He headed his horse down the winding trail, thinking how much easier it was going to be on the animal to be rid of its extra hundred pounds or so, if the woman weighed even that much. If he kept her, he would be forced to purchase a mule or a second horse to carry her. But he was not going to keep her, and that was that.
It was a gloriously clear day, the temperature ideal, the grass extra green, with only the yellowing aspen giving hint that winter would soon be upon them. It was the kind of day a man should feel only joy in his heart—joy at his own freedom, and joy at the magnificent land and the balmy weather. Sage struggled to find that joy, but it wouldn’t come. He ignored the reason—knew damned well what it was but was not about to admit it.
As most trails did in this land, this one wound in crazy circles as it made its gradual descent. It was almost like backtracking, for the paths curved and headed right back in the same direction from which a traveler had come, only at a slightly lower elevation. But that was the only way a man could travel in places like this, and there were plenty of them—places where the slopes were so steep that a man and horse or wagon didn’t dare head down in a straight line. No one in his right mind traveled these slopes that way, though it meant that one mile became five miles, and reaching a destination could take hours longer than it would by a straight approach.
Sage didn’t even realize that he was guiding his horse at a slower rate than necessary, subconsciously stretching out these last couple of hours with his Venado. He could see from here that there was indeed a wagon train at the supply post. His heart raced with the hope that someone on that train would know who this woman was. And yet for some reason he almost dreaded finding out.
The air hung heavy with the scent of pine as they moved into a stand of lodgepoles so thick that occasionally his legs actually bumped a tree along the winding path. The trees thinned out again as they rode into still another open area. The fort was very close now and Sage drew his horse to a halt, dismounting.
He looked up at the woman, who scooted forward and grasped the saddle horn. She looked down at him and smiled, and he reached up and touched her hands.
“Venado, do you understand where I’m taking you? Do you understand I’ve got to give you over to somebody else if I can?”
She watched him closely with her provocative violet eyes, which seemed to be tearing.
“It’s best for both of us, especially for you,” he told her. “And I have to do all I can to find out who you are, where you belong.” His throat ached. “I’m sorry, honey. Sorry for being such a damned animal, such a damned fool. God knows I’ll go to hell for what I did. But I swear to God it wasn’t all just because you were there and it felt good. It was more than that. It…it got to where it meant something, you know? I mean, you’re real special, Venado. No woman has been more special to me. You’re the most beautiful creature this undeserving, uneducated mountain boy has ever had the privilege to touch and behold.
“But I’m no good for the likes of you. Being with me would only bring a hard life, pain, probably even an early death. And even without all that, you’d wake up some morning, and you’d remember something—and there we’d be, maybe you remembering a husband or some man you were supposed to wed, a home left behind someplace. And you wouldn’t want ol’ Sage anymore. So it’s best this way, you see? I mean, I wouldn’t let my feelings for you get any more important, and you wouldn’t be living with the memories of two worlds.”
She continued to stare as one tear slipped down her cheek. She reached out with her hand, touching his beard, looking ready to burst into words though no sound came from her throat.
Sage swallowed and turned away, leading the horse closer. Did she understand anything he had said, or did she simply sense that he was leaving her?
“Yo!” They were close now, and a man in buckskins had noticed them and was calling out to Sage.
“Sage MacKenzie,” Sage called out his name.
The man raised a rifle, then began walking in his direction. Sage recognized Charlie Drew, an aging trapper who hung around this area most of the time. Charlie limped in his direction on a leg that had never been the same after he had suffered a nearly fatal wound from a grizzly attack. A man hadn’t seen everything there was to see until he had seen Charlie’s scars; Sage had seen them, and he agreed with the statement.
“Sage, you ol’ buzzard. Where you been?” Charlie called out then. He halted, staring at the woman. “What in God’s name you been up to, Sage MacKenzie?”
