Susan Johnson

by Susan Johnson

  “No,” Hazard answered, his breath spiraling in the chill air. “I want him.”

  “He may get away.”

  “He’ll be back, greedy soul that he is. I’m sure he’ll give another try for the mine … and try to ensure his inheritance once again.”

  “It’s possible he’s given up. There’s talk of gold in Lakota land. Maybe he goes for that.”

  “Yancy Strahan has failures in his past that require more and more money to pacify,” Hazard replied. “He never has enough. A character flaw I look forward to correcting,” Hazard mildly said, “when I kill him.”

  “And if he kills you first?”

  “He can’t touch me here,” Hazard lazily replied, “and down the mountain, I move with a bodyguard this time.”

  “We’re going to the mine?”

  Hazard nodded. “It has to be reopened, because the sooner we buy land and have it registered, the better. I want to buy it all at once and register it in Blaze’s name. If it’s done swiftly, there’s no time for the legislature to push through a law making it illegal. There’s not going to be any reservation for my clan. I saw the Indian Territory north of Texas; it’s pure hell. I’d sooner kill myself.”

  “Blaze won’t be at the mine this time, will she?”

  “No.”

  “How did she respond?”

  “I haven’t told her yet. It’s going to be one hell of an argument. But it’s too dangerous. I want scouts around the clock this time, and if we’re lucky and the vein holds, in two or three months, combined with the reserves we have already, we’ll have enough for all the land and homes and horses we’ll ever need. After that, if Yancy hasn’t come looking, I’ll go looking for him. He was going to kill my child, you know. I wish I had the stomach for torture; he’d be a perfect candidate. As it is, I’ll console myself with sending him off to his eternal hell with a well-placed bullet. He doesn’t deserve it, but we Absarokee are just too damn refined.”

  BLAZE protested, but logically knew Hazard was right. Until Yancy was dead, she and Trey would be safer in the village.

  “It won’t take long. Rising Wolf and I are taking twenty warriors, and I’ll come back whenever I can to spend a few days. By midsummer”—he shrugged—“I’ll probably be back for good.”

  When Hazard readied to leave the village, it was the final week in May. Blaze’s eyes were liquid with feeling, and with a little sob she leaned into his chest. “It won’t be long, will it?”

  “No.”

  “How long?”

  Hazard hesitated. “Weeks.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Maybe two weeks.”

  “You’ll be back then?”

  “For a visit.”

  “And then?”

  He sighed. “I’ll be back whenever I can.” In his arms Blaze seemed small and vulnerable; her face was ashen.

  “I know you have to go. I know it, but—”

  “It won’t be forever, bia. Take care—I need you. And take care of our son. He needs you.”

  “Can’t I come with?” It was a forlorn desperate hope, anxiety in her voice and face.

  “Not yet,” he said gently. Not until Yancy’s dead, he thought. “When the baby’s bigger, then you both can come.”

  “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

  His hands tightened on her. She seemed delicate and fragile. He loved her more than he should. “Two weeks, no more,” he promised.

  * * *

  WITH the machine gun manned twenty-four hours a day this time, Hazard worked shifts around the clock. He wanted to get enough gold out for the land, and after that a more leisurely pace would prevail. If he was lucky—and with gold veins, luck was a predominant factor—the mine would keep them all comfortable for life.

  Chapter 46

  A week later, a full moon shone on both the mine and the Absarokee village on Ash River.

  Hazard was sleeping before going on the third shift at midnight.

  Blaze had left Trey with Red Plume and was practicing some new Absarokee words in the lodge of Rising Wolf’s mother. She intended to surprise Hazard and speak his language well when he returned.

  The dogs barked once that evening, a loud, clamoring sound that drifted across the river but abruptly stopped almost as suddenly as it began, unnoticed.

  When Blaze walked home under the silver moon two hours later, a cool spring wind was blowing down from the mountains, bringing with it the smell of rain.

  A tingle of unease, dim and obscure, fluttered through her mind when Hazard’s wolfhound didn’t rise to greet her at the lodge door. He’d been raised by Hazard from a pup and was the most loyal of guard dogs. She brushed away the irrational premonition, silently listing a dozen reasons he wasn’t there to greet her. She opened the lodge flap and stepped inside.

