Magnificent Passage (16 page)

James sighed and settled himself a little deeper. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending upon how you looked at it, he knew his petite charge thought of him only as a friend. It would have been easy for him to think otherwise if he let himself. He had rarely seen a more enticing woman.

But he was smart enough to know once a woman's mind was set there was little chance of changing it. He wondered who the girl really loved, this Jason fellow or Hawk—or maybe herself, as the governor suggested. He doubted the
latter, but knew time would tell. He contented himself with thoughts of Great Salt Lake City and of Virginia City in the not-too-distant future and drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Hawk spent the night in an agony of confusion. Tossing and turning, he kept seeing over and over the luscious woman with the chestnut hair. He could still remember the fire in her eyes, like golden sparks leaping at him as she tried to claw his face. He hadn't meant to hurt her; in fact, he'd never been so relieved to see anyone in his life. She looked astonishingly beautiful sitting astride her little mare, skirts pulled to the middle of her calves, hair disheveled and falling around her shoulders like a glorious mane. Then he had remembered she was nonchalantly heading back toward her lover with no concern for what they were going through, no regard for their safety or her own, and he had completely lost his temper.

He chuckled to himself as he recalled her slap. His cheek still stung where her tiny palm connected. He wouldn't have believed someone her size could pack that much power in a single wallop. He had to admire her guts. Most
men
wouldn't have dared to do what she did. He couldn't really blame her, the way he'd taunted her. Besides, if he really admitted it, it was the worry she caused him, without the slightest remorse, that brought on the spanking.

That thought brought to mind a trim waist he could nearly span with his hands and a beautiful snow-white bottom. He knew he'd done no permanent damage, had just left his handprints—bright red on her ivory skin.

A persistent throbbing in his loins made him groan. Thank God they'd be in Virginia City before too long. He planned to find the most buxom wench in town and exorcise
this ache he'd been suffering for weeks. He would cleanse these hellish thoughts of the woman from his mind one way or another.

Mandy lay on her stomach on her bedroll, trying to sleep. She was still sore from the spanking, but by tomorrow she knew she'd be able to ride. It was her pride that smarted most. Damn that Black Hawk, or whatever his name was.

She thought of the way she'd slapped him. She must have been crazy to do what she did. It terrified her to think how much worse the consequences might have been. What could she have possibly been thinking? She knew she should hate the big brute, but even as she tried, she remembered the feel of his powerful arms around her waist, the warmth of his calloused hand. A hot blush spread over her as she thought of Hawk's outrageous actions. How dare he take such liberties! Grinding her teeth in frustration, she thought for the hundredth time how fortunate her cousin was in not making this journey, though the spanking might have done Julia some good.

Her mind returned to a pair of deep brown eyes and the feel of his muscular legs. If only there were some way to control her unruly thoughts. Scratching and slapping him hadn't helped a bit. She wondered what would. Getting rid of him in Sacramento City for starters. She'd promised Julia to delay as long as possible, but as far as Mandy was concerned, she'd done more than enough along those lines. Now she would just be glad when the whole charade was over.

J
ames might have enjoyed the day, but Hawk's mood was black and the girl's even blacker. The camp was like a battle line. No one said a word through breakfast. They ate hurriedly and resumed the journey.

The day was sunny and clear, the crispness in the air a testament to the last rays of summer, but they rode along in silence. The stiff breeze shook the towering pines, creating a lonely sound that reflected the bleakness of his friends' moods.

Night camp wasn't much better. The air was thick with hostility, sideways glances, and accusing stares. Tomorrow they would reach Great Salt Lake City and James was determined to end this feud between his two companions. He'd tried to talk to Hawk during the day, but received Hawk's usual “Mind your own business.” James smiled to himself as he realized the extent of his friend's misery. This whole affair was becoming more amusing every day.

After the three finished a supper of fish stew prepared from his catch of rainbow trout and some plantain, James pondered the problem. He was determined to end this antagonism before they reached Great Salt Lake. He finished his chores and spotted the object of his intentions.

In a melancholy mood, the girl had wandered some distance from camp and was seated on a granite outcropping overlooking a tiny valley several hundred feet below. James could see her pretty silhouette across the clearing and the setting seemed perfect for the conversation he had in mind.

“Lovely night, isn't it?” he began cheerfully. “Mind if I sit awhile?” She shook her head. “How are you feeling this evening?” He noticed the blush rising to her cheeks and quickly amended, “I mean, are you too weary for a little conversation to cheer a friend?”

At James's reference to their friendship, Mandy brightened; in that instant it became clear she'd come to regard him as just that—a close and thoughtful friend. She decided whatever reason he had for not intervening on her behalf must have been a good one. She fleetingly wished this handsome stranger could be the object of her desires, instead of his black-hearted companion.

“No, of course not, James. Do you really need cheering?”

“Well, it does pain me to see two people I like not speaking to each other.”

“I may never speak to him again after what he did to me,” she said.

“Julia, Hawk was worried sick when he found you gone. It was a damn fool thing to do, and he was afraid you might get yourself hurt or killed out there in the dark. We tracked you into the night far later than we should have. The horses were exhausted, and Hawk still wouldn't quit. I've never seen him in such a state. The only reason he stopped at all was for fear we'd miss your tracks in the dark and waste even more time.”

“Hawk . . . worried about me? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, it's true. And when he finally did catch up with you, and you acted so indifferent, he just lost his temper. As a matter of fact,” he added, “it's the only time I've ever seen him lose control.

