by Carol Finch
Raven regarded her suspiciously, but eventually he gouged Elliot Cunningham in the shoulder. “Take the boys to pee,” he demanded.
“In a minute,” Elliot grumbled. “You’re gettin’ too damn highfalutin for an Injun. I don’t take orders from your kind.” He glowered at Raven for a full minute, but when Raven stepped threateningly forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his nasty-looking dagger, Elliot backed down and clambered unsteadily to his feet.
The confrontation assured Tara that the outlaws balked at taking orders from the Apache, but they feared him. It was warranted fear, Tara admitted. Crossing Raven too many times could be suicidal. She suspected she’d already pushed her luck about as far as it would go.
Although greed and lack of concern for human life governed these renegades’ actions, Raven was another breed entirely. Hatred, rage and bitterness had poisoned his mind thoroughly, and he was pure evil. Tara made a mental note to tread carefully until they attempted escape.
Sitting quietly, she watched the light from the campfire flicker over Raven’s face. She felt a tremor of fear spread through her, but she tamped it down. In a few minutes she’d provide a distraction so the children could go to ground, just as John had taught them. She also knew this might be the last time she saw the children. When she provided a disruption, Raven would show her no more mercy. Grimly, Tara accepted what she had to do to spare the children.
“Damn it, where’d they go?” Gus crowed as he lumbered back to camp. “Did you see them pesky girls?”
Snarling furiously, Raven bolted up from his crouched position. “You fool! You were supposed to watch those brats!”
“Damnation, I lost those cursed boys!” Elliot yelled from a distance. “Come help me round ’em up!”
Raven spun toward Tara, his face twisted in a murderous scowl. He raised his hand to strike her, certain she’d instigated the children’s escape. Tara ducked her head and plowed into his belly, forcing him off balance. Then she took off at a dead run—in the opposite direction from the children.
Suddenly, the sound of thundering hooves erupted in the darkness. The eerie howl of a wolf rose in the night and echoed around the canyon.
“White Wolf!” Raven bellowed in frenzied outrage.
Tara felt the earth tremble as the stampeding mustangs plunged toward camp. Men scattered like buckshot to avoid being knocked down and trampled. Vile curses exploded when the wild-eyed mustangs tore through the camp, trampling the plates, cooking utensils and bedrolls.
The howl of a wolf rose again, then a gunshot echoed in the darkness.
From her position beside a tree, Tara lurched around to see Gus Traber clutch his chest, then pitch forward on the ground. She knew without question that the unseen sniper was relying on the light from the campfire to pinpoint his target, and was striking with deadly accuracy.
“What the hell’s happening?” Elliot roared as he dived for cover. “What are these damn mustangs doing back here after we ran them out?”
Tara circled behind the stampeding mustangs and headed toward the boulders that covered the steep slope. She saw Juan Drego attempt to dash for cover, then heard the wild scream of a horse. Wide-eyed, she watched a powerfully built stallion—which was as black as the devil’s soul—rear up and paw the air. Orange campfire light reflected off the whites of its eyes, giving it a diabolical appearance. The steed seemed to have a personal vendetta against the drunken Mexican. Hooves struck out viciously, hammering relentlessly at Juan’s shoulder. The Mexican howled in pain and spun away from another on-coming blow. Tara watched Juan run for his life, swearing foully, cradling his injured arm against his ribs.
The report of an unseen rifle overrode the clatter of hooves pounding the earth as the mustangs raced toward the east end of the canyon. Tara glanced down from her hiding place between two boulders to see Hank Burton stagger backward, then collapse lifelessly on the ground. Two men down and one injured, she counted silently. John Wolfe, wherever he was, was picking off his enemies one at a time.
Hope rose inside Tara as she inched toward higher ground. John had arrived on the scene like hell’s avenging fury. He’d keep the children safe—
Tara shrieked when an unseen hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her backward. She felt Raven’s rigid body slam into her. The cold steel of his blade pricked her throat as he clamped his muscular arm around her.
