Texas Splendor

by Bobbi Smith

  "Wind Rider . . . " Night Lark greeted him as casually as she could though her dark eyes were wide and shining with the hope that he knew something about Lance's whereabouts.

  "Hello, Night Lark," he returned just as easily.

  "I need to talk with you. . . ." she began.

  "Oh?" Wind Rider asked, feigning mild surprise. "Is there a problem with my aunt?"

  "No . . . nothing like that." She dismissed his concern as she sat down beside him. Night Lark lowered her voice and spoke in a more confiding tone. "I wanted to know if you've heard anything from Lance."

  "I've heard nothing," Wind Rider responded, shrugging.

  His nonchalant attitude frustrated Night Lark, and she glared at him angrily. "You don't have any idea where he is or when he'll be back?"

  "I know that he went to find Trista and the stallion. I know that he will be back when he finds them."

  Night Lark made a sound of annoyance at his reply.

  "Night Lark," Wind Rider counseled, "you do yourself no favor by waiting for Lance. You would do better to choose one of the other warriors for your husband. Many would have you, and many could give you everything you want."

  "I want Lance!" she hissed. "Lance will be mine and he'll marry me; you'll see."

  "If and when Lance returns to us, we will see. . . ." Wind Rider taunted, tired of her foolish confidence. He knew that Lance had treated her with indifference through the years and that his friend had no plans to take her as a wife.

  "What do you mean, 'if'?" Night Lark challenged, suddenly even more deeply concerned over his well-being. "Do you think something's happened to him?"

  "No. Lance can more than take care of himself. Besides, it's not all that unusual for him to be gone for weeks."

  "Then I don't understand. . . ."

  "There is nothing to understand," he answered sharply. He was weary of her questions. "Lance will return when he is ready, not before. Think about that, Night Lark. If he loved you as you believe he does, then don't you think he would be in a hurry to return to you?"

  She bristled at his words and got angrily to her feet. "Lance does love me! When he returns, I will be eagerly waiting for him. I will be his wife, not that stupid white woman!"

  Wind Rider said no more as he watched her stalk away in a huff. Though he knew Night Lark was a beautiful maiden, he thought her the stupid one, and not Trista. He knew she was deluding herself if she really thought that Lance cared for her in that way.

  He let his gaze wander to the distant hills, and he wondered again at Lance's continued absence. What he had told Night Lark was true. It was not unusual for Lance to be gone for many days. But still, as determined as Lance had been when he'd left, he had not expected it to take this long for him to catch up with Trista and bring her back. Something unexpected must have happened—but what?

  Restless at the thought, Wind Rider left the comfort of his lodge and headed for the corral to get his pony. He knew he wouldn't be needed in camp, so he decided to ride a short way from the village to see if he could find any sign of Lance.

  Lone Elk stood in the doorway of his lodge, his arms folded across the broad width of his chest. Though his expression was outwardly mild, he was in truth, deeply troubled. It had been weeks since Lance had left, and he found himself growing concerned about him. Though Lance had often been gone from the village in the past, this time he found himself haunted by his absence.

  Lone Elk wanted to deny the real reason for his worry. Yet as the days had passed and Lance had not returned with his captive wife, he had been forced to face up to his own personal fear—the fear that somehow he might have been reunited with his white father. The thought angered Lone Elk. He hated Barrett and everything the white man represented. Still, he knew he could not force his own feelings onto Lance. If they had come in contact, then Lance would have to judge for himself what kind of man his father really was.

  Lone Elk realized that there was no way to find out what had happened to Lance. He knew he would just have to wait and be patient until his nephew sent word or until he returned. Restless, but knowing there was nothing else he could do, the chief turned away from the sight of the thriving village spread out before him and moved inside to the privacy of his lodge. He would try to direct his thoughts to other things and hope that Lance would soon come back.

  Michael and his companions from the Diamond had little trouble tracking Lance, for this time Lance had not wanted to try to cover his trail. Since leaving the ranch, they had been riding long and hard in their effort to catch up with him. Though they had gained ground on him and expected to rendezvous with him soon, they were puzzled by the general direction they were heading.

