by Vivi Holt
He galloped Alto across the field and slowed to make his way through the herd, checking on the longhorns. They’d lost a lot of condition on the journey so far. He’d pushed them pretty hard to get to Montana as quickly as they could. He thought it would be worth it, but now he wasn’t certain they’d even make it. They had to get onto the Bozeman Trail and into Montana, or they’d have no chance of reaching Paradise Valley before the first snow fell.
When he reached the campsite, he saw Genevieve playing cards with Dusty, Dan and Coop. He nodded to the group and tapped her lightly on the arm. “Can I speak with you?” he asked.
She laid her cards on the ground and stood to join him. They walked together across the field and toward a rise that overlooked the southern trail.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Sorry, I’m just feeling a bit strange … what with everything that happened the other day.” He felt awkward, and his words came out sounding formal and stilted.
Her cheeks flushed with color and she slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. She looked as confused as he felt. “You mean our kiss?”
“Hmmm …” He grinned and lifted one eyebrow, watching her squirm under his gaze.
“Well, I’m sure you know that it can’t happen again,” she said. She folded her arms across her chest and did her best to look full of resolve.
“It can’t?”
“No, of course not. I’m not willing to … you know … be with someone I’m not married to. And since I can’t be married to you, we really should stay out of each others’ way. I think that would be best for both of us, don’t you?”
“What if we could find a way for you to be rid of Quincey? Would you want that?”
“Rid of him? How do you mean?”
“Well, I was thinking that I might talk to a lawyer or a judge when we get to Bozeman. They might have some ideas about how to get you out of this situation.” He pulled his hat from his head and turned it self-consciously between his hands.
“Do you think it would work? I could be free, not married to Quincey any longer?”
“I really don’t know. But it’s worth finding out.”
She smiled, and a look of relief flitted across her delicate features. “Yes, please. Let’s see if there might be a way for me to be un-married, or whatever you would call it. Although perhaps we could ask about it without giving any names or such. I really don’t want to get my hopes up. I don’t want Quincey to get word from anyone about where I am. If we spoke to the sheriff, for instance, he might write Quincey to let him know his wife is in Montana Territory, and I really don’t want that. I think the fewer people know about my husband, the better it will be for me. Even if I can’t ever be free of him, at least perhaps I’ll get to live my life without him.”
Thomas nodded and stepped toward her, his hands still twisting his Stetson. “But what about us? If it all worked out and you were free, how would you feel about me then?” He lifted his hands to grasp her arms and felt himself inextricably drawn to her yet again. He’d been determined to keep his distance, to give her space while they spoke. But it seemed he couldn’t help himself. When she was within reach, all he wanted to do was hold her. All his good intentions blew away on the cool breeze.
She closed her eyes and lifted her face, as though resigned to her fate. Her eyes flicked open and they were filled with despair. “I don’t want to give you any promises, Tom. It might come to nothing, and if we act as though we’re free to feel what we wish, we’ll get hurt. You’ll get hurt. “
Thomas tried to keep his voice even, but the whole situation was becoming more and more frustrating with each passing moment. He’d just told her he would do everything he could to help her escape from Quincey’s clutches and to free her from an unwanted marriage. All he asked in return was that she be honest with him about her feelings for him. She couldn’t even do that. As usual, she danced around the subject, not committing to anything.
Suddenly it made him irrationally mad. He knew he was being selfish, that she was right – she couldn’t promise him anything, shouldn’t promise him anything. But still, he couldn’t help feeling irritated beyond belief.
His voice cooled and he dropped his arms to his sides. “Of course, you’re right. I just wanted you to be honest for a moment, but I suppose that would only confuse the matter even more than it already is. It’s best we just give each other some space. But I want you to know you’re welcome to stay with the drive all the way into Montana. There’s no need for you to leave. Even when we get to Montana, you can stay as long as you need to. There’s no reason for you to feel as though you have to move on. I just wanted you to know that.”
Her eyes seemed to fill with tears, but she dropped them to the ground before he could tell for sure. “Thank you, Tom.” Her voice was thick with emotion and low. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You may never know how much.”
He softened when he saw and heard her distress, and exhaled with a shake of his head. She turned and fled back toward the campsite, leaving Thomas standing on the hillside alone.
He kicked a divot in the grass with his boot and shoved his hat back on his head. It was all he could do to stop himself from running after her and taking her into his arms. He turned his back on the campsite and watched as the sun set behind the shallow foothills of the Bighorn Mountains. The sky lit up with brilliant colors before plunging into a rapid darkness. It was time to pack up camp and get the herd ready to leave.
He spun on his heel and strode back toward the light of the fire, flickering against the backdrop of the darkening field. They had a lot of work to do.
Chapter Twenty Six
The longhorns traipsed solemnly behind Dan through the darkness. Genevieve rode silently on Bess beside Cookie in the chuck wagon. He nursed his sore head and took the occasional nip from a flask he kept hidden in his coat pocket. Genevieve pretended not to notice the flask and hummed a tune to herself as they rode.
