He threw up his arms. That was yet another problem with having women in the camp. A man had to watch what he said all the time.
* * *
Moira limped toward the remuda. Safely away from camp, she lifted her skirts and tugged down the flap of her borrowed boot, revealing a purpling bruise and an ugly red scrape on her ankle. The calf’s sharp hoof had bitten into her flesh.
The injury was far too shallow to go septic.
A little scrape was the least of her worries. The sun was setting and it was her turn for watch. Weariness enveloped her and her whole body ached. While she’d never considered herself a sedentary person, the day had proved far more exhausting than she’d anticipated. Though she was accustomed to working late at night—her job as a maid at the hotel had been mostly after regular hours when the patrons were asleep and wouldn’t be bothered by the presence of the staff—she’d been keeping a more regular schedule for the past week.
Her eyes burned drily from sleeplessness as she approached the remuda. The saddles were stacked on their pommels in a neat line as John had instructed when they’d made camp. Moira scooped her arm beneath the cumbersome saddle and staggered backward.
Tony appeared and grasped the other side. “You really should ask for help. These saddles are too big for one person.”
“You already helped me this morning when you saddled my horse. It isn’t fair to make someone else do my work all the time.” Moira groaned. “I have to learn to do this by myself.”
Tony pressed her lips together. “The way I see it, we’re sharing the work. You help me, I help you.”
Moira was saved from an answer as they heaved the saddle over the horse’s back. She fished beneath the animal’s belly and grasped the girth strap. Tugging her lower lip between her teeth, she clumsily threaded the leather belt through the D ring.
Tony sighed and brushed her hands away. “Not like that. This here is the latigo.”
She pulled the leather through the D ring of the girth strap, back up through the D ring on the saddle and repeated the process. “Now you’ve got a double loop. See? The next thing we’re going to do is tie the knot.”
She ran her fingers beneath the leather. “Don’t tighten it too much. Just push the tail end back through the D ring, pull it down and across, then up through the D ring again. See how you’ve made a loop? Now push the tail end of the leather through the loop and you’ve made a knot.”
Exhaustion enveloped Moira as she tried to concentrate on the rapid-fire instructions.
Tony grinned and untied the knot. “Okay. Now your turn.”
Watching the motions and actually performing the task were two entirely different things. Beneath Tony’s watchful eyes, Moira repeated the instructions. Her back ached between her shoulder blades and her fingers worked, clumsy and uncoordinated.
Tony grasped the leather and ceased her fumbling efforts. “Not like that. You take the strap under the D ring.”
Moira corrected her direction and looped the leather, then slid the end through, forming a knot.
Rubbing her chin, the younger girl nodded. “That’ll do. Now you’ve got to tighten the strap, otherwise you’ll end up beneath the horse’s belly.”
Tony grasped the outside layer of the long double loop they’d made with the leather strap and tugged, creating more slack. Then tightened the knot once more. At one point she reached beneath the horse and heaved on the strap.
Reaching up, she pulled on the saddle horn. “That’ll hold firm.” She glanced toward the horse’s head. “Course, you’re never gonna get anywhere unless you have a bridle.”
She grasped what appeared to be a tangle of leather and expertly looped the halter over the horse’s head, slid her thumb into the side of the animal’s mouth and positioned the bit. “We’ll save the bridle lesson for tomorrow. Mostly because I think you could use some instruction on horsemanship. You haven’t ridden much, have you?”
“Once or twice, when I was very young.”
When her parents were still together and they enjoyed a few good times. The memories seemed far away, almost as though they belonged to someone else.
Tony tromped toward a second horse. “Let me saddle this one. I’ll show you some stuff from the ground and then we’ll mount up and I’ll give you a few more lessons.”
“That’s really not necessary.” Moira turned her attention toward the setting sun. “I need to start my watch.”
“You fell off in the river today. If you fall off on the ground, it’s gonna hurt a lot worse. Not to mention if you lose control of your mount and get yourself killed, that means we’re a man down and it’s more work for the rest of us.”
Moira gaped. “You sound just like Mr. Elder.”
“Good. He’s an excellent trail boss. And have you seen the way he handles his horses? I barely see him move, but they follow his commands. I saw an Indian once in a show at the fairgrounds. That fellow rode bareback with only a single rawhide strap half hitched under the horse’s jaw for guidance. I never saw anything like it. I bet John Elder is that good.”
“He mentioned he trained all the horses himself.”
“That’s saying something. These are some of the best horses I’ve ever ridden.”
A grudging admiration for the cowboy filtered through Moira’s numbed thoughts. John Elder handled himself well. He was patient and kind and other than a few spots of annoyance, he kept his temper.
Mindful of her debt, Moira assisted Tony with lifting her saddle. The younger girl made quick work of the rigging before leading her horse near Moira.
“Always approach a horse from the left side.”
“How come?”
