Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  Without speaking, she reached over and touched Rafe’s arm, then let her hand drop to the rock pick beside her.

  He glanced at her in question. Seeing the warning on her face, he, too, became alert to possible danger. “Where?” he asked in a low, conversational tone.

  She cut her eyes to where she’d seen the shadowy form behind a thicket of pine and chaparral. Picking up her cola, she drank from the can and let her gaze roam the woods to her left. She realized she and Rafe were totally exposed on the rocky knob.

  A face appeared above the tangled brush under the trees. The man had tanned, leathery skin, with a hatchet of a nose, the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and the wildest hair—half gray, half russet, the shade of rusted metal. He looked like a madman.

  She gasped.

  Rafe whipped a glance at her, then in the direction she was staring. “Oh,” he said. A smile turned the corners of his mouth upward. “Homer, come on out,” he called.

  The man emerged from the thicket, his manner suspicious of them, as if he considered them interlopers on his terrain.

  His clothing was old. It fit loosely on his bony frame. Tracy had the impression of a man who was slowly fading away, until nothing would be left but a lonely spirit. It was an odd thought.

  “Hey, Homer, I’m Rafe Rawlings. You remember me? We met when you were prospecting over on our ranch a few years ago.”

  The old man drew himself up with a show of dignity. “Of course I remember. I’m not daft.” He grinned unexpectedly. His teeth were surprisingly white and even. “Although lots of folks would like to think that.”

  “This is Tracy…” Rafe paused and looked at her.

  “Roper,” she said. “Tracy Roper.” She remembered him vaguely. She and her father had run across him in the woods a few times while they were looking for artifacts.

  Homer nodded. “I knew your father. He still teaching?”

  “Yes. What are you prospecting for—gold?” she asked.

  His face immediately took on a secretive, wary expression. “Maybe, maybe not,” was his response. He obviously didn’t like the question and was suspicious of the person who asked it.

  “Or sapphires,” Rafe suggested. “There used to be a mine in these parts, but the stones weren’t gem quality. Homer, were those your boot prints I saw over by the bluff where Judd went off?”

  “I was just looking,” the man said at once. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know. I just wondered—did you happen to be up here when that happened?”

  Homer glanced around the woods, but didn’t answer.

  “Did you see anyone?” Tracy asked.

  The old mountain man shook his head in denial. “It wasn’t a person,” he said in a near whisper. “It was…something else.”

  “What?” Rafe asked, his tone a little harder.

  “One of the spirits,” Homer informed them. “They don’t like people in their territory.”

  “Is this their territory?”

  Homer quickly scanned the area. “You know it is. It’s sacred ground. You shouldn’t be here. Sometimes I can calm them down, but not always.”

  Tracy wondered how long the old man had roamed the woods. He looked ancient, but age was hard to tell on a person who had spent a great deal of time outdoors. Exposure to the elements aged one excessively.

  “You couldn’t calm this one?” Rafe persisted.

  “No.” Homer came closer. He seemed worried. “It was a different one. I’d never seen it before.”

  She noticed his boots were new and wondered if someone had bought them for him. Indians had a special respect for eccentrics and such. Perhaps some of them watched out for the old prospector.

  “You two had better be careful,” he advised. He turned and walked back into the woods, disappearing into the trees.

  “An oddball, but harmless,” Rafe said.

  Tracy hefted the rock pick. “Well, back to work.” She didn’t have much hope of finding anything. Her confidence in the project had evaporated. “This is the last day I spend on the case,” she said.

  “Hmm.” Rafe clearly didn’t believe her. “You’re as dedicated to finding your artifacts, as you call ’em, as Homer is to finding that old sapphire mine.”

  “Nope, this is it. I’ve had it.” She knelt and slammed the pick into the rocky crevice just beyond the rock overhang. When she pulled it free, a chunk of stone slid aside, revealing an eroded area underneath. Mostly out of idle curiosity, she dug the dirt out of the groove in the limestone.

  The pick hit another object. Careful now, she scraped the dirt and leaf mold away. A white, rounded object became visible.