“Damnedest thing I ever did experience,” Sage answered, walking close enough then to shake Charlie’s hand. He turned and nodded in the woman’s direction. “I call her Venado just so’s she’s got a name. I don’t know her real name. Found her up in the Wind River range beside a burned-out wagon with a man pinned under it—burned up with the wagon. She was wearing a tunic with Indian designs I’ve never seen.”
Charlie nodded. “Hello there, ma’am.”
The woman only stared at him, and Charlie frowned at Sage. “What’s the matter with her?”
“That’s the damnedest part, Charlie. She can’t talk. I don’t think it’s because she’s got no voice. I think it’s just that something terrible happened to her and it left her messed up in the head, you know? When I first found her she couldn’t do anything by herself. Now she dresses herself, cooks, all those things. But she still won’t talk. I decided to bring her here to see if anybody here knew anything about her. Hell, I can’t keep her with me forever. I’ve got my own life to lead.”
Charlie nodded, looking the woman over, then turned to Sage, grinning slightly. “You’ve been alone with her since way up in the Wind River range?”
Sage scowled. “I have. And it hasn’t been what you think. I haven’t touched her,” he lied for the woman’s sake. “Hell, she’s got that innocent look to her, Charlie. Might be some man’s wife. So nobody around here better think anything bad about her or treat her with anything but respect. We don’t know who she is or where she came from. You understand what I’m telling you?”
Charlie’s eyebrows arched. As far as he was concerned, Sage was a little too ready to defend the woman.
“I understand, Sage. You don’t have to go takin’ my head off.”
Sage sighed, walking toward the fort then with Charlie limping beside him. “Fact is, Charlie, I got to tell you I killed Moose Kennedy a ways back. He came across us and tried to buy her. When I wouldn’t sell, he snuck up on my camp later and tried to kill me so he could have her for himself. It was self-defense, but I feel kind of bad about it.”
Charlie scratched his head. “You killed Moose Kennedy—over a woman you don’t know nothin’ about?”
“He had no right trying to steal her away.”
“Well, you was probably right to kill him. When it comes to a woman, Moose would kill his best friend for a piece; that is, if he had anybody he could call his best friend.”
“You believe me then? That he attacked me?”
“’Course I believe you. I know the kind of man you are, Sage.”
“Is Jim around?”
“He’s off on a hunt. There’s just me and Sax Daniels and the blacksmith is all that’s here—besides the wagon train. They got a couple broken-down wagons the blacksmith is helpin’ fix. They’ll be headin’ out in another day or two.” The man glanced back at Sage’s strange cargo. “She sure is a pretty thing, ain’t she? Not a bad way to travel, for a while anyway. ’Course, no man wants a woman along all the time.”
“You’re right there. That’s why I brought her here. I couldn’t very well leave her sitting there all lost and afraid. Crow Indians had attacked the wagon. I heard them shouting ‘crazy woman’ when they rode off. I reckon that’s what she seems like to an Indian. But she’s a lot better now.”
“Say, there’s a preacher man along on that wagon train. Maybe he can help. And there’s a couple of women along, too.”
“Good. Maybe they can all help. I don’t know what else to do
for her. I’ve tried and tried to get her to talk. But she just won’t do it.”
“Well, I gotta say, Sage MacKenzie, of all the things us mountain boys have run into in these years, nobody has come up with what you’ve got on that horse, that’s for sure.”
They approached the scattered mud and thatch buildings. Sage could hear the hammering of the blacksmith. A few weary-looking travelers stared curiously at Sage and his unusual companion, as Charlie led the man to a little cabin where smoke curled from a chimney.
“Sax is cookin’ up some lunch—some of that there elk stew he seems to think nobody can match. Come on inside and sit a spell—bring that there Indian tunic. Maybe me and Sax knows somethin’ about it.”
“I’m obliged, Charlie.” Sage tied his horse, leaving enough rein so that the animal could bend its head and nibble at some grass beneath the hitching post. He reached up, signaling the woman that she could get down now. She smiled and hung on to him as he lifted her down. Sage reached up and unhooked the parfleche that held the tunic, then took the woman’s arm and led her inside the tiny, one-room cabin.
