“Are you plum loco?” Trace thundered. “I’m not doing it. She isn’t going back there!”
The old man seemed to accept Trace’s word as final. All he asked was, “What do you want me to do?”
Trace sighed, trying to think up a plan. “If that wagon vanishes, they’ll know you had something to do with all this. Just take it to the Outpost and get some supplies, act like nothing is wrong. I’ll cover any tracks around here. Then I’m going back up the ridge. I’ll watch from there ’til you come back. If you’ve seen Comstock or any of his riders, drive by with your hat off. I’ll know they’re in the area then. After dark, I’ll burlap Diablo’s feet and we’ll head out for the Indian camp. Go about your cooking. No poking around. Keep your head down and give them no cause for suspicion. Once Mae’s safe, you’ll see me again, old-timer. Not until.”
P
raying
he’d find Mae still there, Trace returned to the campsite at dusk. In the distance he’d seen Preacher drive by with a loaded wagon and wearing his hat, and Trace hadn’t seen any sign of Comstock or his riders, either. That made him uneasy. They could be anywhere, and he had to tell Mae that they dared stay where they were no longer.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted her sitting atop the fallen log, his Winchester across her lap. He’d been quietly fretting she’d take Diablo and run, not trusting him to keep her safe. But maybe she finally believed him that Diablo’s prints were road markers for Comstock to follow, and maybe having reached this level of trust, the fool woman would tell him what ever else she was hiding. He rode into camp.
She rushed up with a dozen questions, and he smiled sadly. Annelee had been the same way. He handled Mae just as he had his sister, letting her get all the questions out before he spoke. “It’s not safe here. Comstock has half his crew out looking for you. I am really surprised we haven’t seen any of his riders yet.”
She gave him a look. “I’m not stupid, Trace. I rode north for a spell, picked up a creek, and rode down the middle of that to cover my tracks. I came out on rocks, leaving no prints. Then I circled around and headed back this way. He thinks I won’t go anywhere near the Outpost for help.”
Trace nodded, impressed. “Smart thinking, but when they find nothing of you or the horse in that direction, they’ll eventually come back to the Lazy C. In the morning, they’ll fan out in a bunch of directions. Bet your pretty little behind on that.”
She went back to the fire and dished up some stew. It didn’t smell as good as Preacher’s, but Trace was hungry enough to eat a snake, scales and all, so he figured this would taste mighty fine.
She said, “It’s not much. Found some airtights. Beans, but they’ll fill your belly.”
“My belly thanks you,” he replied. “Let’s eat up, pack, and get out of here. I covered our trail as best I could, but Preacher’s are different. Wagon tracks aren’t as easy to hide as hoofprints. Comstock’s men could easily get suspicious.”
“Was Preacher all right?” Mae asked, picking at her pan of beans.
“I’m happy to say the bunkhouse was too busy raising a fuss over your leaving to do him any harm. Comstock and Morgan got into a fight at first light. Then your husband—”
Her eyes flashing, Mae growled, “Don’t call him that.”
“Sorry. The low-down, yellow-bellied sidewinder…” He stopped when she smiled, and his heart did a slow
roll. Struggling to keep his mind on what needed doing, he stared down at the beans. “Preacher went on to the Outpost and got supplies after he met me; then he went back, so Comstock’s men may not pay much heed to an old man’s comings and goings. He didn’t see any of Lazy C’s riders going into or coming back from town. You evidently did a good enough job heading north. But they
will
ride back and look in other directions come morning. We have to be long gone by then. I want to ride slowly so I can cover our tracks until we reach the hills.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked anxiously.
“We need to pack up and be on our way,” was all he said. He kicked sand into the low-burning fire and began dismantling the camp.
When he was done, they approached the horses. Mae hestitated, clearly unsure what to do. She had ridden into camp sitting before him, and from her expression she was remembering that. Trace reached out and touched her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
“I want you to ride Diablo,” he said.
Her face reflected shock. “You do?”
“Yes. For several reasons, sweetheart. I need to be free to handle Duchess and cover our tracks. I’ve wrapped the stallion’s hooves, but if I miss tracks, those should be Duchess’s. Also…” He took a deep breath, his whole body clenching against the possibility. “Also, if the worst happens and Comstock or Morgan catches up with us, you lean over that horse’s neck and give him a slack rein. You’re light on his back; he’ll take off like he’s got wings. He’s wild, remember, but I saw how you handled him and he trusts you. There’s nothing on
this range that’ll beat him, provided you don’t let yourself get trapped. But don’t look back, Mae. No matter what.”
