Sweet Mountain Magic

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Hello there, pretty lady,” the younger one said, looking her up and down. “Remember us? From the fort? I’m Johnny White and this here is Terrence Lowe.”

  Danger! She sensed it but didn’t know just why, just what was wrong. She looked past them. Where was Sage? Some impulse compelled her to quickly close the door, but the one called Johnny caught it.

  “Now, now, is that any way to treat company, honey?” Johnny shoved his way inside, turning to the older man. “I told you he ain’t around. We seen him leave. Ain’t no problems, friend. You keep watch outside for me. When I’m through with her, you can have your turn if you want. But it might take me a while.”

  “I don’t like this, Johnny.”

  Johnny set his rifle aside and removed his coat, looking at the woman again, burning at the sight of her wide, frightened eyes. “Sage,” she spoke aloud.

  “Sage ain’t here, honey. But I don’t think he’d mind sharin’ his woman with his friends. Out in this country, men do that a lot. Know what I mean? So why don’t you just take them clothes off and make this real easy.”

  It seemed all feeling had left her body. Somehow she knew this was wrong. It was right with Sage, but not with these strange men. She didn’t like them. She was afraid. Where was Sage? She screamed his name and the one called Johnny slapped her hard.

  Suddenly she was fighting him, scratching, screaming. Her dress was tearing and her breath left her when she was thrown hard to the floor. She felt herself being dragged to the bedrolls, and somewhere in the distance she heard the other man’s voice.

  “Keep her quiet, damn it. I’ll keep watch out here till you’re through.”

  She heard a door close. She tried to fight again, but for some reason she couldn’t move or even breathe for the moment. Something hit her in the side of the head and her ears rang. A man hovered over her, doing bad things to her. She opened her eyes, and all she could see was a dark, painted face. She could hear drums, hear whooping, chanting. Men. Painted men everywhere! She screamed and scratched and fought. Comanche! Comanche! She couldn’t remember all the details of how she had come to be with them, or what was happening beyond knowing painted men were hurting her, forcing her, humiliating her. It had happened before. It was happening again. Sage! Where was Sage?

  “Let’s quit early today, boy,” Sage said aloud to the Appaloosa. “I can’t seem to keep my hands warm today, and I’m thinking about fresh coffee and bread. It was so nice going home last night, I can’t wait to go today.”

  The sun was drifting down but was still high enough that he could have gotten in another hour or so of cutting before heading back. But he had not chopped so much wood in a long time, and soreness from the day before was setting in, made worse by the cold.

  “I didn’t know I had so many unused muscles,” he grumbled. He tied rawhide strips around the wood, which lay horizontally on the travois so he could catch it in the ties. He had loaded the travois heavily both days, wanting to finish the task in as few days as possible. He felt the ache in his arms and shoulders growing worse and wondered if it would be best to skip a day or two, maybe lay some hot, wet cloths on his battered muscles.

  “Mary will know what to do,” he said with a grin. “She’ll rub some liniment on me with those gentle hands, and I’ll be good as new.”

  He took hold of the horse’s reins and began walking with the animal. He couldn’t see the cabin from here. He would have to get over the rise first, and that was nearly a mile away.

  It took him nearly forty minutes to reach the rise, then another twenty to struggle to the top of it. The mare was having a tough time pulling its heavy load. Sage reached the top before the horse, and instantly the seasoned mountain man knew something was wrong. He ducked down, forcing the horse to back up slightly, then petting it quietly.

  “Be real quite, boy. You stay right here.” He quickly took out his hunting knife and cut the cords of the travois, easing the animal’s load. He would have to tie the horse, and he knew the Appaloosa would be less likely to whinny in complaint if he relieved the animal of the heavy load of wood. He led the horse to some trees below and tethered it, then slipped his rifle from its boot and made his way back up the ridge, removing his hat before carefully peering over the top of the rise.

