Larkspur (34 page)

Runs Fast felt good. It was over. Now he felt purified in mind as well as in body. The Great One would be pleased with him this night.

He had taken Lenning’s woman.

*  *  *

Bonnie was sure that she had never been happier in her entire life. Sitting in the dark, she and Gustaf seemed to be enclosed in a small world all their own. They talked of many things. At times they teased; at other times they spoke of serious thoughts and dreams.

Gustaf confessed that, even though he had not expected to, he liked this wild country. This was a place where a man was judged by his deeds and not by his assets. He was seriously thinking of spending his life here. Of course, he had no intention of staying
here
on the Larkspur unless Kristin needed him to help her get started. Then he would strike out on his own.

“Bernie would like to work on engines,” Bonnie confided, knowing her brother would not care. “He thinks engines will be on most carriages in a few years, and they’ll even be pulling water up out of a well and plowin’ fields. ’Course he couldn’t make a livin’ doin’ that yet. There aren’t enough of them. We’d still have an eatery and make our living that way.”

Time passed so quickly that Gustaf almost forgot to pull the heavy silver watch from his pocket and light a match to see what time it was.

“An hour after midnight. I can’t believe we’ve been sitting out for almost four hours.” Bonnie stood. “Bernie will be put out if you don’t wake him for his shift. He’s so afraid of not doing his share.”

“He don’t need to worry about that. Your brother is more of a man than many I’ve met who have two good legs but not much between the ears.”

“He’s got more than his share of pride . . . and temper, too,” she added with a nervous little laugh. “I was glad to get him out of Big Timber. At times I was so worried—”

Gustaf threw his arm across her shoulders much in the way he did when with Kristin.

“You don’t have to worry by yourself now. You and Bernie have friendships.
Friendships multiply joys and divide grief,”
he quoted.

“Did that Marlowe fellow write that, too?”

“No. A fellow named Bohn said it.”

“Have you been to a university?”

“Good Lord, no! I’ve been on the river since I was fifteen years old. When I wasn’t there, I was working on my brother’s farm. My mother and sister are there. I go back every once in a while to help out. It’s my way of paying my share of their keep.”

Bonnie had walked with him to the door of the bunkhouse. He stuck his head in and called softly to Bernie, who replied immediately.

“Be there soon as I get my peg on. Damn,” Bernie swore as he dropped the peg on the floor.

“Ya ain’t needin’ to be so quiet,” Tandy’s voice came out of the darkness. “I ain’t asleep. All I done been doin’ is layin’ here on my backside and sleepin’. Damn girl won’t let me up,” he grumbled.

Gustaf was walkin’
the damn girl
to the house.

“Will Bernie be sore’ cause you stayed out here with me?”

“I don’t know why he should be. We give each other credit for good sense. Besides, he likes you.”

“Thanks for the company. It made the time go fast. I would’ve stayed out there all night as long as you stayed with me.”

Bonnie felt her heart jump out of rhythm. She tried to cover this feeling of elation with sassiness.

“That’s fine for you, but what about me? I’d have been dead on my feet tomorrow and still would have had to help cook and wash your dirty clothes.”

“I might be able to find some socks for you to darn.”

“Oh, you—”

Bonnie opened the door. A draft coming through the house almost sucked the flame from the candle on the table. It flickered and hissed as it swayed into the melted wax. Bonnie closed the door.

“She left a candle burning,” she whispered. “It’s burned down to almost nothing.”

“There’s a door or window open.” Gustaf was suddenly uneasy. “Light the lamp.”

When a flame was safely behind the glass chimney, Gustaf put out the candle and a spiral of smoke lifted toward the ceiling. With a worried frown, he went to the front of the house, where the door stood wide-open. He looked out at the starry sky, then closed it.

“Bonnie! The door was open. Don’t they usually keep it barred? See about Kristin!” He hurried back to the kitchen as she came out the door of the small room.

“She’s not here!” She went to the mantel and carried the lamp back to Kristin’s room. “She . . . she hasn’t been to bed. It’s still made up and her nightdress is there—folded on top of her trunk.”

“Oh, my God! Where can she be? Maybe she went out the front door to the outhouse.” Gustaf ran to the back door and leaped off the porch. “Kris!” he called as he ran.

Bonnie hurried after him and took the lantern from the nail beside the door, brought it to the kitchen and lit it. She went out onto the porch and shouted: “Kristin!” Seconds later she moved out into the yard to meet Gustaf when she saw him running up the path.

“She’s not there! Kris!” he shouted, then again, “Kris!”

“What the hell is going on?” Bernie came out of the bunkhouse carrying a rifle and pulling on a coat.

“Kristin’s gone. We can’t . . . find her.” Bonnie was near tears.

Gustaf took the lantern from Bonnie’s hand and went to the barn. They could hear him shouting for his cousin as he passed through and circled the bunkhouse. Bonnie explained to her brother what had happened.

“They must have taken her. They came in right under our noses.”

“Didn’t you hear anythin’ at all?”

“The old dog raised up once and growled, then lay back down. If he’d a smelled or heard anythin’ strange, he’d of raised a ruckus, you know that.”

Bernie put his arm around his sister while they waited for Gustaf. He came around the side of the pole corral, the light from the lantern bobbing as he trotted toward them.

“Nothin’. She ain’t here! Oh, my God! If they hurt her, I’ll kill ever’ damn one of them!”