  And screamed.

  Red Plume lay in a pool of blood only inches from her feet. The wolfhound, his rough coat matted with blood, lay dead with his fangs bared in attack. Trey’s cradle was ripped from its frame. Her baby was gone.

  Her second scream pierced the clear, moon-drenched night like a cry from hell.

  Hazard received the news thirteen hours later. A relay of horses had ridden at a murderous pace through the night and early morning.

  Yancy. No one else would single out his son to kidnap. He knew what Yancy was capable of, knew brutalization meant nothing but a means to an end for him. And closing his eyes, he steadied himself against the messenger’s final words. When the last awful sentence was through, he walked to Peta and leaned his face against the smooth warmth of her neck until the nausea passed and the blackness cleared from his brain. Then he mounted his favorite horse and rode through the rough, wild country, far in advance of the troop sent to fetch him.

  BLAZE was trembling when he pulled her into his arms. She was close to collapse. A note had been found, she sobbed, left on a war lance driven into the ground near the river ford.

  Hazard had already been apprised of its contents.

  “He’ll kill him! He’ll kill our baby!” she wept, clinging to Hazard with the wild strength of hysteria.

  “No, he won’t. He won’t,” Hazard soothed, not really believing it, but saying the words. “He wants the mine. Trey’s ransom for the mine. We’ll give him the mine, that’s all. And we’ll have Trey back.” His large hands were stroking Blaze’s hair, her back, gentle, calming, although his own brain was wrought with terror.

  “Can you find him? Where did they take my baby?” Blaze whispered, lifting her face to Hazard. “Where is he? He has to be fed. Jon, what if no one’s fed him?”

  “They’ll feed him, bia. Yancy needs him alive for the mine. Don’t cry, angel. I’ll find him.” He started to disengage her clinging arms. “I have to go now. They’re waiting for me. Pearl Light will take care of you. Please, love.” Her hands had tightened on him. “Every minute counts.”

  “I’m coming too!”

  He looked down at her and softly said, “No.” Even if she was strong enough, which she probably wasn’t so soon after Trey’s birth, Blaze presented added dangers. Yancy would as soon see her dead as alive. Hazard had never underestimated Yancy’s callous greed.

  Blaze whirled away from him, then turned back in the same sweeping motion, her eyes feverishly aglow. “He’s my baby!” she cried.

  Hazard put his hands over his eyes and inhaled deeply. Dropping them a second later, he exhaled quietly and spoke, his voice harsh and raw. “If you fall behind, I can’t wait for you,” he said. “I just want you to understand.” He was tautly adamant. Yancy had his son and every minute wasted was danger to him.

  “You won’t have to,” Blaze replied in an unearthly calm voice. “I’ll keep up.” She stood splendid in her determination—slender, pale, but no longer trembling.

  Their eyes met and he reached out to her. They clung to each other for a brief moment, then Hazard swept her up in his arms and strode out of the lodge. “Six more horses,” he ordered, carrying her toward
the waiting mounted men. “And bring up the palomino.”

  They rode at a frightening pace, without stopping, swinging over to a fresh mount when the pony they were riding flagged. Blaze maintained her place at Hazard’s side. He gave her marks for courage. If she’d faltered, he would have had to leave her with an escort home. They both understood. Their son’s life was at stake.

  The party of Yancy’s hired Lakota they were trailing was large and riding hard for their own territory. When they crossed out of Absarokee land midafternoon of the next day, they paused briefly to check their weapons, water the horses, set up two flanks riding protection, and throw a scouting party forward several miles in advance. Hazard quietly passed the word along that ranks were to close around Blaze if they were attacked.

  He wasn’t anticipating trouble, but it never hurt to be prepared for the possibility. Yancy’s note had been succinct enough, and at least until the mine was signed over an attack was not very likely. Provided Yancy could control the Lakota braves he’d hired.