  His heart was already pounding with dread. Had he really seen extra horses at the cabin? It sat about a half-mile away, to his right and below the ridge from which he was watching. Yes. There were two horses tied in front. That could mean they were friendly. If not, they were god-awful stupid to leave him such strong evidence they were there. Did they think their presence would scare him away?

  “Mary,” he whispered. Where was Mary? Who was there? An awful blackness crept through his blood. He ducked behind the ridge again and made his way to the right until he reached a spot where he could move in closer with scraggly pine, rocks, and yucca bushes for cover. He spotted a man then, sitting on an upturned log on the porch, quietly smoking, rifle in hand.

  “No. Not friendly at all,” Sage grumbled to himself. He recognized the man as Terrence Lowe, recognized both horses now.

  He struggled against desperate tears that wanted to come. He knew already what was going on inside, knew the nature of men like Johnny White. He wanted to cry out, to scream Mary’s name. She had improved so much. What was this going to do to her? She had been so happy when he had left that morning. Why had he gone so far? He should have brought her along, but she had been sick such a short time ago and he had not wanted her to be exposed all day long again. It had been bad enough just bringing her up here. Mary! Mary!

  “You’ll pay, you son of a bitch,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He moved closer, quiet as any Indian could be, so quiet not even the horses detected him. He didn’t see his own extra horse and was glad it had apparently wandered off for a while.

  Lowe stood up, pacing then, looking nervous. Sage ducked low when the man moved to the end of the little porch of the cabin and scanned the distant hills, as though looking for something.

  Looking for me, Sage thought. And he’s gonna find me, by God. He waited until Lowe walked back toward the log where he’d been sitting.

  “Damn it, Johnny, when do I get my turn again? It’s cold out here,” Sage heard the man call.

  Sage felt sick. He could not hear Johnny’s reply. But Terrence Lowe’s words had told him all he needed to know. Never before had he felt such rage. Never before had he had such possessive feelings for a woman. The only time he’d even come close was when a man had tried to steal his buckskin gelding. And if a man deserved to hang for stealing another man’s horse, what did he deserve for taking another man’s woman?

  “Something a hell of a lot worse than hanging,” he whispered, a rage in his soul more fierce than anything he’d ever known. His grip tightened on his rifle. Lowe sat back down on the log and Sage moved closer, coming around to the back corner of the cabin where Lowe could not see him. These men had wronged his Mary. They were going to pay—and pay dearly.

  Chapter Ten

  There was no wind to block out sound. This was one of those days when all was dead silence in the mountains. But Sage needed nothing to hide his footsteps. His moccasined feet made no noise as he crept to the corner of the cabin, then made his move, darting around and holding his rifle steady on Terrence Lowe.

  Lowe caught only the slight movement out of his side vision. It startled him, and he felt his heart race as he jumped up from the log, fumbling with his rifle. Where in God’s name had the man come from! It was his last thought.

  Sage’s rifle exploded. Once, twice, three times he cocked and fired again, each shot knocking Terrence Lowe farther back until his body landed sprawled and bloody in the snow at the opposite corner of the house.

  “Jesus Christ,” Sage heard someone swear from inside.

  Sage knew he had to move fast or Mary would get hurt. He had to catch Johnny White before he had time to think. Sage was already near the door. He kicked up with his foot,
pushing the latch up and out of its wooden hook and kicking the door open. A completely naked Johnny White was scrambling for his rifle.

  “Forget it,” Sage roared.

  Johnny froze in place. Sage leveled his rifle on the man, moving his eyes carefully for a moment to Mary, who lay sprawled naked on the bedrolls, her face and body badly bruised.

  “Mary?”

  She only stared, and Sage knew she had slipped backward. His dark, furious eyes moved back to Johnny.

  “You’re the worst kind of coward ever walked,” he hissed. “Get outside!”

  “Now wait a minute, MacKenzie. She ain’t your real wife, and she didn’t hardly resist!”

  “No? Them bruises on her tell me different—and so do the scratches on your ugly face! You like it that way, don’t you? That’s the way your kind is. Now get your bare ass outside!”

