A Gown of Spanish Lace (22 page)

Laramie spoke again. “You should git some sleep. It’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

Ariana stirred.

She let her eyes travel around the small cave. Three tunnels led off from it. One had been the entrance through which the Indian had brought her in. One was simply a closet-sized addition to the room she used now. She had made use of it over the days of her confinement. She had no idea about the third opening. Perhaps it led to a bigger cave. Perhaps it wound this way and that, twisting deeper into the rocks of the mountain. Maybe it ended abruptly, going nowhere.

“You need sleep too,” she answered simply. “Here, take some of the bedding.”

She stood to her feet and began to separate the furs and blankets. He started to protest and then realized how tired he was. Besides, it was easy to see that White Eagle had done his job well. The stack in the corner would serve more than one bed.

“This is plenty,” he said as he lifted a heavy buffalo robe.

“Take this blanket too,” she insisted, so he did.

He placed the robe on the rock floor and lowered himself to it. It really wasn’t much harder than the wood bunk he was used to. He pulled the blanket firmly about himself and settled for the night.

He heard her stirring and turned so he could look at her. She was lighting a fresh candle.

He was awakened by a touch on his shoulder. White Eagle bent over him, his lantern held high in his other hand.

“You sleep like old bear,” he said with a glint in his eyes.

Laramie stirred, chiding himself that he had not heard White Eagle approach. He quickly laid aside the self-incrimination. White Eagle moved like a shadow. No mortal man would have heard him enter the cavern.

His eyes asked the question that he did not voice. White Eagle responded.

“You have horse,” he said simply.

Relief swept through Laramie’s whole body. He freed himself of the blanket and sat up. “Then I guess I have a trip to take,” he replied.

In the corner Ariana began to stir. Sleepily she opened her eyes and then quickly jerked to full wakefulness. “Did it work?” she asked before she even had time to stir from her blankets.

Laramie could not hide his smile. She was like a small child in her eagerness. “It worked,” he replied, and Ariana began to push the blanket back as she unwound herself from the bedding and sleep.

“We must hurry,” she exclaimed excitedly, and set about gathering together the last of the supplies in a little heap on her deserted bed.

Laramie and White Eagle exchanged glances. Their plan was working. They would get her out.

Will Russell was in a sour mood. First, his well-laid strategy had not worked out right. Instead of the girl bringing about the change in Laramie he had desired, she had been the final straw in breaking Laramie from the gang completely. Will’s sense of loss was exceeded only by his great rage. Sam’s knowing looks and mumbled pronouncements had not helped to appease his anger.

When the discovery had not been made until noon, Will knew Laramie had worked it out so that he had a long head start. With the snow falling, it had been hard to pick up the trail, but Will knew the direction that must be taken to get the girl back home.

He’d had the boys saddle up and they rode out, leaving only Skidder behind to guard the camp. Will had not wanted Skidder in their little posse. He knew the man would use any possible excuse to put a bullet in Laramie’s back.

At first they had ridden hard, direct as the crow flies, toward the small town from which Ariana had been taken. Just before they were forced to make camp for the night, they came upon three horses, feeding casually in a small meadow. Laramie’s mounts.

Will’s first thought had been that the young man and his prisoner had run headlong into a small band of Pawnee. But that didn’t add up. The Indians would have kept the horses. So what had really happened? Will was left scratching his head.

It was clear Laramie had made other plans. But what? Where could he get on foot? Had he changed horses? But why? His own mounts were still fresh. It hadn’t appeared that they had been ridden hard. The whole thing had him puzzling.

“Set up camp,” Will had growled to his men.

So they set up camp.

The next morning the gang expected an order to break camp, but Will looked in no hurry to leave. Instead, he had sent out scouts to scour the nearby countryside.

“See anything—fire three shots,” they had been ordered. At the end of the day they had returned with nothing to report.

“Well—we jest sit here an’ wait. He’ll hafta crawl out sometime,” Will had growled.

In the days that followed, the same procedure was repeated. Sam began to question how long they were to sit and wait—so close to the Indian settlement. Will just growled and said he figured he was still the boss. He’d give the orders.

But a nighttime Indian raid had changed his plans. The braves took all their horses—all the saddles. Even the small grub stake right from the center of the camp, as though to mock the little band of outlaws. Will was glad to be left with his scalp, though he would not have admitted it to his men.