“The Cheyenne are taught self-control from birth,” he continued. “It's a quality highly prized among their people. You must really get under his skin.” He chuckled. “Besides, if you don't mind my saying so, you really did deserve what you got.”

Mandy flushed from head to toe and tried to change the direction of the conversation. She knew it would do no good to argue with either one of them on this subject. She was still not convinced Hawk had her best interests in mind. He was probably only worried about the money he would lose if he didn't bring her back to Sacramento City.

“How much money is the governor . . . I mean, my father paying you to bring me back?” she asked after a pause.

James hesitated only briefly. “A thousand dollars.... He must care a great deal about you, Julia.”

“He cares a great deal about his reputation and the family honor.” Mandy spoke defensively as she felt her cousin would. She wasn't certain how much concern the governor really had for his daughter, but if he really wanted what was best for her, Mandy should be able to convince him that what she and Julia had done was in his daughter's best interest. She wondered briefly how the two men would react when they discovered they had transported the wrong woman all the way to California. She shuddered and pushed the awful thought away.

She tried again to find safer ground. “How did you and Hawk happen to meet?” Sarcastically she added, “That ought to be an interesting story.”

James grinned openly. Seizing an opportunity to present some of Hawk's better qualities, he began to reminisce. “Well, we met back in 'sixty-two. I'd been running a poker game in Denver at the Red Dog Saloon. Been winning a lot—as usual.” He winked. “I was beginning to worry that some of the gents in town might take it into their heads to get back their losses—one way or another. One man in particular worried me. Sergeant Max Gutterman. Ugly cuss. Only had one eye. Rumor was he'd lost the other fighting Indians. Some said his wife took up with a half-breed. The rest of the soldiers never let him live it down.”

James had packed up late in the afternoon and had ridden out of Denver, headed toward Cheyenne. His saddlebags bulged with the money he'd won, and he was looking forward to seeing Millie Edwards, a lady friend of his. Ten miles northwest of Denver he made camp.

The air was cool. Autumn. His favorite time of year. He finished supper and stretched out on his bedroll, glad to be out in the fresh air again. He loved his life as a gambler—and the ladies who went along with it—but he still enjoyed the freedom of the trail.

He'd just started to stretch out when the sound of a snapping twig bolted him upright. He grabbed his revolver and stared into the silver-blue muzzle of a Colt .44.

“I wouldn't do that if I was you,” Tom Jenkins said as he and Max Gutterman stepped into camp. Jenkins held his weapon steadily; Gutterman's fingers shook a little on the
trigger of his gun. Three other riders covered them from their horses.

James slowly laid down his pistol and stood up, careful not to make any sudden moves.

“Okay, Long, where's the money?” Jenkins, a hard-faced man with a mustache and blond hair, spoke for the others.

“I won that money fair and square, Jenkins, and you know it.”

The blond man chuckled mirthlessly, and his companions joined in. “Fair ain't got nothin' to do with it. Now, where's the money?”

James did not reply.

“Sergeant Gutterman, check his saddlebags. Johnson, keep that gun leveled on him. He's craftier'n he looks.”

“Money's here, all right,” Gutterman called out. A bit of a German accent mingled with a western brogue. His barrel chest spread the button holes on the dirty shirt beneath his overalls. A patch covered one eye.

“Let's kill him and get this over with.” Gutterman cocked his revolver and looked as though he was enjoying himself.

The others sat quietly atop their mounts. “Well, friend,” Jenkins said, a satisfied smile on his face, “sorry to disappoint you, but you win some, you lose some. Richie, take his horse—”

A graying rider nudged his mount toward the place where James's gelding was tethered.

James stood rigidly, trying to determine whether to make a move for the weapon at his feet, run for the trees, or play out his hand and hope the men would take the money and
leave him alive. The latter seemed the least likely of the possibilities.

Time was running out. He'd have to make a move—and soon. Suddenly, from somewhere in the trees, a bloodcurdling Indian war cry crystallized the night. Bullets bounced off rocks and whizzed into the dust, but he saw no one.

He hit the dirt and rolled behind a rock.

“Let's get goin'!” Jenkins commanded, forgetting James in his haste to escape.

Ignoring the danger, James leaped at Gutterman, punched him hard, grabbed the saddlebags, and dived again for the rocks.

Another chilling scream sent the barrel-chested sergeant running for his horse, Jenkins close behind. Gutterman mounted and glanced around, trying to locate James and the saddlebags, his face a mask of fury. Another barrage of bullets ended any further lingering.

Gutterman and Jenkins joined the others, and all five rode hell-bent for leather, a receding cloud of dust the only evidence of their trail.

Mandy sat on the boulder spellbound, her hands gripping the folds of her skirt. “You must have been terrified!”

James smiled ruefully, pleased with her concern. “That war cry scared me more than it did the gents. I can remember thinking, I've just missed dying by an outlaw's bullet; now I'm going to be scalped.”

“What happened then?” Mandy prodded, eager to hear the rest.

“A huge Indian rode into camp, bold as you please.” James chuckled as he recalled the image. “When he started
speaking to me in English, you could have knocked me over with a feather.”

“‘I am called Black Hawk by my friends,'” James said solemnly, doing a perfect imitation of his stoic companion. “‘Others call me Travis Langley.'

“I looked at him—and on the big Appaloosa he was riding, he looked eight feet tall. ‘Then Black Hawk it shall be, my friend,' I said. And we've been just that ever since.”