Nan Ryan

by Written in the Stars

  Diane shoved her long dark hair atop her head, secured it with a silver clasp, and said, “I have to run. See you after the show.”

  “That storm breaks, there won’t be a show.”

  Diane didn’t answer. She rushed out, turning worried eyes up to the darkened sky. Jagged streaks of lightning pierced the thick blackness in the west, crashing down atop the jutting mountain peaks, the echoing thunder jangling Diane’s taut nerves. The scent of rain was heavy on the still air as she hurried down the lengthy line of parked rail cars until she reached the one near the end. Ancient Eyes’ quarters..

  Diane knocked loudly on the door, praying he wouldn’t answer. Praying the rain wouldn’t postpone the afternoon show. Praying her secret plan would go off without a hitch.

  She waited, nervously tapping her moccasined toe on the wooden stoop. She knocked again, pounding with her fist. She called his name several times.

  Then exhaled with relief. She’d known he wouldn’t be in his coach at this hour. In his old age Ancient Eyes had turned into a creature of habit. One of his habits was to dress early in his Indian show finery and wander down to the exhibition grounds to hang around the wranglers while they readied the stock for the show. He liked to trade tall tales and smoke their ready-made cigarettes and hand out unwanted advice.

  This was her chance. Feeling only slightly guilty, she slipped inside Ancient Eyes’ private domain. Blinking in the shadowy dimness, she silently cursed the approaching storm. The leaden sky had cast the entire compartment into murky darkness, and she didn’t dare risk lighting a lamp. Clasping her bottom lip between her teeth, Diane went in search of the key.

  The key to the Redman’s cage.

  She spent several minutes looking in chest drawers, atop the eating table, in bookshelves. She thumbed through a thick, yellowing scrapbook, smiling fondly at the old Indian’s touching sentimentality. She hurried into the sleeping compartment, lifted a pillow from his tidy bunk, and tossed it down again.

  Then jumped, startled, when a gruff, raspy voice from out of the shadows said, “This what you’re looking for, Little Buck?”

  She whirled about to see Ancient Eyes, his long eagle feather headdress streaming down his broad back, filling the dim doorway. In his hand was a silver key, gleaming in the half-light. His broad, ugly face broke into a wide smile. He winked at Diane.

  She smiled. “I could never fool you.”

  “No,” he said. “I know you come, Little Buck.”

  She followed him back into the sitting room and watched as he deliberately placed the silver key inside a carved wooden box that sat in plain sight atop the chest she had searched. He looked at her. She nodded knowingly.

  Diane anxiously sat down while Ancient Eyes took off his feathered war bonnet, placed it across the table, and then slowly lowered his girth down into his favorite worn easy chair.

  “Tell me about the Redman,” Diane bluntly commanded. “Tell me everything.”

  Ancient Eyes’ broad smile faded and the light in his dark eyes dimmed. He looked grim. With no further coaxing from Diane he told of the deed that had been weighing heavily on his heart. As she looked intently into his flat black eyes, he spoke of that day he would never forget.

  “It was on the Monday afternoon when troupe train steam into Denver …” As he began to speak, the first drops of summer rain started falling.

  The old Ute chieftain told how the hunting party—he, Shorty, the Cherokee Kid, and the Leatherwood brothers —had left the troupe’s train just prior to its arrival in Denver. The five of them had ridden their horses down the ramp and headed immediately toward the foothills. The plan had been for the Kid and the Leatherwoods to trap a mountain lion for the show.

  He and Shorty had tagged along to enjoy some trout fishing in the high country’s clear snow-fed streams. Once in the mountains they didn’t see much of the younger men. That first afternoon and most of the next day the boys were busy setting up trap cages to catch a big cat.

  Before dawn on Wednesday morning he and Shorty rose and left camp while the others slept. They trekked in a zigzag path up the timbered slopes in search of a better fishing hole. A mile from camp, high up beside a rocky stream bed by a gentle waterfall, they found the ideal spot and settled in for a pleasant morning.