Sax Daniels looked up from the pot of stew that hung over a fire, his eyes widening when he saw the woman. Sax was about the age of Sage, but his hair and beard were fiery red. His blue eyes moved over the woman as he straightened and grinned.
“What the hell you got there, Sage?”
The woman hung on his arm as though she needed protecting. Sage went through the whole explanation again, urging the woman to sit down at the table.
“He done killed Moose Kennedy when he tried to mess with her, so I’d get that longin’ look off my face, Sax,” Charlie told the man.
Sax frowned, looking at Sage in dismay. “You killed Moose?”
“I did. And with good reason.”
Sax gave the woman an appraising glance. “Looks like a keeper to me. Long as you don’t know who she is, and if she helps you out in camp and all—”
“I’m not keeping her,” Sage interrupted irritably. “What the hell am I going to do with a woman hanging around my neck? After we eat, I’ll take her over to the preacher man Charlie says is with the train outside. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”
Sax took inventory of the woman’s rare beauty. His eyes moved to Sage’s dark ones. “Come on, Sage. You haven’t been traveling with her all this time without at least having a look, have you? What’s she like under that dress?”
Sage’s face darkened. “None of your goddamned business. I told Charlie and I’m telling you, she’s not been touched. And you aren’t going to be first. Moose found that out the hard way. Don’t make the same mistake, Sax.”
Their eyes held challengingly for just a moment. Then Sax returned to his stew. He knew better than to mess with Sage MacKenzie. “You can’t blame a man for wondering, Sage. Hell, how often do men like us see something like that? My God, she’s the prettiest creature I ever set eyes on.” He set aside his spoon and straightened again, facing Sage. “And when it’s been so long since a man has looked at anything but his horse—makes a woman like that look like some kind of goddess.”
“Well, feast your eyes on this instead of the woman,” Sage answered, digging the tunic out of the parfleche.
The woman looked at the dress strangely, beginning to tremble slightly as Sage laid it out on the table for Sax and Charlie to examine.
“I’ve never seen a design like that,” Charlie told Sage.
“I think maybe I have,” Sax told them both. “I’m from down Mexico way. If memory serves me right, that’s a Comanche design.”
“Comanche!” Sage uttered the name in surprise. Comanche were hundreds of miles to the south.
The woman made an odd gasping sound when he said the word. He looked at her, noticing that her eyes were wide and full of terror. He grasped her arm. “Comanche. Is that who had you first? Were you taken by Comanche Indians?”
Her breathing quickened, and she suddenly reached out and grabbed the tunic, throwing it off the table and to the floor. Her eyes moved to Sage and she reached around his neck and hugged him tightly, as though needing protection.
“It’s all right, Venado,” he told her. “There’s no Comanche around here.”
Sax chuckled. “Venado? You’ve given her a name? And don’t tell us this is the first time she’s hugged you.” He laughed harder then. “You don’t fool us, Sage MacKenzie. You’ve had more than an eyeful of that one.”
“Shut your mouth, Sax,” Charlie interjected, giving him a shove. He gave the younger man a warning look. “Can’t you see there’s more here than just a man findin’ a woman needin’ help?”
Sage pushed her away. “It’s not what you think, Charlie,” he said in a grumbling voice, angry they’d seen her hug him. He sat down, leaning back and rubbing at tired eyes. “Comanche. They’re hundreds and hundreds of miles from here. Do you really think she could have had anything to do with them? A captive or something?”
“Well, it’s sure the name put terror in them there purple eyes,” Charlie answered. Sax just stood looking her over, drinking in her beauty, envying Sage MacKenzie, and daydreaming about what he’d have done with her if he had been the one to find her.
“If it was Comanche, she was sure as hell raped,” Sax declared then. He rubbed at his lips. “That means she’s no virgin, and probably nothin’ a husband would want anymore.”
“That means nothing,” Sage said quickly in an angry voice. He rose so suddenly that he knocked over his chair. “It means she was a poor, innocent woman taken against her will, Sax Daniels, and you’d best respect that!”
