The Renegades: Nick (2 page)

The dust and ashes thickened until she couldn’t see the ears of her team, much less what lay in front of them. They had leapt from nearly a standstill to a flat-out gallop, but she could feel and hear horses flying past her as if she weren’t even moving.

They were a fleeting worry, though, because she had too much to do just trying to breathe the strangling air and hold onto the lines and stay in the wagon. It was tearing over the rough ground, bouncing like a plow behind a runaway. How could any land look so flat and be so rough?

Gunfire sounded somewhere off to her left and a long, shrill train whistle wailed. It gave her a chill. She’d forgotten about the hundreds more people crammed into the train and clinging to its sides. Most of them were headed for town lots, though, and not competing with her for a homestead.

She mustn’t think about anyone else. All she had to do was spot a government marker on a piece of land that nobody else had claimed, and then drive in her stake.

Her team swerved suddenly and she saw it was to miss a cookstove, of all things, dumped on its back in the middle of the plains to lighten a load. The sight gave her goosebumps as the lurch of the wagon sent her sliding halfway
off the end of the seat. It was awfully early in the race for such a sacrifice. It meant her competitors would stop at nothing to get a claim.

Righting herself, she lifted the lines and slapped them down.

“You’ve been trying to run all morning,” she yelled, “so run!”

Dimly, as she flew past, she saw a man leap from his horse and reach for the stake on his saddle. A moment earlier, and she could’ve had that claim.

If she could’ve stopped this team. The way they were running now, they’d take her to Texas before they even slowed.

Gradually, working them with light tugs on the lines while she scanned the horizon the best she could, she got enough control to head Joe and Judy to the east, southeast. Somehow she had to get out of this press of dust-raising runners, so she could at least see a marker if one appeared. If she didn’t make a choice soon, every claim would be gone.

“Sooner! You’re nothin’ but a sneakin’ Sooner!”

The wind carried the angry shout clearly.

“Shoot the s. o. b.! Shoot him!”

Gunshots rang out, three or four of them, and then Callie heard nothing more except the noise of her own wheels. She shivered. Not
only could a wreck or the heat kill her today, so could her fellow homesteaders.

The people in the border camp had talked incessantly of Sooners who slipped into the Strip to hide on choice pieces of land, ready to pretend they’d arrived in the Run, and many a man had threatened to shoot such cheaters on sight. Now it seemed that one of them had.

A dozen feet in front of her, the shape of a running horse formed in the middle of a cloud of dust, then the man clinging to his back. At that instant, they fell in a wild, tumbling roll forward onto the ground. The man landed free, past the horse’s head and as she rushed on past and looked back, he got up. The horse didn’t. A moment later, it let out a high, terrified scream that pierced Callie’s heart.

But she couldn’t go back, however much she wanted to help. With what she’d learned from Granny about doctoring both people and animals, she might do something for the poor thing, but she’d lose all chance of a homestead. She had to think of her baby and keep going while she had this wild team of hers halfway under control. Yet the hard decision brought tears to her eyes.

The wind blew away a great cloud of dust and showed her two people near a claim marker—a woman driving in her stake, a man on horseback. After a moment of apparent conversation, the man touched his hatbrim,
whirled his horse and raced away. As he disappeared, the “woman” removed her skirts and sunbonnet. “She” was a man!

“What a low trick!” Callie cried aloud.

Joe chose to take that as an order and turned firmly to the left, dragging Judy with him. Callie sawed on the lines but he ignored her. In front of her the dust thickened, began to swirl, then formed a dustdevil that spun crazily away and cleared another path through the heavy air. She looked frantically for a marker, but saw none.

Farther to the east, the land was more broken and rolling. It rose and fell into some canyons and she could glimpse the tops of some trees down in a long draw, their leaves already brown from the drought. Trees would be wonderful, and even though these were tiny hills, this land would comfort her eyes every morning—much more than the flat, flat plains.

Best of all, a creek was probably the reason the trees grew there! Water on her land would be a gift from God, especially when she grew big and awkward right before her confinement, and was weak and tired following the birth. Dora would have enough to do when she came to help her birth the baby without hauling water, too. Yes! This was meant to be her claim!

She glimpsed a stone marker near the mouth of the draw and pulled the team to the
right, urging them to race in that direction. They rushed up onto the edge of a deep ditch and down into it before she even saw it, nearly jolting her off the seat and over the side. Her box of precious books hurtled forward and slammed into the backs of her legs. She grasped it between her feet despite the pain and held it in the wagon.

That was one thing she couldn’t lose, no matter what. Books could get her a teaching post when nothing else could.

The crack of a gunshot sounded faintly, way in the distance, and she saw fresh smoke rising on the horizon. Callie’s heart leapt into her throat. People were thick as dust out here. This was her first and last chance—she had to stake this claim and be ready to hold it!