The wagon rocked precariously back and forth as the mules pulled it steadily across a rocky hillside. They were taking the long way around to avoid the fort and its guards. They headed east for a mile, then cut north and back again to the west until they met up with the Bozeman Trail. To the west, the Bighorn Mountain ranged loomed high and jagged against the dark skyline. The cattle moved along peacefully and only the sound of an occasional hoot owl and a chorus of crickets joined the sound of their hoof beats on the leaf-covered ground.
Thomas rode in front of the chuck wagon, his black hat bobbing in time with Alto’s steps. When they finally reached the trail, he fell back and rode beside her in silence for a few moments. Then he looked at her with a smile.
“Tell me about Paradise Valley,” she said, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
“It’s like nothing else I’ve ever seen,” he said with a sigh. “In summer, the valley is lush and green. There’s a river, the Yellowstone, that runs directly through the heart of the valley, with grazing land as far as the eye can see to the north and south. The length of the valley is flanked by snow-capped mountain peaks. And in the fall, the entire valley is blanketed in shades of yellow, orange, green and brown. It’s the most beautiful place in the world. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of. I can’t wait to show it to you – you’ll see what I mean.”
She felt a knot of excitement about Paradise Valley begin to form in her stomach. She could imagine setting up a life there. Would she set up her life there? It was where Thomas planned to establish himself, to settle down, but would she? She still didn’t know what her future held. Perhaps there would be a town nearby where she could find a job – that way she could still see him sometimes. “Are there any towns close by?”
“There are a few settlers around, but the closest town is Bozeman. It’s a good day’s ride from where I plan to build my ranch house. I bought the land before I went down to T
exas, and I picked out the spot where I wanted to build the house. It’s on a small rise overlooking the valley.”
“A day’s ride? Oh.” Even if she did find a job in Bozeman, it would mean she’d be far away from Thomas and the rest of the crew. A day’s ride was a long way, especially for someone without a horse.
“It’s not so bad. You wouldn’t want to make the journey in winter, but in the summer there’s no better way to pass the time.” He flicked the reins and sent Alto into a trot, tipping his hat at Genevieve and preparing to edge round the herd and bring a few wayward steers back into line.
Just as he did, an arrow flew through the air with a whoosh, just missing him and embedded itself in the trunk of a nearby hemlock tree. Genevieve screamed and Cookie let out a curse.
“Rifles, Cookie!” shouted Thomas, pulling up on Alto’s reins. Cookie leaped into the back of the wagon and almost immediately threw out a loaded rifle to Thomas, who caught it in one outstretched hand. He bounded off, and one by one the men raced by to collect weapons from Cookie.
Genevieve lay down close to Bess’ neck, watching the men come and go. Their attackers were not very close yet, but she could hear them coming. The chilling sounds of their approach curdled the night air, and the whizzing of arrows as they sliced through the air filled her with terror. The discharge of rifles soon reverberated throughout the valley in response, and the longhorns crashed in every direction around them in confusion and fear.
Thomas circled back to the wagon. “We’re going to draw them off,” he yelled, “Cookie, you and Sarah try to drive the herd forward with the wagons. Ost and Coop will stay to help you.” He spun Alto around and charged south along the trail from where the attack came, with the rest of the cowboys in close pursuit. Ost and Coop pulled up alongside the wagon. Genevieve pushed herself upright.
Cookie shouted out his orders. “Ost, ya take the east flank! Coop, ya go up there on the western rise! Sarah and I’ll bring up the middle of the trail in the wagons!”
“I’d like to help too!” yelled Genevieve over the noise of the battle and the bellows of the excited longhorns.
“Ya go help Ost!” said Cookie.
Genevieve nodded and tapped Bess’ sides with her heels. The horse shot forward, and she followed Ost to the east flank where a line of cattle pushed their way through a thicket of evergreens. “I’ll go around and stop them on the other side,” said Ost. “You push them back down to the main herd.”
He disappeared behind the tree line, and she heard him whooping and whistling as he met the longhorns coming through the thicket. Before long they re-emerged close by and she rounded them back down the hill to the herd. Cookie and Sarah had the herd moving north along the trail now, and the returning strays joined the throng of trotting cattle.
***
Thomas’ face was grim. He didn’t know how many braves they were up against, but there was a good chance it was an entire tribe of warriors. If so, they were completely outnumbered and would stand no chance of fighting them off. He’d noticed that none of the arrows had found their mark yet, and wondered if the men were just trying to scare them off or really wanted to do harm.
He and the rest of the crew had intended to distract their attackers and keep them occupied long enough for the herd and wagons to escape north along the trail. He hoped that if they could cover a few more miles the Indians would leave them be, since they’d be too far outside their own territory to follow. So far, they didn’t seem to be having much luck with their plan. The braves kept slipping through their line and they weren’t able to do anything to stop them.
He pulled Alto to a halt in the center of a small clearing and stood still to listen. The braves had stopped yelling and were mostly quiet. He could only hear hooves crashing over the leaf-covered ground.
Soon the sound of rifles firing filled the night. The noise ricocheted off the mountains around them. The valley was filled with the sound, along with the lowing of frightened cattle, the whinny of skittish horses and the yells of warriors and cowboys locked in battle.
