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“Miss, I don’t want to scare you, but Indian pony tracks were all over the area where I found your trail driver.” He brushed his hat with his hand, waiting for her reaction.
She raised her chin a notch.
“If those Indians meet up with you, they won’t just take your clothing and rifle like they did your trail guide.”
Noelle gasped. “Took his clothing?” Her stomach almost turned with revulsion.
“Can you describe the clothing Mr. Douglas was wearing the last time you saw him, miss?”
Noelle steadied herself. “A b-brown leather vest, grey trousers and shirt. A g-gold pocket watch and ch-chain...” Her voice broke.
“I’m truly sorry about your guide, Miss.”
She felt her throat constrict with tears, but she fought back with anger. “If these Indians are as beastly as you say, then you’d better hurry and fix the wagon wheel.”
“You’re either the most stubborn woman or—”
“I’ll fix you something to eat while you’re working.”
“I tell you, I can’t fix the damn thing!”
“Please, there’s no need to yell or swear in my presence, Mr. Savage.”
“All right, all right.” He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
She felt grateful that he thought to spare her.
“I noticed a stand of cottonwoods over that yonder ridge.” He tipped his head in the direction of a high rise covered with sagebrush. “Maybe I can cut a few trees, run one over the wagon’s front and under the rear axle, then maybe we can walk the wagon into town. Got a saw or an ax?”
Relief and hope swelled within her. “Yes, mister...” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “There’s an ax in the trail box.”
“I’ll get it.”
Her relief was short-lived when she remembered the stories told by the emigrants in the wagon trains loading at Leaven worth. Many guides took advantage of the lone women who drove rigs. After taking their money, the guides would break from the caravans, deserting the helpless women after only a few miles.
But Luke had ridden out of his way to backtrack Mr. Douglas’s tracks to the wagon.... Luke Savage was no gentleman, but she felt she could trust him. There was something about the way he looked at her when she reacted to the news of Mr. Douglas’s death.
When Luke returned with the ax, he tied it to the horse. “Best you come with me to the ridge in case Indians come. Bring the oxen, too.”
She jumped down from the wagon and began unhitching the animals while Luke slipped the handles of the water jugs over the pommel. Luke’s horse fidgeted back and forth, kicking clouds of dust into the air. When Noelle had unfastened the oxen’s yoke and hooked on their leads, Luke motioned her toward his horse.
“I’ll help you mount.”
She glanced up in suspicion. “What if you’re only saying that you’ll fix the wheel so I’ll leave with you? Why should I trust you?”
He lifted the brim of his hat up a notch. His dark brown eyes glittered with speculation and something else that caused a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach.
The buckskin whinnied impatiently. Luke grabbed the oxen’s leads, then mounted his horse. Staring down at her, he said, “Miss, I’m the only ace you got up your sleeve. Get on the horse, ’cause I’m leaving. If you decide to come, bring the rifle. You’ll be the lookout while I chop down those trees.”
Reluctantly, Noelle grabbed her rifle. He was right; she had no choice. She took his hand, but averted her gaze as she swung up behind him.
She heard him mumble under his breath. She didn’t have to see Luke’s solemn face to imagine his begrudging expression as he wheeled the massive buckskin in the direction of the high ridge.
Luke lifted the ax sideways and swung the final blow that brought the quivering young cottonwood crashing to the ground. The rush of air provided a fleeting respite from the oppressive heat. He inhaled the fresh wood smell while he mopped a bandanna across his brow.
This log and the one he’d previously cut would be enough to fix the wagon. It had taken him nearly an hour, he reckoned—time he didn’t have.
The buckskin shied nervously, its eyes huge.
“I know, Deuce. I sense ’em, too.” Luke glanced at the spreading cottonwood about a hundred feet away where Noelle sat on a limb, rifle in hand, her gaze scanning the sun-baked range like a hawk. She turned toward him, then shook her head.
Luke nodded, but he doubted that Noelle would know what to look for. He had explained about the telltale dust funnels announcing unseen riders, but if the Indians had seen them ride over here, they could sneak up along the ridge without warning.
One thing was certain, the Indians were out there.
Luke swore again as he hitched one log to each of the oxen, bracing the load to drag behind the animals. He wiped the sweat trickling down his chest.
North and east, the flat, shimmering prairie would be too open for Indians to attack. But the west ridge, dotted with tall mesquite and sagebrush, would easily provide cover to hide the Indians and their ponies.
