Everyone stared at Ev, but that wouldn’t stop him from telling the truth. “The woman you call Dabai’Waipi is wanted for murder and horse-stealing. Both are hanging offenses, so she is known to be a dangerous person. I threatened to shoot her to keep her from shooting my friend.” He pointed to Boyd. “I put chains on her to keep her from escaping.”
Murmurs in the Shoshone tongue circled the room.
The chief signaled for quiet. “Did you see Dabai’Waipi kill anyone? Did you see her steal horses?”
Ev shook his head. “No, I did not personally see these things, but I have spoken with those who did see.”
“And you believe these accusers?”
“I have no reason not to believe them.”
“Hmph. Did you ask Dabai’Waipi if she had done these things?”
“No. The witnesses’ stories are enough. The Wildcat would only lie to save her skin.”
“If the accusers spoke falsely, truth would look like a lie. You judge too hastily, Marshal.”
Ev was appalled. When he became a Marshal, he believed he’d left behind the kind of quick, vengeful judgments that his preacher father believed in.
“Dabai’Waipi, have you finally learned how to hit a thing when you aim at it?” The chief fired the question at Kiera.
She doesn’t know how to shoot what she aims at? The thought amazed Ev so much, he blurted, “I don’t believe it.”
The chief spared him a glance with a raised brow. “Dabai’Waipi’s lack of skill with a gun is well known to us. She could not possibly have killed a man farther than three strides away. She will prove it to you when this council is done.”
Disbelief and anger stampeded over surprise. She’d held him at gunpoint, and he’d been as safe as if he’d stood beside her. Heck, he’d been safer.
“Dabai’Waipi, can you offer any other proof of your innocence?”
“I have proof that the horses Muh’Weda and I took belong to the Shoshone not to Simon Van Demer.”
“That’s not possible,” objected Boyd. “Big Si’s brand is on every one of those ponies.”
“If Dabai’Waipi gives proof, will you believe her and leave her alone?” The Chief ignored Boyd and addressed Ev.
“My belief depends on the proof that is offered.”
“What proof do you offer?”
“I have photographs of the horses as yearlings before they were stolen from the Shoshone.”
“After you show the Marshal your lack of skill with a gun, you will go and get this proof,” directed the chief.
“I do not keep these things here, but at a secret place in the mountains.”
He smiled. “You have trusted us all, so we know this place. Tell the marshal how many days distant is this place.”
“Five in good weather, a full cycle of the moon or more when snows are deep.”
The chief conferred with the other two elders and the medicine man then looked at Ev. “You and your friend will wait here for Dabai’Waipi to bring back this proof she speaks of so all can see and judge its truth. Then you will leave her in peace.”
Obviously this group of Shoshone held Wildcat in high regard, if they trusted her promise to return. Ev had no such faith.
“One of us must go with her.”
Again the chief spoke quietly with the other elders and the medicine man. “Your lack of trust is unworthy of a man sworn to justice.”
Ev kept his face impassive, but inside he cringed. A small part of him, the part that had always resisted his father’s hellfire and brimstone sermons, agreed with the chief. But the larger part knew that justice was based neither on trust nor blind accusations of guilt. He believed strongly in the system that allowed both accuser and accused to present their cases in court for impartial minds to decide who was right or wrong. His job was to make certain that those who sought to escape justice faced their accusers in court. To do that, he could not let the Wildcat out of his sight.
“Whether I trust her or not is not the issue. I’m willing to allow her to get these items she claims can prove her innocence. However, no matter how convincing the proof, my duty is to escort her back to Laramie for trial, and I will perform that duty.”
The gathering erupted in a hail of angry protests and shouts for Ev’s death.
The medicine man stood, raising his arms for silence. When the crowd quieted, he turned to Ev. “Why will you not go from here in peace when Dabai’Waipi has proven she did not murder or steal?”
