A muffled sound caught her attention and brought an immediate picture of a mountain cat to mind. She’d seen only one, and at a distance, but despite the animal’s small size, she had also seen the speed with which it moved and the ferocity with which it killed. She jolted upright, squeezing the water from her eyes and pushing her hair back to clear her vision. A bark sounded, and she released a hard sigh. The dog stood in front of her. The mutt with the tattered ears and strange eyes. Pressing a hand over her racing heart, she sank to her knees in the water, too weak to stand.
The dog barked again. Sharp, hard yaps that seemed to send a message she didn’t understand.
Her flesh crawled. Had the dog gone mad? His amber eyes appeared sure and steady in their intensity. The dog barked once more. Renee pulled in a steadying breath and swiped the water from her hair then tied it in a loose knot. As she approached the edge of the pool, the dog ran off a few yards, turned around, and sat back down to maintain his watch. But what was he watching for?
She dressed in her still damp clothes, glad she’d washed them first. Chilled to the bone and worried about the dog’s strange behavior, she moved. Tyler would know what the dog was trying to communicate, and she suddenly wished she were not alone.
Another bark from the mutt and the animal ran off another few feet, looking over his shoulder as if begging her to follow. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Her ankle turned on a rock, and she scraped her arm against the surface before she caught herself. As she got to her feet, the dog barked at her again then took off and plunged into the brushy, thorny vegetation.
❧
Tyler awoke with a jolt. The mutt sat down across from him, panting heavily, his yellow eyes alert and staring. Tyler touched his hand to the ground and came to his feet in a smooth motion. He saw that the horse’s ears were pricked and she stared hard in the opposite direction.
He yanked the rifle from the scabbard. “Easy, girl.” He stroked the horse’s neck and mounted, his eyes on the mutt. He gave a sharp, long whistle and Teddy circled off to his left, telegraphing to the sheep that it was time to move. At times like this Tyler wished he had more than one dog to handle the herd, for he knew the mutt’s sudden appearance could only mean the sheep were in danger.
The tatter-eared dog leaped through the air at a run, diving into the underbrush. Tyler could trace his path by the occasional fluttering of the underbrush.
And that’s when he heard it. The scream. Tyler gripped the rifle as his eyes roved the rocky outcroppings to his right, the direction in which Sassy was looking. The mountain rose almost perpendicular, a climb he knew he would have to make over the next couple of days. The mountain lion would be up there, more than likely, eyeing the sheep and sizing up the kill. Sassy’s ears swiveled back and forth. Steady as the horse was in a crisis situation, the one thing Sassy had no fondness for was mountain cats. He tightened his hold on the reins and patted the horse’s neck.
He glanced at the sheep. Teddy knew his stuff and worked the sheep with a calm confidence that reassured rather than frightened. Those ewes that had wandered away from the main body of the flock were loping out of the woods and over toward the majority.
Tyler noted two things—the oddity of a cat prowling at this time of day and the desperation that must be driving it to do so. Neither bode well for the flock. The mutt would instinctively go after the cat—had, in fact, probably sensed it long ago. Tyler made his decision and raised his head to release a warbling whistle directing Teddy to move the sheep forward. Then he nudged Sassy forward. They skimmed the far edge of the flock at a fast walk as Teddy began pushing the sheep away from the water back to the bedding ground of the previous night. A mile away. But they could spread out there, and there was a rise where he could see for miles in every direction.
Renee!
Her name struck fear. There would be no way to alert her. Nothing he could do but hope she at least knew the danger when she heard the cat’s distinctive scream. If she stayed near the fire she would be fine. He spurred Sassy into a canter.
Punky tried to push away with about ten other sheep, but Tyler cut them off and got them turned while Teddy worked to keep the other side of the column in line. Tyler kept a sharp eye on the rocky ledge overhead as the sheep moved, expecting at any moment to see a cat leap down onto the helpless back of some woolie.
