by Sharon Ihle
"A broom of sorts. As Whiskey goes down the wash, this little contraption ought to wipe his hoofprints off the sand. It will be that much harder for anyone to find you."
"Oh, how clever. Will Whiskey mind dragging all that behind him?"
"Naw. He's pulled a lot bigger plows than this on our farm in Yuma." Sean no longer had to turn his head to hear the riders. They were approaching rapidly. "You must go now. I'll see you tonight, right on this spot."
But she couldn't leave. Not yet. Not like this. "Sean," she ventured in a tiny voice. "Please, before I go, could we, would you kiss me goodbye?"
Should he risk it? Could he? If he were to touch her now, he might lose his reason, his control, and jump on Whiskey's back with her and make a run for it. But that would be foolish, and irresponsible. It wouldn't stop the inevitable, either.
Sean looked up into her eager eyes and blurted out, “Lean down quickly."
When she bent over, he met her halfway, sliding his hands along her arms up to her sweet face. Her skin was soft and velvety as butterfly wings. The texture, the response it drew from deep inside, shook him and made him wonder if he'd ever have the chance to touch her again. Foolish thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.
Gruffly, with less tenderness than he'd intended, Sean crushed his mouth against hers for a brief moment, then pummeled Whiskey's rump with his hat.
"Go on. Get out of here," he screamed after the fleeing mule.
Sean heard her gasp and watched for several seconds, making sure Eileen could keep her seat on the galloping animal. Then he hardened his heart and let his Quechan instincts for survival take over. He spun around in the sand and raced for cover.
Cole raised one arm in the air signaling the group of men behind him to hold up. He examined the well-traveled road, but was unable to pick out a clear set of tracks belonging to the mule or Dust Bucket.
Leaning back in his saddle, he took off his hat and fanned himself. Had he chosen the right direction in which to lead his men? Fresh tracks led away from the ranch in both northerly and south-westerly directions. Cole had decided to take the latter, leaving Nathan to head the group going north. Taking the trail leading towards Yuma seemed like the logical choice at the time. Now he wasn't so sure.
He nudged Sage and headed to the apex of the fork in the road. Tracks he was fairly certain belonged to the mule led toward the tree grove. But where were Dust Bucket's prints. Was this some kind of an elaborate trap?
"Hey, Cole."
A voice behind him, low and dark, barely above a whisper, caught his attention. "What is it, Tom?"
"There's someone or something on the bluff above the wash over yonder."
Cole followed Tom's gaze and narrowed his eyes. "Where? I don't see anything."
"He's gone now, but I swear I seen a man's head just above that split rock on the left."
Then another voice."Ain't but one way to find out fer sure." This was followed by a volley of rifle fire.
"Dammit, I didn't give any orders to shoot. Hold your fire." Cole glared at Stormy, making sure he and the others knew he meant business, then he looked back at the bluff. A few small rocks tumbled down the side of the hill, but other than that the desert seemed unusually quiet.
Sliding his Colt from its leather holster, Cole whispered, "I'm going on up to have a look around. You men stay here. If I need any help, I'll signal you by firing two quick shots. Got it?"
He glanced at the men, satisfied they would follow his directions, then dropped into a crouch and began to make his way across the wash. Using the narrow fissures from recent spring floods as toe holds, Cole began his ascent. He'd climbed halfway up the side of the hill when the order came.
"Don't come any closer."
The voice drifted above him, followed by the click of a rifle hammer. "Sean? Don't shoot—it's me, Cole."
"Stay where you are."
"I'm not budging. Show yourself and we'll talk. I know you must be running scared, but maybe we can work something out. Show yourself," he repeated, hoping to find a way to avoid a confrontation. "Let's talk about it."
Sean flattened himself against the boulder and inhaled. Wondering if he'd just tasted his last breath of freedom, of life, he squeezed his eyes shut. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. What chance did he have on foot? How far would he get before Cole or one of his men cut him down? And why was Fremont part of the search party?
Working to keep his voice steady, he asked, "What's your interest in this Cole? Does Sunny know you're tracking me down?"