  “I’ll be damned,” Rafe muttered beside her. He began working with her, removing the soil with his hands as she loosened it.

  The object soon became visible. It was a skull.

  They worked slowly, freeing the bone from the soil packed around and in it. When Tracy lifted it from its bed, it came out intact. She turned it over.

  Chill bumps raced along her scalp.

  The back of the skull showed a pattern of distinct fractures that radiated outward like a starburst. A few chips of bone were missing. “Here’s where he was hit.” She showed Rafe.

  After emptying the dirt from the brain pan, she put the skull in a bag, then sifted through the soil. She found some short hairs similar to those she’d found before. That was it.

  A crack of thunder had them scurrying to finish. “That’s it,” she said after they’d dug out the entire runoff channel.

  They left at a trot, hurrying to beat the rain they could see in the distance like gray curtains obscuring the hills. At Rafe’s truck, Tracy jumped in and laid her new knapsack—a gift from Judd—on the floor. She kept the bone bag in her lap.

  In town, Rafe let her out at the police station. She dashed inside with her treasures, feeling much like she thought the old hermit might feel if he found his mine—buoyant of spirit and full of excitement.

  The case was all but solved. The skull had a full set of teeth still attached. Now it was a matter of matching them.

  She was assuming the cowboy was a local man, not a drifter who’d been passing through, and therefore had dental records in town. Another conclusion based on gut feelings rather than evidence, she acknowledged.

  Judd wasn’t in when she arrived. The secretary said he was out on a case with Sterling. A child was missing.

  “A child? Who?”

  “The little boy who lives next door to Judd.”

  “Jimmy? He was on a camping trip with his scout troop,” Tracy said, recalling the fact. “He and his friend, Mark.” A terrible fear seized her heart and wouldn’t let go. It was the way she’d felt when they’d searched for Thadd those many years ago.

  “Are you all right?” The secretary stepped closer.

  Tracy nodded. “Yes. I need to call Winona.” She went around Judd’s desk, set the bone bag and knapsack on the corner and picked up the telephone. “Winona, have you heard about Jimmy?” she asked as soon as the woman answered. The secretary left the room.

  “Yes. There was a news flash on the radio a moment ago.”

  “Can you come?” Tracy asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Meet me at the house…Judd’s place,” she clarified. “The soccer ball is there. Maybe you can pick up something from it.”

  “There’s no need. I already am,” the psychic said.

  Tracy realized Winona was getting something now. She waited, hardly breathing, until the vision was over.

  “Yes, a hole, darkness,” Winona said. “A mine…air…yes, the air shaft…wait, something else…the woman…the two-faced woman…” She was silent, then said, “It’s hopeless. It’s all mixed up. I can’t sort through the images.”

  Tracy sighed in disappointment. Fear gnawed at her. Jimmy, with his sunny disposition, had entertained Judd so sweetly. The world would be a lesser place if he died.

  As if echoing her worries, the thunder rumbled again.
“Oh, no, the rain,” she muttered. She said goodbye and ran to the outer office. “Where is Judd? I’ve got to go to him.”

  “He’s out at the Kincaid spread. Here, I’ll show you.” The secretary got out a map. “That’s where the kids are camping, near the spring that feeds the stock pond in this section. Take the mountain pass, then turn right at the old Baxter ranch. There’s a sign.”

  “Thanks.” Tracy rushed to her car and took off. She wanted to be with Judd. If Jimmy wasn’t found—she wouldn’t allow herself to think of him as dead—then Judd would need her. He’d feel responsible for finding the boy and seeing that he was safe.

  It seemed hours, but finally she arrived at the Baxter ranch road. Several cars were already there, so it was no problem finding the spot. She found Judd and Sterling sectioning off a map for the search routine.

  Mary Jo Kincaid was pouring coffee, made on a portable burner. She had boxes of cookies and doughnuts on a camping table beside the huge coffeepot. Two scoutmasters stood close by, wearing identical worried expressions. Dugin Kincaid was there, too, looking rather at a loss.

