Judith E French (17 page)

“Poor thing,” Tamsin murmured. “What did you do to him?”

“Tied a Texas tornado to his tail. Lit brush and a few cartridge shells.”

“That’s cruel,” she replied.

“I figured the rope would burn through before the fire got to the mule. It must have, because he looks a hell of a sight better than you do.”

She nodded. She wanted to thank him for saving her life, but she knew if she said one word, she’d choke up and lose her nerve. She’d given Ash every reason to abandon her, but he hadn’t. He’d risked his life for hers. He was still risking it.

“How long will they follow us?”

He shrugged. “I wounded one at the campfire and killed that brave that came after us. That’s bound to make them mad.”

“One Cheyenne went off into the woods, after the owl hooted, but before—”

“Where do you think I got the rifle?”

“You killed him?”

Ash didn’t answer, and she felt foolish. Of course he’d killed him. Tears welled up in her eyes and wet her cheeks. She wiped them away, but more trickled down.

He glanced back at her. “Why are you crying now?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Reckon them Cheyenne didn’t either. It was just a game to them, until things went the wrong way.”

“You shouldn’t have come for me,” she said, urging her mare up beside Ash’s weary horse. “After what I did to you … Why did you—”

“Don’t ask. You might not like the answer.”

She bit her lower lip and tried to control her emotions. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything for a long time, not until the sun was high overhead. Then he looked back at her, and she noticed how gray and gaunt his features looked.

“You know I can’t let them capture you,” Ash said.

She roused herself out of a stupor. “What?”

“I can’t let the Cheyenne take you prisoner.”

Her lips were cracked. Her mouth was almost too dry to speak. “What are you saying?”

“I’ll keep you safe, Tamsin.”

His words were meant to be comforting … but somehow, they only made her more afraid.

No longer making any effort to hide their tracks, Ash kept the pace at breakneck speed. They crossed rocky gullies, scrambled down bare slopes, and galloped across alpine meadows knee-deep in blue-green grass and wildflowers.

They raced down canyons and led the horses along goat paths too narrow to ride where the threat of rock slides made Tamsin breathless. And then when the boiling sun was directly overhead, they stopped on a
high ridge to spell the horses. Ash shaded his eyes, looked back the way they had come, and swore softly.

“Look there.” He pointed to a string of horsemen that spilled across an open hollow.

“Cheyenne?” Tamsin shivered despite the midday heat.

“Too far off to say for certain.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?”

“Switch your saddle to the Appaloosa.”

Tamsin shook her head. “I’ve never ridden her. I’d feel safer on Fancy.”

“Save her for an open stretch. That’s a Nez Percé pony. They don’t breed tougher horseflesh anywhere. I don’t know where Buffalo Horn’s bunch got hold of her, but I’d trade both thoroughbreds for her any day. She’s fast and surefooted, and she’s got a heart as big as these mountains.”

“Why don’t you ride her? Your Shiloh’s worn out.”

“I’ll ride the devil’s whelp,” he said.

“Dancer?” She was too exhausted to do more than shake her head. “You can’t ride him. You’re not used to an English saddle, and he’s not trained to a western.”

“You put a rope on him and tie him to a tree. I’ll ride the bastard or know why.”

“He’ll kill you,” she warned. “I can barely ride him.”

“If I don’t kill him first.”

It took the best part of ten minutes for her to coax the stallion near enough to slip a bridle over his head and switch the supplies to Shiloh’s back. Then she mounted the Indian horse. She didn’t bother to put a lead line on Fancy. She’d follow, and if Shiloh didn’t, having him on a rope would only endanger them all.

Ash took Dancer’s reins in one hand and put his foot in the stirrup. The stallion squealed with fury and reared, nearly throwing them both off the edge of the mountain.

Tamsin stifled a scream as loose rock crumbled and Ash flung his weight forward and lashed the horse’s rump with the ends of the leathers. Dancer’s white-rimmed eyes rolled as he fought to regain his balance.

“Please, God,” Tamsin groaned.

The big bay’s front feet found solid ground, and he lunged forward onto the narrow trail. “Yaaah!” Ash yelled, driving his heels into the animal’s sides.

Dancer reared again, scraping the sky with flashing hooves, slammed into the earth, twisted sideways, and jackknifed. Ash rode him up and down, sticking to the English saddle with the tenacity of a greenbrier.

