by Janet Dailey
“I tore it on a bush,” Diana lied.
“Ya gotta be almighty careful out here. Ya can get some bad scratches from some of these bushes.” Rube shook his head in warning. “Infection sets in an’ then you’re in a bad fix.”
“I wasn’t scratched.”
“You’re mighty goddamned lucky, then. The way it tore your sleeve, it coulda—”
“Don’t you think you’d better get down to camp?” Guy interrupted.
“First you go tearin’ off without so much as a ’bye, ya leave, an’ then you’re hustlin’ me to go. But I can take a hint. I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll go.” Rube moved off, still grumbling under his breath.
In a few minutes, his wizened figure was out of sight and Diana sat down in the shade of the juniper tree near the canyon’s rim. She didn’t glance at Guy when he joined her. Seconds ticked away in silence, each one louder than the last.
“I hate him,” Guy muttered in a savage release of emotion. “If you hadn’t been there, I would have killed him.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Diana rose in agitation, hugging her arms about her knotted stomach. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Then Guy was on his feet. “Why did you let him do it?” There was the pain of bewilderment in his voice.
“It just happened, that’s all.” She kept her back to him, fighting the twinges of guilt. “I can’t explain how or why.”
His arms circled around her waist to draw her close. “Oh, God, I love you so much, Diana.” His mouth moved against her hair as he spoke. “All I want is to cherish and protect you. You need never to feel insecure as long as I’m around, Diana. I promise.” Her hands had closed around his wrists, intending to escape his embrace, but his curious statement caught her by surprise and she hesitated. “I know what it’s like to be lonely and to need somebody—anybody—to show that they care. But I care, Diana. I’ve always cared. You never have to turn to anybody else but me.
His mouth moved lower to nuzzle her neck, but her senses were indifferent to his caress. There was no more hesitation as Diana unwrapped his arms from around her waist and stepped away, rejecting his embrace and his rationalization for her behavior.
“What’s wrong?” Guy frowned.
“Everything. Don’t you see?” she demanded impatiently. “I can’t go from your father’s arms straight into yours.” She turned away, confused, irritated, and miserable. “I’m going back to camp.”
“You can’t go back down there with him!” he protested.
“Oh, God.” Her laughing sigh was bitter. “After what happened between you and Holt, you don’t honestly think he still wants me. He’d probably rather see me dead. You needn’t worry, Guy. Nothing is going to happen. Besides, Rube is down there now.”
Her descent to the arroyo camp was a slow one. At the crunch of her boots in the gravel bank, Holt turned to face her, a light flashing in his eyes. Her heart leaped at the involuntary movement he made toward her, but he stopped himself, his features hardening as he pivoted away. Diana’s heart plummeted to her toes. It was what she had expected, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“I thought you was gonna stay up there with Guy.” Rube scraped the last bit of hash from his plate. “If I’d o’ known you was comin’ down, I’d o’ walked with you, but you didn’t say a word about comin’ back.”
“It was too hot up there.”
“I coulda told ya that, but ya didn’t ask. Nobody asks me nothin’ . . , nor tells me nothin’, neither,” he complained. “Not that I care. Don’t make no goddamned never mind to me.”
If it wasn’t for Rube, there wouldn’t have been any conversation around the campfire that night, a fact that didn’t escape his notice.
“The air around here is so goddamned thick a body could cut it with a knife,” he observed. “Ain’t no one ’cept me strung ten words together all at once. Course, it never occurred to any of you to let me in on what’s goin’ on. Nah, there ain’t no need in tellin’ Rube nothin’. Just keep it ’twixt yourselves.” Diana caught the quelling look Holt sent him. “I know, I know,” Rube acknowledged it. “Why don’t I just shut up? It ain’t none of my business.”
Chapter IX
By mid-afternoon of the following day, the stallion had still not brought the mares to the canyon’s waterhole. The last of their canteens of water was empty. The decision Holt had postponed had to be made now, and Guy reminded him of it.
“We’re out of water. What are we going to do?” he challenged. “Our horses haven’t had any since this morning.”