“White Wolf lives,” he snarled against her neck, clutching her to him like a protective shield of armor. “You knew, didn’t you? Did White Wolf erect that sepulcher of stones in the Canyon of the Sun to deceive me?”
It took a moment for Tara to figure out what the enraged Apache was raving about. Then she remembered the children had stacked up the stones she’d placed at the locations of the postholes for the new pasture fence. Raven had obviously returned to scout the canyon to ensure John had died during the showdown. The Apache assumed she’d buried John beneath the pile of stones.
“You are White Wolf’s woman,” he snarled furiously. “He is after you!”
“No, he’s after you and your cohorts,” Tara contradicted. “He’s willing to be lenient with you if you agree to return to the reservation.”
“White Wolf would delight in humiliating me by dragging me back to my father. I have stood in his shadow since childhood, listening to my father praise his skills, his instincts and his cunning. I will never go back to the reservation. Even if I did, I would not let White Wolf escort me,” Raven growled as he dragged Tara along with him toward the pinto that was tethered near a cedar tree.
Tara had the sinking feeling that Raven had never considered White Wolf his adopted brother, but rather a hated rival for Gray Eagle’s affection and respect. Sweet mercy, all these years White Wolf had been riddled with guilt, believing he’d somehow betrayed and disappointed Raven. But from the sound of things, White Wolf’s sense of loyalty and brotherly concern were wasted on this renegade Apache, who was envious of his adopted brother’s prestige and influence on the clan.
When Tara tried to brace herself, refusing to be tossed on the horse, Raven grabbed her roughly and hoisted her onto his mount without releasing his painful grasp on her hair. Before she could slide to the ground on the other side, Raven bounded up behind her.
“You will be my bait when White Wolf comes for me,” he snarled as he gouged the paint pony in the flanks.
Tara squirmed on the horse, making it difficult for Raven to control both her and the flighty steed, which was scrabbling up the steep incline. Despite her struggles, Raven shoved her face against the horse’s neck and practically sprawled on top of her to hold her in place.
Tara muttered a curse as Raven reined his pony between boulders and scrub cedars, never once allowing himself to become an open target. Tara didn’t know where John was, but she knew it was impossible for him to get off a clean shot when Raven relied on Apache cunning, clinging to cover and taking her with him for insurance.
In desperation, she squirmed sideways, trying to force Raven off balance and send him tumbling to the ground. He growled fiercely when she shifted beneath him, very nearly catapulting him into a cactus patch. In retaliation, he grabbed his pistol by the barrel and thumped her soundly on the skull. Tara struggled to remain conscious, but the second blow to the back of her head caused her to slump limply over the pinto’s neck.
Exploding pain turned her world pitch-black.
White Wolf cursed thunderously when he saw Raven’s pinto winding along the steep incline to reach the cap rock. Hurriedly, he grabbed his field glasses and focused on the escaping rider. Despite the darkness, he quickly determined that Raven was riding double, that another body was draped over the horse.
“Irish,” he whispered in torment when he saw moonlight glint off her red-gold hair. Everything inside him rebelled against staying put to dispose of the outlaws while Raven was riding off with Tara as his captive.
But White Wolf knew without question that Tara would want him to erase every last threat to the childre
n—wherever the devil those kids were. As of yet, he hadn’t spotted a single one of them.
Resolutely, he went in search of the surviving desperadoes. There would be no mercy here in Diablo Canyon, and White Wolf would give no quarter when he confronted the renegades, who had left a trail of death and destruction behind them these past two years.
After gathering up five saddle horses, White Wolf reined Pie beside the campfire. “Samuel, Derek, Calvin, Maureen, Flora!” he called out. “Come back to camp.”
“Zohn Whoof! I knew you’d come to save us!”
White Wolf slumped in relief when he saw five silhouettes appear from out of nowhere. He bounded from his horse to hug all five children. They clung to him for a full two minutes, and he struggled to regain control of his roiling emotions. Then he simply gave in and let the feelings flood over him. He let himself love and be loved. He accepted and returned every ounce of affection bestowed on him. In all his life he’d never experienced anything quite like this. He’d never been so openly demonstrative.
