Creed glanced around to find the Indian woman lying unconscious a few yards away and he walked over to her.
"Is she... dead?" Mariah asked, approaching with the dripping cloths.
"Unconscious," he answered, scooping the limp woman into his arms. He brought her over close to the fire and laid her carefully on the ground. She had a nasty bruise on her chin and the bones in her shoulder didn't feel too stable. Creed frowned down at her, wondering what they'd do with the outlaw's woman.
"She shot that... that man, Bennett, and saved Mahkwi," Mariah said, breaking into his thoughts. "Probably the rest of us, too."
That surprised him. Creed hadn't seen it. He'd had his hands full with the Indian at the time. Creed patted the squaw down, searching for concealed weapons and finally pulled a knife from a thong tied around her thigh. He tucked it into his belt. "Don't turn your back on her. We don't know anything about her yet. When she wakes up, we'll decide what to do with her."
Mariah nodded and turned to Jesse. "You're a sight," she said, shaking her head. "I thought... I was afraid he'd killed you."
He made a grumbling sound deep in his chest. "To be honest, so did I."
"God forgive me, I—I wish I'd killed him." She felt the blood drain from her face at the bitterness of her words. "I'm sorry. I was so scared for you, for all of us."
Jesse nodded. "Pierre LaRousse isn't the kind to make idle threats. He meant to kill us as sure as we're sittin' here. If Creed hadn't come along, he would have found my packs of pelts excuse enough to do it. Don't feel guilty for defending yourself. You should be proud."
She couldn't bring herself to reply. How could she be proud of almost killing a man, despite everything that had happened. It went against everything she'd been taught, everything she believed. Yet, she'd been ready to kill to save Creed's life. And the most frightening thing was she knew she'd do it again.
Gently she cleaned the blood off Jesse's face, dabbing at the jagged split next to his eye. The whole area was coming up a purplish blue. Her hand was still shaking noticeably when she produced the bottle of bacanora and soaked one corner of her cloth. She hesitated next to his face. "This is going to sting a bit."
"Ouch!" Jesse pulled away from her touch, then grinned contritely. "Sorry. That hurts."
"I'm sorry, too, because I think you'll need some stitches in that. Are you up to it?"
Jesse took the flask from her, tipped it upside down and took a long pull. "I have some trade-needles in my pack, wrapped in a piece of deerskin... between the, uh, bolts of blue cloth and..."—he winced, touching a fingertip to his cheek—"the cooking pans. I'm out of thread, but you can pluck a hair from my mule's tail. It'll do."
"All right." Mariah met Creed's gaze when she looked up. He was looking at her strangely, the way he had so many times in the past few days, in a way that made her insides go warm and her heart thud faster. Then, her gaze dropped of its own accord to his throat.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the scar on his neck. Free from the choker that had been torn from him by the Indian, she saw at last why he chose to keep his throat hidden. It was, without question, a scar made by a rope, a rope that had evidently failed to do its job well. He was alive, though someone had certainly meant to kill him.
Shock settled into her at the thought of Creed dangling from a rope, but she forced the thought away. He was staring at the ground, not wanting to look her in the eye. It struck her that he was embarrassed by the scar. She wanted to reach up and touch it to prove to him it was nothing, but she sensed he would never let her that close. And Jesse was watching.
Carefully keeping her expression blank, she took the bone and bead choker out of her pocket and handed it to him. "The leather thong is broken, but I can fix it if you want."
He stared at the necklace, turning it over in his hand, then looked up at her. "Merci. Where'd you find it?"
"Near the Indian. I'll be right back with the needles." Mariah felt his gaze as she gathered what she needed, including the strand of mule hair, and set to work on Jesse's eye. As she worked, she pondered the scar on Creed's throat and wondered if LaRousse had had anything to do with it. A chill went up her spine at the thought.
The bacanora muted Jesse's pain and he sat patiently waiting for her to finish. He would have a scar to remember this day by, she mused grimly, but she'd done the best she could under the circumstances. She got up and walked back to where the packs were stacked under a stand of lodgepole.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the woman by the fire move. She'd rolled onto her hands and knees and was crawling toward the ferns.