  Around nine o’clock they heard a loud commotion coming from below: the crashing of underbrush, the snarling and whimpering of an animal. He and Shorty exchanged looks. He laid aside his fishing pole and took up his field glasses. Squinting, he swept the powerful glasses in a wide searching arc over the pine- and juniper-dotted terrain below until he reached a grassy clearing where a big mountain lion had been lured into one of the trap cages and was frantically trying to free itself.

  The lion was halfway out of the trap when the Cherokee Kid and the Leatherwoods came rushing into the clearing. They tossed a wire mesh net over the big male cat, and then the Kid started beating the trapped, frightened animal with an ax handle, bringing it down again and again across the lion’s head and back.

  All at once a lean Indian from some distant tribe leaped from out of nowhere onto the Kid’s broad back and pulled him off the wounded, panicked cat. The Kid bellowed like a bull and shouted for the Leatherwoods. Danny Leatherwood grabbed at the Redman while Davey shoved the lion into the cage, then turned and tossed the steel mesh net over the Indian’s head.

  The brothers pulled the Indian away from the Kid and tightened the net around him. The Kid immediately whirled about and turned the ax handle on the restrained Redman. With the full force of his big, powerful body behind it, the Kid swung the ax like a baseball bat, bringing it down across the Redman’s chest. The Kid delivered blow after punishing blow to the Indian’s chest and belly and thighs. Finally, brutally, to his throat.

  Ancient Eyes told how he shouted loudly and Shorty blew shrill warnings on his silver whistle as the two of them went plunging down the mountain in an attempt to stop the madness. But it was too late. When they reached the clearing, the injured Indian and the wounded cat were caged.

  Concluding, Ancient Eyes said sadly, “I as bad as the Cherokee Kid. Not tell the Colonel.” He shook his white head regretfully. “I see how happy the Colonel is when Kid show him Redman and I keep quiet. I shame myself. I shame the Colonel.”

  Diane was outwardly calm when she gently patted the broad, stooped shoulder of the old Ute and murmured softly, “Don’t feel bad, Ancient Eyes. Now we’ll fix it, you and I.”

  The threatening afternoon thunderstorm turned out to be nothing more than a brief, cooling summer shower. At show time the sun was shining brightly from a cloudless Colorado sky. The troupe performed its last rip-roaring show before an enormous crowd, and the successful Denver engagement of Colonel Buck Buchannan’s Wild West Show became history.

  From the minute the final performance ended, it took only three hours to strike the grandstands and sets and load the train. Diane observed the well-coordinated operation with keen interest. She watched closely as the caged Redman and caged mountain lion were loaded into an animal car directly ahead of the train’s caboose. The car was left unguarded.

  With the rest of the troupe Diane boarded the train for departure to Salt Lake City, Sacramento, and then on to their San Francisco winter quarters. Wearing a smile and a cool summer frock of pale purple, she stepped up into a comfortable day coach near the front of the train. It was just past sundown when the locomotive steamed out of Denver. Leaning out the window, Diane waved and blew kisses to the crowds lining the tracks.

  When finally she turned away from the window, she was annoyed to find the Kid lounging in the seat beside her. The sight of him now sickened her. She could picture him viciously wielding an ax handle against the defenseless creatures. She gritted her teeth with disgust.

  Ignorant of her contempt, the Kid turned his most disarming smile on her, draped an arm along the back of her seat, and said, “Better sit back and relax, it’s a long ride to Salt Lake.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze.
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  “I’m exhausted,” she said, quickly rising. “I’m going to retire to my sleeping compartment.”

  “Tired already? Why, we haven’t even left the lights of Denver behind. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” She brushed past his knees with a curt good night and waved away his suggestion that he walk her back to her quarters.

  Diane left him quizzically gaping after her. Never looking back, she hurried through the long train, car by car, slipped into Ancient Eyes’ empty compartment and took the silver key from the carved wooden box. Then she moved quickly on down the line until she stood just outside the final rail car door separating her from the caged Indian and the big cat.

  Diane took a deep breath of the cool, clean air, opened the door, and slipped inside, her heart hammering.

