Moira stepped into the sunlight and stuttered to a halt. Seeing the Indians on the hill was one thing, having them clustered around the fire was quite another. She swallowed hard and forced her steps closer.
From the corner of her eye she watched as Pops added more bacon to the pan balanced over the cook fire. His hands wobbled.
The five Indians and John gathered in a neat half circle around the fire. They all sat cross-legged, their elbows resting on their bent knees. Even the cowboy. Moira brushed her skirts behind her knees and took the place beside him.
He tilted his head. “They think you’re my wife. Let’s keep it that way.”
Moira glanced at the eldest Indian. He stared at her hair, his black eyes curious, his gaze intense, as though trying to peer into her soul. She turned away.
While John and the Indians spoke, Pops arrived with plates of bacon and rounds of cornbread fried in the leftover grease. The Indians accepted the food and ate with gusto, using their fingers. Pops must have realized they’d eat that way, since he hadn’t offered up any utensils.
The girls emerged from the tent, Tony first, her face blank, clutching Hazel’s hand. Darcy trailed behind them, her lips clenched in a thin white line. Sarah returned from caring for the horses and hovered uncertainly on the edge of the campsite. Moira motioned them over.
The two groups of people observed each other with wary curiosity. One of the women spoke, a mixture of English and Apache that Moira had difficulty following. John had a better time pulling out the words. He replied and turned toward the group.
“Most of the elderly and the children in their group died last spring. An influenza outbreak. Brought by the settlers, no doubt. Near as I can tell, they were relocated by the army from a place farther south. I’m guessing with the settlers moving in and the buffalo hunters spread over the plains, resources are thin.”
A portion of Moira’s fear dissipated. On closer inspection she realized the Indians’ cheeks were hollow, their ribs showing, their legs painfully slim. With a sudden, awful clarity she realized that she hadn’t seen them as people up until this point. In her head she’d referred to them as savages, in her mind’s eye she’d seen them as less than human. The stories she’d heard, the brutality, had created a myth.
The truth was much less savage. And much more tragic.
The woman who’d been doing the bulk of the talking clicked her tongue and nodded her head. “Safe passage,” she said. “Safe passage.”
John spoke a few words and she replied. He shook his head. The woman repeated something and the cowboy frowned. “I can’t quite make out what she’s saying, but I think they’re on their way to Fort Preble for medicine.”
The woman gestured and talked with her curious mixture of Apache and English.
John frowned in concentration. “Her only remaining child is ill. She believes it’s a white man’s illness and she’s hoping the white man’s medicine will cure the child.”
The eldest Indian, the one with the long braids and the hawkish nose, shook his head and scowled. Clearly the plan had not met with his whole approval. The woman met his scowl, her gaze defiant.
John spoke and gestured. At one point the Indians stood and walked a distance away.
Moira leaned over and whispered in his ear. “What’s going on?”
“A trade. I hope. I’m offering them the choice of several head of cattle in exchange for safe passage to Fort Preble.”
Moira watched their guests. Hawk Nose made a great show of considering the plan. The younger man in the group replied sharply. The two Indians remained locked on each other, caught in a fierce battle of wills. Moira shivered. After a moment Hawk Nose spoke quietly and the younger Indian jerked his head in a nod.
Hawk Nose gestured toward her hair. “Mine.” He spoke.
Her scalp tingled. “Oh dear. He wants to scalp me.”
“No, no. He wants a lock of your hair is all.”
She automatically reached for her braid. “What should I do?”
“It’s up to you.”
Tony leaned closer. “We’re outnumbered and outgunned. I say we give ’em what they want before they take it by force.”
“It’s only hair.” Darcy shrugged.
Sarah glanced between the two groups of people. “I don’t see that there’s any harm.”
Moira chewed her lower lip and considered the Indians. After a long moment, she carefully unraveled her braid. Hawk Nose didn’t show any sign one way or another whether or not he was pleased with her choice.
She faced the cowboy. “Can you help?”
* * *
John reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. He unfolded the blade and grasped a handful of her hair. The strands were impossibly soft and springy beneath his fingers, as though her curls had a life of their own.
He stared into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and her breath came in short, hollow gasps. She was terrified of the Indians and putting on a brave face.
Outnumbered and outgunned.
Tony had a way of sizing up the situation in her succinct, blunt fashion. Right now they were balancing on a fine line of good humor and dumb luck. Near as John could tell, the Indians saw them as some sort of novelty. They’d seen plenty of settlers, buffalo hunters and horse traders cross their land. He didn’t suppose they’d ever seen eight hundred head of cattle led by five females, four of them children.
While he made a show of leisurely piercing through Moira’s hair, he considered the outcome of the meeting. If the Indians rustled their cattle and tore off for the low country, they risked bringing down the army scouts. A decade past it might have been a fair fight. Now, the meeting was anything but unbiased. The Indians were short of able-bodied men, victims of disease and famine brought on by the dwindling land and buffalo.
As long as he mollified this bunch and sent them home with a nice steer, there was a good chance he and the girls had bought their safe passage.