"Raven, stop—" Mariah cried out.
"Nayeyah! Nayeyah!" She got to her feet and crouched with one arm in front of her face. Her other arm, she held close to her waist.
"No, please wait, I won't hurt you!" Motioning to Creed, who had gotten to his feet, she walked slowly over to her.
"Be careful, Mariah."
"Shh-h," Mariah soothed. "No one's going to hurt you anymore."
Raven slumped back to the ground clutching her shoulder. Her head rocked back and forth against the ground. "Aski-kiwa... aski-kiwa," she whispered over and over in a half-chant. "Aski-kiwa."
Bewildered, Mariah looked at Jesse. "What's she saying?"
Jesse swallowed hard and met Mariah's eyes. "It's a Blackfoot Defiance Song. It means...'I care for nothing'. She intends to die."
"Die—" Mariah echoed incredulously, glancing down at the terrible bloody bruise on the woman's chin and the shoulder she clutched. "But... do you think she's mortally wounded?"
"I doubt it, unless you mean her spirit. She's given up. I expect that's why she sacrificed herself tonight for our sakes. Life with Pierre LaRousse..." Jesse hesitated, "from what I saw tonight, was... unpleasant at best."
"No doubt she was with him unwillingly," Creed observed. "LaRousse is half-Sioux. I doubt any self-respecting Blackfoot maiden would go with him except under duress... or desperation." He glanced up at Jesse. "I speak Blackfoot, but it's been a while. Can you make yourself understood by her?"
Jesse nodded. "If she'll talk to me."
Jesse's first attempts were met with stoic silence. Raven refused to reply, though eventually she did stop the chanting and stared watchfully at them. With his hand he tentatively brushed the sweep of black hair back when it fell across her cheek. Raven flinched and one tear escaped and slid down toward her ear.
The evening wind sang through the high pines with a soothing whistle. Mahkwi limped over to where they were sitting and dropped down beside Jesse with his head on the man's leg. Finally, Raven started to talk in low, halting syllables. Jesse and Creed fell silent, listening.
"Well?" Mariah asked when she had stopped talking. "What did she say?"
"She is Raven's Wing, of the Kainahs or Blood Tribe on the Musselshell River," Jesse replied. "Her father, Yellow Shirt, was killed in battle with the Crees, or the Liars, as they call them, during the Berries-Ripe-Moon last July. Raven and her mother were hit hard by his loss, for he was considered a great man in his tribe.
"When her mother grew ill with grief, Raven decided to make a sacrifice to the Sun for her parents."
"A sacrifice?" Mariah asked.
"It's part of her religion. She took a fine white wolf pelt she had tanned for that purpose and her best elk-teeth-trimmed gown and left camp to find the proper tree to hang them in. She traveled a few miles from camp before she found the right one and there she hung it. She sat praying for her mother to recover from her grief and for her father's spirit's safe journey to the Above People.
"Among Indians," he went on, "not even an enemy would dare disturb such a Sun Gift, nor the bearer of it. But Pierre LaRousse and his men happened upon her while she was alone there. Apparently, to no one's surprise, religion and tribal customs have no meaning to a man like him. He stole the pelt and kidnapped Raven. She has been with him ever since as his woman. No one knew where she had gone. Her people must think her dead.
> "In her heart," Jesse said, bowing his head, "she believes that, too. LaRousse used her badly. She thinks we mean to kill her and she will welcome that."
Mariah shuddered and watched Raven turn her head in shame as Jesse related her story. "Has she no one now? What of her mother?"
"She doesn't know what became of her, but I know her father's people are still on the Musselshell. She told me she was promised to a young brave named Wolverine. She was in love with him. She is sure he looked for her but couldn't find her. LaRousse knows how to cover his tracks."
Mariah looked at Creed. "How far is it to her people?"
"Two, maybe three days, and," he added pointedly, "across the span of the Missouri."
"I'll take her."
Mariah and Creed both looked at Jesse.
"The tribe's summer camp is just south of the mouth of the Judith on the Musselshell," he said. "If she'll go, I'll take her there. And I'll meet you in Virginia City in a week or so."