Unable to stand the tension any longer, Tamsin slapped the Appaloosa’s neck. “Get up!” she cried. The mare leapt forward, rounding the bend, scrambling up the last rise, and plunging down the far side with Ash’s gelding and Fancy hot on her heels.

Dust rose in swirls as the Indian pony’s hooves churned up the twisting trail. It was all Tamsin could do to hold on and pray that her mare’s bone-jarring flight wouldn’t hurl them off the path and into the abyss. She couldn’t think about Ash, couldn’t take time to wonder if he and Dancer had survived.

Tears streaked Tamsin’s dirty face, blinding her to everything but the mare’s head and neck and the sheer rock wall flashing past. One misstep, one gap in the weather-carved track, and her life would be over in a split second.

Then, behind her, Tamsin heard a roaring rumble as the mountain groaned and shifted. Boulders crashed, and a wave of loose gravel and pumpkin-sized rocks bounced around them. Unable to see, Tamsin clenched her eyes shut and clung to the horse’s mane as she felt the horse leap over an obstacle, stumble, and slide.

Before she could catch her breath, the mare’s hind legs buckled, and Tamsin lost her footing in her right stirrup and felt the saddle pull away from under her. Desperately, she tried to hold on to the Appaloosa’s mane, then screamed as she lost her grip and fell.

Ash clenched his teeth against the pain as he whipped the bay stallion harder while the mountainside slid away beneath the horse’s feet. The roar of falling rocks drowned the thunder of Dancer’s hooves as they pounded down the ever-narrowing trail that wound around the edge of the cliff.

In the first minutes after he’d swung up into the saddle, Ash had been certain that Tamsin was right. Not only wasn’t he strong enough to control the stud, but Dancer was going to kill both of them to prove it. When they’d nearly toppled off the edge, Ash had felt his hair turn gray. But once Tamsin started down the mountain, the stallion seemed to forget the man on his back. He was bound and determined to follow the other horses.

The stud hadn’t made that decision a moment too soon. Either Dancer’s craziness or Tamsin’s stampede had started a rock slide. The mountain sheep path they’d followed over the peak had vanished in the blink of an eye, wiped clean as though it had never existed, leaving them all running for their lives.

Between the falling debris and the animals ahead of him kicking up dust, Ash found it impossible to see anything farther than the stallion’s head. There was nothing to do but trust Dancer’s instincts and urge him forward even faster.

The big horse didn’t fail him. Leaping rocks with the agility of a wild mustang, Dancer came down off the peak as though the hounds of hell were hot on his tail.

Ash spat dirt and breathed a sigh of relief as the shelf wound around a corner and widened. Sheltered by an overhanging ledge, the air was clear enough to give him a hazy view of the downhill trail. He tried to rein in Dancer, but the horse had the bit in his teeth and his temper up.

Then, without warning, a yawning crevice opened in front of them. Ash tried to gauge the width of the gap, but it was too late to stop. Instead, he leaned forward and dug his heels into the stallion. Dancer tensed his muscles and leapt, flying over the missing section of rock and landing securely on the far side.

The bay gained on Tamsin and the other horses with each stride. Spraying dirt and gravel, he tore past the sweat-streaked chestnut on the left, forcing the mule close to the inner wall. Ahead, Ash saw Tamsin’s Appaloosa mare stumble and nearly go down, and his heart skipped a beat. He knew that if she fell, the other four animals would be unable to stop. All five would go down in a tangle of hooves and thrashing bodies, crushing her beneath them.

Then, as he watched, Tamsin lost her balance and fought to stay in the saddle. The Nez Percé horse struggled up, her stride broken, but still moving fast. Shiloh skidded behind her. With only one foot in the stirrup, Tamsin held on for long agonizing seconds while Ash cursed the stud and whipped him faster.

At the last possible instant Dancer drew neck and neck with the Appaloosa mare. Ash leaned out of the saddle and plucked Tamsin from midair. He winced and crushed her against him as the big bay took the lead and continued his wild downhill gallop.

A hundred yards ahead, the steep track spilled into a tiny alpine meadow. Ash reined in the stallion to a canter and pulled hard on his left rein. Circling tighter and tighter, the horse slowed to a trot and finally halted.