“We’ll wait until five. If the stallion hasn’t brought the mares in by then, we’ll go to the waterhole.”
They waited. Five o’clock came and went with no sign of the white stallion and his mares. Diana sensed Holt’s reluctance to enter the canyon, but the overriding concern was their own need for water.
“Saddle up,” he said when he saw Rube’s signal that there was no movement in the canyon. “We’ll take the horses in and let them drink their fill.”
On horseback, the climb to the canyon rim seemed shorter. Rube saw Guy leading his saddled horse and smiled widely.
“I figured you was gonna leave me perched up here like some goddamned bird. I was gonna hitch a ride if ya did,” he declared. “If I gotta be sittin’, I’d rather be astraddle a horse. ’Sides, it’s bound to be cooler down there, rather than these skillet-hot rocks up here.”
“Get on your horse, Rube,” Holt said with thinly disguised impatience.
Muttering to himself, Rube took the reins from Guy and swung his bowed legs into the saddle. With Holt leading the way to the canyon floor, Diana was last, leading the haltered pack horse minus its pace.
The lengthening shadows made the canyon seem much cooler than the higher plateau of the mountain. At the waterhole, Holt and Guy refilled the canteens, adding purifying tablets to the containers as a precaution, while Rube and Diana held the horses. When their drinking water had been gathered, the horses were led forward to drink.
Diana splashed water on her hands and face, the tepid water cool to her skin. “Be nice to take a bath,” she murmured to no one in particular.
But Rube was quick to take up a chance at conversation. “When you’re chasin’ wild horses, ya shouldn’t bathe. Ya ain’t even s’posed to change clothes. Confuses the smell. I read about one fella that did that, never bathed nor changed clothes. He’d follow a herd ’til they’d get so used to his smell, they wouldn’t even run when he came around. He herded ’em right into a pen without them even knowin’ they was bein’ caught. Nope, ya shouldn’t bathe when you’re chasin’ wild horses.”
“I’m sure you are in favor of that, Rube,” Holt commented dryly.
“Now what are you insinuating’? I bathe just as regular as the next fella,” was the indignant retort. “Ain’t nobody ever accused me o’ bein’ dirty.”
Unkempt, perhaps, Diana thought, glancing at the stubble of beard growth on his weathered face, but not unclean. But she, nor either of the other two, had the desire to tease him as they would have a few days ago.
With a sigh, she straightened and gazed toward the canyon mouth. It was pure chance that prompted her to look in that direction. Her muscles froze as she saw an alabaster statue standing several hundred yards away.
“Look,” Diana whispered.
The others turned, similarly freezing in their tracks. The white stallion saw their shapes and lifted his nose to the air, testing it for their scent. He advanced a few feet, floating over the ground in that peculiar rocking gait of his, his long tail streaming behind him, his mane rippling like white silk in a gentle breeze. Suspicious, the stallion stopped again, becoming as motionless as an exquisite living sculpture.
Diana was conscious of nothing but the sight of him, the sense of awe and enchantment. The stallion was as wild and free as the soaring eagle, with equal pride and nobility. Excitement thundered through her veins.
The wind carried the stall
ion’s scent to their horses. This time Diana was prepared when her gelding turned to view the strange horse, her hand closing over his nose to silence him. But the shifting movements of the horses turning to stare curiously at the stallion seemed to be all the confirmation he needed of danger.
His snorting neigh was undoubtedly an order for the mares behind him to retreat. Wheeling on his hind legs, the stallion struck out for the mouth of the canyon. Diana would have stood there watching the beautifully fluid picture, but Holt was already springing into his saddle.
“Come on. We’ll never get closer than this,” he ordered.
His horse was bounding after the fleeing band before the others were in their saddles. With the burden of the pack horse, Diana was destined to eat their dust as they galloped in pursuit. Their horses were fresh but water-logged, and it slowed them down.
They kept in sight of the band. The buckskin mare raced in the lead with the white stallion crowding the rear of the other mares, not letting them slow their headlong flight. His pacing stride made him appear to glide over the ground, effortlessly and tirelessly.
