by Linda Ladd
The idea of them taking off on their own didn't set well with him, not at all, and he couldn't believe they would just leave without a word, not after all the trouble they'd had in tracking him down. Besides, Windsor was as hell-bent to find Clan as he was. She had to be somewhere in the camp. There wasn't any other settlement for miles around. He would just have to search the place. There was a bunkhouse for the miners, a stable for the freight horses, and a cookhouse and warehouse. An Indian with a half-shaved head and a weird girl with a monkey couldn't be that hard to locate in an all-male mining camp. He would find them first; then he would search out the man who knew Clan.
After dropping a couple of coins on the bar, he eased toward the door, trying not to cause undue attention. Gunmen bested in a confrontation had a tendency to want to put a bullet in your head. He'd have to be careful.
Outside, the night was black as a grave, but the sleet had turned to snow and the wind had died down, allowing the snow to drift earthward in soft white spirals. He stood still for a moment, drawing his Colt when he sensed a presence behind him.
"Follow Chen-Shu, please," came a heavily accented whisper.
Stone relaxed when he saw that the speaker was an old, white-haired Chinaman with a long thin beard. Chen-Shu hurried away, his hands tucked inside the folds of his long Oriental-style coat. Suspicious, Stone followed slowly at first, then picked up his pace when he realized the coolie might be leading him to Windsor.
A few doors down from the Staghead, the old man disappeared into the stable that housed the dray wagons and beasts of burden. Stone followed him, more cautious now, his gun still in his hand. He breathed a sigh of relief and quickly reholstered the pistol when he saw Jun-li sitting atop one of the stall rails. The Chinaman had disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared.
"Windsor? Where are you? I know you're in here," Stone demanded softly, searching the darkness beyond the lamp hanging by the door.
"I am here." Windsor stepped into view at the far end of the center aisle.
Stone frowned. "Why the devil did you come up here by yourself? Is the kid with you?"
"Sun-On-Wings here." The boy appeared in the shadows just behind her.
Glad to see them safe, but also angry with them, Stone strode quickly down the straw-covered floor. "Well? Answer me! Why'd you go off without me?"
"Because the gods do not help a man who loses opportunity," was Windsor's low reply, uttered with a look of censorious disdain.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Windsor's gaze was one of unwavering disapproval. "You were intent upon using the black-haired woman's flesh and muddling your head with spirits. You were useless in our quest, so instead of lying senseless in our beds, we came here to find a man who can lead us to the Evil One."
Stone felt a flush rising in his face, burning and embarrassing. Her calm rebuke was well taken, and he knew it. She was right. He had behaved like a fool.
"The Old One often said that drunkenness does not produce faults," she continued with mild condemnation, "it discovers them, for time does not change manners, it uncovers them."
Stone took a moment to digest that scrap of philosophy, and decided she was insulting him again, "All right, I admit it. I shouldn't have had so much to drink. I'm sorry. I don't usually get drunk like that. But you still shouldn't have come up here by yourself. It's dangerous for a woman alone."
"I am not alone. I am with Sun-On-Wings and Jun-li."
"It's dangerous for them, too, dammit!"
Stone's explosion of anger fled abruptly as he heard what sounded like a low, smothered groan. "What's that?"
"Yellow-Haired-Warrior-Woman and Sun-On-Wings capture white man," the Osage answered, looking down at the floor of the stall beside him.
Warily, Stone stepped closer and stared down at a burly man with a bushy red beard lying upon his back on the floor. His wrists were tied to one rail, his ankles to another. A strip of black cloth bound his mouth. His eyes were bulging, and he was making muffled, terrified sounds behind the gag.
Fists braced on his hips, Stone scowled at Windsor. "Windsor, you can't keep grabbing people and tying them up like this. It's going to get you in trouble. Who the devil is he, anyway?"
"He is the man who spoke of the Evil One. Chen-Shu told us he was the one, so we brought him here so he might answer our questions."
"And hog-tying him hand and foot was really necessary?"
"He did not wish to come with us."
Their captive squirmed against his bindings, his eyes imploring Stone to help him. Stone squatted beside him. "Can you tell me anything about a man named Emerson Clan?"