  In the darkened car two sets of gleaming eyes locked on her as she made her way to the center loading doors. She slid back the heavy doors and again stood for a moment in the wind, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

  In her mind’s eye she could see the wild, beautiful pair —man and beast—turn grateful gazes on her as she unlocked the doors of their cages and set them free. She imagined herself watching happily as they leaped to the ground and sprinted gracefully toward the foothills, the night winds blowing the silver-streaked raven hair of the Redman and the black diamond-decorated tawny fur of the cat.

  Smiling, Diane went first to the big male cat’s cage. She unlocked it and heard her heart beat in her ears as she threw the cage open and stood aside. Just as she had envisioned, the sleek, beautiful mountain lion bounded out of the opened cage, took two long strides, leaped from the train, and disappeared into the night.

  Diane sighed with relief and closed the empty cage.

  She moved to the Redman’s barred cage, carefully avoiding those dark, penetrating eyes. Her heart was really pounding now. She was so nervous she had difficulty fitting the key into the lock. After several stiff-fingered attempts, she slid the silver key into place, heard the click, quickly turned it, and unlocked the door.

  She hesitated for a final second, then jerked the cage door open wide and shouted, “Go!”

  In the blinking of an eye the Redman was out of the cage and towering over her, his bare chest glistening with sweat, his harshly handsome face set in hard lines.

  Instinctively Diane cringed and took a step backward. But his right arm shot out like a striking serpent, the silver bracelet flashing in the shadowy light. Firm bronzed fingers tightly encircled her fragile wrist and he pulled her to him.

  Their eyes met for a fleeting second, and in that second Diane thought she read a flicker of hesitation in the fathomless black depths.

  Then it was gone.

  The Redman of the Rockies swept her up into his arms, tossed her over his left shoulder, and leaped down from the train.

  Chapter 13

  Diane screamed her outrage.

  But there was no one to hear her except the Redman.

  With Diane tossed over his shoulder, the Indian hit the ground running and within seconds was fifty yards away from the railroad tracks.

  After the initial shock Diane’s keen brain began to function with the usual clear, unemotional reasoning. She fully realized she was being captured by a wild, primitive creature and she had to be rescued immediately.

  So she screamed to the top of her lungs, braced her hands on the Redman’s bare back, and levered herself up so that she could lift her head. She shot an arm up in the air and waved madly, praying she would be seen from the train. Surely there’d be at least one member of the troupe who would look out the window, spot her waving, and know immediately that the Redman had snatched her.

  It didn’t happen.

  The troupe’s train continued to roll on down the tracks, picking up speed, growing smaller and smaller before her horrified eyes. The locomotive snaked steadily off into the distance and any hope of being quickly rescued vanished along with the fading caboose.

  Diane continued to scream, but it was no longer in an attempt to attract attention. She screamed with rising fear and frustration. The Redman abruptly shifted Diane, sliding her down into his arms, placing a hand beneath her knees, the other at her waist. He slammed her up against his hard chest so forcefully Diane’s head rocked on her shoulders and she almost lost her breath. Her flushed face was inches from the Redman’s. Her eyes automatically went to his.

  The Indian was not looking at her. He stared straight ahead, his dark, unblinking eyes fixed on the western horizon. He sprinted across the valley in long, fluid strides, uncaring that she was screaming and sick with terror. His stony coldness added fury to Diane’s rising fear. She hated him for what he was doing and she wanted to hurt him. She doubled up her fists and beat on his bare chest and smooth shoulders, hitting him as hard as she could.

  But her glancing blows to rock-hard muscle and bone hurt her hands so badly she was forced to stop. Still, the need to inflict pain was so great she wildly clawed at him, digging her fingers into his smooth bronzed chest, deriving a small measure of satisfaction from the feel of his flesh giving way under her sharp, raking nails. She drew blood and felt almost light-headed at the sight of it.

  But not for long.

  The Redman’s total lack of reaction to her vicious attack further frustrated Diane. She squirmed and struggled, hoping to break his stride. Furiously she kicked her sharp heels back against his knees and thighs, attempting to throw him off-balance. She wasn’t successful. The savage sprinted swiftly on, his fluid stride never broken, his graceful gait unchanged.

