She tugged at him, then turned and flailed at him wildly, her eyes wide, her breathing in short gasps again. But still she made no sound, even though her mouth kept opening. Sage grasped her wrists tightly, forcing her hands behind her back and pressing her against him.
“Stop it now. I don’t want you jumping off any ledges and getting hurt.” He yanked her close. “I aim to find out who you are, little Venado. You’ve got me curious now, and I’m beginning to feel protective of you.”
She suddenly seemed to wilt, and great sobs erupted from her soul as she crumpled against him, weeping bitterly against his chest.
“Why don’t you speak to me, Venado? Why don’t you just tell me what happened? It’s all right.”
He felt her relax, and her sobbing slowly subsided. She pulled away, looking up at him, then reached up and touched his beard, unspoken questions in her eyes. She seemed to look at him as though she knew him, and he wondered if she was thinking of someone else. He took her hand.
“You can tell me, ma’am.”
She simply turned away then, walking back to the camp fire. Sage rubbed at his neck. He would have to watch her very closely. Apparently when the awful memory, whatever it was, returned, she went into these fits of terror. She could hurt herself.
“Why me?” he muttered.
The rest of the day the mysterious young woman rode in front of Sage on his horse, saying nothing. But at least she seemed more aware of things. She looked around at times, seeming to be trying to figure out where she was. It dawned on Sage that she might not even know who she was. Perhaps she had some strange form of amnesia, and along with it, perhaps some bad experience had left her speechless. Out in this wild land such things were not unheard of. Nothing surprised Sage MacKenzie anymore. He’d seen mountain men go crazy from the loneliness, seen one go mad from Indian torture.
He continued talking to her, telling her how he’d lost his parents in a fire when he had been just a boy and how he’d fled to this land to keep from being put in an orphanage.
“I wouldn’t know any of my relatives anymore, but it doesn’t much matter. None of them was willing to take me, so I don’t have much use for them. How about you? You got relatives?” He waited, not really expecting an answer. “I bet you do, but I expect we’ll play hell finding out who and where, unless you decide to open up that mouth.”
He stopped and dismounted. “Got to give my horse a rest. You can stay up there,” he told her, leading the animal by the reins.
“Big country, isn’t it?” he remarked, moving into a wide valley. “There might be reasons you don’t like it. But I love it. I grew up out here, with mostly other trappers for friends. I don’t know how to do much else, except maybe scout for wagon trains. But I’m not crazy about that because it means being around a lot of people. People are okay, but I’m used to being alone. I guess I’ll just have to accept the change. Already more and more are coming out here, and the kind of life I used to lead is fading out. I guess I’m being forced into a new kind of life, but I don’t much know what to do with it. I’m a wandering man. I’m not sure if it’s by nature or just because that’s how I was forced to grow up. I can remember my mother and father, sitting together by a hearth after a nice supper. I can remember a home life. But I never knew one after they died.”
He sighed deeply, becoming lost in his own thoughts. It hurt sometimes to remember, even after all these years.
A shout stirred him from his deep thoughts, and immediately he stopped walking, took a couple of steps back, and swung onto the back of his mount, ready to ride if necessary. He pulled his repeater from its boot, then looked around, seeing no one at first. Then two men appeared to his rear on the left. He turned his horse, wishing the woman were not with him. Something as pretty as this one was could change a friend to an enemy in these parts.
His horse was tired, and from the distance he could see that the approaching men were white. He decided not to try to ride off. Better to face them and know where they were and what they were about than to wonder, or risk a bullet in the back. He slowly sauntered his horse in their direction, checking first to be sure a blanket was wrapped securely around Venado’s legs so they weren’t exposed. He supposed he could have made her lie on the travois again. It might have been easier on his horse. But he believed that if she rode in front of him as he talked, perhaps she’d come around a little.
Before the men arrived, Sage quickly dismounted again, grasping the woman around the hips and yanking her backward in the saddle, then remounting in front of her so he’d have a clearer view of the approaching men.
“What you hidin’ there, Sage,” a man called out.