  The Lakota tribes were many times more numerous than the Absarokee, and Hazard had only ninety warriors with him from his small clan. But none of these possibilities mattered; his son’s life was at stake. They rode without rest or concealment straight to the Lakota camp.

  When they sighted the village, Hazard gave instructions to Rising Wolf, terse, succinct instructions regarding Blaze, then readied himself. He rode down alone on his war pony.

  He was visible from a long distance, coming down the grassy rolling rise east of the village. And he was watched. He was painted ocher from his hair to just below his eyes, the rest of his face was black with green stripes, while his chest and arms and legs were streaked with bright vermilion. Stripped as he was for battle to breechcloth and moccasins, the colors on his lean body were like an angry message vividly explicit in the golden rays of the setting sun.

  All the specters that had haunted him on the swift ride east were gone. He was a warrior at war, on the attack and with the imminence of action, his mind settled as a resolute determination took over. He was riding in for his son.

  They watched him as he slowly rode down. Armed, painted for war, displaying the courage of a spirit-god, his war pony was as splendid as he, the single war bridle feathered and tasseled with silver. Hazard was entering the first circle of lodges when a rising murmur from the crowd made him turn.

  A golden palomino glittering in the hot orange sunset was being whipped down the grassy knoll. Flaming hair, vivid as liquid copper, flowed out in the wind behind the reckless rider. Hazard stopped Peta with a faint pressure of one knee and waited for his wife.

  It was rash, foolhardy, a blind, headstrong bargain with the devil. But it was the Blaze he understood far more than the trembling, clinging version he’d seen a day ago. She was his wife and he calmly waited for her, surrounded on all sides by his lifelong enemies.

  When she neared him the crowd parted, and when she pulled to a stop a foot shy of Peta, he smiled his welcome. They rode into the inner circle side by side, one dark and warlike, the other a flash and gleam of saffron beauty. Neither was surprised to see Yancy beside the Lakota chiefs. They dismounted.

  Hazard addressed the chiefs, ignoring Yancy. His strong arms, braceleted at wrist and biceps with painted black bands signifying his grief, moved in an easy sweep of salutation. And then his slender hands rapidly spoke in the sign language common to all the Plains tribes. He told them he’d come for his son. He told them Yancy Strahan was a thief and a murderer. He told them he didn’t intend to leave camp without his son.

  And in a dramatic gesture, bringing gasps from the assembled crowd, he whipped Peta off.

  The war pony didn’t move at first, but turned to look at Hazard. Hazard had spent much time alone with his war horse. Peta had fought with him and fasted with him and knew his heart. The white men didn’t believe a horse had a soul, but the Absarokee knew it to be true. Many times Hazard had seen Peta’s soul in his eyes. And this day in the midst of the Lakota, Hazard knew Peta understood. “Go,” he said softly to him. “You must.”

  Peta hesitated a second more, then whirled and galloped away.

  Everyone knew Hazard intended to stand and die if necessary. It was rarely used—this act of courage taking precedence over all others and seen on rare occasions in a lifetime. It earned him unqualified respect and admiration. Enemies they may be, but courage, remarkable courage, was highly esteemed by all warrior codes.

  Yancy indignantly spoke through his interpreter. He wanted no luster ascribed to Hazard, wanted his signature on the mine sale and then wanted him dead.

  Hazard understood the English, of course, and caught much of the Lakota interpretation as well. Although Yancy was vigorously insisting, the Lakota chiefs were talking among themselves, weighing Yancy’s payment of rifles against Hazard’s valor. They understood abduction, the use of hostages, they dismissed Yancy’s greed for the mine as white man’s foolishness, but felt obligated to uphold the contract for the rifles.

  As they argued, Hazard’s optimism was bolstered. He’d known only an extraordinary audacity would weigh in his favor, and he’d played all his cards on the first round. And the longer they argued, the better chance he had of accomplishing his mission. He considered outbidding Yancy for his son’s life but decided not only couldn’t Yancy be trusted to uphold a bargain, but that approach would have served him ill in the eyes of his enemies.

  “If things go wrong,” Hazard murmured to Blaze standing beside him, “jump on your pony and try to whip your way out of here. Rising Wolf is watching you with the field glass. He and the others will fight through to your aid.”

