by Norah Hess
Rising to his feet, Matt forced himself to calm down and think clearly. The tracks led almost due east, straight into unsettled territory. Where could the hunter be taking her in that direction? There were only dense, tall trees and gullies and caves.
His blood turned cold with the awful thought that hit him. "Caves! The bastard is takin' her to a cave."
A cold sweat broke out on his body. It was a wellknown fact that this was a favorite trick of the brutal man. Caleb had told him once that Corey kept women tied up and subjected them to awful horrors.
His heart thundering in his breast, Matt vaulted into the saddle. He moved out, his eyes glued to the forest floor. The raw night wind was cold on his face, but he did not feel it. His whole being concentrated on signs of Marna's passing.
Matt had no idea how long he had been trailing the pair when he heard a muted, scrambling noise. His heart jumped and the breath rushed through his teeth. They were up ahead. Had Corey had his way with Marna yet?
He jabbed his heels into the stallion, and the great horse shot off, his hooves pounding the earth. Up ahead, just a few yards away, the red embers of a fire glowed through the trees. Seeing Corey toss Marna onto her mount, Matt called on Sam for more speed. The two horses shot away in the night with Matt hard on their heels. Suddenly an unearthly screech sliced through the forest. As the moon slid behind a cloud, Matt cursed angrily. Almost immediately it shone again, but in that second of darkness Corey and Marna were gone.
He pulled the mount in and stared intently at the ground. There was something strange here. The two sets of tracks had parted. One continued on straight, while the other had veered off to the right. A frown creased his forehead. Small, shoeless pony tracks rushed along with the shod ones. The space" between the tracks said clearly that the two mounts were stretched out in a long run. Who was the Indian that rode with Marna now? he asked himself. Was he friend or foe?
Matt picked up the reins and urged the stallion on. He would catch Corey first. The hunter would know who had her, and he could beat the information out of him.
After several yards Corey's tracks veered off to the left, heading in the direction of camp. Was the varmint dumb enough to go back there? As he rode on, mulling the question over in his mind, he decided that Corey would do just that. On top of being as mean as a copperhead, the man was the worst kind of miser. He would never leave behind the money he had made on his furs.
Matt turned Sam slightly, heading for a shortcut he knew. Actually the way was not shorter, but the buffalo trace he would come to shortly would allow him to make faster time. There would be no trees or branches to dodge.
He arrived at camp several minutes before Corey came thundering in. Hiding among the trees, Matt let the fat man enter the building and waited until he thought Corey had gathered his money.
Pulling his knife from its sheath, he ran his thumb lightly over the blade. It could split a hair lengthwise. Shoving it back in place, he walked across the clearing. Inside he could hear the hunters laughing and talking as they played cards. When he banged open the door, their heads jerked around and they stared at his white, still face in wide-eyed surprise.
Matt smiled coldly as he leaned loosely against the open door. "Don't let me interrupt you, men. I won't be here long. I just stopped by to kill myself a polecat."
Corey hadn't moved since Matt's abrupt opening of the door. His usually florid face had turned ashen, and his eyes were full of dread.
The room grew quiet, and the players sat away from the table, their game forgotten. It looked like Corey had finally bitten off more than he could chew.
Matt stalked across the floor and stood in front of Corey. Corey would not look at him directly, and he shot a fast glance at the men around the table. Matt caught the look and smiled mirthlessly. "You'll get no help from that quarter, you bastard," he snarled.
For a minute it looked as if Corey might stand up to the man whose eyes shot sparks of hate at him. In a blustering manner he declared that he had no idea what Matt was talking about, which enraged Matt all the more. Without warning his hand shot out, striking Corey on the shoulder, sending him staggering across the floor. Continuing to strike and push the frightened hunter backward, he grated out in a savage voice, "You rotten dog, you had the guts to lay hands on my wife. You crazy son of a bitch, didn't you know I'd kill you for that?"
Corey spun awkwardly aside, incoherently proclaiming his innocence. Matt's open hand sent him reeling again. "What did you say, cur? I couldn't hear you. Say it again."
The wall was touching Corey's back now, and he realized with a sinking heart that Matt had purposely cornered him. His beady little eyes shifted around the room, silently begging for help. But the hunters only stared back at him. They had waited a long time for this moment. A grin hovered around Henry's lips.
Corey's face become sullen then. To hell with them all. He didn't need them, he tried to convince himself. A sneer curved his lips, and his eyes gleamed evilly. He would make his enemy more angry, make him grow careless. Then, at the right moment, he would slip his knife between those lean ribs.
He slid his glance to Matt and spit out spitefully, "I don't know why you're so riled up. She's never been your real wife. Why should you care who lies between them purty white legs."
"Bastard!" Matt shouted as his rock-hard fist caught Corey on the chin.
Corey's head shot back, hitting the wall with a dull thud. In a lunge that was animallike, Matt was upon him. Like pistons, his punishing blows hammered at the bloated face.
Corey's body went limp and slid to the floor. Matt's foot lashed out, landing a sharp jab in the fleshy side. He stared down at the cringing figure, then turned to walk away. He took two steps, and the men at the table called out a warning. "Look out, Matt, he's got a knife."