The shadows lengthened as the sun dipped lower. At times, Diana lost sight of the mares, but always the gleaming white of the stallion guided them like a beacon light. No matter how hard they pushed their horses, they couldn’t seem to close the gap between them and the fleeing herd.
The buckskin mare seemed to know every hill and hollow intimately. Swerving sharply, she ducked into the narrow opening of an arroyo and the stallion drove the stolen mares after her. Rube and Holt were the first to enter the opening, followed by Guy. Diana was much farther behind. She heard the squealing cry of horses and shouts from the men. Before she could urge her horse through the opening, Guy and his horse were coming out.
“They’re trapped!” he shouted in elation.
Almost instantly, Rube and Holt were riding out of the narrow opening. Holt was dismounting before his horse plunged to a stop. He didn’t waste time exclaiming over their triumph.
“Let’s get a barricade up,” he said to Rube. “Guy, Diana, be ready in case they try to come out.”
Working with a speed and ingenuity Diana would have marveled at if she hadn’t been so alert to the sounds coming from inside the arroyo, Holt and Rube erected a barricade of brush, stones, and dead limbs.
“It don’t look very substantial,” Rube panted when they were finished.
“It isn’t,” Holt acknowledged. “But it looks like it could be. We’ll just have to hope the stallion doesn’t decide to test it.”
“Well, he’ll be goddamned reluctant to get cornered in that narrow chute of an opening, so it could be he won’t make a try at the barricade.”
“I hope so.”
“Are you sure there isn’t any way for them to get out?” Diana dismounted now that there was no longer any need to guard the opening.
“There must have been once, or that mare wouldn’t have led them in there,” Rube insisted. “I thought I caught a glimpse of a small landslide that carried away one wall of the arroyo. Could be there was a trail out, but the slide buried it. They’re boxed in there just as big as you please. We couldn’t o’ driven ’em into a better trap.”
“Are we going in there and rope the mares?” Guy was still on his horse, a lariat in his hand.
“It’s getting too dark to see,” Holt said. The sun was behind the horizon, leaving a crimson afterglow to light the sky. Soon that would be fading to purple. The sheer walls of the arroyo would make it even darker inside its confines. “And our mares are almost as wild-eyed as that stallion. They can’t get out of the arroyo, so rather than risk an injury from panic, I think we should let them settle down overnight. In the morning, we can catch our mares and let the stallion and the buckskin go.”
“Do you mean we’re going to camp here for the night?” Diana questioned. Then she instantly protested, “But all our food and gear is—”
“We are camping here,” Holt stated in an uncompromising tone. “We’ll build a fire right in front of the barricade just in case the stallion decides to investigate it. The fire should keep him back. As for the food and bedrolls, I guess we’ll have to go hungry and sleep close to the fire to stay warm.”
“I might be able to scare up a jackrabbit or a chukar,” Rube suggested. “Don’t fancy the idea of goin’ without any goddamned thing to eat.”
“If you can see it to shoot it, you are welcome to try,” Holt answered.
“Always gotta come up with somethin’, don’t ya?” Rube grumbled. “Just can’t give a fella credit for comin’ up with an idea. Nah, ya gotta poke holes in it. If ya can go without eatin’, so can I. Here, take my horse.” He shoved the reins into Holt’s hands. “If you’re gonna be that way about it, I’ll just gather up some firewood and get a fire goin’. Probably ain’t gonna get done lessen I do it.”
“I think I’ll see if I can’t find a jackrabbit before it gets too dark.” Guy picked up on Rube’s idea, pulling the rifle out of the saddle scabbard and dismounting.
“The horses will need to be walked to cool off,” Holt said as Guy passed Diana the reins to his horse. “They worked up a hot sweat.”
Holding the reins of her horse and Guy’s, as well as the lead rope of the pack horse, Diana began walking behind the horses Holt led. Slow, monotonous circles they made in front of the arroyo as Guy disappeared into the shadowy dusk and Rube wandered about, loading his arms with wood fuel.