  Tracy spoke to Mary Jo, accepted a cup of coffee and went to stand by Judd. He didn’t speak, but rested a hand at the back of her waist while he finished giving orders for the search.

  In ten minutes the search parties left, each squad commander carrying a walkie-talkie. Judd stayed by the radio to take their calls and give further orders. While the search was on, parents arrived to collect their sons and were asked to return home rather than stay and clog the access road.

  As night and the storm drew closer, the desperation of the search-and-rescue team became quietly dogged. A horse-and-dog patrol scouted the ravines at the base of the mountains, while the other searchers formed a phalanx that moved steadily through the woods, each person in sight of the next so that no bit of ground was overlooked.

  When night came, the workers were called in. It would be too easy to miss an unconscious child in the dark. Tracy prayed that the storm would hold off. So far, it had.

  She milled around while Judd gave orders for the next day’s search, which would begin at first light. He unrolled two sleeping bags in the back of the truck. He and Tracy slept there that night, curled together against the cold.

  Lily Mae came out with bacon and eggs and biscuits the next morning. “You’re a godsend,” Judd told her.

  “Nothing keeps the spirits up like hot food,” the widow said, not missing a beat in her self-appointed duties. She handed him and Tracy steaming cups of coffee to go with their meal, then went to Jimmy’s mother and forced her to eat. She looked as if she were staring death in the face. The Kincaids arrived with more coffee and doughnuts.

  The search continued.

  Tracy was more and more concerned about Judd. His face held a pasty grayness under his tan. His eyes were haunted by memories neither of them could keep at bay. They’d been through this eight years ago, and the pain was just as sharp now.

  Sometimes she felt like railing at an indifferent God who would let a child be hurt; at other times she prayed feverishly. Mostly she sat by Jimmy’s mother, quietly staying close.

  “How did you stand it?” the woman asked at one point. “When it was your child…how could you bear it?”

  “You just do. It’s hard, but you do. Don’t give up hope. It’s early yet.” Tracy looked at the leaden sky and prayed hard that the rain would hold off another day.

  They waited at the camping site, listening to the reports of sectors being covered by the searchers. It was noon on Saturday when they got word.

  “He’s here! He’s alive!” a sector boss yelled from the radio.

  Jimmy’s mother put her hands to her face.

  Judd listened to the report. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll move down there to plan the operation.” He signed off and spoke to the waiting group. “Jimmy fell into an air shaft of an old mine while he was out exploring. One of the dogs took a point on it. The boy answered when the men called down the shaft. Now we have to get him out. Let’s go.”

  They packed up and headed for the new site. The old mine was in one of the ravines, a rough area of steep-walled minicanyons and loose, rocky soil. Tracy felt her heart sink as she thought of cave-ins and various other dangers.

  A mining expert was brought in by helicopter. “Too dangerous,” he said in answer to a question on digging out the collapsed tunnel from the abandoned mine. “The ground is unreliable. The best bet is to have someone go down the shaft, tie a rope around the kid and haul him out.”

  “How?” One of the Boy Scout leaders asked.

  “The person would have to be lowered headfirst into the hole.” The engineer measured the width of the shaft.

  Someone gasped. Tracy glanced up, to see Lily Mae clamping a hand over her mouth. The widow’s first husband had been caught in a rock slide. His horse had lost its footing and fallen over, crushing the man as they slid down the mountain in a tumble of rocks.

  “It would have to be someone small,” the engineer continued, studying the diameter of the hole, “someone who can think in a dangerous situation.”

  “I’ll go,” Judd said.

  Tracy gaped at him. “You can’t,” she said.

  “I will,” said the Scout leader, an older man with gray hair and a paunch.

  The engineer shook his head, clearly considering the man unsuitable for the job.

  “Make a rope harness,” Judd told Sterling. “I’ll need one for the kid, too.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Tracy grabbed his arm. “You have a broken leg.”

  “I used to do some spelunking when I was younger,” Sterling said, stepping up to volunteer.