“I’m a damn fool to get caught up in this,” he muttered to his horse. “Beneath all her bluster, she’s a real greenhorn.” He shook his head, recalling bow her hands had trembled while she held that old weapon on him.
Luke led the oxen to the thick shade of the cottonwood tree where Noelle perched on a massive limb, rifle in her lap.
“What’s in that long crate that you guard like a she-cat with a new litter?” he asked, adjusting the oxen’s load.
“A gift for my Uncle Marcel,” she said, her eyes fixed on the green-dotted prairie.
“If he’s as rich as you say, why wouldn’t he have the goods shipped with an armed guard of men, instead of a—”
Noelle lifted her chin. “It’s none of your concern, Mr. Savage.”
Damn right it wasn’t. He swore under his breath. What he should be concerned about is how he’d make up the time to get to Crooked Creek by Friday noon. Lady luck had turned against him, and there was no sign that she might change her fickle mind.
Luke’s thoughts returned to Noelle Bellencourt. He knew women as well as he knew not to draw to an inside straight. Better, in fact. And he’d bet all the poker chips in the Silver Hearts Saloon that Noelle didn’t have a rich uncle waiting for her. But whatever her story, once she saw Crooked Creek, Nevada, she’d turn tail and head back East.
At the sound of his footsteps, Noelle turned toward him.
“When we get to town, you’re on your own,” Luke said. “If we walk all night, we’ll reach Crooked Creek by morning.”
“Why do we have to?”
“Because I’ve got to stop Blackjack from hopping the noon stage to ’Frisco. That slippery rascal isn’t getting away from me this time.”
“Blackjack?”
“My business partner, or I should say, was.” Luke mopped his face, then knotted the bandanna loosely around his neck. “Cheated me out of a string of gambling concessions. He knows I’m on his trail, but he’d never dream I’m this close.” Luke smiled as he thought of the surprised look on Blackjack’s face when he saw Luke, waiting for him with the sheriff.
“What type of business are you in, Mister Savage?”
He grinned. “Gambling, Miss. I’m the best poker player in all of Nevada.”
Noelle’s face paled. “And this...Blackjack? Is that his profession, too?”
“That, among others. But after I’m through with him, Blackjack will be shuffling his next deck in jail.”
Luke strode to the logs tied to the oxen. Satisfied, he moved toward the horse. The buckskin shied uneasily.
“Did you hear something?” Noelle asked uneasily.
“Yeah.” Luke felt it, too. It was as if someone were watching them. He’d had the feeling ever since he found Douglas’s body.
“Think it’s just the wind.” Luke hoped she’d believe him. “If Indians are out there, the open country affords no chance for ambush. We’re safe for the time being,” he added, hoping to reassure her. No sense having a hysterical woman on his hands.
He helped Noelle mount the horse, then walked beside her, leading the oxen as they lumbered along, handling the cottonwood logs easily.
Luke’s thoughts strayed back to the lone prairie schooner, stranded like a wounded white dove, and the woman riding beside him.
Before they reached the top of the ridge, a rifle shot, coming in the direction of the prairie schooner, cracked the silence.
Luke’s horse whinnied, then reared. Before he could reach Noelle, she had slackened the reins, leaned her weight forward, and grabbed Deuce’s mane to keep from falling.
Grateful that she’d had the sense to control the buckskin, Luke secured the oxen’s reins to a mesquite bush, then mounted the horse behind Noelle. He grabbed the reins, then kicked his heels into the animal’s sides, charging the horse over the rise in the direction of the wagon.
Chapter Two
Ayeee! Hoop hoop hoop! Ayee! Coo-wigh!
Anger and fear raged within Noelle, but fury won out as she listened to the rising shrieks behind her wagon. Several spotted ponies stood nearby. A tall, lanky Indian, dressed only in a buckskin breech clout and knee-high leggings stood, reloading a rifle. His head shot up when she and Luke galloped within sight.
In a lightning-fast motion, Noelle positioned her rifle, ready to take aim.
“Don’t shoot!” Luke yelled in her ear. “That’s Little Henry, the chief’s son.” Luke pointed to the lanky Indian, who by now had grabbed the rifle and ducked behind the wagon to warn the others.
“I don’t care if he’s President Andrew Johnson!” Rancor sharpened her voice. “He’s attacking may wagon!”
Although she was breathless with rage, she didn’t resist when Luke took the Hawken from her.
He drew the six-shooter from his holster and shot into the air, the acrid smell of black powder was everywhere. A stockier Indian, a few years younger than the first, jumped from the wagon bench and staggered to his knees. He hesitated, shaking his head as though dazed.