Sage recognized Moose Kennedy and Jed Baker, two men he’d never ridden with but knew as acquaintances in the world of trapping. He’d come across them many times in the old days of the rendezvous and was aware that they were scouts now just like himself. He’d always liked Jed all right, but Moose was not a man to be trusted, with skins or with women. He’d bargained for many an Indian woman at the rendezvous, and to Sage’s recollection the man had not been kind to them.
“Moose! Jed! What brings you two way up here?”
“Decided not to do much of anything but hunt this year, Sage,” Jed replied. “Times like this won’t last much longer.”
“That’s a fact.”
Moose eyed the woman behind Sage, licking his lips as he did so. “What the hell you got there, Sage? You buy a woman?”
“Found her, by a burned-out wagon. Don’t know anything about her—no name, nothing. Everything was burned, and she was wearing an Indian tunic. I found one trunk with a few women’s clothes.”
“Why’s she starin’ like that?” Jed put in.
“That’s my problem. She won’t talk—won’t do anything but eat a little and relieve herself.”
Moose grinned. “You watch?” He rode his horse closer to get a good look at her.
“Hell no, I don’t watch. And you be careful, Moose. I’m taking her to Fort Bridger. I don’t know anything about her. She could be a decent woman who was taken by Indians or something. There was a dead man at the burned-out wagon—looked like a supply wagon. He might have bought her and intended to sell her to the Crow. Who knows? I have to try to find out who she is and where she belongs.”
“Why bother?” Moose answered. “Jesus, man, look at her. She’s young, and goddamned pretty.” He squinted. “Is that all she does—just sit and stare?”
“Mostly.”
“You mean, you could have your way with her, and she’d just lie there?”
Sage’s hand tightened on his repeater. “Don’t think about it, Moose. You and me go back a ways, but not far enough that I’d let you touch this girl before I know what’s going on.”
He reined back his horse slightly, raising the rifle.
Moose rubbed at his lips. “How about selling her then? I’ll buy her, fair and square, and she’d be out of your hands. Who the hell will ever know?”
“I will. She’s not for sale.”
Moose looked over at Jed. “What do you think, Jed? Looks mighty good to a mountain man who hasn’t had somethin’ warm in his bed for a piece.”
“I said to forget it, Moose.” Sage shifted his horse more, aiming the rifle. “We’ve known each other a lot of years, and part of the code among us is to mind our own business. I never knew you to rob a man of his furs. You thinking of robbing one of his woman?”
“That how you think of her, Sage? Your woman?” Moose chuckled. “You’ve probably already been under them skirts yourself. Is that it?”
“None of your business if I have or I haven’t. I found her and I’m taking her to Fort Bridger. I don’t know who she is, but I’ll defend her to the death if I have to.”
“Come on, Moose, let’s get goin’. We’ve a piece to go to get to the place where I told you I found all them elk,” Jed inserted. “Let the man ride on.”
Moose’s hand rested on his pistol, and Sage didn’t mis
s where it was. “Just think of the time we could have, Jed, takin’ that woman along on the hunt. Our bellies would be full of meat, and we’d sleep next to a woman’s warm body at night. What more could a man ask for?”
Sage cocked his rifle. “He could ask to live. I’d say that’s worth a whole lot more.”
Sage’s eyes held Moose’s in a hard stare. Moose knew the man meant business. He’d seen Sage MacKenzie in battle. The man was a sure shot, and Moose had also seen him once in a knife fight. Few men went up against Sage. Moose finally sighed and nodded.
“All right, Sage. But I don’t hold no lost woman who can’t talk of the same value as skins, if you know what I mean.”
“If you mean you wouldn’t steal my skins but you’d try to steal this woman, you’d better think twice. I’d protect her same as I’d protect my pelts, which means a bullet right through the brisket.”
Moose nodded. “You’d better reconsider your values, Sage. You’re gettin’ soft. You’ve been hangin’ around settled folk too long, I’m thinkin’.”