Moira blinked. Her brilliant eyes were shadowed, yet trusting. Her fear kindled a fierce protectiveness in him.
He wrapped a hunk of hair around one finger and slid his knife blade near the base. “You sure?”
She licked her lips and his gaze dipped.
“If it’ll keep old Hawk Nose from taking my whole scalp, I don’t figure I have much choice.”
Tony cleared her throat. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about them when they’re sitting right in front of us.”
“They don’t understand,” Darcy protested.
Tony’s gaze slid across the group of Indians. “It’s not something I want to bet my life on.”
John’s blade slid through the strands as easily as slicing through warm butter. He set down his knife and yanked a length of fringe from his buckskin chaps and wound the length around the base.
Hawk Nose reached across the distance and accepted the offering. He rubbed the hair between his thumb and forefinger, then lifted the strands toward the sunlight and tilted his head. John’s stomach tightened. It hadn’t seemed much of a sacrifice before, yet he didn’t like the Indian having a part of Moira. Even something as simple as a lock of hair. The gesture felt personal, intimate.
The three women erupted into chatter and reached for the lock. They took turns studying the hair, holding it near their heads and speaking amongst themselves. Hawk Nose snatched the hair and stuffed the curiosity in the pouch at his hip, ending the commotion.
The Indian glanced between John, Moira and the girls. “Not your children,” he said in his clipped Apache.
John shook his head and said, “Family.” Or what he hoped meant family.
He must have gotten a close enough word because the Indian woman who spoke some broken English nodded her approval.
Hawk Nose blinked his approval. “Many fine sons to come.”
John assumed he was referring to his and Moira’s future as a “married couple.” He swallowed. “Yes.”
The situation was too complicated for his broken Apache. There’d be no explaining how he’d wound up with four orphans and a fiery redhead. Certainly not an explanation to satisfy his unexpected guests.
Moira tugged on his sleeve. “What did he say?”
“He said thank you for the meal.” John didn’t quite meet her eyes.
He needn’t tell her the rest. He stood and motioned for the leader. Together they approached the herd and the younger Indian followed. The tall man wove through the cattle, unmindful of the clacking horns and the lethal hooves. Without asking he returned and grasped a coiled rope from the pile of gear near the chuck wagon. Once again he disappeared into the herd.
The girls stood and huddled behind John. For the first time since he’d met the girls, they remained unnaturally silent. The Indian returned, leading an enormous bull. John took a step back and bumped into Moira.
Hazel gasped. “He can’t take Ironsides.”
“Who?”
“Ironsides. That’s the bull he’s taking.”
John rubbed his forehead. “Please tell me you did not name all eight hundred head of cattle.”
“Only about twenty. And that’s Ironsides.”
“Well, your bull has a new home.”
“They’re gonna eat him.” Tears welled in her dark eyes.
Tony scoffed. “What did you think was going to happen? They’re all gonna get eaten sooner or later. That’s why you don’t go naming farm animals. Leastways you end up naming your dinner.”
Hazel burst into tears and dove into the tent.
John pressed his fingertips into his eyelids until he saw stars.
“I’ll see to her.” Sarah patted his arm.
The Indian ignored the drama and led the bull away from the herd.
Pops moved to stand beside John. “I seen a lot of things in my life. I ain’t never seen an Indian lead a bull like a trained dog.”
John winced at the muffled sobs emanating from the tent. “He took my best rope.”
“Probably the luckiest thing that will happen this day.”
As the group of Indians faded into the distance, the tension in John’s shoulders eased. If he’d ever been more terrified in his life, he couldn’t recall the time. Pops wandered off and Moira moved toward the fire.
John touched her arm. “Should I talk with her? Hazel?”
“No. She’s old enough to learn the truth. I think we all need a moment alone.”
Moira trudged into the distance, disappearing behind a small copse of brush trees. Unsettled by the look in her eyes, he jogged the distance and found her sitting with her hands wrapped around her knees, her head bent and her shoulders trembling.
John knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She rocked forward. “I have never been so scared in my entire life.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He caught her around the shoulder, catching a bit of her loose hair in his grip.
Her head lifted. “Do you think they’ll be back?”
“I doubt it. At their heart, they’re an honorable people. They won’t break their word.”
“But what about all the raids? The massacres?”
“I don’t like murder of any kind, that’s for certain.” John gathered his thoughts. “The settlers changed their way of life and they fought back. It’s not much different than the War Between the States. Right or wrong, people will fight for their survival.” He turned his head and his chin grazed the top of her hair. “One side wins and one side loses. That’s how most things end.”
“And so much death in between.”
She turned her head and stared up at him. He lowered his head, brushing his lips against her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed. He pressed a kiss against her temple, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin. Her pale ivory skin was creamy and smooth. Her cheeks matched the blush of a peach’s skin. She tipped back her head and their lips met. He’d only meant to offer her a modicum of comfort, but her gentle sigh wreaked havoc on his resolve. He pulled away and cupped her face, searching her eyes. The sweet, misty look on her face drew him forward.