“Even if her proof is strong, others who do not know she is innocent will come. They may not be willing to believe or even see her proof. If she is innocent, the Wildcat must get her proof and return with me to Laramie where her evidence—and innocence, if proven—can be recorded so that news of this can be given to anyone who might search for her as I have.”
Again the chiefs and the medicine man conferred. “Very well. You will go with Dabai’Waipi to get the proof. We will keep this man as hostage to your promise not to harm Dabai’Waipi.” He pointed at Boyd. “With or without you, Marshal, Dabai’Waipi must return or the hostage will die. If others look for her, you must keep her safe.”
Ev glanced at Boyd. The younger man had gone pale but returned a steady gaze. He gave a nod that he understood and was willing to accept the risks. Ev pressed his lips together. He didn’t like the set up, but one look at the gathered Shoshone told him he had little choice.
“Spirit Talker I do not need or want this man with me,” protested Wildcat. “I am your friend, but I am not Shoshone and must decide for myself what is best for me, especially where my life is concerned.”
Her flushed expression was a clear mix of anger and worry. Ev admired the restraint in her voice, but he would lay odds that she didn’t dare spend weeks on the trail alone with him. What did she know about him after all?
Breaking into Ev’s thoughts, Spirit Talker responded to Wildcat. “You have helped us in the past, Dabai’Waipi. Do this thing now to help us again. The Marshal is right. I have had visions of others who will come in search of you and will not respect us or our ways.”
“I have seen the truth of your wisdom and will be guided by it.” Kiera replied with respect. Then she turned a glare on Ev. “But I don’t have to like it.”
“Go now, prepare for the journey and rest,” ordered the younger chief. “You will leave at dawn. If you do not both return within one cycle of the moon, we will kill the hostage.”
Ev rose in protest. “But … ”
“Don’t,” Muh’Weda hissed, pulling Ev down. “This chief survived the Bear Creek Massacre and is not known for his patience with whites.”
“Then why didn’t he kill me and Boyd right away? Why this travesty about the proof?”
“The chief may have done the talking, but he wasn’t alone in deciding what would be done. You have others to thank for your lives.” The brave tipped his head slightly toward the medicine man. “Even he would have asked for your blood, if Kiera hadn’t argued against it.”
Ev turned speculative eyes toward where Wildcat still glared at him. She clearly didn’t like him any more than he did her, so why would she argue for his life and Boyd’s? Especially when getting rid of them would be in her best interests, allowing her to disappear into the wilderness where even the best trackers might not find her. All he could think was that she felt she owed him for not shooting her in the back when she held a rifle on Boyd. If she’d been the stone cold killer she was reputed to be, wouldn’t she have shot Boyd instead of telling him to sit and turn over his pistol? She’d been close enough to kill him no matter how bad a shot she might be. Once again Ev was left with evidence that didn’t fit. Was she stupid, crazy, or innocent?
“Wildcat wanted to save us? Why?”
Muh’Weda shrugged. “Who knows what a woman thinks. You’ll have to ask her.”
At that moment a youth entered the council. He was breathing heavily as if he’d run a great distance. The young man walked up to the elders at the center of the
room. A brief conference was held.
The older chief stood and spoke to his people in their tongue. The lodge emptied with astonishing speed. Muh’Weda left, taking Boyd with him. The chiefs followed. When the others were gone, the medicine man spoke.
“Dabai’Waipi, you and the Marshal must go now. The men of my vision are half a day’s journey from our camp and much blood will be shed if they find you here.”
“I want to see Boyd, first.” If Ev could delay long enough, the men approaching might help him get Wildcat back to Laramie. “I also must persuade the chief to talk with the army and another man about the horses you claim Big Si stole.”
The medicine man studied Ev. The Shoshone’s gaze penetrated, making Ev feel exposed in a way he hadn’t felt since the one and only time he’d tried to lie to his father.
The Shoshone shook his head. “Any time lost will give the ground more blood to drink. Do not be foolish in this. Leave now and you will get what you need. Hesitate and your heart will die before it has lived.”