Tamsin, her face milk-white beneath the dust, trembled from head to foot and clung to Ash as though she would never let him go. “Shhh, shhh,” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”

Pain gnawed at his side and made him light-headed as he dropped Tamsin onto her feet. He drew in a jagged breath and sat perfectly still for the space of a dozen heartbeats.

“What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“This savin’ your butt has become a habit,” he managed. Bracing himself, he swung down out of the saddle.

His legs felt like wet clay, and his head was pounding. He clamped a hand against his side and walked toward a fallen tree. It was only a few yards away, but the distance seemed daunting.

Dancer raised his head and emitted a shrill trumpet as the other horses trotted into the high grass. The stallion was breathing hard, and his sides were streaked with sweat. Yellow foam dripped from his mouth and nose, but his obvious exhaustion didn’t keep him from herding the mule and the mares and nipping at Shiloh’s hindquarters.

Tamsin was suddenly at Ash’s side, slipping an arm around his shoulder. “You’re hurt! Oh, my God, you’re bleeding!”

Ash exhaled slowly and sank onto the log. “It’s nothing, a graze.”

She pulled his hand away and her eyes widened with alarm. She snatched back his vest and saw the widening circle of red around the hole in his shirt. “What is it? Did
a rock … Oh, Lord, that’s a bullet hole. You’ve been shot.”

“What are you worried about?” he said. “Your horses are fine. Not a broken leg among any of them.” Or you, he thought.

She ignored him, tugging at his clothing. “You’re losing blood.”

“Ow.” He groaned, pulling away from her. “Damn, woman, you’ll kill me trying to see—”

“Back there,” she interrupted. “When you shot that Indian … I didn’t know you were hit.” She slipped his vest off his right shoulder. “The bullet came out the back.”

“Damn good thing it did,” he muttered. “If it was still in there, I wouldn’t have made it off that mountain, not riding him.” He nodded toward Dancer.

“But you’ve been bleeding all night.” She laid a hand on his temple. “Your face is hot. You’re running a fever.”

Ash shook his head. “No. I told you, it’s not deep. The bullet plowed a furrow along my rib, maybe cracked one from the way it feels. But it only bled an hour or two.” He uttered a exclamation of black humor. “Until a few minutes ago.”

“Well, it’s bleeding now. We’ve got to find water, wash it. You need a doctor.”

“Right.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you see any in the vicinity, ma’am?”

She shook her head. “You were hurt, badly, yet you saved me. Twice. I … Why did you risk your life for me? If you believe I’m a murderer, why not let the Indians have me?”

Seeing her falling from the saddle, in danger of being trampled to death had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. Maybe it was the fever that was affecting his thinking, but he felt oddly touched by her sympathy over
his wound. He’d thought he’d rescued her to use her to catch Cannon, but he didn’t want to tell her that. Maybe it wasn’t even true. But if it wasn’t … then why had he?

“I thought about letting them have you,” he said.

“Comforting,” she replied. She glanced anxiously back toward the boulder-strewn trail. “The Cheyenne?”

“A goat won’t make it over that path for the next hundred years,” he answered gruffly. Her nearness made him want to put an arm around her and lean his head on her breast. He was tired. He wanted to sleep, and he wanted these crazy feelings about Tamsin to go away. “If they want us, they’ve got to go around the mountain and find another pass. And that will take half a day, at least.”

The chestnut mare nudged Tamsin with her nose, and she ignored the horse as she tore a strip from her petticoat to tie around his waist. “I told you my horses were tough,” Tamsin said as she bound his wound.

Ash gritted his teeth. “You tell me a lot of things.”

She stepped back and rubbed her hands on her skirt. “That’s all I can do for you without water.”

“It’s good. Thanks.”

“It’s not good. You need hot food, medicine and soap, a bed.”

He wished she wasn’t so damned concerned about him. He had to keep reminding himself that she was Cannon’s woman, that he couldn’t trust her.

“I know of a trader who has a cabin near here,” he said. “Six hours that way.” He pointed. “Maybe less.”

“Six hours? You can’t ride in your condition.”

Ash shrugged. “Got a better plan?”

It was a long six hours. Sweat soaked Ash’s shirt and vest, and his hair clung to back of his neck. The pain in his side had become a steady throbbing ache, and the sun made his eyes squint.

Still, he stayed in the saddle and kept his wits about him, which was what mattered. And he didn’t miss the nearly invisible trail that led through a zigzag ravine with steep walls into a tiny box canyon.