“But where are we
going
?” Her voice quavered.
“We can’t go anywhere near the Outpost; that’s suicide,” he replied. “We both know that. Travelers could report spotting us. So what I plan is to cut across the sage to a high plateau on the other side, east of the mountains. Doubling back across the valley is the last thing your—Jared Comstock would expect you to do. You’ve already doubled back once. When he figures that out, he’ll never expect you to do it again. He won’t know Duchess’s tracks, either; he’s looking for Diablo’s. Two days from now, we should reach a mesa where White Eagle camps, and you’ll stay with his people ’til—”
“That’s crazy!” she blurted. “We’ll have to pass right above the Lazy C! Why can’t you just take me southeast—to the railroad, where I can get a train home? I can wire my grandfather for money and—”
Trace interrupted. “For one thing, there’s no time. Besides, that’s the first thing Comstock would expect. You can bet he’s sent riders to the stage line and every train stop for miles around. Someone will be waiting there for you, Mae. We’ve got to do what they don’t expect. This isn’t going to end ’til they’ve exhausted every option, but they won’t go near the Indians. He’s not
that
stupid.” He wanted Mae to see this was the only option, but her face went pale and her eyes held terror. Something else occurred to him: “You’re not scared of Indians, are you, Mae?”
Her mouth worked. Finally she admitted, “I’ve heard
some awful stories about them and what they do to white women.”
Almost off ended, he hefted her onto Diablo’s back and handed her the stallion’s reins, then wound the lead to his burro around the saddle horn. “Put that horse dung out of your mind. You think white men have treated you so well? The Indians are a noble people, abused, mistreated, lied about…You’ll be a damn sight safer with them than Morgan or Comstock.”
“We’re right on the California border! Well, almost. But we’re closer to it than your Indians. Why can’t we—?”
“I thought of that,” Trace interrupted, “but I don’t know those parts, and I sure don’t know anybody I could trust to look after you ’til I settle this.”
“But I’m scared,” Mae replied. She clearly hadn’t been taking him seriously when he first suggested this plan. “When my great-aunt lived outside Louisville, they had a marker for victims of something they called Long Run. Whole families ran for miles trying to escape Indians. Many were killed”—she bit her lip—“and scalped.”
“That was back some time, Mae. Those Indians picked up ways taught by white men—the
French
. Yep. Didn’t you know scalping was a white man’s creation? They paid Indians for scalps during the French and Indian Wars—English scalps. Outside of a few trappers, the Plains Indians never saw any Frenchmen or learned their ‘civilized’ ways. Thank God.”
Mae sensed his annoyance and said, “I didn’t mean—”
Trace gave a huff. “Question is, are you more afraid
of the Indians than you are of Comstock?” When Mae didn’t answer, he nodded. “That settles it. Now come on. Ride in front of me, so I can use the drag to cover our tracks. But keep a close eye on me and do as I say. We’ve a lot of ground to cover before sunrise.”
As Trace swung up in his saddle, Mae gave a nod and said no more. There wasn’t any use; he wasn’t going to listen, and going on without him was unthinkable. He knew the territory, she did not. Having him take her back to the Lazy C would be a living nightmare. She would have done it, hoping to get that deed back, but only with him by her side. Being caught alone and dragged back yet again would be another matter. She shuddered just imagining it. She felt safe in Trace’s presence, and something else, something that quickened her pulse and pumped hot blood to her cheeks.
Twisting in the saddle, she watched him riding ramrod-rigid behind Diablo, every muscle tensed in the saddle. As she studied his strong profile, angular features, and that mouth, which was too damn sensual for a horse wrangler, it hit her: she was falling in love with this man of contradictions. A tough man, made tough by this ragged land and a war where there were few winners, yet despite all that, he was gentle with her and Diablo. He was a man very much like her grandfather, and she smiled, imagining introducing the two.
The shadow of a russet beard was just beginning on Trace’s cheeks. There was silver at his temples, revealed in the half-light cast by stars winking down from the overhead vault of deepening indigo. She watched him without detection. He didn’t even seem to be aware of
her, busy as he was making sure the drag did its job. The terrain had his full and fierce attention; no crawling, buzzing, or jumping creature, no sound or shape of the land they traveled escaped him as they picked their way out of their hiding place and across the land. He was in his element. The sight of him so absorbed took her breath away.
