by Joni Keever
Her voice escalated as her fury returned. How she’d begged Papa not to take her away. She tried everything—tears, tantrums, even threats. She reminded him of the mounting war with the Indians, the savage massacres, the wagon train raids. The periodicals back home were full of stories, but nothing swayed the man. He reassured Carly the hostilities were farther north and President Lincoln would soon have the situation under control. Mother even took his side. She insisted Papa had their best interests at heart.
“There’s nothing wrong with raising cattle. It’s an honorable profession. What happened? Where are your parents now?”
Carly’s fury fizzled. Her shoulders slumped forward, and she replied in a dull, lifeless tone. “Dead. They’re both dead.”
Neither of them spoke, and Kade seemed to be lost in heavy thoughts of his own.
“I’m sorry,” he finally offered. “I shouldn’t have made you relive the past. Not if it’s painful.”
“No, it’s all right.” Carly realized she hadn’t actually had a conversation with another human being in more than a week. Though she disliked the topic and detested the man, she found herself enjoying the interaction. “I might as well learn to accept facts and get on with my life. Crying won’t bring them back.”
“What happened?” Kade asked carefully. “That is, if you want to talk about it.”
“Momma took ill shortly after we joined up with the wagon train. It was just a little chest cold. She would’ve been fine, but the journey was so hard, so very long and hard. I begged Papa to take us home, but he refused. By the time we finally arrived and found the land Papa had purchased, Momma’s condition had worsened.” Carly stopped a moment, remembering her mother’s horrible cough and pale, gaunt features.
“I thought I could make her better. She wouldn’t let us bring a doctor. I tried everything I knew, but she only grew worse. She died in my arms just ten days after we arrived.”
Silence filled the morning air. With a deep breath, Carly added, “Papa and I buried her in her wedding dress, the one my grandmother Rose made. I hope that was all right. She never said . . . we never discussed her wishes.”
“I’m sure that’s what she would’ve wanted.”
Kade’s words rolled like faraway thunder, deep and soothing. Something within made Carly continue, like her recital was a cleansing of the soul. “I thought Papa would want to go back home after Momma died. He said he couldn’t. She was buried there, and that was our home. Only Papa had changed. He wasn’t the same. His passion for ranching was gone. He spent most of his time up on the hill by Momma’s grave, probably asking her forgiveness. If only he’d left well enough alone. If only we had stayed in Virginia.”
Briefly, Carly wondered why the tears hadn’t come. Had she actually shed all she possessed or was the open wound on her heart turning to a thick, tough scar? “If only he’d been at the cabin with me.”
Kade cleared his throat. “You don’t have to go on.”
“No, I want to. I need to.” She took a deep breath. “I was trying to make biscuits one morning. Neither one of us knew how to cook. In Virginia, we had Betsy, but she refused to come with us. Anyway, I was trying when this terrible half-naked savage burst through the door. He looked around the room like a rabid dog. When he spotted me, he leaped over the settee, knocking Momma’s rocking chair into the fire. He grabbed me before I could think. Before I could run.
“Papa was up on the hill, but I guess he heard me scream. The Indian was dragging me from the cabin when he noticed Papa running as best he could toward us. My father didn’t even have a gun. The savage threw some sort of ax. It buried deep in Papa’s chest. Blood coated his chest before he even hit the ground. Then the Indian slung me across his horse.
“I cried out for Papa and begged the savage to let me go, but he wouldn’t listen. He hit me in the back of the head with something. The last thing I saw was my father lying dead on the ground before his precious burning cabin.”
The horse plodded along through the silence. Carly felt drained but somehow better. Kade had let her expound with no comments or questions. He remained quiet now, and she wondered if he’d listened at all. Suddenly, the crack of a rifle firing split the still air.
Bark shattered on a nearby tree, and the stallion reared with a frightened whinny. Carly gasped and clawed at the cowboy’s back until she clutched a handful of shirt. The second the black’s front hooves hit the ground, Kade spurred him to wind-racing speed.
“Stay low,” he ordered.