The man bobbed his head up and down with a good deal of anxiety. His eyes darted fearfully at Windsor, then over to Sun-On-Wings.
Stone pulled the cloth off his mouth. The man swiped his tongue out to wet his dry lips.
"Who is she?" he managed hoarsely. "She came out of nowhere, and the next thing I knew, I woke up here, trussed up like a pig."
"Yeah. She has a bad habit of doing this," Stone muttered, giving Windsor a sour look. "Tell me what you know about Clan."
"I'm not sure where he is now, I swear. When I was with him, he was hiding out in San Francisco, but I don't know where he is now."
"Where in San Francisco?"
"I don't know, I tell you! Clan'll kill me if he finds out I told you this much! He'll cut me up with that god-awful whip of his! He's a devil when he's crossed—you don't know him!"
"I know him better than you do. But right now, you'd better be more worried about what my two friends here have in store for you. The kid there wouldn't mind taking another scalp to hang on his lodge pole."
"I'm telling the truth, I swear to God I am. He was heading up a gang, a bunch of cutthroat bandits who robbed gold shipments and anybody else who got in their way. I rode with them a while, but I couldn't stomach the way he tortured people. God, Clan would kill men for looking at him wrong. I seen plenty of killin', I fought against the Rebs in the war, but I ain't used to that kind of cold-blooded murder."
Windsor dropped to her knees and turned the man's head around to face her. "Were you with him when he used his whip on a Chinese priest named Hung-pin?"
"No! No, I swear I didn't have nothing to do with it! Clan did it, though, I heard him braggin' 'bout it, more than once, too. He kept sayin' he flayed the slant-eyes until he looked like a skinned rabbit. Them's his exact words, I swear."
Stone watched Windsor's face drain to a paler shade, and he laid his hand on her shoulder. She sat back on her heels, staring silently down at the man. Suddenly angry to think Clan was still killing and maiming people, Stone grabbed the man's lapels and jerked his torso up off the ground.
"Damn you, tell me where he is!"
"I swear I don't know! You gotta believe me! The law's after him now in San Francisco, so he's on the run!"
"You've got to have some idea. Tell me, or you're a dead man."
"I don't know, I tell you! I was scairt of him, too, and the boys in his gang are devils, every one! I was afeard I'd get a blade in my back if I hung around, so I headed east. I didn't have nothin' to do with killin' the Chinaman!"
"Somebody's got to know where he's gone. Give us a name. Someone who might have seen him."
"I don't know—"
Stone put his hands around the man's throat and squeezed.
"There's a woman he keeps sometimes," he choked hoarsely out of his constricted throat. Stone released his grip slightly. "Name's Ruby Red. She works at one of the saloons in Frisco."
"Which one?"
"I don't know the name. It's down on the wharf somewheres. I don't know nothin' else, I swear on my mother's life—except he's mean, real mean, and he likes to hurt people."
"Yeah, I know," Stone said as he got to his feet. "Cut him loose, Sun-On-Wings. He's told us everything he knows."
The Indian went down on one knee and drew out his long-bladed hunting knife. The captive's eyes bulged fea
rfully, but the boy quickly sliced through the cords. The man rolled away and fell twice in his rush out the stable door.
"We must find this Ruby Red woman," Windsor said, "and she will lead us to Clan."
"Maybe. Maybe not. The first thing we'll have to do is get to California."
"And you will take us with you?"
Stone was silent. Even when he spoke, his answer was reluctant. "I'll think about it."
"We can be of much help. You will see."
Windsor picked up a blanket and wrapped it around herself, then settled down in one corner of the stall. Sun-On-Wings did the same, not far from her. Stone sat down and leaned against the wall, but he laid one of his revolvers atop his knee, just in case the man they had just terrorized came back with some friends.
"You are tired," Windsor told him. "You may sleep without worry. Jun-li will watch for us."