  “Both of you are too big. Your shoulders won’t fit,” the expert stated, dismissing them.

  “I’ll go,” Tracy said. “I’m an anthropologist. I’ve been in some tight places digging out artifacts.”

  The engineer looked her over and nodded. “You’ll do.”

  “No.” Judd stepped between Tracy and the man. “Not her.”

  “She’s our best bet. We’d have to shore up the ground every step of the way if we try digging the boy out.”

  “We can widen the air shaft,” Judd decided. He looked at Sterling. “It would be dangerous.”

  Sterling didn’t hesitate. “I can handle it.”

  “No!” Tracy exclaimed, anger forming a tight ball inside her. “The hole might cave in if you try to enlarge it. I’ll go.”

  “Like hell,” Judd said, flatly refusing.

  She turned on him. “There’s a child down there,” she said in a quieter voice.

  They stared eye-to-eye, neither blinking. Everyone watched the drama as if momentarily turned to statues.

  “A child,” she repeated in a low, intense tone.

  At last he nodded. “You’ll do exactly as you’re instructed. If it starts to go, we’ll yank you out. Don’t fight me on this,” he warned when she opened her mouth to argue. “Sterling,” he snapped. “You’ll handle the operation.”

  “I want you to,” Tracy said stubbornly.

  Judd looked at the clouds, then nodded grimly.

  She turned to the engineer. “What should I watch out for?”

  While he explained the composition of the loosely packed soil, Judd and Sterling planned the descent. Sterling made a harness from climbing ropes for her and another for Jimmy. All she had to do was snap it around the boy’s waist and over his chest.

  Judd buckled her into the climbing rig. He limped over to the mouth of the air shaft, where the mother talked soothingly to her son. He could hear Jimmy crying down below.

  “Tracy is coming to get you,” his mother said.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” Judd called. “It’s the sheriff. I need to know something. Is your head up or down?”

  “Down, sort of,” he answered. “It’s wider at the bottom. I’m sideways, sort of scrunched up.”

  “Can you tell if anything is broken?”

  “Maybe my arm. It h
urts something awful.” He started sobbing again. “I want out. I want to go home.”

  “Right. Here comes Tracy. She’ll get you.”

  Taking the rope for Jimmy in one hand, she indicated she was ready. The engineer adjusted the angle of the mining light on her head. She lay down on a tarp placed at the edge of the shaft and started wiggling her way inside.

  Two strong hands caught her legs and lifted them into the air, hooking her toes into loops in the rope. “There,” Sterling said. “That should help.”

  “Jerk on the rope when you’re ready to come up,” Judd told her. “Or if there’s trouble.”

  She looked at him, her heart in her eyes. I love you, she silently told him. He gave her a harsh glance, then bent over the winch, checking the brake device. She pulled her arms in to her body and nodded for them to start.

  It did give her a more secure feeling to have her feet anchored to something, even if it was the rope, which felt rather flimsy all of a sudden. Judd started cranking the winch that let her down into the blackness of the earth. Sterling guided her until he had to let go.

  She was on her own.

  Judd watched Tracy’s feet disappear into the maw of the hole. He fought an urge to reverse the winch and bring her back to safety. A hand closed on his shoulder.

  “Let me take over here,” Sterling suggested. “You stay by the hole and keep a hand on the ropes. That way, you can tell if something is happening.”

  Judd nodded. He let his chief detective take the winch. He moved over to the hole and sat on the tarp, placed there to keep the loose soil from being dislodged into the hole. He put his hands on the two ropes and at once felt connected to Tracy.

  This was their best bet for saving the boy, but it also put her in danger so real it was like a metallic taste in his mouth. Fear for her stuck in the back of his throat.

  If she died…

  God, he couldn’t think about it—not now, when her life hung by this rope slipping steadily through his hands. He had to force himself not to close his fist and stop that downward drop. If anything happened to her…

  He forced himself to finish the thought. If anything happened to her, then it would be over for him, too. It was that simple.

  “Slow down,” he said.