Legend of The Lost: (Z & C Mysteries, #4)

by Zoey Kane

  Anticipating the next time Mackey’s truck jumped a gully, Zo shot and got him. She knew because his head hit the dash and the truck flipped on its side, wheels spinning.

  “Don’t stop, Claire. Get back to the ranch and give me your phone now.” After Claire managed to drive and maneuver the phone out of her back pocket, Zo called 911, stating that it was an emergency and she wanted the sheriff immediately.

  “Your name and address, please,” said the woman.

  “Zoey Kane. We’re staying at The Lost Miner’s Dude Ranch! Send an ambulance too!”

  “Calm down, ma’am. Who is we?”

  “Me and my daughter.”

  “Does she have a name?” the nasal voice asked lazily before blowing her nose.

  Claire called out, “Look what’s headed our way.”

  There were several trucks of various kinds, side-by-side, driving toward them. Zo recognized the tobacco spitter with the shotgun driving in the middle, like the lead goose. He was the one who warned them of ruffians their first day out exploring. The pickups were dirty, dinged up, and needing paint jobs to cover all the rust.

  “Get somebody over here now!” Zo ordered, fear climbing up her throat. “We are out in the desert behind the dude ranch! We need extra officers!”

  “Ma’am, why should I be sending out one deputy, let alone extra units?”

  “Because, lady, I’ve been shot at, and I shot a man who’s probably bleeding out and needs the ambulance I asked for five minutes ago when you were blowing your nose! There are men coming our way with rifles, and there’s going to be more killing.”

  “Don’t be flip, ma’am. I could terminate this call.”

  “She doesn’t believe you?” Claire was aghast, anticipating what was driving directly toward them at a high speed, clouds of dust trailing their tires.

  Zo set the phone in a cup holder, still working the call. “Run for it, Claire! I’m all out of bullets!”

  Claire cranked the ATV to the right, heading toward the ranch. A flatbed truck forced them off, coming from somewhere behind, so she veered again, putting the ATV into a drift to get around it. The truck reversed with a squealing engine and spinning back wheels, throwing dirt, and blocking the duo.

  Claire backed up for another run out. This time, the driver took out a big ol’ handgun and shot out their engine, immobilizing them. A flame licked out from the engine.

  “Get out, Claire!” Zo snapped her daughter’s seatbelt off, her own already undone from the escapade with Mackey. They both jumped out, hitting the sand hard with their shoulders.

  Meanwhile, the horde of pickups was parking around them, and the drivers were getting out. Rifles drawn, they approached the women with confidence, so proud they finally bagged their prey.

  The dirty, tobacco-spitting prospector walked up to them. “Well, now. You two been up to no good. Killed poor ol’ Mackey and so cold-blooded.”

  “We were defending ourselves!” corrected Claire, slowly pulling herself off the desert floor.

  “One of us saw the whole thing… Dave, over there, in the flatbed. We could hear you shootin’ at Mackey all over this valley.”

  A couple of his seedy friends behind him laughed, while the others just grinned at the spontaneous entertainment.

  “Hey, Bolo!” said one wearing oil-stained bib overalls and a crumpled hat, with the bill turned up. “Give ‘em to me. I’ll take ‘em home to meet Mama.”

  An old guy with five-day stubble and bushy eyebrows under a dented cowboy hat, laughed, turning to him. “Haven’t the police shot that butt-biting Shepherd o’ yours yet?” he taunted.

  “Naw,” answered another, “They’d have to put him under mental evaluation before they could do that. That dog is psycho! Heh-heh-heh.”

  “Shut up, y’all!” Bolo said. “We got business here.”

  They quieted down, looking serious.

  “Weaver! You go over an’ take a look-see for what they have that Mackey’d be chasin’ ‘em for.”

  Everyone stayed quiet as Weaver obeyed. He returned, carrying Zo’s purse and the obviously heavy, woven tote bag in which Daniel placed the gold rock. He dropped them at the feet of Bolo.

  “We don’t want no purse!” He kicked it aside, then turned and looked at the boys. “Do ya’ll want to go to jail for petty theft? We got bigger things to do. Purse-snatchin’ wouldn’t be worth murder an’ kidnappin’—now would it? Do I always have to do your thinkin’?”