  "What's up ahead, Tom? You got any idea?" Michael asked as they settled into their cold camp that night.

  Tom shook his head in consternation. "I've never been up this way before," he replied. "It always seemed too desolate . . . too hostile. . . ."

  It bothered Michael that they did not know what they were riding into, but his concern for Lance and Trista was foremost in his mind. They would go on. He had promised his father that he would bring them back safely, and he intended to do just that.

  Sukie stood on the front porch of the Barrett home, staring out across the countryside. Though Michael had only been gone a short while, she already missed him terribly. Fear for his safety threatened to consume her, but she refused to dwell on it. Michael was a strong, brave man. He would return to her and they would be married. She would not allow her belief in that to waver.

  Her mother came out of the house to join her, and Sukie managed a slight smile in greeting. Mary Lou was sensitive to her daughter's moods, and she slipped a comforting arm about her shoulders.

  "Out here all alone worrying about Michael?"

  "No. I'm trying not to worry about Michael," she countered, her smile fading at her mother's perceptiveness.

  "Good," Mary Lou responded. "He'll be fine; you'll see."

  "I know. I just hope Lance and Trista are, too." Sukie let her gaze drift out across the land again. They were quiet for a moment before she asked, "How's George?"

  "Rosalie just relieved me. He was resting quietly when I came down."

  "Any sign of a fever?"

  "No, thank goodness. If no infection sets in, he's going to make a remarkable recovery."

  "When will the doctor be here again?"

  "He said he'd check back in a week, if we didn't contact him first."

  "Well, maybe by then Michael and Lance will have returned with Trista." Even as she said that, Sukie knew the chance of their returning so quickly was remote. Again, with a fierce determination, she fought off the fear that was creeping back into her thoughts.

  "Yes." Mary Lou agreed with her, wanting to keep her spirits up. "Maybe they will be back by then. . . ."

  Trista was floating in a fog of pain. Excruciating agony radiated from her side, and with each bump she was forced to endure, it grew steadily worse. She had lost track of where she was and how she got there; all she could recall, as she suffered the seemingly unending torment, was that Lance was nearby. A particularly violent jolt brought a weak cry of protest from her, and she was surprised when all motion suddenly stopped.

  "Trista?" Lance had heard her call out in distress, and he had stopped immediately and rushed back to her side. "Trista, what is it?"

  "Lance?" she whispered in a strained voice, managing to focus on him only with a herculean effort.

  "Yes, darling . . . I'm here," he assured her as he carefully checked her side to make sure that the gunshot wound had not reopened and that the bleeding had not started up again.

  "Lance . . . it hurts so bad. . . ." Trista gasped as she felt his hands upon her.

  For the first time in his life, Lance felt helpless. Selflessly, he wished that he was the one who'd been wounded. He wished that he could take her pain upon himself and suffer in her place, but he knew it could not be. All he could do for her was to make her as comfortable a
s possible and try to get her to help as quickly as he could.

  "I know, love," he agonized. "Just hang on a little longer. . . ."

  "Lance . . . " Trista saw the worry etched into his handsome features and tried to lift a hand to caress the hard leanness of his cheek. But she was too weak to manage it, and her arm fell back to her side.

  Lance stared down at her gray-tinged features, his heart frozen in his chest. Since he'd begun the trip to the village, he had refused to even think that she might die on the journey, but as he gazed down at her now, he realized just how deathly ill she really was.

  "I love you, Trista, and I won't let you die," he swore out loud, but she had drifted off into unconsciousness again and did not hear him.

  After checking to make sure that she was still securely bound on the travois, he mounted Striking Snake's pony again and headed off once more in the direction of the village.

  Wind Rider sat atop the hill, his manly form silhouetted against the fading brightness of the twilight sky. He had ridden a considerable distance in his search for some sign of Lance, but his travels had revealed nothing. The lateness of the hour discouraged him from venturing any farther, and he was about to turn back when he caught sight of a movement on the distant horizon.