"Let me come up there, Sean. Put the gun down."
"No. Stay back and answer my questions."
"All right, take it easy." Cole scanned the hillside looking for a way to approach him undetected, but Sean had chosen his vantage point well. "I shouldn't have to explain family to you of all people, and no, I didn't tell Sunny I was going after you. I figured she'd have enough of a shock when she woke up and found both of us gone. Now, come on down. We’ll talk."
Sean inhaled again and wiped the sweat from his brow. Did he really have a choice? He could never outlast the group below if they chose to wait for evening and surround him. Cole might be offering him a way out or at least a way to stay alive. If any of the rancher's feelings for Sunflower ran beyond lust, and apparently they did or she wouldn't have stayed on at the ranch, he might even be able to convince Cole to let him go.
Taking a gamble, Sean inched his way to the edge of the boulder and took a quick glance around the corner. Fremont sat in the open, apparently alone. "We'll talk, but first throw your gun on the ledge."
Sliding a reluctant finger across the steel barrel of his pistol, Cole squinted one eye towards the crest of the hill. Sunny had called her brother "crazy Callahan" the day he'd met him. How much of that description was true? Crazy in what sense?
In spite of his misgivings, Cole tossed his gun as directed, then finished the climb. He approached the boulder, hands high in the air, and Sean appeared, waving him into the clearing.
"Move over behind the boulder."
Cole sidestepped, then inclined his head towards the rifle. "You won't be needing that."
Indicating a spot, Sean said, "Sit. Then I will think about putting my gun to rest."
Sinking cross-legged into the sandy earth, Cole slowly inched his tobacco pouch from his shirt and rolled a cigarette. Looking up as he ran his tongue along the edge of the paper, he worked at ignoring the rifle barrel and said, "Why'd you do it, Sean?"
The half-breed shrugged. Then he released the hammer on the weapon and laid it across his legs as he considered his next move. How was he to find the correct answer for such a question, this from a man who rode off with his innocent sister, a man who made her his toy. Perhaps allowing the rancher access to his hiding place had been a mistake after all.
Unable to hide his scowl, or sense of injustice, Sean muttered, "I have done nothing you have not also done. The only real difference I see is in the color of our skin."
Cole's eyebrows drew together as he lit his cigarette. Maybe this Callahan really was crazy, he thought as he tried to make sense of his words. Maybe murder wasn't a crime to members of the Quechan nation. "I'm just trying to understand, that's all. I can't help you otherwise. Was it self-defense?"
Sean's brow shot up. "Self-defense?"
Feeling as if he was finally getting somewhere, Cole encouraged, "Yes. If it wasn't plain murder, if you were only defending yourself, it'll go a lot easier. Is that what happened?"
But Sean was no longer listening to Cole. Self-defense meant someone was dead. That could only mean Eileen had killed her father after all. How would she react when she found out? Shaking his head, he let out a small groan and said, "So he's dead."
"Hell yes, he's dead." Cole muttered. "You put a hole two inches long through his heart. Did you really expect him to live through that?"
"A hole?" Sean wrinkled his nose and screwed his features into a grimace. How had Eileen managed to put a hole in her father with a fry
ing pan? He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, then exhaled and shook his head. "I do not understand."
The Indian looked completely confused, as if he'd spent the evening swimming in a vat of firewater. Maybe he had. Keeping Sunny and her love for her brother in mind, Cole tried to help him remember. "Would you like a smoke?"
When Sean nodded, Cole tossed the pouch of Bull Durham to him and tried again. "Now think back," he urged. "Do you remember arguing with him or anything? How about bashing him alongside the head."
"Umph," Sean mumbled as he inhaled the first puff of smoke. "That's the first thing you've said that made any sense."
"Good. That's real good." Buoyed, Cole leaned forward. "Right after you hit him, you must have twirled the club around and stuck him in the chest. Do you remember now? Do you know why you did it?"
"What club? What are you talking about?"
"The war club, dammit."
Again he wrinkled his nose. "I only know about a frying pan.”