  One scratched at his nose while another scratched his rear in contemplation.

  Bolo pulled up the weighty tote bag. “Whatcha got in here?” he asked Claire. “Your grandma’s head?” The men laughed. Bolo took a look inside, and his eyes bugged out in surprise.

  “Oh, no!” yelled Weaver. “It is her granny’s head!”

  Zo and Claire looked defeated over the great loss they were about to experience.

  Bolo reached in the bag, took hold of the contents and turned the bag upside down, resting the heavy object in his hand. Whipping the tote bag off, he revealed the pure gold rock to the boys.

  Expletives and dancing went up among them, along with some hitting each other with hats.

  “Well now, ladies. This do rather change things, don’t it?”

  The duo just glanced at each other, not knowing what their next move would be, with rifles still aimed at them, plus a couple more handguns since the big find.

  “You two are going to ride with me.” Bolo licked his chapped lips, and a sheen of sweat beaded on his brow around his penetrating eyes. “And you’re going to take me to the exact location where you got this here mega-fortune.”

  Mom and daughter were rudely pushed over to Bolo’s doorless pickup truck. It smelled like armpits and spicy jerky.

  “Put on your seatbelts. I don’t want nuthin’ to happen to either o’ you just yet.” He unwrapped and tore off a piece of black molasses tobacco with his side teeth, chewing it like hard bubble gum.

  “How old are you?” asked Zo. “You’ve got to be younger than you look!”

  “Shut up! You don’t abide chewing tobacco, eh? Well then, I’d be awful careful o’ what I say, if you don’t want a deep kiss with a mouth full o’ this!” He spat out his door, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Which way?” he growled as he started up the truck before grinding the gears. They bobbed up and down with the pistons’ revolutions, and after the brake was released, the pickup moved forward.

  Bolo slapped a heavy backhand across Zo’s cheek. “Which way, I said.”

  “South!” yelled Claire.

  “Okay. If you don’t want your friend here beat up, just cooperate.”

  Claire didn’t bother to tell him she was her mom.

  Bolo headed south toward Devil’s Tooth, and the rest of the pickups followed. Neither Zo nor Claire had any kind of a plan. They felt pretty well sewn up.

  “Ya see that?” came a voice over the common walkie-talkie.

  Their driver picked it up. “Yeah. What is it?

  “Looks like a huge dust devil, Bol.”

  “We can try to go around it. If not, we’ll have to go through it.”

  “Right. Out.”

  The rusty caravan got closer and closer to the windstorm, but stopped just before reaching it. As everyone sat a moment looking it over, comments resumed over the walkie-talkie.

  “Hey. That sand storm is heading pretty fast our direction.”

  “That’s pretty strange.”

  “I ain’t never seen anything like it around here before,” chimed another, sounding worried.

  “Look! There are people making all that dust!”

  SIXTEEN

  Bolo picked up his walkie-talkie. “Get your sights ready in case they want to get in our way. Maybe it’s the sheriff.” He glanced at the women. “Don’t think you two are rescued now, ‘cause you ain’t. We’ll shoot ‘em all to get where we’re goin’.”

  A couple in the caravan took shots at what were now clearly riders on horseback, racin
g out of a golden dust cloud. Bare-chested Indians in tan, black-beaded vests leaned forward, holding rifles and firing back, as beautiful as oil paintings in motion, their long hair whipping. There were no saddles and the reins were loose. Their horses pumped their muscled necks, their white manes flying, nostrils flaring. They were a terror on hooves, striking the ground like flint. The entire scene had a ghostly vision about it. The dust cloud fluffed around the warriors like pale-yellow glory, a whooping sound their battle cry. A couple of them smiled at Zo and Claire. That was a very curious thing for a bloody gunfight.

  The duo slid down, hoping to avoid bullets, then sat up enough to peek at what was going on. The barrage of gunfire coming from the gold diggers was deafening.

  Bolo pulled his truck to a stop, just as the others did, and took down his rifle from the back window rack. He yelled out, “I’ll kill these women if you don’t let us pass.” He cocked his gun and shot. The sound cracked the sky.

