy's declaration and knew she had to get free of the other boy if she was to have a chance. With all the strength she had, she pushed against him and threw herself sideways. Dorcas was taken by surprise by her move, and Rori scrambled free only to have Sammy grab her. She tried to kick out at him again, but this time he was up to her trick and avoided what would have been an even more punishing blow. As she fought to break loose, Dorcas moved in . . .
Chance finished his drink. "I'll see you at sunup then in front of the hotel."
Burr nodded and then leaned forward to speak to him in a more quiet tone of voice. "Just remember what I said about that piece of paper you got there." He gestured toward the pocket where Chance had put the map. "Keep that with you all the time. Don't let go of it for nothing if you want your brother to stay alive."
Chance knew the tracker meant it, and he gave an answering nod as he touched his pocket to make sure it was still there. "I'll be careful."
As Chance started from the saloon to go to his hotel and Burr settled in alone to order another drink, neither of them noticed the two scurrilous-looking men at the bar and how they watched Chance leave with more than a passing interest.
The first thing Chance saw when he stepped outside into the fading sunlight was two good-sized white boys beating up on a smaller Indian youth right in the middle of the street. There was another white involved in the fight, but a big yellow dog had him by the arm and was holding him pinned to the ground. Though the Indian was a scrappy fighter, he was still outnumbered. It was easy to see that he was getting the worst of it, too, for blood ran down his cheek from an ugly-looking gash just beneath his eye. When one white boy knocked him down and held him while the other threatened to kill him, Chance knew he had to break it up.
"Hold on there, fellas." He stepped into the middle of the fight and, deftly brushing the white youths aside, hauled the still-struggling Indian up by the seat of his pants.
"What the hell you think you're doin'? Let go of me!!" Rori yelled angrily, trying to break free of his humiliating grip. She continued to struggle as she reviled him with just about every vulgar name Burr had ever muttered in her presence.
Chance ignored the boy's filthy language as he shifted his hold to grasp him firmly around the waist. It took some doing, but he finally managed to pin the battling heathen's arms to his sides and then haul him forcibly back against his hip. It occurred to Chance that, for all the boy's wiry strength and street-fighting ability, he felt amazingly small and fragile-boned. With reluctant respect he wondered how anyone so slight of form could possibly have hoped to beat off those two good-sized thugs.
Rori grew even more furious as she realized the feebleness of her efforts against his superior brute strength. Embarrassment, coupled with some other strange emotion she'd never experienced before, flooded through her. If this damned interfering idiot hadn't trapped her in an iron embrace, she would have had her revenge against those other bastards! Now, as it was, she vowed to make this jackass pay for what he had done to her.
"Yeah! Let 'em go, mister! We ain't done with him yet!!" Sammy choked, furious at being interrupted.
"Done with me?!?" Rori cried in outrage, firmly convinced that she could have beaten them both easily if she'd had the time. She gave a violent lurch of her body, trying to twist away from her captor's iron grip, but her effort was to no avail.
"Shut up and hold still!" Chance muttered threateningly under his breath as he gave the young ingrate a bone-silencing squeeze. To the others, he ordered in his most deadly tone, "You're done with him, boy. Now get out of here."
"You ain't got no right buttin' in this way!" Dorcas argued angrily. "This ain't none of your business!"
"I'm making it my business," he returned coolly, keeping a firm hold on Rori.
"Why?"
"I didn't like the odds. Two on one . . . or was it three?" Chance glanced over to where the big mongrel had released Fred's arm but was still standing guard over him.
Big Jake caught Chance's look and, without wavering in his duty, cocked his head to return the regard. The animal made no sound, understanding implicitly just by the man's stance and actions that he was no threat to his mistress.
"So what? He ain't nothing but a dirty half-breed! They shouldn't even let his kind in town!!" Sammy countered heatedly.
The last slur brought a steely glint to Chance's eyes. "You'd better clear out now, before I decide to turn my little savage here loose on you again and then join in myself to even out the odds."
Sammy and Dorcas were frustrated and angry, but common sense told them not to cross this man any further.