Thomas wondered if every one of them was having as hard a time as he was setting eyes on their enemy. The night was pitch-dark, with no moon to speak of. In the thick woods, he could barely see his hand in front of his face, let alone a painted brave hiding among the trees. Dread filled him and he waited to feel an arrow in his back. He only hoped he was right about their motives.
Just then, a young brave came into view on the other side of the clearing. The teenager glanced back at him and galloped on, disappearing behind a clump of junipers. Thomas took off after the young brave, bending low over Alto’s neck with narrowed eyes. His heart thundered in his chest, so loudly he thought everyone else must be able to hear it too. His eyes strained to see. There, a flash through the trees. Over there, a rustle in the bed of leaves that coated the ground.
In this thickly wooded area, the braves had the advantage over the cowboys. Their bows and arrows were silent, less cumbersome and easier to wield in close combat. Thomas carried his revolver in one hand, leaving his rifle pushed into the holster on his saddle. The brave he was trailing was headed in the direction of the herd and he needed to catch up to him before he reached them.
There he was, only a few horse lengths ahead of Thomas now. He fired his revolver, causing Alto to skitter sideways in surprise. He grabbed hold of Alto’s mane to steady himself and urged him onward. He’d missed, and the brave was no longer anywhere in sight. He’d be close to the wagons by now.
His stomach dropped as a feeling of helplessness surged through him. Genevieve. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her, if she were captured or hurt. A ball of anger pushed up from his gut into his chest. He shouted “Hiyaaaa!” and sent Alto into a headlong gallop through the woods.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Genevieve bent low over the bay’s neck and continued to yell and shout at the herd, pushing them north as quickly as she could. Her voice was fast becoming hoarse and her throat felt raw. Her rear was bruised and every bounce in the saddle sent pain stabbing through her. She grimaced and shifted her seat, almost slipping off entirely as the mare slowed to a trot, bouncing her uncomfortably as she maneuvered herself through a thicket of spruce.
How long would they have to run? When would Thomas and the other men return? What if something had happened to them? Her thoughts tumbled around and around in her head – questions, fears, hopes, all tangled together with panic and exhilaration in a confusing concoction of emotion.
She tightened her grasp on the reins and shouted again, pushing a galloping steer back toward the rest of the longhorns who crashed and trundled their way north through the narrow valley. She followed the steer and soon found herself cantering along beside Sarah’s wagon. Sarah sat on the wagon seat, her hair flying out behind her, jouncing and bouncing on the hard board as the wagon navigated the bumpy trail. “Sarah! Do you think we can slow down yet? Have the men returned?”
Sarah shook her head, then her eyes widened in surprise at something behind Genevieve. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she pulled on the long reins to bring the wagon to a halt. Genevieve stopped beside her, then swiveled in her saddle to see where Sarah’s gaze was focused.
She gasped. An Indian brave, bare-chested with red and black paint covering his entire face, sat there on a brown and white pony. His face was sullen and his arms crossed over his muscled brown torso. A bow was slung over his shoulder, and a quiver of arrows rested there too. He didn’t move, just sat staring at Sarah, his eyes never leaving her face
Genevieve looked back and forth between the two of them, her mouth hanging open. She saw Sarah’s cheeks redden, right before she spoke.
***
“Bow Bearer,” Sarah spoke in her native tongue. Crow was her first language, and it slipped from her mouth like butter, bringing a sense of peace to her soul.
“Sarah Songan,” he replied, still unmoving. “I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.�
��
“I’m not.”
“I can see that. Where have you been?”
“I … it’s a long story, Bow Bearer my brother.”
“I’m not your brother. I’m the man who has loved you since you rode your first pony bareback.” His eyes darkened and he dropped his hands to his side. The pony stepped forward toward the wagon, bringing him closer to Sarah until he was only a few feet from her.
“You’re right. And I loved you too, just not in the way you wanted me to. In the end, it didn’t matter, since Chief Mutaweer had already decided my fate was to marry a white soldier at Fort Smith.”
“I wouldn’t have let that happen.”
“You couldn’t have stopped it, Bow Bearer.” Her voice softened and she tipped her head to one side.
“Is that why you left?” he asked.
“Yes. Ky told me …”
“Ky?”
“Don’t be angry at her. She told me what her father had planned for me. I wasn’t about to marry some white man, a stranger, just to make an alliance with the fort. I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry.”
“She shouldn’t have told you that. I wasn’t in agreement with the Chief. I would have fought for you.” His hands curled into fists and his muscled arms flexed as she spoke.
Just then, Thomas galloped into view and stopped short when he saw the brave beside the wagon. He sat still, watching the exchange with interest.
Sarah glanced at him briefly, then turned her attention back to Bow Bearer. “You would have fought and you would have died. I didn’t want that for you either. You know the Chief would have gotten his way. He always does.”
Bow Bearer closed his eyes and shook his head. After a moment, his eyes popped back open and he raised one arm toward her, his palm outstretched. “It doesn’t matter anymore. All I care about is that you’re alive. Come ride with me. I’m taking you home.”