She bent sideways a little so she could feel the pistol in her skirt pocket and know it was still there. Considering that she’d bought it from the same man who’d sold her this wild team of animals, she could only pray that it would work better than they did. There’d been too few bullets to try it out more than twice.

The team carried her up a gradual slope and then down again, running straight toward the stone marker. Her heart beat even faster than the wagon was rolling, so fast that she had a sudden urge to jump off onto the ground and drive in her stake. It’d be better to get closer to the marker, though.

She was no more than a stone’s throw from it when a loud cracking noise split her ears and a terrible shaking rippled through the wagon. The back end shook, and the rim of one of her wheels rolled past her, wobbling crazily before it fell over.
Stop!
She had to stop before the rough ground tore up her wooden wheel.

Shock froze her hands to the lines for a breath or two, but she hollered, “Whoa,” got her team stopped, and then heard hoofbeats thundering somewhere near, growing louder by the minute. An instinct far older than she was forced her legs and arms to move. Now was her only chance.

She threw the lines in opposite directions and slid to the edge of the seat, grabbing her flag from beneath it as she went. She hit the ground running, racing for the marker with her skirts blowing ahead of her in the wind. As the noise of hoofbeats came closer, she plunged the slender stick that held her flag into the ground.

It wouldn’t even stand. The earth was too dry. She snatched the gun from her pocket, turned it around, and pounded the stake with the butt. The stick sank in enough to stay upright. She had a claim!

Oh, praise God, she had done it! After all this agony, and all these miles, she had staked a claim!

Exhilaration nearly pulled her up into the air. She’d done it—she had a homeplace for her baby, a home of her very own! Papa couldn’t banish her from here!

She bent over the flag, making sure it would stand, dragging air into her lungs, trying to catch a deep breath after her run. Only when the stick stayed straight and strong did she turn to look toward the sound of hoofbeats.

A big black horse was galloping at her, carrying a man in a cowboy hat and a blue shirt. For one hopeful heartbeat she let herself think that he would run on past, that the rider had his eye on something behind her—but the very bones in her body knew better.

The magnificent animal slid to a stop within an arm’s length of her and reared high, reaching for the sky. Its cooling shadow fell across her but her blood blazed up hot, as hot as the ground searing the soles of her shoes. This man was trying to scare her with his horse’s shod hooves threatening to crush her skull like a melon.

Callie kept her spine stiff and summoned the courage to look the bully in the face. His thighs bulged with saddle muscles that threatened the seams of his worn jeans; his powerful calves glued themselves to the horse’s sweaty hide as if they shared a skin. He could ride, all right.

Finally, she looked up into his face.

He was handsome as sin, but that didn’t help her any. His granite-gray eyes were the kind that gave no quarter.

T
he horse and the man towered over her, like some huge, vengeful centaur of the desert. Any minute they’d come back down and crush her. A scream tore at her throat but she sealed her lips and held it in, fighting the urge to turn and run. Although every nerve in her body was cringing and cowering, she didn’t even fold her arms over her head and close her eyes.

Instead, she stood her ground and stared into his gray eyes, which glittered in his sun-darkened face, while she placed one hand over her baby and turned her gun around in the other. She kept it hidden behind her skirts.

The horse dropped its front feet back to
earth with a soft thud, missing Callie by a good yard’s length. A sigh of relief filled her chest but she held that in, too.

“You’re jumping my claim,” the man said in a flat tone that brooked no contradiction. “Move on.”

His gaze pierced her. It dried out her mouth and paralyzed her tongue.

“No,” she managed to say. “This is my claim.”

“You’ve still got a chance,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Hurry and you can stake the next one.”

Somebody shouted, not too far off into the distance. Hooves beat on the earth.

“You’re mounted,” she told him, narrowing her eyes against the dust and wind. “You go. I’ve lost a wheel rim, I got here first, and I’m not giving over to you.”

“Big talk from a little woman,” he said, an undertone of amusement in the words.

He looked her up and down, then his gray eyes came to rest on her face again. The look in them made her think of a slow-burning fire. He sat watching her, one hand resting on his muscled thigh, as still as if he never intended to move any more.

She couldn’t move, either, for looking back at him.

Finally, her pulse pounding in double time,
she brought her gun out and lifted it in both hands, pointed it at him.

“I’ll shoot you right down off that animal if you’d like to be buried on this claim,” she said, holding her voice steady, “but that’s the only way you’re going to get possession of it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to grin, but he didn’t.

“You made a good decision not to laugh at me,” she said. “I come from a long line of feuding mountain folks and I’m a dead shot.”

“Well,” he drawled, “it’s downright refreshing to meet a woman who’ll fight her own battles.”

Callie thought she detected sarcasm in his wry tone but he still looked at her solemnly and she decided to take the remark at face value.