Mariah noticed Creed stiffen and look away. She imagined it would be hard for him to say goodbye to Jesse after such a short time together. They were close friends.
Jesse spoke to Raven for a few more minutes and in the end, she reluctantly agreed to return. She tried to sit again and a low moan escaped her and she went pale.
"I think her collarbone is broken," Mariah said after fingering the spot gently. "And her jaw is badly bruised, but I don't think it's fractured. Creed, if you'll fetch what's left of my petticoat from the saddlebags, I'll tear it into strips to bind her shoulder."
Creed fetched the article and handed it to her. "You know how to set bones, Mariah?"
"I certainly watched my father do it enough and I set a few soldiers' bones at the hospital where I worked the past few years," she said, avoiding his eyes.
Creed's lips fell open. "You worked at a hospital? Seth never mentioned—"
"I never told him," she replied briskly. "Hand me that strip over there." She soaked it with bacanora and dabbed it against Raven's jaw. Raven was silent but watched Mariah closely. "There's not much to be done for a collarbone except to try to brace it back so it can heal. I'll bind her arm to her chest so she won't be tempted to use it. Jesse, you'll have to see that she doesn't."
Jesse exchanged a look with Raven and spoke to her in Blackfoot. She moistened her dry lips with her tongue, eyed Mariah warily, then nodded.
"Good," Mariah told her with a small smile, then sighed deeply. "Now... if you gentlemen will excuse us?"
* * *
That night, Mariah woke with a cry and sat bolt upright in the darkness. Her breath came hard and fast. In her dream, she'd been kissing Seth, but his face had changed to Creed's as her mouth met his. She could still feel the tingle his touch provoked, coursing through her like a current.
She looked wildly around her to find Raven, Jesse, and even Mahkwi sleeping calmly beside her. Then, as surely as a compass needle finds true north, she turned to see him sitting on a rock with his rifle slung carelessly across his knees, a lit cigarette dangling forgotten from his fingers. The moonlight bathed his chiseled face in blue light.
He was watching her.
He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He knew, she realized. He knew exactly what she'd been dreaming about. She didn't know how, but he knew. It was in his eyes, in the intimate look he sent her now, as if he'd been privy, no, part of that dream. But... that was impossible.
Oh, God.
A panicky feeling choked off her breath and sent a flush of heat crawling up her neck, but she found herself unable to look away. The tip of his cigarette glowed red as he took a long, slow pull. He exhaled deliberately, then turned away from her—staring off into the darkness.
Mariah lay back down, staring up at the canopy of stars overhead without really seeing them. Her heart was like a hammer in her chest and wouldn't be still. Her fingernails bit into the flesh of her palms. She hoped for something to distract her from the awful gnawing pain growing in her chest. But it didn't help.
She was falling in love with Creed.
What in God's name was she going to do?
* * *
Morning broke early over the camp. After a mostly sleepless night, Mariah woke sore and stiff. It was some consolation that everyone else did, too. Creed avoided her eyes and spent the time helping Jesse make his preparations for leaving.
Jesse made the coffee—out of self-preservation—and they all shared a cold breakfast of jerky and cold beans left over from yesterday's noonday meal. By the time the sun brushed the tips of the trees, Jesse was packed and ready to go. The wolf pranced around the campsite, anxious to be on the move again. A slight hesitation in her step was the only ill effect she suffered from yesterday's battle.
As Creed made a final check on cinch straps, Mariah walked over to Raven, who stood near Jesse's horse.
Raven turned when Mariah touched her arm.
"Thank you, Raven, for everything," Mariah said, squeezing her good hand. "I'll never forget what you did for us."
A smile parted Raven's lips and the two women shared a look that transcended the need for common words. "Haiyu, nituka."
"She said—" Jesse began, but Mariah held up her hand with a smile.
"I know what she said. Some words just don't require an interpreter."
Jesse grinned and tipped his head in agreement. He took his hat off and slapped it against his thigh in a nervous gesture. "Well, Mariah... I sure am glad I got to meet you. And, well, for stitchin' up this ugly face of mine and all, thanks. Oh, hell..." He gave up and swept her into his arm in a bear hug that nearly stole her breath.