  His black-eyed gaze focused keenly on the single horse and rider heading slowly in his general direction pulling what appeared to be a travois. As he followed their progress, he recognized the pony as Striking Snake's and grew puzzled. He knew the banished warrior was forbidden from returning to the village.

  Only as they drew nearer and Wind Rider was able to make out the short-cropped hair on the rider did he realize that it was Lance riding Striking Snake's mount. With that recognition, a sense of urgency possessed him, and he kneed his own pony into action. Charging down the hillside, he raced toward his friend at top speed.

  Striking Snake's pony was near exhaustion, yet Lance refused to stop and rest. Prodding him ever onward, he kept heading for the Comanche camp and help for Trista.

  The sight of the lone warrior riding so quickly toward him worried Lance. Lifting his rifle, he prepared to defend himself should the need arise. Only when he heard Wind Rider's shouted greeting did he relax.

  "Lance!" he called out as he galloped up beside him and reined in tightly.

  "Wind Rider . . . " he greeted his friend in relief. "It is good to see you. . . ."

  Wind Rider's horse protested as he sawed back on the reins, and he fought to control him as he gazed down at Trista. "Trista was injured?"

  Lance nodded. "She's been shot. I have to get her to the village."

  "How did it happen?"

  "I'll explain as we ride," Lance told him as he kept up the grueling pace despite his mount's weariness. As they crossed the long miles, he explained to his friend all that had happened. Wind Rider listened but said nothing as he sensed the anguish within Lance and his need to talk about what he had been through.

  "So you have come to admit your love for her," Wind Rider finally remarked when Lance had finished.

  Lance was surprised by his statement. "You knew?"

  "I could think of no other reason for your reaction to her. You fought her too hard not to care," he answered simply.

  "I didn't want to care . . . not in the beginning," Lance said thoughtfully. "All I wanted to do then was hurt her and Michael. But now . . . " He turned a tortured gaze to Wind Rider. "She was shot saving me. . . . If she—"

  "We'll be at the village soon," Wind Rider cut him off. "Then everything will be fine."

  "I hope so. . . ." He turned away from him then and schooled his features into a mask devoid of emotion. He did not want anyone to guess that he was haunted by the possibility that Trista might die.

  "Lone Elk!" the messenger called to the chief. "Lone Elk! Wind Rider is returning, and Lance is with him!"

  At hearing the news that his nephew had finally made it back, Lone Elk left his lodge and went forth quickly to greet him. He had expected a warm homecoming, but the sight of Lance riding Striking Snake's pony surprised him. When he saw the travois Lance was pulling, he was even more stunned.

  "What has happened?" he asked as Lance dismounted.

  "It's Trista. She's been shot," he answered solemnly as he hurried to free her from the conveyance. Trista was still unconscious as he loosened the bonds that had held her safely upon the travois, and she made no sound as he lifted her gently into his arms.

  "Let me help you," Wind Rider offered, coming to his side, but Lance refused his aid.

  "No. I'll take her to my tipi myself. Go get the medicine man and tell him I need him," Lance directed as he started off toward his own lodge.

  As Wind Rider went to get help, Lone Elk stayed with Lance. "Did the whites do this?" he demanded. He knew his nephew well and was able to see through the steely mask he was presenting to the world.

  Lance was startled by his unexpected question and glanced at him, frowning. "No, Uncle. It was not the whites. It was Striking Snake."

  "Striking Snake?" The chief was taken aback by this news. "I thought he had gone. How did he find you?"

  Lance entered his lodge and lay Trista upon his bed. "He wanted Trista, and I guess he followed her to the ranch."

  Lone Elk was surprised that Trista had managed to find her way home, and his respect for her grew. Still, the discovery that Lance had been there troubled him. "You were with the whites?"

  "I was with my father and my brother at the Royal Diamond," he answered honestly as he loosened Trista's clothing. "Striking Snake attacked the ranchhouse one night and took Trista."

  "It was a bold move," Lone Elk observed.