“You’ve met one, all right. I’ve come over a thousand miles for this claim, I staked it fair and square, and I intend to keep it, so you’d do just as well to ride right on out of here.”

He glanced at the gun once more, then looked over his shoulder toward the sounds of hoofbeats, louder now. People were coming closer. His powerful leg tightened on the horse, and they plunged forward into an instant running lope.

Callie’s heart leapt with joy. It worked!

Until he leaned down and pulled her hard-driven flag up out of the ground.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Leave that alone!”

He didn’t even slow, only wheeled the horse and came at her again. A huge knot in her throat nearly choked her. He was robbing her! He was taking away her claim, the one with water and trees meant to be hers, the claim she’d suffered so much to find!

The flagrant injustice if it set her free. She lifted the pistol again, aimed it at his chest, steadied it in both her hands, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Stop! Bring that back!” she yelled, as the thief thundered past her.

She swung around to keep the gun pointed at him and tried again to shoot the useless piece of trash.

He kept going, not even glancing over his shoulder, as if he’d known all along the rotten thing wouldn’t fire.

She hurled it at him with all her strength, picked up her skirts with both hands, and gave chase.

“You’ll not get away with this! I won’t let you! Give me my flag!”

A few yards in front of her, his body shifted position on the horse, sliding so quickly sideways she thought he was falling off. He wasn’t. As the big horse slowed and began to circle back toward her, the man hung low off one side, as easily as if he did such a thing
every day, reached down, and with one sure thrust, planted her flag.

She ran faster.

“Don’t bother to throw me a sop,” she cried. “I won’t have it! The other claim is better and it’s mine by rights, and you know it, you filthy robber!”

He righted himself on the horse and rode toward her but without even looking at her. Not from shame, though, because he was staring at something over her head. Suddenly, she heard the hoofbeats right behind her and whirled to see who was there.

“Hey! You! I seen what you done. Pull up that flag!”

The challenger was so close that Callie veered to the right to get out of his path. A wild-eyed, bearded man riding a mule raced right up to her tormentor to face him down.

“Pull up that second flag, I say.”

“Get out of here.”

Her flag thief’s eyes had turned so hard that one look could strike flint and make fire.

He is a dangerous man
.

The thought hit her in the pit of the stomach. Somehow she hadn’t known that quite so surely until now. It was a wonder he hadn’t drawn his own pistol and shot her dead.

But the bearded man didn’t seem intimidated in the least.

“Ain’t right fer one couple to take two claims,” he declared.

“You’re way out of line, stranger. Ride on.”

The cold order didn’t faze the man on the mule.

“I’m willing to bet that you’uns ain’t got two permits to make the Run,” he said. “Wanna show me?”

Couple. You’uns
.

It took another breath for Callie to realize that he meant the two of them. He thought they were together.

“We’re not a couple!” she cried. “I don’t even know him.”

He just stole my claim from me—I never saw him before that
.

But she shut her mouth before she said it. This bearded man wasn’t going to help her get her land back; he wanted it for himself. He flicked his white-rimmed eyes at her.

“You don’t know him. Whar’s yore man, then?”

“I’m a widow.”

He dismissed her with a scornful flick of his hand.

“Widder! Widder woman cain’t prove up no claim.”

He bore down on the man on the black horse again.

“Me and two brothers got families to work a farm. Seventeen young’uns amongst us. I’m
layin’ claim to this here quarter-section.”

“It’s taken. Hit the trail.”

The man on the mule froze in his ratty saddle. Callie could see his skin whiten, even through the beard and the coating of dust on his face. He looked pretty dangerous himself. She wished she had her gun back, even if all she could do with it was bluff.

As if he’d shared the thought, the handsome man who’d stolen her claim drew his pistol, quicker than a squirrel stealing acorns. He rested its butt on his saddle horn and stared at the other man.

“You’ve got the drop on me, now,” the muleback man said, his words coming cold and slow, “but Baxter is my name and I want you to know that sooner or later, that’s the name the Land Office will write on the deed to this quarter-section right here.”

“Ride,” the land-thief said.

“You’re protectin’ her interests,” Baxter said, flicking a scorn-filled look at Callie, “and in my book that says y’all are together, wed or not. I aim to go to the law with this.”

The threat made no impression on her flag-thief.

“Then go,” he drawled. “Ride or die.”

This time his words held an edge so keen that Baxter pulled his mule around and started moving away.

“I’ll be back when you least expect it,” he
shouted, “and my brothers with me.”

He clattered away, raising a storm cloud of dust.

New voices and noises of hooves and vehicles immediately drowned out the sound of the mule. The man on the black horse glanced around in all directions, then he holstered his gun.

“Run’s over,” he said. “The intruders from the south have met up with you locusts from the north. You got the last claim.”

A storm of disappointment swept through Callie, a bitter wind that shook her right down to the bone.