  Bolo turned the rifle on the two huddling, and said to Zo, “Tell me where that mine is or I’ll shoot you now.”

  “You will shoot us anyway,” said Zo flatly.

  “Yes…” he said, a little irritated that he would have to explain. “But I’m going to shoot you a little at a time this way, starting with, hmmm, your daughter?”

  A bullet zinged past, nipping Bolo’s neck. That made him turn to shoot through the doorway. Zo was watching and so was Claire, when, to their surprise, an arrow suddenly poked out through their kidnapper’s head about six inches. Claire screamed.

  A young Indian man rode up and yanked the dead Bolo out. He dropped his bow and arrows in the pickup bed, dismounted his horse, and got in beside Zo, putting the idling truck into gear to head back the other way. The engine died. He tried to start the old truck again, but all it did was grind the starter.

  Another Indian rode up, a bit older. “Hank, you are such a show-off!” he said to the one sitting with them. “Good work. I’ll see you later.” He leaned down from his horse and added, “You okay, Zoey and Claire?

  “Yes, thank you,” said Zo, relieved. “You all saved us from a real sick, tobacco-spitting murderer.”

  “Oh, no! Not tobacco-spitting!” he said with a friendly laugh.

  Zo said, “Yeah, well he didn’t threaten to kiss you.”

  “You two are safe now.” He started to ride off. “Have a good life.”

  “Wait!” Hank said, turning the key in the ignition. “This truck won’t drive. We have to hustle these two back to the ranch.”

  “Okay, Fly Foot won’t mind,” the warrior said, referring to his horse. He reached a hand down and patted the strawberry roan’s neck. “Will you, kakoolo wachi?”

  The other Indians now slowed to a trot across the battleground.

  “Time to get out,” Hank said. “You aren’t afraid of horses, are you?”

  “No,” answered Zo. “We seem to be riding double a lot ever since we arrived.”

  The two slid out, waiting a moment as Fly Foot’s rider positioned his horse for an extra passenger.

  “Your horses are beautiful, and they all have white manes.” Claire stroked her fingers through his horse’s hair.

  Dust picked up again amidst a golden haze of early dawn as warriors rode past them, returning toward Devil’s Tooth. They kept on riding until they were erased away from view.

  “It’s part of our brand. The white manes,” Hank answered, bringing Claire back to the conversation.

  “Tell me…” asked Zo, “how can you get your horses to go where you want without any reins? I saw them hanging loosely down on their necks as you were shooting.”

  “Leg and toe commands,” the roan rider answered. “We school our horses well.” He threw a leg over Fly Foot’s neck to leap off, and offered a hand to help Zo up.

  There were no stirrups, only a saddle blanket with a cinched belly strap. Zo approached, facing the horse in anticipation of a leg up, when all of a sudden she was tossed up. That brought a “Whoo!” from her. Next, the Indian volleyed over the horse’s rump, landing behind her.

  “Well!” Zo exclaimed.

  His arms went around her waist. As if sensing her nervousness, he said, “I must hold onto you. My horse is named Fly Foot for a reason. Ready?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Here we go!”

  Zo took hold of some mane and the horse reared up and leapt forward, taking off. After that, the landscape blurred past them in smears of khaki and green. Though Fly Foot’s stride was strong, it was also long and smooth, creating the sensation of flying. The horse’s motion was so swift as to take her breath away.

  Zo managed to ask with hope, “Isn’t he going to get tired?”

  “Fly Foot chooses his own speed. I’m just along for the ride.”

  Hank gave Claire a leg up and also leaped behind her in a single spring, dropping his leg over. “What gear do you want him to take you back in?”

  “Comfortable,” she answered.

  The two moved forward in a slow gallop. Claire didn’t mind the cozy feel of his arms around her at all. She thought how she could mass market cozy arms instead of seatbelts. Like her usual business savvy, it seemed to make sooo much sense at that moment.

  They passed by the war scene of derelict pickups, with dead men still in them, one hanging out a window and another on the ground, caught while trying to make a run for it. Even the haggard vehicles looked like they were slain in battle.

  One of the warriors was sitting on his black and white appaloosa, with a white mane, waiting as a guard. Hank slowed and stopped to talk to the man. “You waiting for recovery?”