  Diane continued to scream and kick and plead. And knew in her heart that all the screaming and kicking and pleading in the world wouldn’t save her. Her captor wasn’t a man, but an animal. A wild, uncivilized beast without reason or logic. A cruel, merciless savage with no heart and no conscience.

  Diane finally went limp against him. She looked again at that dark, saturnine face and wondered what it would take to get through to him.

  “This is a big mistake,” she loudly informed him. “I’m the one who let you go! I unlocked your cage. I released you!” Her voice rose to a shrill shout. “I saved you, damn it! Can’t you understand that? Can’t you understand anything?”

  No response from the stone-faced Redman. He showed no emotion at all. A chilling thought ran through Diane’s mind. He would show no more emotion when he brutally murdered her. A shudder ran up her spine. She wedged her right arm between their bodies, pressed her sharp elbow in his abdomen, and braced herself so that she could lean as far away from him as his firmly gripping hands allowed. She whipped her head around as well, determined not to look at him again.

  Diane studied the horizon, dark, jagged mountain peaks against a purpling sky, and cold fear gripped her wildly beating heart. The savage was taking her up into the Rocky Mountains. If he managed to get her to his wilderness stronghold, her fate would be forever sealed. She would never come back down!

  Merciful God, she silently prayed, help me, please help me!

  Despair swept over her in a drowning wave and Diane began to cry. Her eyes filled with tears, which quickly overflowed and splashed down her hot cheeks. Her slender body soon shuddered with her racking sobs.

  And still the heartless Redman ran.

  Through her blinding tears Diane caught sight of an animal’s light-reflecting eyes flashing from out of a distant squawbush. Blinking to clear her tear-blurred vision, she watched a limber-spined cougar leap from out of the underbrush and upon a high rise of rock. She recognized the diamond-throated mountain lion—the one she had released.

  The cat stood poised now, unmoving, atop that high rock spire. Diane frantically wondered if the Redman saw the dangerous cougar looming there against the darkening sky. She quickly glanced around. The Indian’s dark, chiseled face and cold, merciless black eyes gave nothing away. But he didn’t alter his course. He ran straight toward the tall rock obelisk.

  Filled with a new ki
nd of terror, Diane slid her arm from between their bodies, wrapped it around the Indian’s back, and instinctively nestled closer to his solid chest. Burying her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes tightly as they neared the waiting mountain lion. Her jaw clenched in dread, Diane was certain that any second she would feel the sharp, slashing teeth and deadly, tearing claws sink into her flesh as the big cat leaped from his perch and killed them both.

  She heard a low, vibrating growl and couldn’t keep from opening her eyes. She looked up. They were directly below the rock rise, the big cat now just above their heads, his golden eyes flashing in the last of the twilight.

  And then they had passed by him.

  Safely.

  Diane peered cautiously over the Indian’s shoulder. She watched as the beautiful beast leaped down from the spire, raced after them, passing them closely with long, ground-eating strides, and disappeared into the thick chaparral.

  Mentally and physically exhausted, Diane sagged against her captor, too tired to cry or kick or shout any longer. Despair and helplessness had drained her of the needed energy. She realized she was beaten. There was to be no immediate escape. There was nothing she could currently do but preserve what little strength she had left and keep her wits about her.

  She was tired to the bone, but obviously the Indian was not. He continued to run at that same, long-legged pace, and he looked as if he could run forever. They were leaving the flatlands behind now, ascending into the rugged foothills west of Denver, quickly gaining elevation. With animal grace, the loinclothed, moccasined Redman picked his sure way over huge, tumbled boulders, leaped across deep ravines, expertly ducked low limbs of scrubby junipers and scattered piñon pines.

  Up the timbered slopes he carried her until they were totally swallowed up in a dense forest of towering ponderosa pines and silvery Douglas firs. Diane tensed anew as the thick darkness enveloped them. But the impenetrable savage continued running through the trees as if he could see in the dark, the way an animal does.