‘That is more than enough.’ Zach looked at her. ‘It is not the same here as it is in your country or back East. Out here we don’t have any government. There is no place to file on land. A man takes what he wants, so long as it does not belong to someone else.’ That would change eventually. His father had heard that Congress was considering some sort of homestead act that would bring rules and regulations to the frontier.
‘That is not entirely true, is it?’ Cadena countered. ‘The Indians were here first. So any land white men claim is land that belongs to the Indians. Where is the distinction between what you and the Wards have done and what my uncle is doing?’
‘Most Indians do not think of land the same way whites do. Each tribe has a territory, but the territory belongs to the whole tribe. With whites, each person wants his own little patch.’
‘Which do you prefer? The white way or the Indian way?’
Zach had never given it much thought. He had a cabin, but the valley in which he lived was shared by his parents and their best friend and his wife and another family. ‘I live both ways.’
They came to a clearing. Cadena squirmed in the saddle, then asked, ‘I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to loosen my wrists? You tied them so tight, you cut off the circulation. My arms hurt.’
‘I reckon I could,’ Zach allowed. ‘So long as you continue to behave.’ Drawing rein, he dismounted and reached up to lower her to the ground. ‘You can stretch your legs if you want.’ It would be an hour or so until they reached the canyon.
Just then, behind him, a gun hammer clicked. ‘Give me an excuse, and I’ll blow you to hell.’
Thirteen
Simon Ward’s initial shock gave way to relief. According to Nate King, wolves rarely attacked humans. Nate knew of only two instances. The first involved the Crows and took place long ago during a particularly severe winter. A pack of starving wolves had attacked a hunting party and been driven off. The second time was when a trapper came on a mother wolf with young ones and the mother wolf leaped at him, plainly to defend her offspring.
‘Get back here!’ Felicity urged. The wolf terrified her. It was far bigger than any dog, and when it snarled, it bared a mouthful of razor fangs. Scooping Peter into her arms, she stood.
Simon slowly backed toward her, saying, ‘I don’t think we have anything to worry about. It’s only a wolf.’
‘Why doesn’t it run off? Is it rabid?’
Simon gave a start. He had not considered that. But rabid animals foamed at the mouth and behaved bizarrely, and the wolf was neither foaming nor acting strangely. On an impulse he threw the brand at it, thinking the fire would drive it off. The wolf skipped nimbly aside and resumed its slow, slinking advance.
‘We must do something,’ Felicity urged.
‘I’m open to suggestions,’ Simon said. By now the sky had brightened enough that he could see the wolf clearly. He was struck by how gaunt it was, virtually skin and bones, and by the gray streaks along its muzzle and face. Now he understood. The wolf was old and desperately hungry and saw them as easy prey.
Felicity cast about for a weapon. The best she could do was a piece of wood Simon had gathered for the fire. A foot long and as thick as her wrist, it made a stout club.
Simon sidled to the fire. Without taking his eyes off the wolf, he stooped and picked up another burning brand, nearly burning his fingers in the process. He waved it at the wolf, but the wolf paid no heed. ‘If it attacks, run.’
‘And leave you to fight it alone?’ Felicity shook her head. ‘I am your wife. I will stay by your side.’
‘Please,’ Simon said. ‘We have Peter to think off. Climb a tree. You will be safe in a tree.’
‘No.’
‘I am not asking you, I am telling you. For my sake as well as yours. I can’t fight this thing and protect you, both.’ Simon brandished his knife at the wolf, but it might as well have been a toothpick for all the effect it had.
‘You need someone to watch your back,’ Felicity admonished.
‘Damn it.’ Simon had more to say, a lot more, but the wolf chose that moment to crouch lower and growl. Its belly was virtually touching the ground and its tail had gone rigid.
‘It’s getting ready to attack,’ Felicity warned.
Simon thought so, too. He moved in front of her, ignoring her question of ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ He focused on the wolf and only the wolf.
Felicity went to step out from behind him, but didn’t. She could not do much with Peter in her arms. Better to hold herself in reserve, she decided, until her husband needed her.
The wolf sidled to the left.
