The horse stumbled, slid a short way, his eyes wide with the terror of knowing he had lost control. The animal whinnied, struggling for a short second to regain his stance. But in the next second he tumbled sideways. Sage found himself rolling off the animal, somewhere in his mind aware that the horse was just above him as he rolled over rocks and finally landed against a huge pine tree.
He waited, expecting the horse to come smashing into him, his weight killing him, but nothing happened. He grasped the pine tree, looking up to see the horse standing up again, the gear still strapped on. The animal carefully moved down toward Sage, and Sage could see him limping.
“Damn it,” he grumbled to himself. “It’s all right, boy,” he said louder. “It was my fault.” He grimaced with the pain of bruised ribs as he got to his own feet and brushed off. “I just hope you didn’t break something,” he added then. “You’re just about my best friend, you know. I sure wouldn’t want to have to shoot you, and I sure don’t like the thought of being out here without a horse.”
He walked up to the gelding and began running his hands over the animal, moving down to inspect all four legs. His expert touch found nothing broken. He examined the feet and spotted a large, pointed rock lodged in the horse’s right front foot.
“You need new shoes, too, don’t you, boy,” he said then. “I should have had all that done back at the fort.” He took out a knife and carefully pried out the rock. “You’re gonna have a sore foot. I’d best let you rest a day or so. I wanted to beat that storm, but I reckon I won’t do it now.” He rose and looked around. “Let’s find us a cave or something for shelter. When we get to Fort Laramie, I’ll have a blacksmith give you some new shoes.” He patted the horse’s neck and took hold of the reins, leading him carefully the rest of the way down the rocky escarpment.
He moved along a canyon of red rock peppered with cavelike indentations, which were the result of some freak of nature that had occurred perhaps a million years before. He finally found an enclosure big enough for horse and man and led the animal inside. He unloaded the horse and went out to find some firewood. Standing with his hands on his hips, he watched the encroaching clouds.
“That’s what she’s done to you,” he told himself then. “You left that fort without any supplies—didn’t even have your horse checked over. You’ve never forgotten things like that before, Sage MacKenzie. You’re such a damned coward you hauled out of there just to get away from her, without making any of the necessary preparations for survival.”
He walked farther out, picking up some dried pine and brush. He decided that after a couple of days he would have to go back to Fort Bridger. He was only a few hours away, and his horse might not make Fort Laramie without the proper attention. If he waited several days, the woman would be gone and there would be no problem. Maybe he could even hole up there for the winter and go back east in the spring. Jim Bridger himself would be back soon. He was good company. They could exchange stories. He hadn’t seen Jim in months. He could tell the man all about the “crazy woman” he’d found in the mountains.
He walked back inside the little cave. “Well, boy, it looks like we go back,” he told his horse. “I was a damned fool to light out of there so fast that I didn’t even buy up any supplies or have you tended to. But the woman should be gone soon—may be gone already. So there won’t be a problem.” He took the animal’s reins. “Come on outside and nibble what you can before that storm comes.”
Sage laid his rifle on a blanket. He had to do something to keep himself occupied, for his mind would not stop whirling with thoughts of Venado. Thunder rolled in the heavens; the storm was almost upon him now. He began taking apart the rifle to clean it, wishing the dull ache in his chest would go away.
Lightning stabbed at the higher peaks, and a moment later thunder cracked. Normally he loved the sound of a storm in the mountains, usually just sat and watched from some shelter, thinking what a mighty force was God. But today all he could think about was whether Venado was afraid of storms. Was she crying right now, or maybe just sitting wide-eyed and shaking? Was she safe? Had the wagon train taken off and gotten caught in the downpour, or perhaps a snowstorm? He had no doubt that in places it would snow instead of rain, especially in the higher elevations. That’s the way it was in this land. It could be warm and sunny in the valley but freezing cold and snowing or sleeting in the mountains that surrounded it.