Carly followed his lead, pressing herself against him as he leaned over the horse’s neck. They wove in and out of the trees, driving deeper into the thickening forest. She closed her eyes, fighting back the wave of nausea caused by fear and flight.
Several more shots rang out, whizzing past her head into the foliage. She clung to Kade and prayed the black wouldn’t stumble. If Tiny caught her now, she’d never live to see tomorrow.
Chapter Six
Kade urged his horse on, slapping the long ends of the reins from one side of the animal’s neck to the other. He could feel the trembling weight of his companion and hoped the boy didn’t take a bullet to the back. Pulling the stallion’s head to the right, Kade steered for an outcropping of hard rock he thought he remembered.
Stopping the black abruptly, he ordered, “Get down, Carl. We have to try and lose our itchy-fingered friends.”
The boy obliged, terror evident in his light eyes. Kade led the horse across the rocky ledge, peering back to see if they left too much of a track on the solid surface.
“Be careful where you step.” He grabbed the boy’s arm just before his foot landed in the soft earth. “Stay on the rock. You won’t leave a mark. That’s why we aren’t riding. Our weight on the black would make a deeper trail.” Carl nodded quickly and chose a path along the ridge.
Kade led them across a grassy area toward a stream. He handed Carl the reins. “Wait here.” Picking up a broken tree branch, Kade walked back to the edge of the grass. He swept the tips of the dead wood over the tender blades, bringing most of them to attention. Gathering dried leaves and broken twigs from beneath the trees, Kade scattered them about the area he’d raked. He repeated his actions with the branch and the debris until he stood next to the boy. Both surveyed his handiwork critically.
“That’s impressive,” Carly whispered. “I can’t tell we crossed that area at all. How’d you learn to do that?”
“An old friend. Come on.” He helped the boy into the saddle then climbed up behind him. Soon, they walked beside the fast-running stream. Kade slowed the horse’s pace, closely examining the bank as they went.
“What are you doing? Surely they’re gaining on us.”
The lad glanced over his shoulder nervously. Kade guided the horse into the water and started back the other direction. “I had to find the right place to enter the stream. The ground is soft along here. We don’t want to leave hoof prints.”
“But why are we going this way? You’re heading back toward the men with the guns!”
Carl’s voice took on the high pitch of panic. Kade summoned his patience. “I know what I’m doing. The streambed is rockier this way. Going upstream, we’d stir too much sand. Downstream, what we do stir up will be washed away by the current.”
They followed the creek for about two hundred yards, then exited on the opposite bank. The forest grew thicker there, letting less light filter through the dense foliage. Kade dismounted. Putting a finger to his lips, he motioned for Carl to remain silent. With a wave of his hand, he gave the boy permission to step down. He led them through the trees, parallel to the running water, yet well hidden.
Kade stopped. He wrapped one hand around the stallion’s nose and mouth in an effort to keep the animal quiet. Carl looked at him questioningly. Kade repeated the gesture of silence. He watched the boy strain to hear or see something through the trees. Several seconds passed before Kade saw the pleading expression of fear in Carl’s eyes when the lad finally hear
d the riders.
Without knowing why, Kade motioned the orphan toward him. Something about this little stranger brought out the protective nature in Kade. He placed his arm around the boy’s shoulders. Trembling like a wet cat, Carl pressed close. His round eyes stared at the trees as though they expected hell’s own demons to come tearing through.
The voices grew dimmer, and Kade wrapped Carl’s arms about the stallion’s head. “Stay here,” he whispered with intensity, hoping the boy obeyed. Carl opened his mouth to protest, but Kade quickly laid a finger across the lad’s lips. He locked his gaze with the boy’s until he saw submission.
Without so much as snapping a twig or crunching a leaf, Kade crept to the forest’s edge and peered upstream. Two men rode slowly along the creek bank, looking for tracks. “Damn,” he muttered. He crouched low in the underbrush, realizing there could be more riders, searching in other directions.