The man left, leaning heavily on the decorated stick that he carried.
Ev turned to the only other person in the room. “What did all of that mean?”
Wildcat shrugged. “We’d better get saddled up and on our way. If Spirit Talker says staying will lead to bloodshed, I’m all for hightailing it out of here pronto.”
She turned for the exit.
Ev gave two seconds thought to escaping, but he knew the chances were small of finding Wildcat once she hit the deep forests. The only choice that made any sense was to go with her now.
• • •
Ev followed close behind as Wildcat urged her horse up the slope leading out of the Yellow Stone prairie. The sun beat on his head. Sweat trickled down his back and damped his shirt. She had to be just as uncomfortable, and the thought soothed most of the physical irritation.
They climbed the forested mountainside for several hours. Waded innumerable trickles of snow melt. Switched their trail back upon itself. Scampered over treacherous shale slides and wove through stands of lodgepole pines so tight that Ev would have sworn no space existed between the sturdy trees. He noted that Wildcat was careful to ride around soggy ground and shaded patches of snow that would leave a clear trail. She even skirted the drought browned grassy glades that interrupted the forest from time to time. Rather than take the easier route and break a path through the tall grass and wildflowers, she kept to the cover of the trees. The woman was going to a lot of trouble to make certain that no one followed.
Hardtack and biscuits in the saddle kept his belly from kissing his backbone. The sun was nearly hidden behind the mountains, and the shadows of the pines were long before Wildcat called a halt.
“Stay here, hobble the horses, and build a fire that won’t smoke. I’ll be back with dinner sooner than you can finish.” She melted into the gloom before he could object. It rankled some to have a woman do the hunting, but it was obvious she knew the territory better than he, so protesting would only show him to be a fool.
The horses were settled for the night. He’d built a fire ring two stones high to hide the glow from anyone close enough to see and was about to set the kindling alight when she walked into the clearing with two neatly skinned and dressed rabbits.
Smart woman. Smart and unexpectedly skilled. No gunshots had sounded to reveal their location. He still wasn’t certain he believed the claim that she couldn’t hit anything farther than three feet away. She’d left the skinnings where the wild creatures would devour the evidence. He’d lay odds no sign remained of her passing between the kill site and their camp. A woman that talented might be capable of using those skills to kill a man or steal horses from under the nose of one of Wyoming’s most influential ranchers. But smart as Wildcat seemed to be about her own self-preservation, she didn’t strike Ev as a stone-cold killer, and only the cold ones were that careful. Men, or women, who killed with emotion were rarely careful. Quinn had seen the fire of emotion in Wildcat’s eyes more than once since the gunfight in the canyon. He knew one thing for certain; Wildcat was a passionate woman, and he hadn’t even tasted her yet.
He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? She was a suspected criminal. He had no intention of tasting her or doing anything else with her. Granted, she was attractive enough to warm a man’s thoughts, but he knew better than to get involved with a suspect. However, knowledge was power, and he wanted to know more about this unique woman.
He skewered each rabbit on its own spit while she cleaned up and set out her buffalo robe as a bedroll.
“You’re pretty good on the trail.”
Wildcat ignored him.
Okay, compliments didn’t get her attention. She must not be prideful, at least not about her trail skills.
“How do I know you won’t sneak away in the night?”
“You don’t.”
That was better. At least he’d gotten an answer.
He turned the rabbits so they’d cook evenly. “It’s clear you don’t want me to know where this place is that you’ve got your photographs.”
Coming to sit by the fire, she shrugged and started a pot of coffee.
“So how’d you come by these photographs anyway?”
She leaned forward taking a poke at one of the rabbits. “The meat needs to be turned again.”
Turning the spits, Quinn smiled inwardly. She sounded mildly irritated. He must be getting to her. “I’ll bet, Wildcat, you know something about photography. I mean why else would you be picking up silver nitrate at the Brown’s Camp mercantile? The Shoshone don’t have a use for it, so it must be you.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snarled.