Noelle gasped, her blue eyes wide. Her small hand flew to her mouth as she stared. Luke glanced at the brown leather vest and gray shirt the savage wore. From Noelle’s stifled cry, he knew the garments must have belonged to Mr. Douglas.
Luke stopped the horse a safe distance from the wagon. After he dismounted, he gave Noelle a stern glance. “Stay on the horse,” he commanded, not trusting her to remain out of the fray. “Don’t aim, but keep your rifle handy.”
Renewed anger lit her eyes, but she nodded. Her teeth clenched as her wide-eyed gaze returned to the stocky Indian bent over on the ground.
Another Indian, wearing a black cowboy hat, stuck his head from the front of the prairie schooner. He shook his fist, then shouted a blood-curdling scream as he tossed an earthenware jug into the air. The bottle bounced along the sand, finally breaking in two.
Whiskey! Luke swore under his breath. Damn the luck. Even peaceful Indians, when drunk, were unpredictable.
Luke strode cautiously toward the chief’s son. “Little Henry,” he said in the native tongue of the Paiute. “Take your braves and go peacefully.”
The dark eyes studied Luke for a long moment, appraising the man and the situation.
Luke noticed the gold watch fob and chain dangling from Little Henry’s left braid. No doubt the chief’s son took what he deemed the most valuable of their booty. Luke also knew that Douglas’s horse must be tethered nearby.
“Tell your father, Captain Henry, that the yellow-haired woman sends her compliments to him, and wishes to give the horse you found, which belongs to the lady, as a gift for raising such a fine son as yourself.”
Little Henry’s almond eyes lit with surprise, then he glanced back at Noelle, who waited anxiously on Luke’s horse. When he gazed back at Luke, his expression, wiser than his eighteen years, held a question. “You will tell my father of this happening?”
Luke took his time answering. He knew that a lengthy spell was required to show Little Henry that his question was considered serious. Luke stared into the deep-set eyes of the brave who would one day become chief of the Paiute Nation.
Little Henry had showed good sense in waiting to search the wagon after Noelle and Luke had left. Besides, Luke understood the young brave’s need to prove himself. When the Indian found Douglas dead, with his chestnut alone on the prairie, Little Henry knew a horse was the highest honor to give his father.
“I have given your question great thought.” Luke spoke the words solemnly. “I find no reason to speak to your father of this happening. If you leave peacefully with your braves and do not bother us again, I believe the matter should be forgotten.”
Little Henry began to untie the watch fob when Luke stopped him. “No. That is yours. A gift to you from the yellow-haired woman.”
Without any sign of emotion, Little Henry strode to the dazed Indian, still stooped over in the sand. He helped the brave onto a pony. Without a word, Little Henry leaped onto his pony, the other braves following his example. Amid the ponies’ whinnies, they rode off, yellow dust kicking up at their hooves.
Before Luke could stop her, Noelle slid from the saddle and dashed toward the prairie schooner.
“Let me go inside first! There may be others,” Luke shouted, racing after her. Before he reached the wagon, he heard her cry out.
Noelle shuddered a gasp and stared at the shambles inside the wagon. “Oh, my God!” She rushed to the splintered crate leaning on its side.
Those savages had touched her mother’s things. A jolt of revulsion raged so violently inside her that she thought she might be sick. She touched the china cabinet, its fragile door still swaying from the broken hinge. Delft earthenware, once her mother’s pride and joy, was reduced to a heap of blue-and-white shards, littering the shelves.
Noelle shook her head, refusing to give in to the threatening tears. The clamor of Indians’ taunts and galloping ponies’ hooves still rang in her head as she stared at the wooden crates and wicker cartons ripped open, mounds of clothing scattered everywhere.
Behind her, the wagon’s floorboards creaked. She jumped, expecting to see another...
Luke’s long shadow appeared across the bleached canvas sides as he stepped inside the wagon. She let out a muffled cry of relief.
Luke’s jaw tightened as he glanced about. “They’ve gone. No need to be afraid.”
“What if they come back?”
“No. The chief, Captain Henry, is a friend of mine. Little Henry will know that to do so will dishonor his father as well as himself.”
“Those friends of yours were wearing Mr. Douglas’s clothing. How do you know that they didn’t surprise my guide and frighten him to death?”
Luke picked up a broken teacup, turning the delicate china in his hands. “Because I know.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because the cadaver showed no signs of fright. Death came from a massive heart attack, brought on by extreme exertion—”
“You’re not a doctor. How do you know—?”