“I dunno. That’s just what you do. You’re going to have to mount for real this time. There won’t always be a rock or a fence around every time we stop. Anyway, approach on the left and grasp the reins and the saddle horn in your left hand, facing the horse’s rump. Then place your left foot in the stirrup. This is where it gets a little tricky. You have to kind of lift yourself up until you’re standing on that left foot, then throw your right leg over the horse’s back.”
She demonstrated the “tricky” move with remarkable ease.
Moira attempted the motion three times before successfully swinging her leg over the saddle. Safely perched upon her mount, she caught her breath and patted the animal’s neck. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
Tony sidled her horse nearer. “Now for the lessons. We’ll practice and keep watch at the same time.”
For the next forty-five minutes, the two circled the herd while Tony barked out instructions and corrections. About a half an hour into the session, Moira sensed herself steadily improving. The animal responded better, turning with her movements. The progress was minor, but the control eased her anxiety.
Tony touched the brim of her hat. “I think you know enough to keep you in the saddle tonight. We can do the same thing tomorrow.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
“No problem. We’re a team.”
The cattle munched grass and dozed, mostly ignoring her quiet direction. Her horse had good instincts and the cattle appeared to recognize its authority. As the evening progressed, her exhaustion leveled out.
At the prescribed time, Tony rode up to relieve her. The younger girl appeared refreshed and almost cheerful to be riding again.
They dismounted and Moira switched out her boots. When she mounted again, it only took her two tries.
On Moira’s way back to camp, John appeared in the glow of the three-quarter moon. He glanced at her seat, her back straight and tall in the saddle, and a look of approval coasted across his face. “You’re a fast study.”
“Tony helped me out.”
“Well, you did a good job following instruction. Now get some sleep. It’s a
nother long day in the morning.”
They hadn’t made it far, only a few miles from their starting point, but the small gain felt like a victory. A victory dampened by the doubt she sensed in John’s considering gaze.
“I know we didn’t make it very far today, but we’ve made progress.”
“You girls did well, but it doesn’t change the facts. We’re in Indian Territory. We’re vulnerable. More so than most. I can’t take the risk.”
“I’m not asking you to make a decision. I only want you to consider all that we’ve accomplished today.”
“No decisions until morning.”
Moira hesitated in the purple glow of twilight. She felt as though she should say something, or do something. Offer some sort of gesture for all the trouble he’d gone to on their behalf.
Before she could gather her thoughts, John tipped his hat and rode away. Moira sighed. She’d try again tomorrow.
She appreciated his dilemma. The girls’ safety remained at the forefront of her thoughts. Despite all the reasons they shouldn’t go forward, she felt compelled. The empty space in her heart didn’t bother her quite as much out here. The loneliness didn’t have such a fervent pull.
She needed the money, they all needed the money. Lately she’d had doubts about her search. She’d pinned all of her hopes on a reunion. The more time passed, the more she worried her hopes were misplaced. All this time she’d thought if she could explain what had happened all those years ago, Tommy would understand. Hearing the sheriff talk had brought on new fears. Her brother hadn’t just run away, he’d moved on with his life in ways she hadn’t even considered. Would there be a place for her in his life? They’d always had each other. What if, when she finally found him, he didn’t feel the same way anymore? She couldn’t bear to lose him again. She was so tired of being alone.
Moira hung her head and prayed for guidance.
Chapter Ten
Moira woke with a start. She glanced around the tent and counted sleeping bodies. Hazel, Darcy and Tony were there but no Sarah. Panic snaked down her spine before she recalled that Sarah had taken the last watch. Moira took a few deep breaths, willing her heart to resume its normal beating once more.
Despite accounting for the girls’ whereabouts, a sense of unease remained. She sat upright and kicked off the blankets, then straightened her rumpled clothing as best she could. Her dousing in the river the previous day hadn’t done much for her by way of a bath, and she cautiously sniffed her sleeve. She didn’t smell like a bed of roses, but she didn’t smell quite as bad as a cow yet either. And that was saying something.
If there was one thing she missed from civilization, it was hot water. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she brushed through the gnarled strands with her fingers. When she’d braided the length into some semblance of restraint, she emerged into the brilliant morning sunlight. Sounds of the early dawn surrounded her. The call of birds, the low of the cattle and the clatter of the Dutch oven as Pops prepared the morning meal.
The sizzling scent of frying bacon filled the air. Moira inhaled a deep breath and froze. Sheer, black fright swept through her, paralyzing her limbs.
Perched on the hillside overlooking the camp were five Indians. Their stance was still and emotionless, chilling her fear into a cold knot in her chest. She couldn’t make out much from the distance, but from their dress it appeared there were three females and two males in the group.
Moira backed away, keeping her eyes pinned on the distant group. She cautiously approached the tent John and Pops shared and scratched on the flap. For a moment she lost control of the spasmodic trembling in her hands. Pressing her fingers against her head, she tried to stop her brain from imagining what might happen to them, but the horrifying image crowded her thoughts.
“What is it?” a mumbled voice called.
“Trouble,” Moira replied, her voice husky.