“How come you’re dressed like that?” Flora questioned as she cuddled against his shoulder.
“Because this is part of who and what I am, half-pint,” he murmured.
The children backed away to thoroughly appraise the bone-and-metal breastplate, the loincloth, leggings, moccasins and the symbolic headband that carried his totem of a prowling wolf.
“You look like the Indian that raided our ranch,” Samuel remarked.
The comment forced White Wolf to grit his teeth against the frustration and rage pouring through him. Knowing Raven had taken Tara for his own protection infuriated him. Everything inside him ached to give chase.
“I need all of you to help me,” he stated. “The sheep and horses are scattered around the canyon. The mustangs we were training escaped to return to the stallion’s herd.”
“Do you want us to round them up again?” Samuel asked.
White Wolf shook his head. “There will be time for that later. The livestock will bed down for the night, so you can sleep here in camp. Tomorrow I want you to herd the livestock back to Paradise Valley while I follow Raven. He took Tara with him.”
Silence descended. Five pair of eyes widened in alarm.
“That Indian who hit Tara? He’s still alive and he took her away?” Derek asked angrily.
John felt another wave of outrage splash over him. Raven had struck out at Tara? Damn him! Raven had been thoroughly corrupted by those desperadoes and now behaved exactly like them.
“What happened to the other bad men?” Calvin asked as he glanced around the dark canyon.
Five pair of curious eyes lifted to White Wolf. He had no intention whatsoever of going into detail about how he’d pounced in silence, ensuring not one sound erupted to alert the surviving bandits that he was close at hand, and that he’d come to exact the full measure of revenge. White Wolf didn’t want to expose the children to the lethal methods he’d used to eliminate the murderers who’d left a trail of terror and destruction. How the outlaws met their end didn’t matter, only that no other innocent lives would be lost at their ruthless hands.
“Danger no longer exists here in the canyon,” he said simply.
“But what did you do with the outlaws?”
Damn, leave it to Flora to ask the difficult questions.
White Wolf met the inquisitive gazes focused on him. After a moment he stared directly at each child, knowing they would fully understand there were times—like now, especially now—that he became judge, jury and executioner of expedient justice. He wanted to spare them from discovering this vicious side of him, but the ordeal wouldn’t permit it.
“The outlaws who captured you died as they lived,” he told them grimly. Before the children could pry for the gory details, White Wolf knelt in front of them. “I’m proud of the way you used Apache savvy and went to ground. You made my rescue much easier.”
“It wasn’t hard,” Derek said. “We disappeared into the grass in nothing flat, just like you taught us to do.”
White Wolf noticed that Maureen hadn’t uttered a single word. She stood back, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes glistening with tears she was desperately trying to hold in check. He had the uneasy feeling that her traumatic experience had triggered flashbacks from her secretive past. He wanted to draw her aside and reassure her, but time was running out. Raven was putting distance between them, and White Wolf needed to mount up and ride.
“At first light I want you to drive the livestock back to the ranch,” he requested. “I can’t concentrate my efforts on rescuing Irish if I’m worried about you being out here on your own.”
Five chins elevated to determined angles.
“You can count on us, just as we counted on you to find us,” Samuel declared. “We’ll go back to the ranch and put it in order while you find Tara.”
White Wolf opened his arms once again and the children rushed to him—even Maureen, who had yet to speak. She hugged him to her, and he could feel the tension rippling through her taut body.
Damn, he needed to stay here with the children.
He needed to find Tara.
This mental tug-of-war was tormenting the hell out of him.
“Now, dust off the bedrolls and place them by the campfire so you can settle in for the night.” White Wolf gave them one last family hug. “Samuel, will you tether the five saddle horses before you turn in?”
“Not to worry, I’ll take care of it,” the boy promised faithfully.