His lips moved tentatively over hers. She swayed against him. He continued his leisurely exploration, giving her every chance to pull away. Her trembling hands wound around his neck and pulled him closer.
A shrill scream split the air.
Moira’s forehead bumped his nose. “The Indians. They’ve come back.”
John’s stomach dropped. He leapt to his feet and glanced around. “It’s not the Indians.”
He’d expected more trouble. Just not this soon.
Chapter Eleven
Moira reached the commotion mere paces after John. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
The girls had gathered around an outcropping of rock on the edge of a shallow dip in the grassland. A narrow overhang of ragged weeds indicated the presence of a tiny cave, an opening fit only for an animal. The mouth of the hole opened beneath a ledge at the base of a flat rock. About the size of a barrel, the darkened mouth stretched into the embankment. Out of the opening came Champion’s steady barking.
Hazel clasped her hands together. “It all happened too fast. I was standing here when Champion started barking. Then it brushed past my leg.”
Tony tilted her head. “When what came past?”
“An animal.”
“A possum?”
“No. It was soft with a fluffy tail. I think it’s a cat. Champion chased it in there.” She cast an accusing glare at John. “Now it won’t come out.”
“Well, uh.” John adjusted his hat. “I suppose we best leave whatever it is alone. Once we’re all gone, it’ll come out soon enough.”
“I think it’s hurt.”
John hesitated. “Even more reason to leave it alone. A frightened animal is dangerous.”
“It’s a cat.”
“It’s not a cat. We’re too far from town for strays.”
Hazel set her jaw. “I’m sure it’s a cat.”
“Trust me. It’s not a cat. I’ve been walking this trail for twenty years and I can guarantee you that.”
Moira studied the determined set of Hazel’s shoulders. She had a bad feeling if he didn’t check out the animal, Hazel would go in after he turned his back.
John caught her gaze and an unspoken communication passed between them. He must have come to the same conclusion.
“If I prove it’s not a cat, will you leave it alone?”
“I promise. But it’s a cat. I’m certain.”
Smothering a sigh, John knelt.
Moira edged closer. The hollowed-out area stretched deep into the ground, narrowing until the dog disappeared into the darkness. Stale dust and the rank scent of a wild animal sent her nose wrinkling.
Muffled barks echoed through the recesses of the tiny cave.
She didn’t know much about nature, but this didn’t seem like a good idea. “John is right, Hazel. If we all leave it alone, the animal will come out on its own.”
Sarah patted the younger girl’s back. “They’re right. We shouldn’t go messing with wild animals. For all we know it’s a bunch of shoats.”
Hazel remained stubbornly silent.
John gave a slight shrug. “It can’t be very big. I’m guessing it’s a prairie dog Champion chased out of its den. I’ll take a quick look.” He doffed his hat. “This won’t take long.”
Moira accepted the hat and clutched it to her chest. A tingle of apprehension danced along her spine. “I still don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
The cowboy angled his head and glanced
up at her. “I’ll be quick. We don’t have much time. Looks like there’s a storm coming.”
Moira followed his gaze.
She’d been so engrossed in the excitement over the Indians and then distracted by John’s kiss, she hadn’t noticed the growing wall of white, fluffy clouds in the distance. “They don’t look so bad.”
Her cheeks warmed beneath his glance and she unconsciously touched her lips. Somehow, in that moment, everything had changed. Of course she’d thought he was handsome, what girl wouldn’t? She’d known he was kind, considerate. Now she was thinking about him in a whole new way.
Had anything changed for him? She couldn’t read his inscrutable expression.
“Those clouds will get worse, trust me,” he said. “They’ll get bigger and taller and darker. Then we’ll have a storm on our hands. At least we’re out of harm’s way from the river. It’s late in the season, but we’re still risking a flash flood. The more we talk, the more time we waste.”
Moira huffed at his quiet rebuke. Her earlier sterling thoughts of him tarnished a bit. “I’m only trying to save you from a bite. Or worse.”
John reclined onto his left hip. He leaned in, positioning his body until he held most of his weight on this left elbow and shoulder. With the heel of his boot he pushed off, scooting into the darkness. His head and shoulders disappeared.
Moira held her breath.
“Oh no.”
His boots kicked a furious tarantella in the dust.
The cowboy rolled out of the cave as though he’d been shot out of a cannon. A flurry of fur and squealing followed close behind. As John scrambled to his feet, the ball of fur flattened him back against the ground.
A screech sounded, immediately followed by an earsplitting yelp. Champion leapt onto the pile.
“I told you it was a cat!” Hazel shouted.
“Stay back,” John shouted. “It’s a bobcat.”
Champion and the angered cat rolled in the dust. The dog soon realized he was outmatched with a painful yowl. Champion released his clenched jaw from the animal’s neck and sprang backward.
Dazed, the bobcat shook its head a few times before streaking into the distance. Moira caught sight of the cowboy sprawled on the ground, an angry slash across his cheek with two drips of blood sliding beneath his chin. He swiped at the blood with the back of his hand and made to push himself off the dirt.
The Cattleman Meets His Match Page 15