The vehemence of her statement took him aback. “Don’t call you what?”
Even the firelight couldn’t hide the flush he saw rise on her cheeks.
“Wildcat.” Her tone was much more moderate, even ladylike. “My name’s Kiera Alden. You may call me Miss Alden.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “We aren’t in any snooty drawing room, Miss Alden. That kind of formality is real out of place here. I’ll call you Kiera.”
“Only my friends call me Kiera.”
“Might be wise to have me as a friend.”
She cast him a horrified look, complete with frown and raised eyebrows. “Bartering sex for friendship is beneath both of us. Besides, you think I’m a murderer, an arsonist, and a horse thief, so you’re no friend of mine.”
A flush not caused by the fire rose on his neck. Why’d she have to go and bring up sex? He’d been aware of her as a woman from the moment he tackled her trying to take his horse. Not thinking of her and beds wasn’t easy, but he’d managed so far. Now she’d laid open the hornet’s nest and left it to him to dodge the stingers.
“Selling yourself for my influence isn’t what I meant. Friendship isn’t about buying and selling,” he said stiffly. “So until we become friends, I’ll call you Kat.”
She shrugged, tested the rabbits once more, and removed the spits from the fire. “These are done.”
He took the spit she held out to him. When he finished eating he threw the bones and spit in the fire, following Kat’s lead.
“Coffee’s ready.” She held out a cup to him.
“So how’d you learn photography?”
Kat studied him then stared into the fire. “Don’t suppose there’s any harm telling you. Taking pictures isn’t a crime. Although taking the wrong picture can get a woman into a peck of trouble.”
Had she taken the wrong picture? Ev wanted to ask her what she meant by that last remark, but was more interested in just getting her to talk than interrogating her.
“I’ve been interested,” she continued, “in photography since I sat for my first daguerreotype with my parents. I was six. They let me visit the photographer as often as he would allow over the next several years. I asked a lot of questions, and he taught me how to capture and develop images. After my folks died, I went to live with my grandfather
. He didn’t approve of women practicing any profession. I had to hide my interest and got very good at taking pictures on the sly. He didn’t even know I had a developing room in the house.”
“Man has to be pretty stupid not to know what’s going on in his own home.”
“Grandfather wasn’t stupid, but it was a large house, and the servants lied for me. When I left home, I made my living as a photographer. I’ve sold a few prints to newspapers, even had one or two shown in art galleries.” Now pride shone from her face.
She wasn’t proud about every day survival skills—though some would have been—but she was proud of putting images on paper. To him survival was more important than paper pictures. But as Muh’Weda had said, she was a woman. Ev was coming to discover that even for a woman, his Kat was unusual.
“So why did you leave home?”
She shuttered her eyes and emptied the dregs of her cup into the fire. “We’ve got days of hard riding before we can start back to Lake Yellow Stone. I’m going to turn in.”
Ev sat for a while sipping the last of the coffee, thinking over what he’d learned about Kiera Alden. She was a challenge. Prickly as a cactus about everything save her photography. But a cactus was as tender on the inside as it was hard on the outside. He had time to get past the prickers and the hard outer skin. If she was here in the morning. He could stay awake all night and make certain she stayed with him, but he knew he needed the rest. So he dumped his dregs and settled into his bedroll, praying he’d made the right decision to trust Kat.
Ev found no more opportunities over the next two days to question Kat about her life and uncover the woman beneath the competent outer shell. The trail was harder and the riding more difficult each day. Each night he ate then fell exhausted onto his bedroll. Each morning Kat was right where she said she’d be.
Late on the third afternoon, she paused until he rode up beside her.
“Storm’s coming,” she said. “We need to move fast.”
“Are you certain?” He could hear nothing, and the trees blocked his view of the sky.
Loving the Lawmen Page 74