Short, sharp barks rang out, followed by another low scream from the cat. Tyler brought his rifle up and sighted down the barrel. Nothing moved on the ledge. He heard the mutt growl low in his throat. Tyler’s heartbeat skittered upward. Every muscle in his body tightened, and he longed for the sight of the cat, knowing how vulnerable his herd would become should the mutt get killed. He’d lasted through some tough battles with rattlers and coyotes, but a cat. . .
A sickening mewling, gravelly with menace, rose and fell as the two animals squared off. The dog’s barks, consistent and fierce, were sharp and harsh, not as high pitched as usual.
Tyler measured his options. The mountain lion would do its best to scare off his unexpected opponent with a series of snarls. The mutt, though, would be no match for a cat. Tyler had but minutes to make his move.
He traced the path up to the ledge with his eyes. Scaling it would take too long. He lowered the rifle and stabbed glances at the rocks surrounding him. Boulders lay along the path of the stream. With a modicum of strides he pushed Sassy toward the farthest boulder, dismounted, and skipped to the lowest of a trio of boulders. Using them as stepping-stones, he clawed and pulled until he stood on the biggest. He raised his gaze as he settled the rifle, gratified to have a clear view of the ongoing battle. But his new dilemma slammed into his gut as he viewed the scene. The cat had the higher elevation to his advantage, with the dog holding lower ground, legs braced wide, showing his teeth, eyes locked with those of the cat’s.
Tyler raised the gun to his shoulder and took careful aim. To miss would mean pandemonium. His finger tensed on the trigger just as the cat sprung toward the dog. Tyler lowered the gun to gauge the fight and the dog’s chances, helpless todo anything now that the two animals were engaged. He swal-lowed hard against the burn in his throat.
He had always known the mutt to be a sweet animal, though he’d seen it fight, coming alive with the rage and instincts to kill of his ancestors. The mutt enjoyed his job as guardian of the herd. Rich Morgan had trained the animal well.
The cat rolled the dog to its back and took a swipe at its neck only to roar with anger and draw back when the dog kicked out with its hind feet and lowered its jaws on the cat’s nose. Back and forth the battle went. Blood ran from a deep gash in the dog’s shoulder. Tyler raised the rifle to his shoulder again, steeling the trembling in his hands to make his aim more sure. The animals would tire of the fight and break apart. He had to be ready for that moment.
The hound rolled the cat down a rocky incline and the animals both scrambled for their footing, placing them a few feet apart. Tense with the opportunity, Tyler tightened his finger on the trigger and the gun fired. A howl rent the air. For a minute the air was heavy with silence. Tyler sucked air into his lungs and took aim again at the cat. The shot found its mark. Writhing and twisting, the animal fought the new, invisible enemy for seconds before pushing to its feet, only to fall to the ground again and lie still.
Hands shaking, Tyler felt the coldness of shock begin to take hold of his body. He fought it and pushed to his feet, moving while the opportunity allowed and before he could think about what he’d just done. He had eradicated the enemy. But there was no sign of the dog, and his mind painted the picture of what the howl after his first shot meant.
thirteen
Renee saw the column of sheep, their bleats filling the air as they made their way in her direction. They fanned out as the narrow trail broadened, but the momentum of the sheep behind them pushed those in front. Minutes passed as the sheep galloped onto the ground just outside the campsite. The rear of the column came into view, with Teddy weaving
back and forth behind the herd, keeping them moving. She expected to see Tyler, but he was nowhere.
A terrible, scratchy scream shattered the clamor of the sheep’s hooves against the trail and dulled the baaing of the animals. She knew that sound for what it was. She wondered if the tatter-eared dog had sensed the animal’s presence and come to her at the pool as a means of warning her.
She stood frozen, eyes scanning, not daring to leave the sputtering fire even for a minute. Above the din created by the milling sheep, she thought she caught the sound of snarling. A shot rang out, and she tensed and clasped her hands around her knees, curling tighter into a knot, unsure what to do. Never again would she allow the man to leave her without at least the protection of a gun. She hated the fact that she didn’t know where Tyler was or the reason he discharged his rifle.