Simon moved in the direction the wolf was moving, keeping his wife and son behind him. When the wolf stopped, he stopped. When it resumed circling, he circled with it. The tension ate at him like acid.
‘What if we both rush it at once?’ Felicity proposed.
‘No.’
‘That might be all it takes.’ Felicity refused to believe the wolf would stand up to both of them.
‘Rush it with Peter in your arms?’ Simon thrust the brand at their lupine nemesis, but the wolf held its ground. ‘Come up with something better.’
‘But there is nothing better,’ Felicity said. Not that she could think of, anyway.
That was when Simon noticed the wolf was craning its neck as if trying to see past him. Meat eaters always went after the easiest prey, or so everyone claimed. He jumped to the conclusion it was after Felicity, and not him. Then Peter mumbled in his sleep, and the wolf pricked its ears and snarled. ‘God in Heaven,’ he blurted in alarm.
‘What?’
An icy fist had closed around Simon’s heart. ‘It’s after Peter.’ Exactly as the wolf would go after a fawn if it encountered a bunch of deer, or after a calf if it came across buffalo.
Felicity clasped her son tighter to her and leaned to one side to better see the wolf. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Take a step to the right and I will take one to the left and watch what the wolf does.’
‘Short steps,’ Felicity cautioned. She did as he had instructed, and sure enough, the wolf’s gaze was glued to her and not to Simon. Specifically, its gaze was glued to the child in her arms. ‘No!’ she breathed, overcome by terror. She nearly spun and bolted. Peter was her bundle of joy, part of her heart-given flesh and form. She loved him just as any mother loved her child, completely and unreservedly. She could not countenance the thought of him coming to harm. His pain was her pain. His death unthinkable. Rage boiled in her, rage that this wolf would dare want to devour him, rage so potent that she whirled and shoved Peter into Simon’s startled grasp. ‘Don’t let anything happen to him.’
‘Why are you giving him to—?’ Simon began, and was rendered momentarily speechless.
Felicity, gripping her club in both hands, flew at the wolf. She shrieked as she sprang forward, a wail of fury tom from her soul. The wolf growled and coiled to spring, and then she was on it, swinging her club, seeking to bash in its head and dash out its brains.
But she was not quick enough.
With deceptive ease the wolf danced aside. It nipped at her leg but missed. Her club caught it on the shoulder, a glancing blow, and the wolf yipped and retreated, but only a few feet. Halting, it stared at her, almost as if it were taunting her to try again.
Felicity did. Emboldened that she had forced it to give way, she ran toward it with her club raised to strike. Suddenly the wolf exploded into motion, coming straight at her. She tensed to bring the club smashing down, but the wolf veered and swept past her in a blur of teeth and hair. Too late, she divined its true intent.
The wolf was not after her.
It was streaking toward her husband—and Peter.
Zach King froze. He did not doubt the speaker would do exactly as he threatened to do. ‘Let me guess,’ he said calmly, although his insides were churning. ‘Edwin Ryker.’
‘Who else? Drop your Hawken, hold your arms out from your s
ides, and slowly turn around.’
Cadena grinned in spiteful glee. ‘Let me hear more of your bluster and bravado now.’
Zach did as Ryker had directed. He felt like a dunce, being taken this way. ‘I thought I lost you.’
Striding out of the trees with his rifle leveled, Ryker rasped, ‘I had to shoot my horse because of you, you son of a bitch. When it fell, it broke a leg.’ He had helped himself to a mount belonging to one of the Brit’s and come on alone. Instead of trailing them and possibly being spotted, he had taken a gamble. He nearly rode the horse to exhaustion in a wide loop that brought him to a point ahead of King and the girl.
‘I didn’t kill you,’ Zach said. In hindsight, he should have.
‘Drop the pistols and the knife,’ Ryker directed. ‘Real slow, if you know what’s good for you.’ He sighted down his rifle. ‘You’ll live a little longer if you do.’
Simmering inside, Zach obeyed.
Ryker smirked. ‘Which knee should I shoot out first? Your right or your left?’
Zach steeled himself to leap the instant the rifle went off. They were close enough that he might reach Ryker even if he was hit.