She closed her eyes, obviously trusting the capuchin as a sentry, and Stone swiveled his regard to where the monkey hung upside down by his long tail from the rafter just above his mistress. The creature peered back at Stone, his small black eyes shining beneath the black fur that grew like a widow's peak above his white face. Stone leaned his head back, but even after Windsor and Sun-On-Wings slept without worry, he kept a vigilant eye on the stable entrance, not yet ready to place his life in the hands of a damned trained monkey.
12
Windsor sat cross-legged, watching Sun-On-Wings partake of his breakfast. Chen-Shu was the bunkhouse cook, and he'd had no trouble smuggling the food left over from the miners' table into the stable for them. Ever since she had arrived in America, however, she had found the food unappetizing, especially the morning meal—fried eggs, potatoes, and greasy salt pork. Boiled rice and oujay tea were her usual fare and all she required to appease her hunger pangs.
"Yellow-Haired-Warrior-Woman not eat," Sun-On-Wings observed, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. The young Osage warrior certainly had no aversion to white man's food, she thought. The scratched tin plate on the ground in front of him was already scraped clean.
"I need little food," she answered, noticing the way he was looking at her portions. "Here," she offered, handing her plate to him. "Waste is not good."
Sun-On-Wings looked pleased. Jun-li sat on his shoulder, and he fed the monkey a piece of bread, then ate the rest with his fingers. He was not yet ready for the use of the fork—she did not like it either, much preferring to use the chopsticks she carried in her black bag. With both hands, Windsor lifted her own small porcelain cup, savoring the warm, fragrant tea she had brewed over the lantern flame. Each time she drank, she felt transported back to China, in mind and in spirit.
It had been good for her to find Chen-Shu so unexpectedly and to speak with him in the ancient tongue of the Old One. He, too, had been eager to hear of China, especially Shanghai, the city of his birth. He had come to the Ringnard with a gang of Chinese workers to lay track, but when they had moved on, he had remained to prepare meals for the miners.
She shifted her gaze to the stable door, which Chen-Shu had unintentionally left ajar. The sun had risen, hurting the eyes with its dazzling reflection off the pristine snow. The storm had blown itself away, and the day would soon grow warm enough for them to set out on their journey.
She wondered when Stone Kincaid would come back. He had risen early and ordered them both to stay hidden in the stable. He had been particularly adamant about Sun-On-Wings keeping out of sight.
Windsor glanced at the young Indian. His eye was still purple and swollen. Anger rose swiftly, gripping her inside and out. The two big men had hit him because he was a red man. America was no different, though the Old One had taught her about the officials who had founded the United States and their declaration that all men were created equal. She had thought such a place would be a wonderful land in which to live. But it was not. Stone Kincaid was right. The miners would not like having Sun-On-Wings among them. They would persecute him.
The stable door creaked, and Windsor rose swiftly to her feet, ready to protect herself and Sun-On-Wings. Stone Kincaid appeared, his broad shoulders blocking out the sun. His great size never failed to astonish her. In comparison to the men of China, who were so slight of stature, he seemed almost a giant.
"I've decided to take you both along with me," he said, his tone brusque and impersonal, "but you're going to have to do exactly what I say, understand? As long as you tag along with me, I'm the boss."
"If you lead us well, we will follow well."
"You damn well better follow well." Stone reinforced his words with a hard look as he pulled the door shut behind him. "I found some clothes for you in the company store. They probably won't fit, but you'll have to make do."
"No wear white man's clothes," Sun-On-Wings decreed, rising. He crossed his arms in an arrogant stance, obviously proud of his fringed leggings and laced buckskin shirt.
"Oh, yes, you will. Or you'll be lynched before we get anywhere close to San Francisco."
"What is this lynched?" Windsor asked, unfamiliar with the word.
"Hung by the neck on a rope until dead," Stone answered curtly, thrusting a shirt and a pair of trousers into the boy's hands. "And, kid, you're going to have to shave off that scalp lock. People in the cities will gun you down if you don't. And get rid of those feathers in your hair. If you're going with me, you'll have to start looking like a white man."
Sun-On-Wings' chest puffed out as if he were mightily offended. "No cut hair. No rid feathers."