When White Wolf strode toward his horse, the children wandered off to gather the sleeping pallets. He didn’t dare look back, couldn’t afford another distraction. His adopted brother had headed northwest, and White Wolf intended to set a swift pace. He wanted to keep Raven in his sights and decide the best location for a confrontation. Tara would be much safer in Raven’s clutches if he knew White Wolf was breathing down his neck, waiting to take advantage of the slightest delay.
Chapter Seventeen
Tara roused to consciousness by groggy degrees. Slowly, she became aware of the powerful horse moving beneath her, of the firm grip on her arm. Her head hurt fiercely, but she didn’t make a sound to alert Raven that she was awake. She was determined to regenerate her strength before attempting escape. Even if her escape was unsuccessful she knew she could slow Raven down. She also knew John would be searching for them as soon as he’d ensured the children’s safety.
There was no question in her mind that John would deal quickly and effectively with the rest of the outlaws. He was too alert, too clever and too cunning not to. She also knew John well enough to realize he shared her protective concern for the children. It greatly relieved Tara to know they were in competent hands. It also inspired her to do whatever necessary to make it easier for John to overtake Raven.
Keeping that in mind, Tara bided her time and discreetly surveyed her surroundings. She could tell by the terrain that Raven had reversed his southwesterly direction and had circled Paradise Valley while she was unconscious. In the moonlight Tara could see the silhouette of Superstition Mountain looming in the distance. If that was Raven’s destination, Tara vowed he wasn’t going to reach it—not if she had anything to say about it.
The jagged peaks of the mountain formed a natural fortress with stone lookout towers. From there, Raven would be able to see John coming long before he arrived. Tara promised herself that Raven would have no advantage whatsoever.
John was no longer confronting white men who didn’t possess his acute awareness and expert survival skills, she reminded herself. Raven was his equal, trained by Gray Eagle’s experienced hand. The fact that Raven was desperate, driven by bitterness and poisoned by resentment, made him a worthy opponent. To Tara, it was like trying to predict the outcome of a clash between two omnipotent, mystical Greek gods. She expected hell to break loose when these two men engaged in battle.
Tara had to devise a way to give John the edge and force Raven to alter whatever murderous scheme he had i
n mind. Despite her hellish headache, she forced herself to relax, to think, to rely on the element of surprise. While she lay slumped over the horse she tried to recall every self-defense tactic John had shown her. Her mind racing, she appraised the landscape again, noting the faintest hint of dawn glowing against the horizon. The rugged ravines that tumbled northwestward forced the horse to step gingerly. Tara knew this was the time and place to attempt escape.
She waited until the horse gathered its hindquarters to scrabble up another rocky incline. When she felt Raven shift his balance to make the climb easier for the pinto, Tara surged upward. She jabbed Raven in the jaw, then hit him in the midsection good and hard with her elbow. She shrieked like a banshee, purposely startling the horse, causing it to rear up, then clatter sideways to regain its footing.
Leveling one last blow at her captor’s nose, Tara pushed herself away from the staggering horse. Raven snarled viciously as he struggled to keep his balance. Tara landed on her feet and skidded frantically, sliding down the rock-strewn arroyo. Her bound hands closed around a nearby stone the size of her fist. She lurched around to launch her makeshift weapon as Raven swung from the back of the horse. The rock slammed into the side of his head, momentarily knocking him off balance. His roar of outrage broke the stillness of the night and prompted her to set a faster pace.
When she noticed a clump of cedars to her left she veered in the opposite direction, certain Raven would expect her to seek the obvious shelter. What she needed—and couldn’t find—was a thick clump of grass to bury herself in, giving her a chance to catch her breath. But she had chosen such rugged terrain for her escape route that grass was scarce and cactus was in abundance.
Panting for breath, Tara dived into a narrow, eroded wash that wasn’t much bigger than she was. Then she prayed for all she was worth that dawn wouldn’t come streaming into the ravine before she could put greater distance between herself and Raven.
“You waste my time and your energy, paleface,” Raven growled in the darkness. “No one can outwait or outsmart an Apache. It will be light soon and you’ll have nowhere to run or hide. Then you’ll be dead….”