Sax’s eyes widened and he backed away. “Calm down, Sage. I was just guessing at what might have happened to her, that’s all. Hell, the Comanche don’t take white women without rapin’ them, that’s all.”
Sage picked up the tunic from the floor and shoved it angrily into the parfleche while the woman watched him tearfully, confused at his outburst. She grasped his sleeve and tugged, and he patted her hand.
“It’s all right,” he told her. He studied the violet eyes. “How in God’s name did you end up way up here if it was Comanche that took you?” He sighed, looking at Charlie. “Well, it’s sure unlikely anybody on that train knows who she is. Why don’t you go get that preacher for me? I’ve got to be on my way. I’ve been burdened with this too long already.”
“Sure, Sage.” Charlie hurried out and Sax scooped some stew into two wooden bowls, setting them in front of Sage and the woman.
“Eat up. It’s the best stew in these parts,” he said with a smile, trying to humor Sage again, uneasy with the man’s anger. He reminded himself that Sage had killed Moose Kennedy over this woman, and he suspected she meant a lot more to Sage than the man was letting on. After all, mountain men didn’t own up to feelings. Once he sensed the true feelings there, Sax’s whole attitude changed. In these parts, a man respected those things. “I…uh…I’m sorry, Sage. I didn’t mean to get you so riled. I just—she’s so pretty and all. I didn’t know it would get you all upset.”
Sage scooped some stew into his mouth, looking at the woman and pushing the bowl closer, urging her to eat it. She seemed to breath easier and sense that everything was all right again. She picked up her own spoon and ate some of the stew.
“It’s all right, I guess,” Sage answered Sax.
Silence hung over the room. Sax stuck a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek and studied the woman as she ate quietly. “Don’t she ever say anything at all?”
“Nope.” Sage swallowed. “Only sound she ever made was when Red Dog and them two friends of his happened on us once. She saw those Indians and made the strangest sound—kind of like a cat crying, you know? Now that I’ve seen how she reacted to the word Com—” He stopped. “I don’t want to repeat it in front of her. At any rate, whatever happened to her, it involved Indians. If it was the ones we talked about, she’s come awful damned far.”
Sax nodded. “Makes a man feel kind of sorry for her. It’s too bad
, her being so young and pretty and all. You figure she’s got a husband?”
“I reckon we’ll never know unless she decides to start talking.” Sage scooped up more stew and Sax waited until he was nearly finished.
“Come on, Sage, own up,” he demanded. “You got feelin’s for her, don’t you?”
Sage scowled at him, then pushed his bowl aside. “What man wouldn’t have? You already said yourself you feel kind of sorry for her.”
Sax snickered. “You lucky devil.”
Sage looked at the woman, desire sweeping through him at the memory of what it had been like to bed her. “Devil is right,” he answered absently.
The door opened then, and Charlie entered with an aging man sporting a white mustache and a rather stern look. “This here is Sage MacKenzie, the man that found the woman,” Charlie said to the man. “Sage, this is the Reverend Whitmore. Him and his followin’ are headed for Oregon. They lost their guide to cholera back a ways. Everybody is fine now, but they got nobody to lead them. I’ve already agreed to do it for them.”
Sage nodded, putting out his hand. “Reverend.”
The man shook his hand quickly. “It’s a fine thing you’ve done, bringing the woman to help, Mister MacKenzie. I won’t even mention what some men would have done.” As the man’s eyes moved to the woman, his eyebrows arched at her youth and beauty. “This is the woman of whom we speak, I take it.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve already figured out the tunic I found her wearing might be Comanche.” Again the woman stiffened. “If that’s so, she’s come all the way from the Texas region. How she landed in the Wind River Mountains is anybody’s guess. The man she was with had been trapped under their wagon and the Indians set it on fire. He was dead when I got there. All the belongings in the wagon were either stolen by the Crow or burned. I’ve got no way of knowing who she is.”
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 7
