by Regina Scott
Her father had taught her early on the importance of weight. Horses and mules could only carry so much, even when teaming to draw a photography van. Cameras, plates, frames, and processing chemicals were heavy, and food was almost as necessary. That meant clothing must be kept at a minimum.
Unlike the cavalrymen, however, she had a spare riding habit, with skirt, breeches, and bodice, this one in navy with brass buttons in two rows down the front. Time to let the dun habit air out a while. She brushed out and twisted up her hair under her hat before exiting the tent.
Ben was waiting by the fire. He smiled at the sight of her, and her face felt warm in the cool morning air.
“No disturbances in the night,” he said as if she could have missed the noise it would have caused. “But I want that picture replaced. After breakfast, show me where you shot it.”
“You might not want to go there,” Pike put in from where he was drinking some of Dot’s black coffee. The cavalrymen were checking the mules and horses.
“Why not?” Ben asked Pike as Meg accepted a cup Dot had poured.
“It wasn’t stable ground, Captain,” he said. “She was lucky to get her picture the first time and come back in one piece.”
That excuse would likely deter Ben. He certainly took her safety seriously. To her surprise, he merely nodded to Pike. “I’ll keep that in mind. I trust Miss Pero to know her limitations.”
Well, that was a first.
She kept glancing at him as they set out after breakfast. His floppy felt hat shaded his eyes from the early morning sun, the gold castle emblazoned on the crown glittering in the light. Though his uniform had seen better days, he walked with all the confidence of a man who knew his abilities and his worth.
He had insisted on carrying the camera and tripod. The box and hood rested in his capable hands, the long poles of the tripod bundled under one arm. She’d brought two plates with her this time. The light wouldn’t be the same, but she wanted to make sure everything else went well.
“This way,” she said, directing him through the trees.
They came out on the rim, and Ben stuck out the tripod to block her way forward as if thinking she would walk right into thin air.
“I see what Pike meant,” he said, craning his neck to peer over the edge. “That’s a steep drop. You’re sure this is stable?”
“I thought you trusted me,” Meg challenged. She juggled the plates so she could point to where she wanted the tripod erected.
“I trust you,” he assured her. “I’m not as sure about the terrain. What was it about this spot that drew your attention?”
As he planted the tripod in the dirt, Meg nodded down the canyon. “That.”
He stared, lips slightly parted, and it was rather gratifying, even if she’d had nothing to do with the creation of the great window in the sky. She could only hope her stereograph would inspire such awe.
As Ben ranged along the rim, looking for an easy way down, she laid one of her plates aside and finished setting up the camera, then pulled the hood over her head and shoulders. Once more the world fell away to open up through her lens. As she had feared, the morning light anointed the end of the canyon but left the foreground in shadow. She could take the picture anyway, hope it turned out.
Meg pulled out from under the hood and waited for Ben to come back her way.
“Done?” he asked.
“No,” Meg said. “I need to come back at sunset. If you really want to make up for the lost picture, you’ll let me.”
Ben shifted on his booted feet. They had much to do if they were to stay on schedule. They had to finish the grid and begin packing up. Tomorrow Pike would lead them to the next base camp. And sunset was no time to be wandering near the edge of the canyon. One misstep . . .
Why did he have such a hard time refusing that winsome smile?
“I have a better idea,” he said. “I want a closer look at the cliff across the way. Come back to camp with me now, and we’ll collect Hank and my men and do a quick survey. That ought to put us here at the time you need.”
“Oh, Ben, thank you!” She threw her arms around him for a hug.
She was soft against him, sweet. How many times had he held her, dreaming of more moments to come? It was the most natural thing in the world to lower his head now and kiss her.
Tenderness welled up so strongly he could only tighten his embrace, gather her closer, shelter her from whatever lay ahead. Why had he not pressed his case before, helped her see the future they might have together?
She pulled away, breaking the kiss, and he had no choice but to let go, even though everything in him demanded that he hold on.
She stepped back, eyes wide and cheeks fiery. “Why did you do that?”
Because I never forgot you. Because I cannot forget you. Because I’m a fool.
“I don’t know,” he told her. “You can slap me if you like.”
She frowned as if considering the matter. “No. I don’t think that will be necessary. It wasn’t unpleasant.”
Ben started laughing. “Such high praise, Miss Pero. You’ll turn a fellow’s head.”
She began unscrewing her camera from the tripod. “Carry the extra plate, if you please.”
“I’ll carry the camera and tripod,” he said, stepping closer again.
“No, thank you.” He’d never seen that back so stiff. “I can see to them.”
With a shake of his head at his own stupidity, he picked up the plate, then followed her back to camp.
Larson and Meadows seemed glad for a change of scenery. Adams was willing to cease scribbling, and Hank was interested in seeing what Meg had discovered, so they packed up what they needed and prepared to return to where Meg had tried to replace her picture. The corporal drove the van, so Meg would have her chemicals handy. Pike started to come with them, but Ben told him to stay with Dot. Neither looked pleased with the idea.