Cole's patience snapped. He reached across the short distance and grabbed the collar of Sean's shirt. "I'm done playing games with you, so quit acting stupid. I know you stole the war club from my father's office and I know you went out to the barn and killed Buck Wheeler with it. What I don't know is why.”
Stunned, Sean's eyes grew round and dark. "Buck Wheeler? I thought you were talking about Daniel Hobbs."
"Dan Hobbs? Is he dead, too?"
Sean scratched his head, then turned his palms up. "I don’t think so, but I don't know for sure."
The men stared at one another, owl-eyed and incredulous for several silent minutes. Gradually, Cole released his grip on Sean's shirt and eased back down in the sand. Retrieving his discarded cigarette, he took a long drag, then blew a series of smoke rings into the clear skies.
Lifting a honey-colored eyebrow, he quietly said, "Let's start over. Why are you up here hiding from my men?"
Sean looked at Cole, measuring his chances if he mentioned Eileen's name, and decided to remain evasive. "First tell me why your men chase me."
This time Cole remained in control of his instincts, and resisted the urge to take hold of the man's neck with his hands and squeeze until the truth popped out of him.
Instead, he said, "All right, we'll do it your way. Someone broke into Nathan's office, stole your grandfather's war club, and murdered Buck with it. We found Buck's body in the barn first thing this morning, then discovered you'd run off sometime during the night."
"And even white men who have never gone to school," Sean finished for him, "can add a half-breed to a dead man and come up with the correct answer. Is that it?"
"You've got to admit it looks bad, Sean. Are you saying you didn't do it?"
"That is exactly what I am saying. I didn't even see your foreman last night. Even if I had, what possible reason would I have to kill him?"
Cole shrugged. "Besides the fact he hates Indians, I don't know. I was hoping you could answer that for me."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you have wasted your time chasing me. I have done nothing wrong."
Cole drummed his fingertips against the soft earth, wishing the end of their discussion could be that easy. "I believe you, but I'm afraid that's not good enough to call off the men. Why did you leave last night? What's all this about Dan Hobbs? Can he back you up if he's alive?"
Sean nearly laughed out loud. Instead, he choked on a puff of smoke before he said, "No, and please forget I even mentioned his name."
"I can't do that, Sean. Tell me what happened between you and him last night."
"Nothing." At Cole's skeptical expression, he insisted, "Nothing at all. The man did not see me and I did not see him."
But Cole wasn't going to be put off, not with his brother-in-law lying dead and his murderer running free. He ground his cigarette into the base of a cactus plant and jabbed at the air with his finger. "You'll have to answer these questions sooner or later, so you might as well start with me, partner. What made you think Hobbs was dead? Does this have anything to do with Buck's murder?"
"I don't think so."
"Come on, Sean." Cole's tone rose with his temper as he threatened, "If you don't start talking, I'm going to have to turn you over to those boys waiting down in the wash. Now exactly why are you on the run?"
"I'm not exactly running," Sean's Irish temper surfaced, leaving lucid thought behind in its wake. "I was only helping a friend last night."
"What friend? Tell me that and maybe we can get you out of this? Who were you with last night?"
"I can't tell you that. If I do, she'll be in as much trouble as I."
"She?" Cole said, surprised. "Have you been stupid enough to become involved with a white woman?"
"It's not like that." Sean parried. "It's not like that at all. We are just good friends. I only tried to help her, that's all."
Cole leaned back on one elbow and took off his hat. He ran his hand through his thick, damp waves and blew out a heavy sigh. "Eileen Hobbs, right?" He glanced up long enough to take in Sean's reluctant nod. "And you and Dan got into it when you took her away?"
"No." Sean shook his head vehemently. "I have been telling you the truth. I did not see the man. Eileen had a small argument with him, but it was not about me. Dan Hobbs does not know that I am with her."
There was no longer any question in Cole's mind that Sean spoke the truth. With a wave of his hand, he dropped his voice several tones and quietly said, "All right, I believe you. Let's try to work through this thing calmly from here on out."