A moment later John stumbled from the tent, his hair mussed and the dark shadow of a beard covering his jaw. Her heart beat a rat-a-tat-tat at the sight. For a moment, she forgot the danger. Every time she thought she’d grown accustomed to his looks, he turned her tongue-tied and addled.
He frowned. “What’s the trouble?”
Moira startled and pointed toward the hillside.
His throat worked. “Stay here.”
Moira grasped his arm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m seeing what they want.”
“Is that safe?”
“They’ve got their womenfolk with them. It’s not a war party.” He lifted the corner of his mouth in a half grin. “If it was a war party, we’d already be dead.”
“That’s hardly comforting.”
Despite his assurances Moira sensed the fear pulsating through his body. Only yesterday he’d cautioned her against their vulnerabilities. Today his worst terrors were realized.
He set off up the hill and Moira trailed behind him. He turned once and she raised an eyebrow. “You said it was safe.”
He appeared to consider her answer before nodding. “Chances are, they’ve already scouted us. It’s not like I can hide the fact that I’m traveling with a bunch of women and children.” He held out one arm. “Still, it’s best if you stay behind me.”
Moira chafed at the order before realizing the absurdity of any objection she might make. They were alone and helpless. Mr. Elder had a gun and Pops had his rifle. While the Indians didn’t appear to be carrying weapons, there was no telling what was beyond the gently sloping hills or how many more of them waited in the distance.
Once they reached the top of the rise, she stumbled back a step. As Moira had observed before, there were three women and two men in the group. On the ride from St. Louis, she’d thought about Indians and wondered what they looked like, how they acted—if they were as savage as the newspapers and books had led her to believe.
The picture in her head didn’t match up with reality. The elaborate headdresses and clothing she’d seen in drawings back home were absent. The men were dressed in simple buckskin pants with fringed sides, their chests bare. The women wore leather tunics decorated with intricate beadwork.
The three women and the younger man appeared to be from the same family, or at least the same tribe. Their faces were broad, their noses flat, their cheeks rounded. The oldest, a man with grayed hair at the temples, had a broader forehead and a slimmer hawklike nose. Instead of shoulder-length hair like the first man, he wore his in two long braids that dusted the tops of his knees.
Upon closer study, Moira noted the hair bound in the braids was two-tone, leading her to believe he’d wound horsehair or something similar into the braids to make them appear longer. He caught her staring and she flushed and looked away.
John Elder said a few words in language she didn’t understand.
Moira whipped around. “You speak their language?”
“Some Apache. Let’s hope they know Apache, too.”
The oldest man spoke, his gaze fixed on Moira. John answered then turned toward her. “He likes your hair.”
She grasped her braid and backed away.
The Indian chuckled and he and John exchanged more words.
John glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “He says not to be afraid. He’s not going to scalp you. He said red hair is considered bad luck.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Well.” John scratched his head. “Come to think of it, he might have said good luck. My Apache is a bit rusty.”
Moira pursed her lips. “Did you ask them why they’re here?”
John gave a quick shake of his head. “That’s not how this works. First we’ll invite them to share our meal. Keep things friendly. Why don’t you go down and let Pops know we’re expecting company.” He kept his face impassive. “And warn the girls. I don’t want an upr
oar when they wake up and find Indians around the fire.”
Hesitant, Moira nodded. She set off for the tent and caught sight of Sarah riding in from her watch. The girl’s face was pale and she stared at the group gathered on the hillside. Moira waved her over and stood before the tent.
“It’s all right. Mr. Elder is talking with them now. He’s inviting them for breakfast. I’ll let the others know.”
“Who is going to take the next watch?”
“I think we’ll skip the next watch. We should stick together. In case there’s more.”
“You think it’s a trap?” Sarah wrapped her arms around her body. “What do they want from us? Are we going to die?”
Moira tamped down her own fears. “We can’t think like that. We’ll continue about our day as though everything is normal. There are still chores to be done.”
“I’ll feed and water the horse and join you.” Sarah visibly calmed at having a task.
Moira rested her hand on her shoulder. “Stay sharp. If something happens, never mind the rest of us. If there’s trouble, take whatever opening you can find and run. Don’t look back.”
“I will.”
Moira ducked inside the tent and shook the girls awake. “We’ve got some special company in camp.”
Tony blinked and yawned. “How special?”
“Indians.”
Hazel squealed and Moira quickly shushed her. “Mr. Elder is talking with them now. Get ready and come out for breakfast. Try not to stare. Sarah is feeding and watering the horses. As far as we’re concerned, this is just another day.”
“Another day when we might all end up with arrows through our hides,” Tony grumbled.
Moira shushed her. “Not now.”
“Well I heard stories on the ranch. They’ll cut you down and gut you without even a by-your-leave.”
Hazel began to sob quietly and Moira hugged her against her side. “That’s enough. Not one more word. If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your mouth, Antonella, you should remain in this tent. We’ve trouble enough.”
The Cattleman Meets His Match Page 14