  Johnny looked around desperately for an escape, but there was none. “Look,” he reasoned, reaching for his pants, “me and Terrence had a lot of money on us—money we stole back East. You can have it if you let me go. I mean, she ain’t dead or anything. Hell, why do you care? She’s just a stray you found.”

  “Let go of the pants, Johnny.”

  The young man frowned, the pants still in his hand. “But I’m stark naked, and it must be ten degrees out there.”

  “Too bad, isn’t it? Let go of the pants.”

  The young man began to shake. “Look, if you’re gonna kill me, then just kill me.”

  Sage just glared at him. “It won’t be that easy, Johnny. You gotta pay for what you did to my woman. You gotta learn you can’t mess with other men’s women. It’s just too bad the lesson will be wasted, ’cause you won’t live to appreciate it. Now get outside!”

  The young man straightened. “No. You can just shoot me here and now.”

  “Glad to oblige.” The rifle fired, and a startled Johnny felt the hard sting in his shoulder, then the awful pain deepened when the force of the shot pushed him against a wall. He sensed Sage MacKenzie coming closer, then felt himself being yanked all the way out the door. Bitter cold hit him when his naked body landed in the snow and he heard himself cry out.

  “You can’t…do this,” he yelled. “You can’t treat a man this way…just for takin’ a woman. That’s crazy!”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe I’m a crazy man. You should have thought about that before messin’ with me, Johnny.”

  Johnny tried to fight as he felt himself being dragged, but already he felt numb with the awful cold, and his shoulder ached fiercely. His flowing blood stained the snow and he screamed with the pain as Sage dragged him to a tree in the distance, then took a piece of rawhide and tied his wrists, yanking his arms over his head and tying his hands to the tree trunk. Johnny lay on his back in the snow, shivering. His screams were turning to tears then.

  “Let me go, MacKenzie,” he begged. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

  Sage knelt down beside him. “Trouble with men like you is on top of being worthless cowards, you’re also liars. I let you go, you’ll come back and kill me and hurt my woman again.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. I swear to God.” Tears streamed down Johnny’s face at the awful pain and cold, but most of all from the awful fear.

  Sage took out his hunting knife. “Did she cry, Johnny? Did she beg and cry like you’re doing now? You understand a little bit how it feels?”

  The man just gritted his teeth and strained against the bindings on his wrists. But in the numbing cold and with the wound in his shoulder, it would have been impossible for him to get loose.

  “Well, you ought to be cold enough now,” Sage told him then with a grin.

  Johnny’s eyes widened at the sight of the knife in Sage’s hand. “Cold enough…for what?”

  “So you don’t feel the pain quite so bad. When it’s over, you can think about all the bad things you’ve done, Johnny, while you lay here and die slowly. I’m not sure which will get you first—whether you’ll bleed to death, or freeze to death. Either way, you’ll die. That’s a fact.” He leaned closer. “You should have stayed back East, Johnny. Out here we have our own code of justice—kind of an eye for an eye. You raped my woman, so I make you pay in the only way a rapist should pay. I take away the weapon you used on her.”

  Johnny’s screams filled the quiet mountains, echoing through hills and valleys still with snow. After several seconds, the crisp, cold air was silent again.

  Sage stumbled through the snow, wishing he could feel some remorse for what he had done but unable to feel anything but rage and hatred. It felt good to know Johnny White was suffering dearly. He only wished he hadn’t been forced to kill Terrence Lowe so fast. He’d have liked to have made him suffer, too.

  He approached the cabin, his rage turning to remorse so heavy he felt sick. Mary! He had failed her. She must have thought he would come any moment to save her. He never should have left her there alone, but he never dreamed those two would find the cabin. He wondered if Sax Daniels was all right.

  He climbed the step to the little porch, almost afraid to go inside, afraid of his own rage and agony. He had so looked forward to coming home today, home to his woman, the little warm cabin. He stood at the doorway for a moment before going inside. He turned up his nose at the smell of the two men that still lingered in the air.