The burro trailing behind slowed their progress somewhat, but they had to be careful as they traversed the open sage, headed for the plateau on the far side of the valley. Lights blinking in the distant north chilled Mae’s blood. The Lazy C. They were so close—at least, it seemed that way. Night in the desert had a way of deceiving a traveler. She didn’t speak her apprehension, yet Trace seemed to read it, though he wasn’t looking at her. He nudged Duchess lightly with his knees, quickening their pace.
A thin string of clouds drifted over the distant mountaintops, tinting them a lighter shade of blue. Despite it being spring, there’d still be snow in the higher elevations. Strange night-blooming plants perfumed the air, their scents released when trampled beneath the animals’ hooves. There was comfort in that mysterious perfume, as though no danger could exist in such an atmosphere.
She and Trace reached the plateau before midnight, after miles of heart-stopping openness. Mae felt exposed the whole time, as if a thousand eyes watched her progress. Now there were trees and springs and rocky washes that would flood when the snows higher up melted, and Trace stopped to give the animals a drink of the cool, clear water. Both riders stepped down to
give their horses a breath, and Trace checked the burlap covers on Diablo’s hooves to make sure they were holding up.
It was a brief respite. Trace was a stern taskmaster and insisted they push on; too much ground had yet to be spanned. Mae made no protest, agreeing, despite the pain in her shoulder throbbing worse with every step the horse took. Even though the air was cool and damp, she felt feverish, but they were nonetheless soon off again, threading their way through groves just burgeoning with spring foliage.
The cool green darkness of the forest was welcoming, soothing the heat burning her body. So tired, Mae felt her eyelids begin to droop. She hadn’t rested while Trace watched from aloft throughout the day, had been too frightened to even close her eyes. She was paying for that now, swaying in her saddle and almost losing her grip on Diablo’s reins before a shift in his stride caused her to jerk back awake.
Shaking her head to clear it, she rolled her shoulder, hoping to relieve the ache. Instead, a sharp pain racked her body. Her breath drew in on a sharp inhale. Surely, the wound should be healing. Today, the nagging pain was worse. Maybe she’d hurt it more than she thought when Trace wrestled her down to the ground? Something at the back of her mind warned it was more than a simple twinge.
They’d left the grove upon a narrow gravelly trail leading upward, gradually at first, then steeper. The mesa at last! In the minimal light, Mae could barely see.
“Let me go ahead of you here,” said Trace, nudging Duchess around Diablo. “But follow me close,” he
charged. “If the burro balks, cut him loose. He won’t go far. I’ll come back after him once I’ve gotten you safely up this trail.”
“It’s so steep!” Mae worried, bending her head back to appraise the climb. It seemed like a wall or sheer rock face. “Trace, I don’t think—”
“Don’t think, just do like I say. Slacken Diablo’s reins. Keep them loose. He was born on a mesa just like this one. Give him his head, and he’ll scale this slope like a mountain goat. You don’t know half the potential of that horse you’ve got beneath you.”
Mae obeyed. There was no use protesting; the matter wasn’t open for discussion. She didn’t want to stay with the Indians, either. She wanted to head southeast to the railroad and home. Only, she worried about leaving that deed with Comstock. And worse, a new realization was starting to fill her heart: every clop of their mounts’ hooves was taking her closer to a separation from this mysterious wrangler. He planned to leave her with strangers—Indians, no less!—while he returned to face every gun on the Lazy C. Her heart stuttered at the thought. She didn’t want to be left behind. She didn’t want to lose Trace just when he was coming to mean so much to her. Even from this distance, and in such nerve-racking circumstances, he set a swarm of butterflies loose in the pit of her belly. And yet what choice did she have?
Trace had almost reached the top, and Mae heard him leak a muffled string of expletives, turning her skin to gooseflesh. Her heart leapt as gravel began sliding from under Duchess’s hooves—she’d heard of rock slides covering whole passes! But after a moment the
falling rocks slowed to a trickle, attracting a notice only from Diablo. But no. A high-pitched
hee-haw
signaled the burro had noticed, too.
“Hell and damnation!” Trace thundered. Duchess’s iron shoes clattered on the solid rock above.
Mae, growing dizzy, asked, “Wh-what is it?” She held her breath as Diablo cleared the rim.
“No fires. They’ve pulled up camp. They’re gone.” Trace glanced around the area, which held no signs of an intention to return. “We can’t stay here. Not for long, but perhaps overnight. That rock formation
there
.” He pointed. “We’ll leave the horses behind it, out of sight.”
Mae eyed him, incredulous. “You think we’ll be followed to this mesa?”