  “Yes. I reported the war zone,” he answered with a square jaw, “and the Sheriff’s Department is on the way.”

  “Okay, catch you later.” And they were off, again.

  Claire felt like she was riding a rocking horse because of the gentle, easy gallop.

  “I would like to ask, Claire, if I may kiss the back of your neck. That is an outrageous request, I know, but would you let me if I gave you a glass bead, or maybe a pretty rock? I mean, this opportunity is going fast and will not happen again.”

  His breath brushed the back of her neck lightly, tickling it enough for her to giggle.

  “Well, Hank, I think I would like that, but I have a cowboy friend at the ranch who probably would not.”

  “I love your ponytail.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I love your… your pretty eyes.”

  “Thank you.” Claire had a moment of self-consciousness, and lowered her head. She noticed his long fingers, clean fingernails, with a certain manly grace, locking her safely in his hold. “You are so much fun!” she added with an amused smile.

  Meanwhile, Zo and her escort on Fly Foot were headed at quantum speed for a deep gully. Zo heard a frantic beating of drums, matching the horse’s hoof beats, propelling her toward the danger ahead. Her escort’s arms tightened around her. She imagined a run into the gully would be a great jostle and neck-snapping, if they didn’t fall like a car wrecking on a wet speed track.

  When the inevitable peril was just inches away, the pounding of hooves ceased and time stilled as Fly Foot unexpectedly sailed across the ravine, whereupon the beating of hooves resumed.

  “Don’t you like the flatter ground that vehicles drive on?” Zo inquired in a small, squeaking voice.

  “I do, but Fly Foot don’t,” answered her companion, his dark hair flying, matching the speed of his horse.

  Pretty soon, Zo spotted a sheriff’s car in the distance, and hoped her salvation was near. As they approached, the thought crossed her mind of whether or not Fly Foot would jump over the vehicle with flashing lights. Instead, he suddenly stopped, leaning back into a slide and rearing up. He came down in a motionless stand except for his head tossing occasionally.

  The Keelywot warrior slid off the back of his horse to help Zo. She was unmoving, although internally warning herself to get off fast in case the animal, again, rocketed away. The Indian grabbed
her around the waist, unlocking her frozen condition, and lifted her to the ground, where she was thankful to finally be. It took a second for her bandy knees to regain confidence. She managed to get balanced and tuck a distressed lock of hair behind an ear.

  Daniel exited the car with a big grin, his mirrored sunglasses reflecting the early sun. “Hmm, little white woman ride with fierce warrior and notorious, mystic horse. How’d that go for you anyway?”

  “I have a feeling you know the answer to that question,” Zo replied woodenly. Then she turned to thank her rescuer, only all she could see was the white tail of Fly Foot in the distance, flagging as he ran.

  “There she is,” said Daniel, pointing in the direction Claire and Hank on their horse. “They came the short way.” He grinned again.

  Zo watched as the horse’s head bobbed with every gallop forward until they arrived. Hank slid off and offered a hand to help Claire down.

  Hank didn’t let go of Claire’s hand, looking into her eyes seriously. “There is a tribal custom I must perform now, having completed my mission of rescuing a beautiful woman who has no great man for protection in her life.”

  “And what is that?” asked Claire, her brown eyes curious, while suspicious.

  “I thought you’d never ask. He took hold of Claire and dipped her into a thrilling kiss that made her heart rise up to her throat.

  When he brought her back to standing, all she could say was, “Wow.”

  Hank was all smiles, deepening his dimples. “Goodbye, Claire. This whole experience is going to be legendary… even for me. I’ll never forget.”

  Claire actually didn’t have words.

  “Goodbye, Kane women.”

  Zo was amazed by the moment she thought should have been videoed. So it was a good thing she had Claire’s phone in her back pocket.

  Hank handed Claire something and mounted his horse. He waved at Zo and Daniel as his horse, Spirit Runner, spun in a circle before he rode away.

  Once the duo was seated in the police car, with no mesh screen separating the front seats from them, Claire asked, “Do you think Mackey is for sure dead, Mom? Just a worry of mine.”