Dreaming Of A Western Christmas. Carol Arens

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СКАЧАТЬ Three, perhaps. Why are you asking all these questions?”

      “Trying to figure out who killed Monroe. And why. Who knew that you were carrying a large amount of money?”

      “Mr. Monroe did. I paid him in cash, in advance.”

      “In private? Did anyone see the transaction?”

      “I don’t think so. It took place at the bank in Independence.”

      Brand nodded. “Pretty public place, the bank in Independence.”

      “Could it have been Indians?”

      “Indians would have whooped and hollered and probably taken the man’s scalp. And you.”

      “Me!”

      He leveled a scathing look at her. “Well, hell, lady, think about it! A pretty woman way out on the plain. Shouldn’t have to paint you a picture.”

      “Oh. Well.” She was quiet for a long moment. “Then who do you think it was?”

      “Had to be some lowlife out to steal some money. Probably followed your wagon train all the way from Missouri, hanging back until Monroe got separated from the others.”

      Brand wondered why whoever it was hadn’t closed in on her and just taken what they wanted. Something must have scared them off—Indians, maybe. Now he figured whoever was following them would still be hanging back, trying to catch them unawares. Up ahead was scrubland, then the trail started climbing over rocky ground into the mountains. They didn’t have much time.

      “Suzannah, think you could get that horse of yours to go a little faster?”

      “I suppose so. How much faster?”

      “We’re going to try to outrun whoever’s behind us.”

      “But—”

      “No time for buts. Come on.” He wheeled his mount and kicked it into a trot, then looked behind him to watch her. When he saw her gig the mare into a canter, he touched the black with his heel and broke into a gallop. He could tell she didn’t know how to run a horse full-out, because the mare’s hoofbeats flagged, then sped up, then flagged again. By some miracle she managed to keep up.

      He prayed she wouldn’t lose her nerve. The trail started climbing, then veered into a section of large flat rocks. Her horse’s hooves clattered right behind him and he had to smile. She was probably terrified, but the girl was no coward. A kernel of admiration lodged in his brain.

      They climbed up a mountainside so steep the horses began to slow and stumble. He shot a glance at Suzannah behind him and smiled again. Her face was white and set, but she wasn’t falling behind.

      More rocks, and more struggle for the horses, and then the trail suddenly leveled out at the entrance to a cave. Bear den, probably. Or an Indian hideout. Didn’t matter. He pulled his gelding to a halt, dropped out of the saddle and waited for Suzannah. When she trotted up, he grabbed for the mare’s bridle.

      “Whoa, girl. Easy, now.”

      Suzannah’s breathing was coming in hoarse gasps. He waited until she could talk, then signaled her to dismount.

      “We’ll hole up here,” he said.

      “What? Where?” She leaned over the saddle horn, panting hard.

      “In that cave. Horses, too. Hurry up.”

      She slid from the saddle like a sack of wheat. He grabbed the reins out of her hand and led both horses to the mouth of the cave.

      “Inside,” he ordered. “Quick.” He laid his free arm across her shoulders to hurry her up. She was shaking so hard she could scarcely make her legs work, but she managed to stumble to the cave entrance.

      “It’s dark in there!”

      “Yeah. Move it!”

      She shrank back. “Are...are there wild animals in there?”

      He gave her a little shove forward. “Only in the winter.”

      She took two steps past the opening and froze, her eyes huge with fear. “But it is winter.”

      “Keep moving,” he ordered. He maneuvered the two horses under an overhanging rock near the cave.

      “Mr. Wyler, I do not think—”

      “Right. Don’t think. Just do what I say, and do it quick. Get the saddlebags and the bedrolls and stash them inside.” He lifted off both saddles and set them just inside the entrance, then grabbed his rifle and a length of rope. Quickly he hobbled the horses, caught his saddlebag as Suzannah lifted it off and dug in the depths for two handfuls of oats.

      The cave smelled musty, but it was clean except for wisps of dried grass here and there. Dark as Hades, but safe. When his breathing returned to normal he assessed their refuge.

      He assessed Suzannah, too. She’d moved only a few steps past the entrance, and he could see that her body was still shaking. Her breathing was so jerky he thought she might be crying, but a glance at her face told him she wasn’t. At least not yet.

      He moved forward and laid one hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be safe here. Not comfortable, maybe, but alive come morning.”

      She just stared at him. “And what do we do in the morning?”

      He thought her lips were trembling, but in the dimness he couldn’t be sure. “In the morning we’ll find out who’s following us.”

      “And tonight?” she said in a small voice.

      He hesitated. She was plenty scared, but she wasn’t crumpling up into a pile of jitters. “Tonight we count our blessings and give thanks to the god of caves. Then we eat supper and get some sleep.”

      “Can you build a fire? It is extremely dark in here.”

      “No fire. Can’t risk someone seeing the smoke.”

      “H-how will we keep warm?”

      An inappropriate thought popped into his mind. He squashed it flat before it made a permanent home there and swallowed over the sudden thickness in his throat.

      “We’ll manage.”

      For their supper he handed out cold biscuits and slices of jerky, which he pared off with his jackknife.

      After her first bite, she wrinkled her nose. “I don’t guess I care for jerky.”

      “Learn to like it.” He handed her his canteen. “Let it soften up in your mouth before you try to chew it.”

      Suzannah knew she should be grateful she was alive and sheltered, at least for the time being, and that her stomach was reasonably full. It was strange how having very little in the way of comforts made her value all the more what she had taken for granted in Charleston. She supposed there was a lesson in that, but she was too exhausted СКАЧАТЬ