‘Or should I get it over with right away?’ Ryker taunted. ‘Put a slug between your eyes, say? Or through the heart?’
‘No,’ Cadena Taylor said.
Without looking at her, Ryker asked, ‘What in hell do you mean by no? Your uncle sent me to track down this breed and the Wards, and to do as I damn well please with them.’
‘I will thank you to stop swearing,’ Cadena said sternly. ‘Perhaps in your country it is acceptable to be uncouth in the presence of a lady, but in my country it is not.’
‘You are not in your country,’ Ryker snapped. He never had cottoned to her. In his estimation she was a snot-nosed uppity bitch.
‘But you are in my uncle’s employ, and as his niece, I have a say in what you do.’
Ryker had half a mind to haul her from the saddle and slap her until she begged for mercy. ‘I answer to your uncle, not to you,’ he said. ‘Give me one good reason why I should keep this breed alive.’
‘Are the Wards reason enough?’
‘How do they fit in?’
‘Do you know where they are?’ Cadena asked.
‘Not yet. I’ll find them, though. It might take a few days, depending on how well hid they are. But they’re as good as caught.’
‘Why go to all that bother when there is an easier way?’ Cadena argued. She nodded at Zach. ‘He knows where they are. We will take him back to my uncle and let my uncle get the information out of him. My uncle will like that very much.’ She stressed that last part. ‘You see, I happen to know something about him that you do not.’
‘What would that be?’
‘My uncle has a sadistic streak. He likes nothing better than to whip a man to the bone. I have seen him do it, seen how immensely he enjoyed the whipping.’ Cadena smiled sweetly. ‘It would be a shame to deprive him of so much fun by killing Zach King outright.’
Ryker regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You call whipping a man fun? Do you like hurting things, too, lady?’
‘I like it very much,’ Cadena said coolly, and looked at Zach. ‘After the indignities he has heaped on me, I can’t wait to have him writhe in the utmost pain he has ever experienced.’
‘I’ll be,’ Ryker said, and laughed. ‘You’re a female after my own heart. Too bad you’re not older.’
‘If I were, you would be the last person on earth I would be intimate with, if that is what you are implying.’ Cadena pumped her arms. ‘Now would you be so kind as to untie me?’
Zach was made to lie on his stomach with his arms spread wide. He did not resist. Ryker would shoot him without a moment’s hesitation. Zach preferred to stay in one piece until the right time and place presented itself. His cheek on the ground, he watched as Ryker helped Cadena down and slit the strip that bound her wrists with a deft slash of his blade.
Rubbing her wrists, Cadena walked over to Zach. ‘Now it is my turn, you bloody savage.’
Zach glanced up just as her foot connected with his ribs. His whole side exploded with agony. Involuntarily, he started to double over but turned to stone at a cold command from Ryker.
‘Stay exactly as you are or I’ll shoot you in the leg. She wants you alive to torture, but she hasn’t said you have to be intact.’
Cadena smiled. ‘You have a mean streak too, I notice, Mr. Ryker.’
‘I do what needs doing.’
Zach endured two more kicks, each harder than the last. It was all he could do to breathe, and pinpoints of light swirled before his eyes. If one of his ribs wasn’t cracked, it was a miracle. He glared at Cadena. He had treated her decent enough, all things considered, and this was how she repaid him.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Cadena snapped. ‘What else did you expect? You struck me, remember, back in the tent? You dragged me off against my will. You bound me like some common criminal. Did you think I would not resent it? Did you think I would forgive and forget?’ Cadena’s laugh was ice and hate in equal measure. ‘You miserable provincial. I suppose you cannot help being as stupid as you are, given the heathen inheritance that flows through your veins. But honestly, you are pathetic.’
Zach did not give her the satisfaction of responding.
‘Cat have your tongue?’ Cadena bated him. ‘Very well. Pretend it doesn’t matter. Pretend my barbs don’t sting. I know better.’ She drew back her leg to kick him again but abruptly changed her mind. ‘No. We will save the pain for when you reach our camp. It will give you something to look forward to.’
Both Cadena and Ryker laughed.