Meg walked along, chatting with Hank, as if nothing had changed. She’d said his kiss hadn’t been unpleasant. Hardly encouragement. But not entirely discouragement. Why did he never know where he stood with her?
“I want a grid one deep all along the edge,” Ben ordered when they reached the rim again, and Larson set about laying it out while Adams climbed down and saw to the mule team.
Meadows and Hank were standing beside Meg, gazing at the outcropping.
“A picture frame,” Meadows said.
“Bit crooked,” Hank said, tilting his head to one side as if trying to set the formation at right angles. “But it is a wonder. What do you think, Captain? Rock developed unevenly, leaving a hole?”
Ben shook his head. “More likely that window held softer material that was weathered away by wind, rain, snow, and ice. Easy, Private.” He seized the hem of Meadows’s blue uniform and hauled him back from the edge. “I’m not in that much of a hurry to see the bottom of the canyon.”
He set Larson and Meadows to collecting samples while Adams and Meg described the terrain in the expedition journal and he and Hank examined the opposite cliff. More trees clung to the fragile surface, which told him there must be soil and perhaps ledges of flat ground. Possibility for a switchback trail, perhaps? Still, those were never easy on wagons.
Hank was less impressed. “Just as rugged as the rest of it,” he proclaimed after closer inspection. “Looks like we keep going.”
Ben reluctantly agreed. His thoughts should have been on their work, but he kept glancing back to watch Meg. She was perched on a rock, face turned to the canyon and pencil moving across the page. She was as focused on the landscape before her as her camera, determined to record every little curve and outcropping. She’d have made an excellent engineer.
The sun was low when Ben ordered a halt. Meg had recoated her plates and set up her camera. Now she was bent under the hood, as still as the canyon.
“About done, Meg?” Ben called.
“Not yet.” Her voice came back muffled.
“What’s she waiting for?�
�� Larson asked Meadows.
Meadows shrugged.
Hank hefted the mineral sample Ben wanted tested further. “Think I’ll start back.”
Ben nodded. “Meadows, go with him.”
“Sir.” The two started for the trees.
Larson kicked a rock and sent it bouncing over the edge. The rattle echoed around them. Adams shuddered.
“Meg?” Ben called.
“Not yet.”
A moment more, and the sun touched the window, turning it to gold and spearing through it to land beyond. He heard the click and whir of the machine.
“So, that’s what she was waiting for,” Larson mused. “One touch from heaven.”
And why she’d been heartbroken to have lost the picture. It was one shot in a million, and she’d captured it not once but twice.
“I’d be honored to carry your camera, ma’am,” Larson said when she emerged from the hood in the golden light.
She slipped the plate out of its frame. “Thank you, Mr. Larson. I’ll carry the plate.”
“Only one?” Ben asked with a nod toward the other unused plate.
She sighed. “There wasn’t time. The light fades too quickly. Now, if you’d let me come back tomorrow evening . . .”
“No,” Ben said. “But I’m sure there will be other worthy sights along the way.”
Her sigh said she doubted that.
Adams and Larson had the mules harnessed by the time she finished processing. At one point, Ben was certain he heard her humming. “Amazing Grace”? Well, that hole in the sky had been amazing. How could he ever tire of seeing all the variety in God’s creation?
“Satisfied?” he asked her when she climbed down a short while later, plate tucked under one arm.
Her smile was his answer.
She followed him to the front of the van, where Adams sat waiting.
“Take the lead,” Ben instructed. “We’ll be right behind.”
“And drive carefully,” Meg added.
Adams sniffed. “I am always careful, Miss Pero.”
Ben hid his smile. Then he noticed Larson staring toward the trees behind the van.
“Something’s there,” the private murmured.
The hairs rose on the back of Ben’s neck. Their unwanted visitor, perhaps?
“What do you see?” Ben asked.
“Not sure,” Larson said. “Low, kind of brown, fast.”
Ben’s stomach dropped as he caught sight of it as well. “Cougar.”
18
Meg heard the word and stiffened, heart starting to race. Was that a streak of tawny gold among the trees? She sensed eyes on her every move.
The mules seemed to feel the same way. They shifted in their harness, setting the van to rocking. Holding her plate close, Meg clutched at a wheel with her free hand with the insane notion she could keep them safe and still.
Ben pulled the pistol from his belt, movements slow and steady. “Hold on to them, Corporal. The cat’s probably just curious. Photography chemicals must be a novelty.”
But surely not one the cougar would find palatable.
“At ease, now,” Ben said as if he were dismissing his men to an evening of relaxation. “We don’t want it to know we’re concerned.”
“I’m afraid it’s much too late for that,” Adams said, reining in the shuddering mules. “Permission to leave as fast as possible, sir?”
“Denied,” Ben said. “Cats of any size chase prey that runs. Stay close together and make no sudden movements. Be as loud as you can.”
She’d heard that. The big mountain lions preferred to take on strays, and size and sound made them unsure.
Larson saluted. “I’ll do my best, sir!” he shouted.
“Excellent, Private,” Ben shouted back, urging Meg behind him.