He held his breath as the men approached the spot where he and the boy had entered the water. They stopped their progress, waded their mounts into the stream, then resumed a slow inspection of the soft earth. Kade started to expel his pent-up breath but froze again as he heard a rustle of brush behind him. Extracting his knife from the sheath beneath his pant leg, he waited, timing his next move.
With the speed and agility of a mountain lion, Kade turned and sprang, prey becoming predator. The men landed with a thud and whoosh of breath. Kade’s larger body pinned the smaller man to the ground, chest to chest, knife to throat. With his free hand, Kade held one flailing arm. Increased pressure on the blade brought instant stillness to his startled victim. Kade stared down into panicked pools of green.
“What the hell? I could’ve killed you!” Kade’s harsh whisper brought a shiver from Carl’s prone body. “Why didn’t you stay put? Where’s my horse?”
The boy’s lips moved, but no sound came out. His breathing was fast and shallow. His heart pumped furiously against the cowboy’s broad chest.
Kade let the knife slip away, but he didn’t move. The pair lay frozen in time, staring deeply into each other’s eyes, fanning the other with hot waves of breath. Carl found his voice first.
“Get off me!” he spat.
Blinking rapidly, Kade rolled from the lad, still shaken by the entire experience. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened. He had never killed a boy so young, never killed a soul who didn’t deserve it. But he’d come damn close to ending Carl’s life, and it spooked the calm right out of him.
He continued to stare at the lad, unable to redirect. Carl sat up, his green gaze locked on Kade. Neither spoke as they struggled to still their breathing. Slowly, Carl placed tentative fingers to his neck. Drawing them away, he looked down, then back to Kade with renewed horror. It was then the cowboy noticed a thin crimson line forming on the lad’s pale throat.
“Damnation! Let me see.” He started toward him, but the boy backed away. “I just want to see how bad it is. I’m not going to hurt you, for Christ’s sake.” He tried again. Carl stayed still, eyes round and wary.
Kade examined the wound. “It’s not bad, just a scratch.” He sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. “If you’d done what I told you, this wouldn’t have happened.” Realizing his reprimand was gruff, even in its whispered state, he added an abrupt apology. “I’m sorry.”
Suddenly uncomfortable, Kade turned and crept back to the bushes. The men had moved out of view, but he waited, wondering if there were more. A few moments later, his patience was rewarded. A third rider came out of the brush on the opposite bank. The little orphan had crawled up beside Kade and gasped when he saw the man with the rifle. Carl ducked down lower, both hands over his mouth.
The horse’s hoof beats faded, and the boy rose to peek out once more.
“That’s not—”
Kade clasped one hand over Carl’s mouth and the other arm firmly around his chest and arms, effectively silencing and immobilizing him in a blink of the startled boy’s eyes. “You are bound and determined to get us killed, aren’t you?” He relinquished his hold and turned back to his vigil. Carl fumbled with the front of his shirt, staring silently at Kade.
Finally he offered in a barely audible voice, “That’s not Tiny. They’ve mistaken us for someone else. We’re not in any danger after all.”
A scorching glare from Kade withered the boy’s blooming smile. The man watched as realization slowly dawned in the deepening green eyes. Funny, those eyes—they grew paler with fright but shone with a dark and vivid hue the rest of the time.
“It’s you—it’s you they’re after!”
Carl’s accusation carried on the breeze. Kade grabbed him by the arm, dragging him back to where they’d left the stallion. The little troublemaker shook free from Kade’s firm grasp. He stared at the taller man with reproach in his eyes.
“I can’t believe this. Here I am, feeling guilty because I’ve put you in danger—after you were kind enough to rescue me and all—and it’s you they’re after. What is it you’ve done? Am I putting my fate in the hands of a horse thief, a bank robber . . . perhaps a murderer?”
Carl stood with his hands on his hips, sarcasm dripping from his mouth. His accusations crawled down Kade’s spine. He’d had enough. In two long strides, he reached the lad, grabbed him by the shoulders, and raised him to nose level.