Zach did not resist as his wrists were tied behind his back. Cadena covered him with one of his own pistols while Ryker did the tying. It was Ryker who stripped him of his possibles bag, ammo pouch and powder horn, Ryker who slung him, belly down, over his saddle.
The ride to the flat-topped hill seemed to take forever, but it was not yet noon when they arrived.
All the tents had burned to the ground. The fire had spread from one to the other so rapidly, few of Lord Kilraven’s personal possessions were saved.
A sentry gave a shout, and Kilraven and his wife were waiting to meet them. Zach had never felt so helpless. He tried to slide down of his own accord but Ryker gripped him by the back of his shirt and dumped him in the dirt.
‘What have we here?’ Lord Kilraven asked.
‘A present for you, Uncle,’ Cadena said. ‘For you to do with as you please. Do you still have that whip you are so fond of?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Lord Kilraven replied. ‘It was in one of the packs outside when the tent burned.’ He grinned down at Zach. ‘I can hardly wait to use it.’
Fourteen
Simon Ward had a split second in which to act. The wolf was almost on them when, with the fervent hope Peter would not be hurt, Simon swiveled at the hips and dropped his son behind him.
It was too late for the wolf to stop. It had already launched itself into the air.
Simon met the leap head-on. The wolf was skin and bones, but its sinews still retained much of their raw power, and it still weighed well over a hundred pounds. Simon was sent stumbling by the impact and tripped over Peter. Even as he fell, he gripped the wolf’s throat and twisted to one side to fall clear of his son. He nearly had his wrist ripped open by a snap of the wolf’s iron jaws. Searing heat and pain shot up his legs, and too late he realized he had fallen into the fire. He rolled, hauling the wolf with him, the wolf snarling and thrashing and striving its utmost to bite him.
Then they were out of the fire and still rolling. Simon thrust the butcher knife into the wolf, and it snapped at his face, at his throat. Suddenly a cold liquid sensation enveloped him. They had rolled into the spring. In a twinkling the wolf’s fur was as slick as axle grease. Simon lost his hold.
Simon had no idea how deep the spring was. He thrust his legs down to find purchase, but his feet did not to
uch bottom.
The wolf was a crazed demon, struggling fiercely to break free while snapping and clawing in a frenzy.
Pain flared in Simon’s chest and thighs. The wolf’s claws were shredding his clothes and gouging his flesh. He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, the spring roiling around them, barely able to keep his head above water. He stabbed the wolf over a dozen times. Again and again the wolf’s fangs gnashed within inches of his jugular.
Simon tried not to swallow water but could not help doing so. The water, red water, got into his nose, choking off his breath. It got into his eyes, blurring his vision. Everything blurred: the wolf, the spring, the world. But still Simon stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, until his arms were leaden, until he was so spent he did not have enough strength to raise the knife. His body sagged and his head drooped, and he felt himself slowly sinking.
A sharp tug on his shirt restored Simon to some semblance of awareness. He was pulled upward and over to the edge so that he lay with half his body out of the water and half his body in. Sputtering and coughing, he blinked and gazed about him.
Felicity was at his side. ‘I thought I had lost you,’ she said tremulously. ‘I thought all that blood was yours.’
Simon looked at the spring. The water was scarlet. The wolf floated a few feet away, head down, its gaunt form riddled with puncture wounds. Suddenly Simon stiffened. ‘Peter?’ he gasped.
‘You saved him,’ Felicity said. She reached out an arm and pulled the boy to her. He was rubbing his eyes and yawning and did not seem to realize what had happened.
Simon crawled out of the spring and sat up, his arms behind him to brace him so he did not slump in exhaustion. ‘Are you all right, son?’
‘Yes, Pa,’ the boy answered. ‘Why are you wet?’
‘I was wrestling a wolf.’
Peter stared at the still form in the water. ‘You wrestle real good.’
‘Is there anything I can get you?’ Felicity asked. ‘Bandages? Dry clothes? Coffee? Anything at all?’
‘After a bit,’ Simon said. His arms had begun to shake. He lay back, totally spent, and stared at the sky. What a way to start the new day, he thought, and grinned. He closed his eyes. He would lie there a few minutes and then get up and change.
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