Matt spun around, his hand going to his own knife. A bitter curse escaped him. Corey had outfoxed him.
His eyes full of the hate and revenge that had driven at him for so long, the desperate Corey crouched, his knife held out in front of him. He advanced on Matt, making slicing jabs at his stomach. There would be no quick stab at this arrogant man. He would take the knife in the gut and die slowly.
His eyes flashing a vengeful joy and his muscles tightening, Matt stepped back, his knife sliding into his hand. "Come on, you slithering snake," he whispered "I thought I was gonna be cheated out of killin' you."
The hunters watched intently as the two men circled each other, their knives held ready. A silence gathered in the room, so deep that the scuffing noise of their moccasins was sharp and clear.
Matt saw Corey's eyes widen, giving away the thought that he intended to lunge. Taking a quick step to one side, he brought his knife up and into Corey's fat paunch as he rushed by.
Corey wilted slowly to the floor, a surprised look on his face. His knees drew up convulsively, and he grabbed at his stomach with both hands. As Matt stood over him, the dying man stared up at him with eyes that were already beginning to glaze over. He tried to rise, but couldn't. Then, fighting for each breath of air, he managed to struggle to an elbow. Slowly and painfully, he ground out words that made Matt stare at him incredulously.
"You dumb... bastard. Think you're ...so damn smart. Didn't even know that.. .that Jake South is... is your wife's... father."
Matt grabbed the limp shoulders and shook them. "Damn you, Corey, you're tellin' one of your hellish lies, aren't you?" he shouted, half doubtful and half hopeful.
The hunter didn't answer him. He had breathed his last, and finally Matt let his body drop back to the floor. He stood up, a bewildered look on his face. Henry moved to his side and laid a hand on his arm.
"It's true what he said, Matt. Jake is Marna's father. His real name is Egan Traver."
Still in a daze, Matt asked, "How do you know this?"
"Hertha told me. She said to keep it to myself until you were ready to settle down. She said it would never do to back a man like you into a corner." Henry's lips moved into a
grin. "She also said that you had to come to terms with yourself where Marna is concerned." He waited a minute, then asked, "Have you done that, Matt?"
Matt looked away from his earnest face. "I think I've loved Marna from the very beginning. I was just too damned stubborn and proud to admit it."
Henry gazed with sympathy at the big, unhappy man. He touched Matt's arm. "I saw a light go on over at your place before. Maybe it's Marna. Why don't you go over there and tell her how you feel?"
An eager light jumped into Matt's eyes, then faded away. It was unlikely that Marna was in the cabin. She hadn't gone there when she first returned. Besides, some Indian had her now. He gave Henry a doubtful smile. "It's probably Hertha in the cabin. She's waitin' for news of Marna."
His broad shoulders drooping slightly, Matt left the quarters and walked tiredly toward his cabin. He'd report to Grandma, grab a cup of coffee, then start out again to search for his wife.
When he rounded the pine, he stopped suddenly. Wasn't that roan standing next to the Indian pony the same one that Marna had ridden in that mad dash through the forest? In a half run he crossed the clearing and stepped onto the porch. His hand on the latch, he stopped to listen to the voices inside. The husky voice that always brought an ache to his loins came softly through the door.
His heart ready to burst with the joy that rushed through him, he rapped his knuckles against the heavy door.
Inside, the three women ceased their talk and looked at each other questioningly. Then Marna's slender feet were flashing across the floor, as she prayed silently, "Please, God, let it be Matt."
She flung the door open and gazed at the man who had taken her through every emotion. She tried to still her hopes. Who knew what this strange man might say or do to her?
Matt stood before her, pulling his coonskin through nervous fingers. What could he say to her that she would accept? He had treated her so badly.
A wistful look came to Marna's eyes, and she whispered poignantly through trembling lips, "Ali, Matt."
Matt made a feeble gesture toward her, and with a glad cry she flung herself against him. Matt's lips could not utter the words he wanted to say, so he held her tightly, pulling her slim body against his.
After a while, Marna leaned away from him so that she could see his face. Gently she took his hard face between her hands and stared deep into his dark, burning eyes. "Are you here because you love me," she murmured softly, "or is it just your body needing me again?"
Her words released Matt's tongue, and he said hoarsely, "I'm here because I love you, Marna. "I've loved you for a long time."
Marna smiled happily. "And I love you, too, Matt Barton. I've loved you ever since that copperhead bit you."
A teasing twinkle came into Matt's eyes. "Is it all right if my body needs you, too?"
Mama chuckled and pulled his head down. Eagerly they reached for each other's lips. Hertha and Dove grinned at each other. Hertha jerked her head toward the door. The two women went through it, closing it softly behind them.
Matt swept Marna into his arms and moved into the bedroom.
The sap in a burning log sputtered, and the wind sighed around the corner of the cabin. In the big, fancy bed, Matt Barton bent over his wife. She brought her legs up to wrap them around his waist. Pressing her heels into the small of his back, she urged him downward until their flesh touched She smiled softly at him and clasped her arms about his shoulders. A shuddering sigh went through his body as she began to move rhythmically beneath him.