“The Run may be over,” she said, no longer even caring how dangerous he was, “but not between the two of us. I want the first claim I staked. I’m guessing by the trees that it has water, and this one doesn’t.”

“You guess right.”

His eyes showed not one scrap of remorse, only a quick gleam of interest.

Most likely, he thought her a curious, amusing and pitiful specimen—a small woman, her old gun and her ragtag wagon useless, flinging foolish challenges at a muscular man wielding a fine pistol aboard a fine, fast horse.

A muscular man who had her at his mercy out in the middle of the prairie wilderness.

Her tongue went right on talking anyway.

“Then you’ve stolen my water from me. You
had no right. Give it back.” A flash of irritation showed in his face, then, and one corner of his mouth lifted. He had beautiful, full lips that were very expressive when he released them from that hard, straight line.

But why would she even notice that? He was a ruthless, overbearing bully of the first order.

Suddenly, she was overcome with fury and disappointment so strong she trembled all over and got dizzy again. Her survival and her baby’s were at stake, and the only weapon she had left was sheer determination.

“Admit it,” she said. “I was first on that claim. You pulled up my stake.”

He nailed her with one hot, sharp look.

“You must not have seen mine,” he said. “It was there first.”

“Hah! Now you’re lying on top of stealing! This is an exceptional piece of reprehensible behavior on your part, Mr….”

“Smith.”

“Of course. Smith,” she said sarcastically. “Well, you’re hardly a gentleman, Mr. Smith. On the way out here I saw a gallant man give up a claim to a lady.”

She didn’t have one prick of conscience for keeping quiet about the fact that the lady wasn’t a lady at all, but she did feel ashamed of sinking so low as to trade on her gender. It was a last-ditch effort, for sure, because Smith
could say the same as Baxter about a woman alone not being able to prove up a claim.

Instead, he said, “It’d be hard for me to do that, wouldn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t reckon a lady would draw down on a man and try to shoot him without a word of warning …”

He gave her a crooked grin that must’ve melted many a silly girl’s heart. It changed his whole face, and sent a strange thrill racing along her skin.

“… Or call him a liar for no reason, either.”

“For no reason! I certainly didn’t see another stake on that claim …”

His grin vanished.

“Maybe because you were trying not to see it. I beat you to that claim by a good ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Prove it.”

“Look for yourself. My stake’s still there.”

Panic shot through her, bringing back the nausea with a vengeance, making her sick to her soul. He surely wouldn’t lie about something so easily proven. Oh, dear Lord, had his stake been there all the time?

All of her insides went cold, in spite of the heat, because he was telling the truth and she knew it. But she
wouldn’t
believe it—not yet. She couldn’t.

She wheeled and ran back the way she had
come, desperate to prove him wrong, but only a few strides later she saw it—a flag in the ground on the opposite side of the stone marker from where she’d driven hers. Her gaze skittered past it as if the sight of the windblown white cloth burned her eyes.

It might be a mirage.

It wasn’t, though. Hadn’t she learned in these past two months, when she’d lost her one true love and her home and family and all of the life she’d always known, that wishing did not change a thing? Ever?

Another step or two, and she stopped dead in her tracks. It was plain as the sun overhead that was boiling her brain: she would have a claim with no water, or no claim at all. When she was huge with child and barely able to bend and fill a bucket, she would have to drive those frenzied animals of hers no telling how far to get water.

The knowledge held her where she stood. She’d been a foolish dreamer to think the treed claim with water was meant for her and her child. It actually did belong to the ruthless man on the black horse.

His voice came from right behind her.

“You’ve had me in sight since you drove your stake, so you know that mine was already there.”

He was at her shoulder, on foot now, leading the horse—they had come up behind her
as silently as ghosts. She had let her feelings consume her watchfulness, and in this terrible desert, that way lay disaster for her and her baby. She had to be more careful!

She whirled on him.

“All right! I can see. I admit it!”

The words came out in a banshee scream and she clapped her hands over her mouth. Her blood was roaring in her head, the sickness rising again in her belly to steal what little was left of her strength. She set her mind against it, but it came anyway.

Never, ever could she let him see it; never would she tell him she was expecting a baby. That would make her completely vulnerable and he’d try to take the second claim, too.

Suddenly she couldn’t even think anymore. The rest of the heat drained out of her face, her mouth went stiff with grief.

“I’m sorry,” he said, really looking at her now. “I had no call to interfere in your life and get that last claim for you. Proving up a homestead is too much of a job for a woman alone.”

“A hysterical woman, you mean?”

“Any woman,” he said, almost gently. “I never should’ve done that.”

“Why did you, then, if you knew you could prove this claim was already rightfully yours?”

“You were holding a gun on me,” he snapped. “Remember? What was I supposed to do—shoot a woman?”

Now he was as hard and angry as ever.

“That’s a good enough reason right there that a lone woman ought not be out here,” he said.