Another rumble came, and the earth seemed to shake. Sage wasn’t in the higher mountains, but he was high enough to feel the cooler air. He shivered slightly and then picked up a can of gun grease, dipping a rag into it and running it along the barrel.
He was proud of his repeating rifle and thought about how welcome such a rifle would be if he were surrounded by Blackfoot Indians or being stalked by a grizzly. With one of these, one man turned into ten men. No more firing once and then trying desperately to reload while the enemy keeps coming. Until now, the Indians’ arrows were a fine defense against a man with an old musket. But things would change considerably once every man carried one of these repeaters. It had cost Sage plenty, but it had been worth every penny.
The part about the Indians bothered him, though. True, when a man is being attacked by them, he’s all for killing as many as he can, and the rifle would be handy. But on the whole he liked the Indians, had many friends among them. Most whites he had led west had no appreciation for this land, not like the Indians did. They didn’t understand how it lived and breathed. They cut down its trees and dumped their trash along the way, polluting the water, killing off precious game. The fact that white men’s weapons were sure to quickly outdo anything the Indians had could only lead to one thing, for most of the whites with whom he came in contact figured the Indians were simply a problem to be disposed of so that the West could be settled. He saw more and more Indian problems ahead, and he didn’t like the way he suspected his red friends would get treated. A man should be fair to another man, red or white.
And how fair were you to the white woman, a voice asked him from somewhere deep in his conscience.
“Fair enough,” he grumbled aloud.
But he knew better. He had led her to believe she could trust him, then had run out on her. If he hadn’t bedded her, he wouldn’t have felt so guilty.
Thunder rolled again, but he thought he heard something apart from the thunder. He raised his head and set aside his rifle, going to stand at the cave entrance.
A shot was fired. Sage frowned. Who the hell was shooting up here in this storm? None of the Indians around here had guns. Thunder cracked through the heavens, and along with it came another gunshot.
“Sage,” he thought he heard someone call out faintly. He waited a moment, listening. A gun fired and again he heard his name called from somewhere very far away. It was a man’s voice, but he had no way of telling if it was Indian or white.
He walked back to his rifle, quickly rubbing it off and hurriedly putting it back together. He quickly loaded it in case he should need it. There came another gunshot amid the thunder and lightning, and again he heard his name called. Sage threw on his blanketlike poncho, donned his leather hat, and darted out into the cold rain, rifle in hand. He listened intently until he heard his name shouted again. The sound came from his right and sounded like it was near the ridge where Sage had fallen with his horse.
“Yo,” he called back, watching the ridge warily and cocking his rifle. He waited a moment and called out again. “I’m here. Down here.”
“Sage! That you, Sage?”
“Here! Down here.” It sounded like Sax Daniels. What on earth was the man doing out here searching for him? He fired off one shot to help the man gauge his whereabouts, then waited a few minutes before calling out again. It was an eerie moment, the thunder rolling overhead, cold rain falling, someone calling his name from the hills. It must be Sax. Who else would know where in hell to look for him out here? This was big country. If he hadn’t been slowed by his horse’s fall, the man never would
have caught up to him and found him at all.
“Sage,” he called again, this time close.
“Here! Over here, to your left.”
Moments later the man appeared, his red beard instantly telling Sage who he was. “Sax! What the hell are you doing out here in this lousy weather looking for me? Come inside the cave.”
Sax followed him in, leading his horse and an extra mount. “I’m probably crazy for doing this,” he told Sage, removing a hat and cape and shaking them out. “But I thought you’d want to know. Maybe you don’t care, maybe you do, but I done my duty tellin’ you. I looked for her myself on the way to findin’ you. I figured you’d hole up here along—”
“Looked for who?” Sage interrupted, his heart tightening.
“The woman—the crazy one. She ran off sometime during the night, Sage.”
Sage felt a new pain move through him, mixed with an odd fear and the suggestion of how he would feel if something had happened to her. Sax did not misread the look in the man’s eyes.