"Will we see you soon, Jesse?" she asked as he let her go and mounted.
"Soon enough. I'll be in Virginia City within a week or two. Maybe I'll even be in time to see you and Travers get hitched. A weddin' is always an occasion in the Gulch."
Mariah's stomach twisted at his words. Beside her, she saw Creed stiffen. "I... I hope so, Jesse."
Creed handed Raven up to Jesse and he settled her behind him. Mariah passed him a drawstring bag she'd filled with food enough for a couple of days. He smiled and slipped it around his saddle horn. "Thanks Mariah."
Creed handed him his rifle. "Are you sure you two are going to be all right?" He slid the rifle into the leather boot beneath the fender of Jesse's saddle. "I reckon," Jesse replied. He reached down to Creed and shook his hand. "See you in Virginia City in a couple of weeks?"
"Could be," Creed answered evasively. "It's hard to say where I'll be." Mariah shot him a questioning look which he ignored.
Jesse nodded. "Well, I'll be there, restocking my gear. Let's not let three years go by again, old friend, eh?"
Creed scratched Mahkwi behind the ears and sent Jesse a rare smile that made his face so handsome it put goose flesh on Mariah's arms. "'Bye, Jesse," he said. "Watch your back, mon ami."
"And you..." he called over his shoulder. "Remember what your pa used to say: What you can't duck—welcome'." He spurred his horse and with the two mules tagging along behind, they disappeared into the thick forest.
Creed turned to Buck and gave the cinch a tug to tighten it. Mariah moved to Petunia and did the same. The mare nickered and flicked her tail across Mariah's back.
"Creed?"
"Hmm-m?"
"How far are we from Virginia City now?"
"Two and a half days if we make good time. And if the weather holds."
She cast a furtive glance at the sky. It was a perfect cerulean blue. No sign of weather at all. That was good.
Wasn't it?
A whippoorwill chirped noisily from the branch of the tall cedar rooted into the side of the creek bank. The shallow water tumbled over the round rocks in Wolf Creek with a musical sound. The wind chorused in the trees. Everything seemed perfectly as it should be, yet inside her, nothing was. She was heading for marriage to Seth, but her heart belonged more and more to the rough, rootless bounty hunter—Seth's friend.
Creed swung up into his saddle,
then turned back to her. "Ready?"'
She mounted and gathered up Petunia's reins. "What will you do when we get there?"
"Do?" He turned to look at her curiously.
"After you get me to Seth, I mean. Will you stay for a while or—"
"Why would I stay?" He yanked the brim of his hat down firmly on his brow.
"I—well, I thought, maybe... assuming Seth is all right, you'd stay for the wedding, too."
He looked off to the west at the melting snowpacks, shining silver in the morning sun. "I don't think so."
"Oh." She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Because of your job?"
He stared at her for a moment. "Ah, oui. My job." Clucking to his gelding, he said, "Come on. We have a lot of country to cover today."
Mariah stared after him as he loped off, then nudged Petunia forward. In two and a half days she'd see Seth.
In two days, heaven help her, she would lose Creed.
Chapter 13
The country they traveled through that day was a lush patchwork of cedar, lodgepole, and alder stitched together by steep walled canyons, pastoral valleys, and glacial peaks. Dozens of lakes threaded through the high meadows, fed by streams rushing fast with the spring snowmelt. Creed remained tense and watchful and kept his rifle safety unlocked in case he needed his gun quickly. Though they saw plenty of wildlife tracks, there was no sign of LaRousse.
As they descended, the temperature warmed, though at seven thousand feet Mariah could still see her breath in the air. She wore a blanket wrapped around her shoulders for most of the day and despite the clear sunny sky, wondered if Montana truly ever experienced summer.
They rode hard and made up some of the time they'd lost on the trail. By mid-afternoon, Mariah insisted they pull up so she could stretch her legs. A smell like rotten eggs wafted toward them as they came to a stop in a wide, grassy canyon. Even Petunia threw her nose up in the air, wiggling her lips in disgust.
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