How hard could it be to shout? She’d called to her father often enough, trying to get his attention away from his camera and onto something more important like food and rent. She’d been known to bellow “Amazing Grace” when trying to keep herself awake after a long day photographing. She had certainly belted out a fairly decent scream the other night. Yet now the words seemed locked in her throat with her breath. On the bench, Adams looked as scared as she felt as he attempted to keep the team calm.
From out of nowhere, words popped into her mind and out of her mouth.
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
Had she heard it in some church service? Sung it in some hymn? Either way, Ben caught on immediately. With a grin, he shouted, “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”
Oh, for such strength now. She’d never thought these open woods could feel so confining. She wanted to pelt through the trees, hide behind a wide trunk. But both tactics would only encourage the cougar to give chase.
“The slothful man saith, there is a lion without, I shall be slain in the streets,” Adams contributed.
Well, maybe that wasn’t the best way to take her mind off their stalker!
“Turn the van, Corporal,” Ben ordered. “Larson, Meg, when the bench is facing the other direction, climb up on either side.”
Larson nodded and stepped back to give Adams room.
“What about you?” she asked Ben.
He kept his revolver trained in the direction they’d last spotted the cat. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Somehow, the corporal managed to turn the jittery mules. After tucking the plate behind the bench, Meg stepped up beside Adams and braced herself against the wall of the van. Larson did the same opposite her. The van bounced, and she could only hope that meant Ben had jumped onto the rear steps. “Back to camp now, Corporal,” he called. “Give them their heads.”
The corporal eased up on the reins, and the mules took off.
The van rattled and shook over the rough ground, every vibration reverberating up her body. A crash inside told her something had fallen. She could see her plate wedged in tightly, but right now, she couldn’t afford to care what happened to it. Though she knew cougars rarely attacked so large a group, she felt as if their lives depended on reaching camp safely.
From the back of the van, the pistol barked.
“Ben!” she cried, even as Adams flinched.
“Keep going.” Ben’s voice was firm and in command. She tried to find a similar control of herself.
“There it is!” Larson cried, and, for a moment, she thought the cougar had leaped ahead of them. Then she saw it too. The white triangles of the tents poked up ahead.
“Slow, Corporal,” Ben called, and Adams reined in the mules.
The van rocked again as Ben jumped off his perch to come around the van at a confident saunter she could only envy.
“Ho, the camp!” he called. “Cougar! Bring your rifles.”
A moment later, and Hank, Meadows, and Pike had joined them. They raised their rifles to point out into the trees. Meg pulled out her plate and went with Larson and Ben to cross beyond them. Ben and Larson went to fetch their own rifles.
Meg picked up her skirts with her free hand and dashed into the circle of the fire, where Dot stood, heaping on the wood, her cook pots pulled away from the heat.
“Cougars don’t trust the flames,” she told Meg. “Seen too many wildfires, I suppose. Stay still and try to look bigger than you are.”
Easier said than done. Meg mimicked Dot, widening her stance to spread her skirts, holding her plate with two hands so she could point her elbows out. She still didn’t feel much bigger, but the fire was another matter. It crackled as it climbed, sending shadows leaping up the trees around them in the twilight.
Ben, Hank, and the guide dropped back to camp, their gazes watchful, their guns trained, while Meadows and Larson went to help Adams release the team. The horses must have sensed the cat as well, for they snorted and pul
led at the picket line. The remaining mules grunted and shuffled closer together. As the firelight flickered over the nearest, Meg saw their eyes showing white.
“We could lose them all if that cat gets much closer,” Hank said to the others. “They’ll yank themselves off the picket and run as far and fast as they can.”
“We will hold them,” Adams promised, and Meadows and Larson nodded.
Ben stepped forward. Meg wasn’t aware she’d started after him until Dot caught her arm.
“Scat!” he shouted into the darkness. “Shoo! We’re ready for you.” As if to prove it, he aimed his rifle into the trees and fired. The sound echoed, rolling along the canyon. Was that rustling in its wake the sound of branches as the big cat moved away as well?
The three cavalrymen set about soothing the animals, and everyone else remained vigilant until darkness wrapped the camp. Meg slipped her precious plate into a saddlebag for safekeeping. The animals eventually quieted some, and Dot served supper. The men took turns eating and watching the woods, rifles at the ready. They all kept the fire high and their voices loud, just in case. Meg’s ears started to ache with the sound.
Ben seemed the least affected. It had been the same after he’d kissed her. She’d been amazed, delighted, and just a little terrified to feel those familiar emotions crowding around her. Yet he’d joked about it, offered to let her slap him as if he’d insulted her. Why did she struggle to understand this man?
Though his rifle was always in easy reach, he talked and joked now. Larson and Meadows stopped staring into the darkness. Hank slipped his arm around Dot’s waist as she huddled against him.
“My father was passing through Illinois in 1858,” Ben said, poking another log into the fire with his boot. “He stopped to hear one of the debates between Lincoln, who was running for the senate, and Stephen Douglas, his opponent. Lincoln told a story about an old woman whose cantankerous husband got into a brawl with a bear. If her husband won, she’d be safe from the bear. If the bear won, she’d be safe from her husband. Not knowing which was worse, she rooted for both.”