“The way you look right now, Sage MacKenzie—it’s mighty akin to the look of a man in love.”
Sage turned away. “Any idea what time? Late evening? After midnight? Did any of them try to find her?”
“We all searched for a mile or so beyond the fort, mostly in the direction you rode in. We figured that’s where she’d head, thinkin’ she could catch up with you somehow. Must have been somewhere around midnight, I’d guess. At any rate, the wagon train couldn’t wait up for her. Findin’ her could take days, and then she’d probably be dead. Wagon trains have to keep movin’, Sage. You know that better than most. Charlie went on with them, ’cause he’d promised to lead them. Else he’d have stayed with me and helped look for her.”
Sage walked to the cave entrance, looking out at the storm. She was out there somewhere. He had no doubt she had run off to find him, afraid without him. What a fool he’d been. It had taken the fear that she could be dead for him to realize he loved her. What if he found she had been killed by a grizzly, or had drowned in some stream, or had died of pneumonia from the weather, or, worst of all, been taken captive by Indians who would…He turned.
“Didn’t you see any sign of her anywhere? You’re a good tracker, Sax. Surely you saw something,” he said, desperation in his voice and tears in his eyes.
“Sorry, Sage. At any rate, I thought maybe you’d want to look, too. That’s why I came for you.”
Sage nodded. “I appreciate it, Sax. You didn’t have to come tell me. You could have let me ride on and I’d never have known the difference.”
Sax shrugged. “I’ve known you long enough to know that the way you reacted yesterday when I made that remark meant she was more to you than just a person you found.” He shook his head. “You should have seen her, Sage, after you left. She cried and cried. Nobody could stop her. The next thing we knew, she disappeared during the night. I…uh…brought along them few clothes you had for her, in case I found her or found you and you’d want to take them along when you looked for her.” He looked up at Sage then. “You will look for her, won’t you?”
Sage nodded. “I’ll look for her.” He swallowed, struggling not to show too much emotion. “Do me a favor, Sax. Let me have your two fresh horses. Mine’s worth both of them put together. He’s a damned good horse, but he bruised his foot, so give him the night to rest it. He needs shoeing, too, when you get back to the fort.”
“Don’t you want me to help look?”
“It probably wouldn’t do much good now. You promised Jim you’d watch the fort for him. You got supplies along? I’m low.”
Sax nodded. “You left in a mighty hurry yesterday. I figured if your search took you farther from the fort and you got caught in a snowstorm and couldn’t return, you’d be in trouble. These horses are freshly shod, and the back one there has a supply of potatoes, salt, flour, coffee, tobacco, you name it.” He grinned. “Ol’ Sax thinks of everything.”
Sage smiled sadly. “I reckon so. I’m sorry I was short with you yesterday, Sax.” He reached inside his pants into a little leather pouch tied to his belt. He dumped out several large gold coins. “Here. That enough to cover it?”
Sax grinned, studying the gold pieces. “More than enough. I’ll keep the extra for my trouble.”
Sage smiled. “I’ll head out right away. Stay here and dry out while the horse heals. He’s got no name. Just Horse. But he’s a damned good piece of horseflesh.” He walked over to the animal, giving it a pat. “I’ll miss you, boy. You and me have been together a while, but I’ve got to find that woman, and I can’t wait for you to heal.”
Sax was removing his saddle from the lead horse. He hoisted Sage’s saddle onto it’s back and began tightening the cinch. “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?” he asked then. “More than you let on.”
Sage turned away from the buckskin gelding. “More than I knew myself,” he answered. “If I find her dead, there are no words for how guilty I’m gonna feel, Sax.”
“Well, we all have things to feel guilty about, that’s for sure.” He stepped back as Sage came over to finish the saddling and load his own gear.
“Take some supplies for yourself, Sax, just in case.”