“Maybe so. Now normally I’d invite you two for some whiskey and a smoke, to set a spell and find out what you know about what’s goin’ on out there, what messages you have, where you’re headed. But you’ve made it kinda hard to be hospitable. So I’d suggest you just ride on, Moose.” His eyes shifted to Jed for just a moment. “You can stay or go, Jed. I’ve always trusted you.”
“Meanin’ you don’t trust me,” Moose grumbled.
Sage’s dark eyes moved back to meet his. “That’s the general idea.”
Moose laughed, trying to act unconcerned. “Whoever that filly is, she’s got you suckin’ after her, and you don’t even know nothin’ about her. You’re in a bad way, Sage.” He shook his head. “I’m headin’ on—goin’ north. Come on, Jed.”
He rode off, and Sage turned his horse to watch the man ride away.
“I reckon I’ll go along with him, Sage. Sorry we couldn’t have a visit,” Jed told him, pushing back a soiled leather hat. “Moose isn’t so bad. He just don’t have no conscience, if you know what I mean.”
Sage nodded. “Watch yourself, Jed. We’ll meet again.”
Jed nodded, taking another glance at the woman himself before riding off. Sage watched them both until they were out of sight.
“See what you’re doing to me?” he told the woman. “Them are my friends. I’ll be glad to be shed of you. Now I’ll have to sleep with one eye open tonight.”
He turned his horse and went on, his encounter with Moose Kennedy having given him an uneasy feeling.
Chapter Three
It was another clear, cold night. And like all nights in the high plains and mountains of the West, it was totally silent. Tonight there was not even a breeze to make noise.
Sage bedded down his Venado, telling her to stay put and that he had to sleep sitting against his saddle this night. “Got to keep watch,” he told her. “I don’t trust that damned Moose.”
He had no idea if she understood. He could only hope she did. He opened his own bedroll and crawled into it, leaning against his saddle. Taking his repeating rifle from where it rested against a nearby rock, he slid it across his lap. He lit a thin cigar and watched its end glow orange.
“What the hell are you doing, Sage MacKenzie,” he asked himself aloud. He looked over at the pretty young woman who lay staring back at him. “Sitting here losing sleep over somebody you know nothing about. What’s she thinking right now? That I’m an idiot? It wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe she’s laughing at me. Maybe she’s not worth protecting.”
Of course she is, an inner voice replied. You see the innocence in those violet eyes. She’s no whore. She’s too clean and pretty. She doesn’t have that used look.
“Fact is,” he said aloud, “she’s got the eyes of an innocent child. And she’s growin’ on you, Sage. You’d better hurry up and get her the hell to the fort and leave her there.”
He puffed the cigar. After years of living alone in the wilds, he was accustomed to talking to himself or his horse. He knew outsiders would probably figure he was touched in the head, but a man had to do something. He’d solved a lot of personal problems talking them over with himself. But this one might not get resolved, not unless he got away from the pretty little Venado.
He sighed and rested his head, closing his eyes for a moment. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind as he sat there and quietly smoked. Fur trapping was over. He had nothing truly solid with which to support himself. The country was filling up with settlers, and men like himself were a dying breed. He would probably be forced by fate into settling like the average man, but he could not picture such a thing, and he wondered why he’d suddenly started thinking about it at all. Was it the woman? She’d made him think about his parents and the home life he’d known as a boy. He hadn’t lived that way in years.
He shook his head, disgusted with himself for entertaining any such thoughts. He put out the cigar and closed his eyes again, his hand on his rifle, his ears open. His senses were as developed as those of the wild animals. His nose could catch the scent of nearby animals and even other men. Sometimes he could be as alert as the four-footed creatures he stalked, so alert to his surroundings that he outsmarted the very animal he was hunting. And no man was going to outsmart Sage MacKenzie. He’d made up his mind to that a long time ago, and no one, Indian or white, had gotten the best of him.