“I did not rescue you. I won you, remember? You are not my guest on this little journey. You are my possession. I suggest you stay mindful of those facts and keep a respectful tongue in your mouth. I can just as easily lose you in the next poker game I encounter.” Kade set the boy down quickly and turned on his heel . . . but not before he noticed the emeralds dim behind a shimmering pool of tears.
#
The blazing August sun sent rivulets of sweat trickling between Carly’s breasts. She tugged at the binding, itching from the heat and moisture trapped within. Eyeing the man in front of her, she shifted position on the horse’s back. Once they’d finally managed to sneak away from the men with the rifles, Kade had insisted on doubling back, switching directions, and covering their tracks.
To Carly, it seemed they spent much more time than necessary. When she gathered the nerve to ask him about their delay, he all but snapped her head off with his harsh reply. She felt sure they’d lost their pursuers. Yet as they traveled across land that Satan himself would shun, Carly found herself scanning the horizon for riders. It wasn’t men with rifles she dreaded. It was a breed far more vicious, far more cunning.
“Are you an Indian fighter?” She immediately regretted having asked the question. Kade stiffened. She could almost feel his irritation like the sweat that soaked his shirt.
But she had to know. She’d seen how he outsmarted Tiny and cleverly escaped their trackers. He seemed equally capable with wit or weapon. While she feared and distrusted him, there was something she feared even more.
“I know there are men employed by the government to fight the savages in this area. I was just wondering if you’re one of them.” She held her breath, unsure whether he would answer her, ignore her, or knock her off the horse for bothering him.
After several moments, Kade asked, “And what do you know of savages?”
“Other than my personal encounter with the one who murdered my father and abducted me?” She let her sarcasm hang there for a moment before continuing. “I know that, since January, ruthless attacks along the South Platte River have left hundreds of white families dead. The savages have burned ranches and stage stations, run off cattle, stolen horses, ripped up telegraph wires, plundered wagon trains, all but cut Denver off from the East. It’s a wonder that we weren’t attacked during our journey out—”
“And where do you get your information?”
“Why, the newspaper, of course. Granted, the last one I had the opportunity to read was several months old. But the Rocky Mountain News is a reputable periodical. You do read, don’t you?”
Kade ignored her query and instead asked, “And did the Rocky Mountain News
report on the events leading up to these attacks?”
“What? What events?” Carly felt her guard go up but sensed it was too late.
“Did it tell how Black Kettle, chief of the Cheyenne, along with Bull Bear and White Antelope, put their trust in the government? Did it tell how they led many Cheyenne and Arapaho to surrender after being promised army rations and safe passage to the reservation? Did it tell how they were denied food and shelter at the fort and later attacked while they slept by over seven hundred soldiers?”
Carly didn’t know what to say. She’d never heard any such thing. If the soldiers did attack the Indian camp, surely they had good reason. Didn’t they?
Kade elaborated. “As men, women, and children slept on the banks of Sand Creek, army colonel John Chivington and his men rode into that camp. Trying to calm his frantic people and avoid needless bloodshed, Black Kettle quickly raised the American flag and a white flag indicating his surrender. Yet the soldiers murdered all but a handful of those that managed to escape and bury themselves in the sandy riverbanks to hide. The soldiers scoured the area for hours to make certain no one lived.
“The Rocky Mountain News reported, ‘Colorado soldiers have again covered themselves with glory.’ It bragged of how they paraded through the streets of Denver, waving scalps and patches of hair from the women’s private regions. And this Colonel Chivington had claimed to be a preacher and opponent of slavery. Such was the brutality, I hear his own men are now testifying against him. I respect them for it, but I doubt Chivington will be brought to justice for this atrocity.”
The air felt thick. Carly’s stomach rolled. Her mind reeled. Could this be true? Could her own kind be responsible for, even proud of, such savage behavior?
Kade’s voice sliced the tension like a finely honed blade. “Don’t believe everything you read.”
He suddenly stopped the black and offered his arm. She grabbed it immediately and slid from the stallion’s rump, grateful for the reprieve. She took several deep breaths, anxious to settle her nerves and shake the disturbing thoughts that plagued her.