  “If. Don’t say that.”

  “I have to. Look for Rising Wolf. Remember!”

  She didn’t answer, reluctant to consider leaving without Hazard. Instead she asked, “What are they going to do? Yancy seems furious.”

  “Things might not go his way. They’re arguing about it now. I’m going to offer a challenge,” he said, his eyes on the chiefs’ conversation. “If they accept, I’ll try to have Trey brought out to you. The Lakota don’t care about the mine; only Yancy does. So Trey as a hostage has become superfluous now that I’m here. If”—he looked down at her, a world of love and regret in his glance,—“if I shout for you to go, do it. Take Trey and whip the hell out of that pony.”

  “Jon, no—”

  “Don’t hesitate. Not for anything.” Horror drained the color from her face. “I won’t say it unless I have to.” And he knew if he had to say it, for him it would be over. “Now promise me,” he insisted. “I have to know you and Trey have a chance. That you’ll take that chance. No false heroics on your part; it won’t save me. If I tell you to go, go. Now say yes, they’re about done with the wrangling.” He touched her hand, cupping her fingertips lightly for a moment.

  “You’re asking me to—”

  “Good God, bia, do you think I’d ask if there was a choice? Please, think of Trey. He’s the future. You can give me that.” Sober, he watched her with bleak gravity.

  Blaze nodded, curling her fingers around his and holding him fiercely. “Damn, it’s not fair. Just shoot Yancy. He’s the cause of every misery in our lives.”

  “The rules don’t work that way here.”

  “I want you and I want Trey—both.”

  “I know, princess,” Hazard said softly, “but if fortune turns, I don’t want you and Trey dying without trying to get out. Just try—that’s all I ask.”

  She couldn’t speak, suffocating with an impotent sadness that silently questioned why people like Yancy existed.

  “Now, say a prayer for my diplomacy,” Hazard said, squeezing her hand. “Here goes.” And he gently disengaged his fingers.

  Hazard offered to challenge any man in their tribe for the life of his son—with any weapons, and with an added codicil. If he won, he wanted Yancy. Not handed over to him, not unfairly. He’d fight him as well, one on one.

  He heard Yancy reject th
e offer when the interpreter explained. Hazard saw the papers Yancy drew out, the ones he wanted Hazard to sign. But papers were worthless as arguments with a direct challenge in the air tossed like a gauntlet waiting to be picked up. It was a matter of honor. And if Yancy didn’t accept the challenge, his credibility would be wiped away.

  So it was agreed.

  Then Hazard began the delicate negotiations to have his son brought out. Thirty nerveracking, cautious, sensitive, cool, and tactful minutes later, Trey was placed in his mother’s arms. He took a moment to greet his son and silently say his goodbye should the spirits choose this day to desert him. Laying his large palm gently on the baby’s downy head, he spoke in a soft whisper to his child. Silver eyes looked up at the familiar touch and recognized his father through the ocher paint and green stripes slashing the symmetry of his face. Feather lashes fluttered and his tiny mouth curved into a lingering smile. His father smiled back at him and whispered one last word, then his muscled arm, streaked with vermilion and braceleted with black, fell. He murmured to the flame-haired woman as tears sprang to her eyes, and then he walked out into the center of the space cleared for combat.

  Hazard knew, as he stood there, that before him lay the ultimate test of all his accomplishments as a warrior: his skill and courage and cultivated knowledge of killing. But first, the Lakota champion. Holding no personal grudge like Yancy, the chiefs had decided on a wrestling match between Hazard and their favorite. It was enough to test him, and who won or lost mattered less to them than the prospect of entertainment. They had no vested interest in the child or the enmity between the white man and the Absarokee chief. Their concern was the wagonload of rifles, and with casual disinterest in the outcome, they had honorably respected the limits of their contract with Yancy Strahan.

  Opposite Hazard waited the Lakota warrior chosen to represent the tribe. He stood, loosely bent, a man bigger and more solid than Hazard, his braided hair tied back, his muscular body oiled.