“I’ll be all right. We aren’t that far from the fort.” He rubbed at his wet face. “Listen, if you find her, try to get word to me so I know.”
“I’ll do that.”
“It’s stormin’ pretty good out there.”
“Doesn’t matter. Didn’t matter to you comin’ for me, and it doesn’t matter to me if I get wet searchin’ for her. She’s out there with nothing to shelter her. God only knows if she even survived the night, what with cougars and grizzlies and God knows what all prowlin’ around.” He hurriedly rolled up his blanket and shoved his rifle into its scabbard. He looked at Sax then. “It was mighty good of you to come for me, Sax. I’ll be remembering it.”
Sax grinned. “I got a feelin’ your wanderin’ days are over, Sage, if you find that woman’s all right.”
Sage turned and mounted up. “Could be. Depends on a lot of things. There’s still the problem of where she really belongs.”
“Well, the way I look at it, until you know for certain, she belongs to you. Might as well take it at that for now. Leastways, it appears that’s how she looks at it.”
Sage nodded. “I reckon. Thanks, Sax. You get yourself back early morning.”
“Be careful, friend.”
Sage rode out into the storm, leading the extra horse behind him. He was glad to have it. If something happened to the first horse, he would not be slowed down in his search. And search he would, on foot if he had to. This was his fault, and he would never forgive himself for it.
“Venado!” How many times had he shouted her name? Could she even hear it in the wind and rain? His voice was getting hoarse and he was chilled to the bone from the cold rain. How was a man to find someone so small and lost in this weather, or find someone at all in this vast wilderness? It was the first time he found himself hating this country, for behind its beauty lurked danger and death for those innocent of its ways. The pretty, violet-eyed little woman couldn’t possibly survive long here.
Why hadn’t he just admitted his feelings to begin with? Why hadn’t he kept her with him? He was a coward, that’s what he was, afraid of love, afraid of a tiny young woman to whom he was physically superior but who seemed to control his every thought and emotion. Perhaps this feeling was love after all. All arguments narrowed it down to that. He supposed it happened to every man eventually. It was his turn now, and maybe the timing was good. He was thirty years old, and the land and the way a man could earn a living were changing. Maybe he was supposed to settle down and have a family.
But there would always be doubt—doubt about his own ability to settle, to ignore the wanderlust in his heart; and doubt about her background. Someday she would remember, and when she did, maybe she wouldn’t even want him anymore. If he let himself love her, what would he do if he f
ound out he couldn’t have her after all?
His search was fruitless. Night came, and another day. With each passing hour, his heart cried out more, his guilt consuming him. Two nights and two days she’d been out here, somewhere. The weather calmed, but it was cold now. Another night passed, and Sage spent it awake, wondering where else to search. Day came, sunny but cold. He searched. He shot off his gun. He called her name. It was all to no avail. He fell asleep with tears in his eyes and an awful emptiness in his heart. He’d killed her. He’d killed her just as certain as if he’d put a gun to her head.
He was somewhere in the foothills of the Wind River range. Some of this was country they had been through together. Now he searched it alone. But there was no use looking any further. After all this time she couldn’t possibly be alive. He would go back to Fort Bridger and let them know he had not found her. Maybe by some miracle Sax or some other scout had found her and had taken her back there with him. But if it had been someone other than Sax, someone who didn’t know about her, didn’t know she belonged to Sage…
The thought always brought him awake. He sat up as the rising sun lit up the mountains to the west. He felt as though something else had awakened him, then realized he had heard someone calling his name. He quickly stood up, picking up his rifle and listening.
“Sage MacKenzie!”
He didn’t care to wait and see if it was friend or enemy. Maybe it was news about his Venado. He raised his rifle and shot it into the air. He could see someone coming now—two men, in fact. They were Indians.
“Up here,” he shouted, watching the figures carefully until he realized they were Ute. They waved at him, and as they came closer he could see it was Red Dog and Walks Slowly.
Sweet Mountain Magic Page 9