"Yes," Sean agreed through a sigh. "That would be good."
"Where is Eileen now?"
Sean's chameleon-like eyes suddenly dulled, losing their hazel luster as he thought of her alone down in the wash. "She is safe."
"But where? We have to find her so she can clear you."
Sean studied Cole as he spoke, listening intently to his words, and found not a solution but a stab of envy. How simple life must be for a white man. How utterly impossible it must be for this one to understand how he was feeling.
"I cannot do that to her."
"I understand what you're driving at, Sean. I have a pretty good idea what folks will be saying about her when they learn she ran off with a half-breed."
"Any hope she has for a happy life will be gone. Do you understand that?”
"Dammit, of course I do." Frustrated, Cole picked up a large dirt clod and smashed it against the boulder. "Do you understand we're not talking about a happy life, but life period, if she doesn't clear you right now?"
Sean thought of Moonstar, of Patrick, and closed his eyes. His breath whistled out between his teeth. Then he murmured, "Yes. I understood the consequences when I agreed to help Eileen. I will not jeopardize her freedom now."
Caught between admiration and exasperation, Cole frowned. "I'm going to have to take you in, you know. Those boys are out for blood, and until I find out who really killed Buck, they're not going to settle for your word."
Sean nodded, his lips drawn and tight. Then he slowly unfolded his legs and rose. "I would ask, in my sister's name, that you give me some time, a head start on this posse you've collected."
Cole jumped to his feet and planted a boot on Sean's rifle as he bent to collect it. "Don't be a fool. Even if I could give you an hour, which I can't, these boys would hunt you down and shoot you on sight."
"I have no other choice."
"Yes, you do, and I just told you what it is."
Panic began to trickle into his mind, but Sean forced himself to listen to Cole's plan.
"Let me take you in. The sheriff's a decent, honest man. I'll explain as much as I have to about your innocence, then I swear I'll do everything I can to find out what happened back at the ranch. It's the only way out, Sean. You have to take it."
His features hard, more Quechan than Irish at that moment, Sean's intense gaze bore into Cole as he searched for deception in his words. Satisfied the man spoke the truth as he knew it, Sean steppe
d away from the rifle. "I would like a moment and another smoke, please."
"Sure." After Sean rolled his cigarette, Cole took the tobacco pouch and moved to the shade of a mesquite bush. Peering down into the wash, he could see the men were getting restless and knew they wouldn't wait for him much longer. Looking back to the big half-breed, he opened his mouth to call out a warning, but remained silent when he realized Sean was in some kind of trance.
His lips moved, but no sound issued forth. He raised an Indian profile to the heavens, but the sun lit the black strands of his hair with a copper halo of his Irish heritage. Which man would the good citizens of Phoenix put on trial? The Irishman or the Indian? The sinner or the saint?
Sean heard boots scraping against rock and knew the posse was coming for him with or without Cole's blessing. They were coming for the Indian. The trapped animal. For the first time, he understood how the jackrabbit must feel as a pack of coyotes ran it to ground. He knew helplessness, could almost hear the agonized screams as voracious teeth tore at the rabbit's limbs and disemboweled its body even before it hit the ground.
His own body shuddered then readied itself, poised to leap forward and force the men to come after him in the way of the coyote, but just then he saw his father's face and heard the mournful cry of a proud man robbed of both sons.
The tension in his muscles easing, Sean turned to Cole. Flipping the half-smoked cigarette to the ground, he said, "I suppose it would be best for you to tie me."
Heaving a sigh of relief, Cole crossed the distance between them in three long strides. "You've made a wise decision." He reached out and took Sean's hands in his. "I'll do everything I can to get you free, you know that."
"What I know," Sean said, allowing the hint of a smile, "is that my sister will find a way to make you very sorry if you don't."
With a short laugh, Cole instructed, "Stay close behind me. I'll alert the men we're coming down."
Inching his way to the crest of the hill, Cole fired one shot in the air and hollered, "I've got him. We're coming down. Hold your fire."
He turned back to Sean. "Where's your mule?"