"Come on, Fred," they muttered as they glared malevolently at the meddlesome stranger. Then, ignoring the amused looks of the few townspeople who'd gathered to watch, they stalked off.
Fred wanted to race after his friends, but with the dog hovering over him, he hesitated to move.
"Go on," Chance ordered. "Get out of here!"
Without another moment's hesitation, Fred got cautiously to his feet. Once he was sure the dog was not going to bother him anymore, he chased jubilantly after Sammy and Dorcas, the ache in his bruised but unbloodied arm forgotten in his joy at being free.
Rori listened to Chance's words and, if it was possible, grew even more livid. "His little savage!?!" Just who in the hell did this man think he was? What right did he have to "rescue" her when she hadn't even needed it?! She hadn't needed any help!
And Big Jake—his betrayal infuriated her most of all! He hadn't hesitated to go to her defense when the three boys had attacked her, but he'd sat there like a damn lump while this stranger manhandled her! What the hell was the matter with him! Why hadn't he chewed this bastard's leg off so she could have finished taking care of the other three?!
Rori fought even harder to get loose then, for she wanted to chase after her attackers, but the damned fool intruder still held her immobile. Anger surged through Rori at the helplessness she felt at being pinioned against his side this way. Why couldn't she be the boy he thought she was? Then she would have the strength to break his hold!
Rori was seething as she waited for the moment when her self-appointed savior would finally decide to release her, and the moment didn't come an instant too soon as far as she was concerned. The second Chance let her go, she spun away from his hated touch. Snatching her knife from its sheath, she turned on him with all the viciousness of a cornered mountain cat. Her green eyes glowed wildly with rage as she faced her would-be defender. The thought of slitting his throat was very appealing until she looked up at him and found herself staring up at the most handsome man she'd ever seen.
Rori blinked in surprise as her heart thudded madly and then skipped a beat. Her interfering idiot was tall . . . towering over her. His face was beautiful—there was no other way for her to describe it, with his dark hair, dark eyes, straight nose, and firm line of his mouth . . . and oh, that mouth! There was something about the slightly mocking slant of his lips that held her spellbound and left her filled, momentarily, with a strange longing she'd never felt before.
Rori c
ould feel heat rushing to her face, and she jerked her gaze lower, tracing downward over the broad width of his chest and shoulders to the flat plane of his stomach. His hips were slim, his legs long and lean, and she knew from being held against him that he was solid, rock-hard muscle. Yet, even as she reluctantly acknowledged to herself that this white man was wonderful to look upon, just the fact that he could affect her so left her even more furious.
The last thing Chance had expected was to be attacked by the boy he'd just saved. He stared down at the young Indian's dirty, bloodied face, and he was stunned by the fierce hatred he saw reflected in the emerald-eyed gaze. Chance didn't know which surprised him more—the color of his eyes or the violent emotion, but he didn't have time to think about it as Rori moved at him, threatening him with the wicked-looking blade.
His years at sea had taught him much about fighting, and Chance knew how to defend himself against a knife attack. Trouble was, the boy was so young he didn't want to hurt him. After all, he'd only gotten involved in this whole mess to keep him from getting beaten in the first place. Surely, the youth couldn't be serious . . .
"Look, just give me the knife. There's no reason . . ." Chance reached out to take the weapon from him, but the boy moved away.
"You ever try to lay your hands on me again, you white bastard, and you'll be dead!!" Rori exploded.
Her viciousness angered Chance. "Why you . . ."
When he would have challenged her, she made another slashing motion at him, and Chance was forced to jump back.
"Or better yet, maybe I won't kill you," she continued, smiling ferally as she eyed his lower anatomy. "Maybe I'll just carve you up a little . . . . make you a little less manly . . . maybe I'll just cut off your . . ."
Burr burst out of the saloon, having just heard the talk in the bar about some little Indian roughing it up with some white boys out in the street. He had expected to find her skirmishing with some of the local youths who always liked to taunt her whenever they got the chance. He hadn't expected to find her with her knife drawn, facing down Chance.