  "And it almost worked. My father was shot, his wife killed. . . . I was lucky to escape with just a graze." Lance touched the bandage he still wore as he glanced at his uncle. "I tracked him down, and I killed him," he went on coldly. "The trouble is I didn't kill him in time. . . ."

  Before Lone Elk could say any more, Bluff Owl, the most powerful medicine man of the tribe, called out to them.

  "Enter, Bluff Owl." Lance bid him to come into his tipi.

  The older man moved inside to join Lance and Lone Elk. "Wind Rider said that you have need of me."

  "It is my wife, Bluff Owl. She has been shot. . . ." Lance moved slightly away from Trista so the medicine man could go to her.

  Bluff Owl examined Trista's wound and then turned to them. "Leave me. It will take much strong medicine."

  Lance was reluctant to leave Trista, but he knew he could not argue with the medicine man. He was a great healer, his powers having been proven effective many times.

  "I will be outside," Lance said as he forced himself to follow Lone Elk from the lodge.

  "Come back to my lodge," his uncle offered. "We can wait there for word from Bluff Owl."

  "No. I can't leave her. I will stay here and wait." Lance was firm, refusing to be drawn away. He was fearful that she would awaken and call out for him, and he wouldn't be there.

  Lone Elk studied him for a long moment. He realized now that Lance truly loved Trista. It disturbed him, but he knew he would not make the same mistake twice. He had been separated from Shining Star because of his hatred for Barrett. He would not lose Lance in the same way.

  "You have not told me of your time with your father." He encouraged him to speak of other things.

  Lance faced him squarely. He knew he had to be truthful with his uncle, yet he knew the truth would hurt him. "I stayed at the ranch."

  "Barrett has accepted you?" Lone Elk probed.

  Lance nodded. "My father and I talked. I learned that there were many misunderstandings between us. He wants me to live with him on the Diamond. He wants me to return and take my place as his son."

  "Will you do this?"

  Lance glanced toward his lodge, thinking of Trista and their future together. "It is the life that Trista knows."

  "And you would do this for your woman?"

  "I love her, Lone Elk," he answered forthrightl
y, "but I love you, too. I do not want to make a choice."

  "You are very much like your mother, Lance." The chief could not help but remember a conversation similar to this one many years before. He thought of Shining Star's death, and he was tempted to try to force Lance to stay with him. Still, he realized that had he forced his sister to give up her love and live with the tribe, she would have been unhappy for the rest of her days. Years of learned wisdom tempered his need to grasp Lance's love and hold him firmly to him. As a bird freed to fly from its nest for the first time always returns to that nest, Lone Elk knew that Lance would always return to him. "And that is good."

  Within the tipi, Bluff Owl began to work to heal Trista. Stripping away her clothing, he cleansed the wound and then placed his medicine bone over the injury. To draw out the poison he chanted his ritual song and shook his gourd rattle over her still form. That done, he packed the gunshot wound with the mixture of grasses, herbs, and roots that he knew would help prevent further bleeding and keep down the risk of infection. Bluff Owl had doctored many bullet wounds before, and he knew how dangerous and ultimately deadly they could be if a fever set in.

  Beginning his prayerful chant again, Bluff Owl hovered watchfully over Trista. He had done all he could. Her fate rested in the hands of the gods, and only time would tell whether she would live or die.

  Dawn Blossom had been near the center of the camp when Lance and Wind Rider had returned. She had seen all that had taken place and had been surprised that Night Lark was nowhere around. Everyone knew that Night Lark loved Lance and that she had been waiting impatiently for his return.

  Remembering that she had caught sight of the other maiden heading toward the creek earlier, Dawn Blossom went in search of her, eager to tell her the news that Lance had returned and that he had brought his wife back with him. Though it was dark, the moon provided enough light for her to spot Night Lark where she sat sullenly on the bank of the stream.

  "Night Lark!" she called out as she went to join her.

  Night Lark was annoyed to find that Dawn Blossom was seeking her out. She didn't know what the other woman wanted, and she didn't care. All she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts of Lance and her dreams of when he returned to her.