The dominating sounds came from inside the arroyo. The angry squeals of the trapped horses were punctuated by the trampling of hooves around their natural enclosure. Their frenzy seemed to fill the air, clawing at sensitive nerves until Diana wanted to tear down the barricade herself and set them free. Common sense kept her from giving into the impulse and she tried to appear as stoically indifferent to their cries as Holt did.
From somewhere out in the purpling desert came the explosive report of a rifle shot echoing through the night. Diana paused to look in the direction she believed the shot had come from, absently stroking the muzzle of the horse at her shoulder. There was an empty gnawing in her stomach, endurable for the moment, but not for long.
“I wonder if Guy hit anything,” she mused aloud.
“We’ll know when he gets back to camp,” was Holt’s clipped response.
Rube’s fire was crackling into full flame when Guy returned triumphantly to camp. He carried a scrawny jackrabbit by its long ears, held high for all to see the evidence of his successful hunt.
“Ain’t much, but it’s better than nothin’,” Rube conceded. “Let’s get it cleaned and skinned and on a spit. You always was a good shot, Guy. There was a day when I coulda done it, but ...” He let the rest trail off unfinished.
“I never thought a jackrabbit could look as delicious as a steak. It just shows how hungry I am,” Diana remarked with a laugh.
“I know what you mean,” he agreed.
The look he darted at Holt was smug and arrogant; he had accomplished something Holt had said couldn’t be done. But Holt was stringing a picket line for the horses, ignoring the byplay around the fire, as if he found Guy’s game of one-upmanship beneath his notice.
Rube took his knife from its sheath, the blade gleaming in the firelight. Guy handed him the rabbit and walked over to his horse, returning his rifle to the saddle scabbard. The pride of accomplishment had diminished from his expression at Holt’s failure to acknowledge it. Gradually the noises from the arroyo had reduced to angry snorts and restless pacings, the initial panic of the captured horses subsiding.
“It’s going to be chilly tonight,” Guy commented, pausing beside Diana.
“Yes.” It wasn’t difficult to guess the direction his thought was taking him, and Diana sought to avoid it. “But the fire will keep us warm, and, thanks to you, we’ll have food in our stomachs. So it won’t be too bad.”
His mouth opened to make a response, but Holt’s approach stopped him. “I’ll take the horses,” Holt said, reaching
for the reins Diana held.
His presence brought an added chill to the already cool air. Handing him the reins, Diana avoided looking at him directly, aware of the silently bristling Guy beside her. As Holt led the horses to the picket line where the others were tied, Diana turned toward the fire.
“I’d better give Rube a hand with the rabbit,” she said.
Guy followed her like a bodyguard, unwilling to let her be more than a few feet from him. The rabbit was skinned and cleaned and Rube was using a sparing amount of water to rinse the blood away. “Puny, ain’t it?” Rube slid the carcass onto a stick.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Diana reminded him, taking the spitted rabbit and holding it over the flames, while Rube drove a pair of forked sticks into the ground for the spit to rest on.
The rolling snort of the wild stallion seemed to come from directly behind her. Diana glanced over her shoulder in alarm, staring at the blocked arroyo entrance. There was a rustling of dead brush, and the muffled thud of hooves in sand.
“He’s checking out the barricade. Chase him back, Guy,” Holt called from the picket line.
Walking toward the arroyo, Guy clapped his hands loudly. “Hiyaa! Get away from there!”
His shouts were followed by a crashing sound. “Look out!” Holt called.
The warning came too late, as a white mound suddenly burst through the barricade. Guy had no chance to get out of the path of the stallion. He attempted to dive to the side and was knocked to the ground by the onrushing horse. Right on its heels came the mares.
At the first glimpse of white, Diana had frozen in shock. As the white stallion swerved toward her, a second obstacle in the way of his escape, his ears were snaked flat against his head, menacing ivory teeth bared, hatred blazing in his dark eyes.
“Diana!”
She heard Holt’s shout, but she was powerless to move, mesmerized by the awesome fury charging toward her. The stallion was a bounding leap away when a driving weight hit her side, tumbling her to the ground and knocking the breath from her lungs. Crushed by the same weight that had struck her down, Diana was helplessly pinned.