The air was blue with curses directed at the “red savages.” But Will knew many of them would have been directed at him had his men been expressing their true feelings.

So they were all on foot, tramping their way home. The warm spring sun turned the trail into slush, and then mud. They slipped and slid their way up the winding trail and forded waist-deep creek water.

No, they were not a happy group of travelers. The next raid had been carefully planned to take place in just three days—and here they were with no mounts except for a couple of scraggly animals back at the corral—and those without saddles for riding. Their supplies, even back at the base camp, were dangerously low.

As Will Russell trudged through the sloppiness of spring thaw, he kept checking over his shoulder. Men had been known to mutiny for less reason. He was glad he could count on Sam—who was dutifully bringing up the rear of the straggling band of reluctant hikers. Sam’s loose hand was never far from his gun holster.

“Do you have any idea what day it is?” Ariana asked as she raised a tired hand to push windblown hair back from her face.

“I know we’ve been ridin’ fer eight days,” replied Laramie.

“Where are we?”

“We’ve a good piece to go yet,” was his simple answer as they plodded on.

Ariana felt like groaning. Her whole body ached. It felt as though they had spent those entire eight days in the saddle. Laramie had pushed them hard. He was intent on putting as many miles as possible between them and the camp in the hidden valley. He had not even allowed them the comfort of an open fire.

Ariana did groan, just thinking about it. The nights had been cold, and the scant blanket she clutched to her shivering body did very little to keep out the wind.

They had outridden the snow. The late spring storm that had swept through their area, giving them cover for their escape, had been followed by a bright warm sun that melted the small drifts and set the creeks to singing.

Ariana welcomed the feeling of warm rays on her back. At least there was one spot of her that was not still shivering from the cold night.

Ariana was surprised when Laramie reined in the buckskin. As soon as his horse stopped, Ariana’s roan pulled up beside it, nuzzling the buckskin’s lathered neck with its nose.

Laramie said nothing. Just sat his saddle as though born to it, studying Ariana with intent eyes. Ariana shifted uncomfortably. There were times when she felt he looked into her very soul.

“Little town up ahead—’bout a mile,” he offered. “We’re in need of some more supplies.”

Ariana’s eyes widened. “Have you been…way up here…before?” she asked incredulously.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head.

“Then how…?” she began but didn’t finish.

He smiled then, a lazy, easy smile. He nodded his head toward the north. “It’s stickin’ out—plain as day—on thet hillside.”

Ariana flushed and shaded her eyes with her hands so she could stare off into the distance. Sure enough, she could make out buildings against the backdrop of trees and rock.

“We’re going to stop?” she asked, hoping the eagerness was not too evident in her voice.

He nodded again. “We’ll stop,” he promised.

Suddenly Ariana felt she had new strength in her weary bones. She straightened in her saddle and gave her mount a heel. If they were going to be stopping, she was anxious to get there.

The small town had a rooming house, and Laramie ordered a room and a hot bath for Ariana before he went to the stables to arrange for the horses’ care. They had pushed the animals hard. Laramie wanted time to check them thoroughly, searching for chipped hooves or sore muscles. He had always made a habit of checking the mounts at the end of each day and had noticed nothing seriously amiss, but the little roan had seemed to have a sensitive spot on her right shoulder. He decided on a little liniment and put on some warm compresses.

By the time Laramie had finished at the stable, the sun was setting. He looked down at his trail-soiled clothes and decided he could sure use a bath himself.

The doors of the town’s one store were still open, so Laramie made his way into the building. All sorts of goods lined the shelves and formed stacks of deep piles anywhere the owner could find room.

“Howdy,” greeted Laramie.

“Howdy,” replied the man, letting his eyes travel up and down the newcomer as if to gather all the information he could in one glance.

“Ridin’ through?” he asked casually, but Laramie knew the question was far from casual.

“Thet’s right,” he replied, his voice just as relaxed and offhanded. He began to finger one of the shirts in a nearby stack.

Both men waited.

“Wouldn’t have supposed there’d be call fer this much merchandise in such a small town,” observed Laramie. “Business must either be powerful good—or a sight poor.”

The man responded with a hard laugh. “Where you been, cowboy?” he answered. “Don’t ya know there’s gold in them hills?” He jerked his head toward the northwest. “Been pouring through here a dozen a day—an’ more on the way. I’m the last store between here an’ the strike.”

Laramie’s head came up. “Ya don’t say,” he said with interest.