In tense silence she waited for the inevitable return of Tyler, or the mutt. Teddy trotted to camp and sank to the ground, tongue lolling with the effort of his herding. She stooped to scratch the dog’s head.
“What’s going on out there, Teddy?”
The dog stared at her, ears pricked.
Her throat knotted with fear. If anything happened to Tyler she wouldn’t even know how to survive or where to go. Her sole hope would be the arrival of the man Tyler had called the camptender.
She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead on her folded arms. Her mind churned with the possibility of being attacked by a bear. She would have to gather wood to keep a fire going to fend off wild animals. The sheep, though. . . She didn’t know what they needed or what to do for them. She’d heard Tyler whistle to the dog on several occasions, each whistle apparently meaning something different to the animal.
Her head began to pound, and she pushed against the tears that burned for release. Another thought taunted. What if Tyler had been hurt and couldn’t move? She lifted her head, the idea sending waves of panic coursing through her body. She swept to her feet and knelt by the saddlebags and the pack that seemed to hold so many of the necessary staples. Surely the man carried something for wounds.
Renee pulled items out one by one. A bag of beans. Flour. Sugar. Coffee. She dug deeper and discovered a salted ham. The other bag held personal items. Books. The Bible she’d seen him read on the previous day. A clean shirt and trousers. Strips of leather and clean patches of cotton material. A tin of a thick cream that she raised to her nose. Some type of salve, she hoped.
She took the cotton material and began ripping it into strips, rolling them as fast as her stumbling fingers could manage. She tied the leather around the rolls of cotton and jammed the salve into the middle of the last cotton strip before she rolled that, too, into a tight wad.
She would need water, but she gave up the idea of hauling the heavy pail. She would have to move him to water. But if his injuries prevented him. . .
Renee shook her head, gathered her treasures into her arms, and turned. If she didn’t add more wood to the fire it would burn out and leave her without a place to retreat for safety.
She dropped her cache of bandages onto a grassy patch, her gaze shifting over the wide space in front of her. A small grove of trees offered some possibilities. She glanced around for the small hand ax she’d seen Tyler use on many occasions but couldn’t find it. She used a long wooden stick to poke at the fire and threw on another log. The last one. She could only hope that the flame wouldn’t consume the dry wood before she could get Tyler back to the campsite. If she could get him back.
She turned at the dull vibration of the earth. Squinting in the direction from which the sheep had come, she saw a small dot of movement. Relief rolled over her when she recognized Sassy, with Tyler sitting upright on the horse. She strained to make out his features, afraid to see them pinched with the pain of a wound. She ran out as Sassy came closer, slowed to a trot now by Tyler’s guiding hand. He raised his hand to her. Anxiety peeled away.
“I was afraid you were injured.”
Tyler stopped the horse, his brow pinched with something she could not define. “Guess you heard the cat.”
“I heard the shots,” she admitted, her body quivering with relief so powerful she feared she might fall in a heap.
He said nothing as he dismounted, pulling the reins over Sassy’s head and leading her through the sheep to a boulder where he picketed the horse and removed the saddle and blanket. He gave the horse a pat on the neck.
His silence stoked her temper to a white-hot flame. How dare he ignore her. She retreated to the fire, miserable that she’d burned so much energy worrying over a man not the least bit troubled by all the turmoil he’d caused her. She glared at him as he moved among the sheep, oblivious to her.
She poked at the fire; the flames caught at the old wood and leaped up a few inches. He cared more for the sheep than he did for humans. It was absurd. How could she be expected to stay in this camp for who knew how long with a man who couldn’t see beyond the end of his own nose?
She flopped onto the ground and drew her legs up to her chest. As the flames grew in height, she refused to move back. She was hungry, too. She stabbed another glare at Tyler’s back as he ran his hands over some of the sheep searching for what, she didn’t know.