  He closed the door and took off his weapons’ belt, jacket, and hat. He walked quietly to the bedroll and looked down at her naked, battered body. She didn’t seem to know he was there. He quickly stoked up the fire to make the cabin warmer, then knelt down beside her.

  “Mary?” He put his fingers to her throat just to be sure she was alive. Yes. There was a pulse. His tear-filled eyes moved over her, and he was more glad than ever that Johnny White lay outside dying a slow, horrible death. “Mary, please speak to me,” he said, touching her face. But there was no response.

  He sighed deeply, standing up and taking the pan of water still on the table from the dishes and carrying it outside to dump it. He came back in and filled it with warm water from the big kettle still on the fire. There was not much water left. A lot of it had steamed away. He took a clean rag and began washing her, gently, carefully.

  “We’ll clean you all up, get all their filth off you. It’s gonna be all right, Mary,” he told her, hoping she could hear him. “It doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is that you’re alive.”

  He washed her thoroughly, then took out a clean gown and maneuvered her into it. He rolled her to one side, taking the blankets and bedrolls from under her and leaving her lying on the tarpaulin while he took everything outside and shook it all hard. He came back inside, spreading out the bedrolls as neatly as he knew how and tucking her into the blankets.

  He sat down beside her, picking her up and holding her against himself while he brushed out her tangled hair.

  “This won’t ever happen again, Mary. I promise. I’m so damn sorry. I failed you. And now you’ve slipped away on me again.”

  He held her close and rocked her for several seconds, his own tears spilling into her hair. He was suddenly tired, so tired. He laid her back down, walking over and pushing the wooden locking bar shut on the door. He would get rid of the two bodies outside later. He would go get his horse and the wood later. All he wanted to do right now was hold his Mary.

  He walked over and took off his winter moccasins, lying down beside her then and wrapping the blankets around them both. He held her close. Why had they come? Why had they come and spoiled everything? She had been so close, so close to remembering, to talking, to coming into the real world. Rage and helpless fury rushed through him at the thought of them hurting her, at the thought of what must have gone through her mind as she waited for him to come help her.

  “God, make her come back,” he wept. “Make it be like it was. And make her forgive me.”

  He fell asleep that way, his tears wetting her hair, the fire burning quietly. Outside Johnny White stared at his own privates, which hung over his face f
rom where they had been tied with a string to a tree branch above. Terrence had been right after all. He was wishing he were back at Fort Bridger. He breathed his last agonizing breath and gave up the fight to live.

  Sage awoke in the night. He could only hope his horse would be all right. He couldn’t go out to get the animal. He couldn’t leave Mary alone. She might wander off again. He would have to take her along when he went for the horse and the wood. He had no other choice. In the morning he would dump the two bodies over some distant cliff. He would not bother struggling to dig a hole big enough to bury them. The ground here was much too hard, and they weren’t worth the effort. Then he would dress Mary warmly and go get the horse and the wood.

  He kissed her hair again, wishing she would show some sign of awareness. It would be like when he had first found her. He would have to do everything for her. He could only hope his love, his arms, his voice, would bring her around more quickly this time.

  His mind raged over what must have gone on in their little cabin that day. It was as though the two men had desecrated something sacred. This little cabin was sacred, and so was Mary’s body. How many times had it been abused before this? What about the Comanche? And the man who had been pinned under the wagon? Had they all used her? What kind of memories had today’s attack brought back to her tortured mind?

  He had felt her bones and had found nothing broken. But she was bruised everywhere. Of course she had fought. It only made him love her more, for at least she had understood it was right with the man she loved and wrong with others. He had wondered at times, in her particular mental state, if she had given herself to him out of some unknown compulsion, void of feelings, or if she had done it truly out of love, truly aware of Sage MacKenzie. Now he knew. She had feelings for him, desired him for himself. Of course she loved him. She had said she loved him, and apparently she had been aware enough of her surroundings and her feelings to be sincere in that love.