He drifted off slightly then, hoping that his Venado wouldn’t get up and try to run off on him. He’d hate to have to chase her down in the dark. At least they were in a meadow where she couldn’t go falling off any cliffs. His last thoughts had him envisioning all the different things the woman could be—a wife, a whore, an untouched daughter, a captive. It was the bruises that made him feel sorry for her. Someone had beat her, forced himself on her. Had it been because she had been innocent and unwilling? Or had it been because she had been the wife of the man under the wagon, and he had caught her with some other man? No. Not that. The bruises and the Indian tunic kept bringing him to the same conclusion. She’d been a captive of some tribe he knew nothing about. But then how did he explain the man burned with the wagon? Had he bought her from the strange Indians, and then also abused her?
He fell asleep trying to put it all together. But suddenly all his senses came alert again. He awoke with a start, first looking over at the woman. She was still there. Everything seemed the way he’d left it, yet something had brought him awake. He leaned back again, deciding the best thing he could do was sit and wait, feigning sleep.
Moose, he thought. The bastard’s a good tracker. He wouldn’t put it past the man to track back and try again for the woman, this time by force. When it came to women, Moose Kennedy was aware of no rules. No one even knew who this one was. Moose would figure she was there for the taking.
Sage waited several minutes. Either Moose Kennedy, or some sneaking Indians, lurked in the shadows, trying to figure out whether Sage was asleep or awake. Sage pretended to be asleep, though his eyes were actually thin slits and his ears caught every sound. The longer he waited, the more he suspected Moose. Indians would have just put an arrow in him and ended things right there. Moose wouldn’t want to kill him—just sneak up on him and land him a good one over the head and run off with the woman.
Several more minutes passed before Sage heard the sound. The average man never would have detected it, the ever-so-quiet moccasined footstep behind him. Moose wore moccasins.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sage spoke up aloud.
He could feel the man behind him stiffen.
“One step closer and I’ll kill you, friend or not.”
More silence.
“I wasn’t aimin’ to kill you,” Moose finally replied.
“That’s what I figured. But what you were aiming to do to the woman is still worth killing you over.”
Moose hung back in the shadows. “Come on, Sage. Look at her—just lyin’ there. A man could do anything he wanted with
her. We could both have at her.”
“Get the hell out of here, Moose. You’re pushing your luck.”
“I’ve got a lot of money on me, Sage—probably more than you’ve seen in a while. I’ll pay you to let me have a time with her right here in the bushes. Then you can have her back and take her to the fort, or whatever the hell you had in mind to do with her. Just let me have her tonight.”
“Your ears don’t hear too well, do they, Moose? I said to leave.”
He heard a long sigh.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Sage? You don’t know her. You don’t owe her nothin’. She might even be a damned whore.”
“Get moving, Moose.”
Sage heard a shuffling in the grass as Moose growled, “You bastard.” Sensing the danger, he lurched forward just as the butt of Moose’s rifle came down on what would have been his head. He rolled to his knees and whirled, aiming his repeater at Moose.
“I told you to get out of here,” he roared at Moose.
The woman stirred, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
Moose had quickly taken proper hold of his rifle. The two men faced each other. “Come on, Sage. You’re bein’ a fool about this.”
“You tried to knock my brains out, you son of a bitch,” Sage hissed. “You expect me to turn around and give you what you want? Get the hell out of my camp before I kill you!”
Moose watched him for a moment, then looked at the startled woman, who watched in wide-eyed terror. Her eyes moved from Moose to Sage and back to Moose. The cold air made her nipples rise full and firm against her gown, and the way the fire shed its light on her, Moose could see those nipples vividly outlined. He licked his lips, grinning and turning his eyes back to Sage.
“I wouldn’t have hurt you bad, Sage. You’d have got over it. And I ain’t about to kill you now. But I’m gonna have that woman. And you won’t kill me over it.” He slowly set down his rifle. “You understand as much as I do about what it’s like to go so long without a woman and then see one like this”—his eyes moved back to the woman—“all young and pretty and firm. And to top it off she’s crazy in the head, enough to just…lie there and let a man have at her.” His voice had lowered almost to a quiver. He looked back at Sage. “I gotta have her, Sage. I’m goin’ to get her, and I ain’t armed.”
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 3