He worked over the sheep for what seemed an eternity. Lulled by the heat, Renee never noticed when he returned, awakened by the sound of grease in a pan and the smell of something delicious.
When she blinked her eyes open, it was dark, and Tyler sat across the fire from her, his Bible spread on his lap, his expression far away. Without moving she studied his face, noting the crease on his forehead that showed tan beneath it and paler skin above, a product of Tyler’s preference to wear a hat as he worked. For the first time she realized his face was not that of an old man. Her best guess put him in his late twenties. Creases at the corners of his eyes spoke of a man who squinted or laughed often, though she suspected the former as he’d only once cracked a smile since her arrival.
And again she had to ask herself the question. What kind of man secluded himself away in the mountains of Wyoming for months on end with nothing but sheep, a horse, and two dogs for company?
❧
Tyler felt her eyes on him. She’d awakened at some point between the memory of his wasted youth and his moment of redemption. If, indeed, that moment had come at all. Maybe it never would. The Bible in his lap nudged him to cling to the hope of a better day. A new day. And it reminded him of the sheep.
He rubbed his hands together, distributing the oil on them from the new growth of the sheep’s wool, which was still short since they’d just been clipped. If he’d known at the age of seventeen what he would be doing at twenty-six, he would have laughed. Much as he suspected Renee laughed at the idea of being in the mountains, alone with a herd of sheep and a hard-edged, silent man. His silence upon his return had irritated her, he was sure, but he’d needed time.
Sheepherding had been a way for him to cut himself off from all the painful things he’d done—to himself and to others. He’d welcomed the retreat into the mountains offered to him by Rich Morgan, a rancher who’d taken a chance on a broken-spirited man with no heart for living another day.
Rich had told him his wound wouldn’t kill him, but his broken spirit would grind him to dust if he let it. Despite Tyler’s desire for death, Rich had helped Tyler’s body along the path of healing. And then Rich had offered him a stake in a herd of sheep and sent him up into the mountains. Tyler had spent the first month of that first trip surrounded by more silence than he could take, thinking he would go crazy with nothing but the sheep and the sheepdog for company. He’d been forced to leave Sassy at the ranch to heal.
“She’ll be needing some extra care,” had been Rich’s argument. “That shoulder wound is pretty deep. She’s too good a piece of horseflesh to let her go lame.”
Tyler had set out on the trail up the mountain with no illusions about the job, having heard too many stories from the other herder Rich employed. Rich had turned up at t
he end of that month, checking on the herd, he’d said, but Tyler suspected the man was checking up on him as well as the herd.
It had been on the tip of his tongue many times to bark his complaints, but Rich’s kindness to him, and his compassion and willingness to help a stranger at a time when Tyler had felt himself beyond help or hope, meant he could not let his friend down. Plus the herd was his investment. All the money he had was wrapped up in the timid little animals.
Tyler pulled himself from the wrappings of memory and set the Bible aside. Renee watched him in silence, though he couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t watching the flames. He got to his feet and stuck the fork into the chunk of meat in the pan. The water was simmering it slowly, making a nice broth in which to boil the beans that he’d left soaking that morning.
“I’m hungry,” were her first words.
He nodded. “It’ll be awhile. Take some coffee.”
He filled a tin mug for her.
“Sugar?”
A precious staple, sugar. He preferred to drink his black, but if sugar soothed the lady. . . He spilled some from the large sack into another tin mug and took it back to her. She dumped most of it into the coffee and swirled it around.
At least sipping the brew would keep her occupied until supper. Good thing since he had more work to do.
“That dog barked at me.”
Tyler lifted his gaze to hers then glanced over at Teddy, who lounged at the edge of the herd.
“Not that one. The one with the fringed ears.”
He frowned, unsure of the direction of the conversation. Could it be that she resented the dog barking at her, perhaps scaring her? “He does that to get your attention.”
“I heard the cat later on.” She sipped at the coffee, made a face, and dumped in the last of the sugar. “Was he warning me, do you think?”
Shepherd's Song Page 5