"Dammit, you aren't with the Osage now. You're with the whites, and they've already beaten you up once. It'll happen again as long as you wear buckskins. Now, either you act like a white man and do what I say, or you go back to your village and act like an Indian, because I don't have the time or the inclination to bail you out of trouble every time I turn around."
Sun-On-Wings looked askance at him. "What bail out?"
"Oh, for God's sake, just do what I say, will you?"
Windsor put a comforting hand on Sun-On-Wings' back. "The priests of my temple wear shaved heads. It is a sign of their humility. It will be so for you as well, my friend."
Sun-On-Wings did not look convinced. "No cut hair even for Yellow-Haired-Warrior-Woman—"
"And quit using Indian names!" Stone muttered, interrupting him. "Call me Stone and call her Windsor!"
Still frowning, Stone thrust a parcel into Windsor's hands. "And around mining towns like this where men have to travel for miles to have a woman, you need to dress like a man. If you don't, you'll draw too much attention, and I'll be the one who'll have to fight for your honor."
"I will fight for my own honor."
At her quiet statement, Stone stared at her for a moment; then his expression softened. When he spoke, the underlying anger and annoyance in his voice were gone.
"I know you will, Windsor. And I respect you for it. But I don't want you or the kid to get hurt. This is my country and my people, and I know how they think. All I'm asking is for you to trust me and let me make the decisions."
"Then I will trust you."
Her immediate acquiescence seemed to surprise him, but he said nothing else, instead moving to the coffeepot Chen-Shu had left. Windsor watched him pour a cup of the strong black brew; then she glanced at Sun-On-Wings. A stubborn scowl creased his face.
"Brave warrior. Hair sign of honor."
"You will be honorable with your hair or without it, will you not?"
Sun-On-Wings considered her question and nodded. He touched his scalp lock, then shook his head. "No cut hair. Wear white man's headdress." He took the brown felt hat that Stone had provided for him and jammed it down so far on his head that the wide brim nearly touched his eyebrows.
"Hurry it up," Stone growled, tossing the remnants of his coffee onto the ground. "I want to get out of here before something else goes wrong."
Windsor obeyed, slipping her arms into the big red flannel shirt Stone had given her. The fabric felt warm and soft, and
she stepped quickly into the brown wool pants, leaving on her black silk tunic and trousers beneath the larger clothes. The heavy coat of navy blue wool was bulky and uncomfortable, but it would keep her warm on the journey down the mountain. Once she had it buttoned, she tucked her long blond braid beneath a brown hat similar to the ones Sun-On-Wings and Stone Kincaid wore. She didn't mind if people thought she was a man. She would get more respect if they did.
Although snow still lay deep on the ground, the sun had melted some of it, making travel easier. Stone knew if they followed the tracks long enough they were likely to reach a manned depot. He hoped the one his own crew had built alongside the trestle over Yellow Canyon was still in operation. Sweet Sue hadn't been able to tell him if it was. The Cheyenne had burned the trestle several months before, and all the expresses had been rerouted through sidetracks.
Glancing over his shoulder at his traveling companions, he frowned and shook his head. They both had put their new outfits on atop their own clothes, and both looked absolutely ridiculous. But if he kept his mouth shut and his hat on, Sun-On-Wings would pass for a white man, even if he had stuck his two white eagle feathers in the hatband and had a monkey sitting on his shoulder.
Windsor, on the other hand, was too damn beautiful to ever be mistaken for a boy. Even with her blond hair tucked out of sight, her soft white skin and long golden lashes gave her away. Feeling low, his guts all twisted up, he didn't look at her again. He just didn't know what to do with her anymore. He wanted her so much his body ached with the need to touch her, but he had a bad feeling concerning her, too. She was going to get hurt or killed if she persisted in going along with him. He felt it in his bones. But she was determined to follow him, come hell or high water.
Worse, he wasn't sure how long he could keep fighting off his desire to make love to her. God, he'd never been a lustful man; there had been too many beautiful women around who were willing to provide what he wanted. But his hunger for Windsor went far beyond mere lust—he was obsessed with her and dangerously near the point where he'd do anything to have her. He had already lost control once and made a fool of himself. What the hell was he going to do?