“If they hurt her, Buck will beat you to it.” Bernie headed for the bunkhouse. “I’ll tell Tandy. He got all excited when he heard you yell.”

“Gol-durn right I got excited. I might be old, but I ain’t dead.” Tandy had pulled on his britches and boots and with a blanket wrapped about his shoulders met Bernie at the door.

“You shouldn’t be up, Tandy,” Bonnie scolded, as the old man sank down on the bench beside the door.

“What should we do?” Gustaf was almost in a state of shock.

“Buck will be back soon. It’s past midnight.”

“—But what if he doesn’t come back till mornin’?”

“Call in them Indians and Gilly, is what ya ort to do,” Tandy said.

“How’ll I do that?”

“Fire three fast shots. Gilly will hear, so will Buck if he’s in five miles a here.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Bernie said. “Maybe the only ones that’ll hear it will be the one’s who took Kristin.”

“What’er ya carin’ if they hear?” Tandy said crossly. “Gilly will hear. The sound’ll bounce off them mountains and travel down the valley. Fire the shots.”

Bernie took the handgun from his holster, pointed it upward and fired three shots in rapid succession.

*  *  *

Buck was bone-tired. He slumped in the saddle and let the big gray horse choose his own pace. He could have sent one of the drovers to see about the cattle in the secluded canyon near Wheeler Creek, but it gave him a reason to spend the day away from the house. He needed to think.

The trail he followed crossed a clearing and when he looked up at the sky, he saw that a cloud bank had appeared in the southwest with a promise of rain before morning. The box canyon where he had driven a small herd was in need of a good rain.

A coyote spoke to the sky, his shrill cries mounting in crescendo, then dying away in echoes against the canyon walls. Always cautious, Buck turned abruptly, rode a short distance and waited, listening. He heard no hoofbeats or other sounds of travel. There had been no sign of an enemy, yet he took no chances. After a while he walked his horse on down the trail and rode into grass-covered country scattered with tall pines.

For the first time in his life, Buck was letting another man call the shots. Cleve Stark had said for him to sit tight and guard Kristin. Without her, there would be no way to prove that Forsythe and Lee had forged the document that gave Lee the authority to sell the Larkspur to Forsythe.

What Cleve didn’t understand was that Kristin had come to mean so much to him that without her he didn’t care what happened to the Larkspur. When this was over, if it ended in their favor, he would give her his land, his house, and take himself out of the country. Buck wanted nothing more than to grab her up and take her someplace where she would be safe—but that was out of the question. She’d go nowhere with him. He was just an ignorant cowboy reaching for the stars.

He had crossed Sweet Grass Creek and was coming through brushland when he heard the three pops echoing down the valley. He pulled the gray to a quick stop and listened. There was no sound except the scraping of stiff dry branch as the wind passed through them.

“Kristin.” He spoke her name into the silence. He said her name a second time, louder, this time with rising fear.

He slapped his mount on the rump, and the gray was off and running, heedless of obstruction. He darted around turns in the trail the first quarter mile until he came to the open field, then Buck urged the gray into an all-out run, knowing that with one misstep he and the gray would go down.

It was the longest twenty minutes of his life. As he neared the ranch buildings, he saw lights. He pulled the blowing horse to a stop, put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Seconds later he heard the answering signal and urged the tired gray to move on.

A group of people waited in front of the bunkhouse. His eyes searched for blond hair but saw only that of Kristin’s cousin. Gilly, Bernie and three Indian drovers stood with him. Bonnie sat on the bench beside Tandy.

“What’s happened? Where’s Kristin?” The words were out of Buck’s mouth even before the horse came to a complete stop.

“She’s gone—”

“Gone?” Buck stepped from the horse. “Goddammit! What do you mean . . . gone?”

“Just that,” Gustaf said. “Bonnie and I were sitting out here by the woodpile, and when Bonnie went in, Kristin was gone. The front door was open—”

Buck grabbed him by the shirtfront. “Damn you! You were to watch her! If she’s hurt, I’ll break every bone in your worthless body.” Buck shoved Gustaf from him. His mind was so clouded with worry he could hardly think. “Gilly, where’s Bowlegs?”

“Iron Jaw sent for him this mornin’ right after ya left.”

“Godamighty! Why didn’t you send for me?”

“Thought there’d be no problem. We ain’t seen hide nor hair of them hired riders. Ain’t nobody even been scoutin’ ’round. They ain’t so brainless they’ll come in without scoutin’, is they?”

“Mr Lenning, ah . . . Buck, if it’s anybody’s fault Kristin’s gone, it’s mine.” Bonnie stood wringing her hands.

“There’s no time to be laying fault. When did you last see her?”

“After supper we went to the outhouse. And”—sobs came up in Bonnie’s throat—“and we came back here and saw Gustaf at the woodpile. I stayed with him for a while . . . and Kristin said she was goin’ to bed.”

“How long were you here?”

“Three hours or . . . more,” she answered in a low voice.

“Three hours? Dammit to hell! Sonofabitch! Gawddamn bunch a tinhorns with shit for brains!” A string of obscene words spewed from Buck’s mouth. “She could be anywhere by now. That is if they let her live. Get me a fresh horse,” he barked to one of the drovers.

“Buck, hold up jist a dad-burn minute.” Gilly’s voice stopped Buck as he strode toward the house. “Wait up an’ listen ’fore ya go off half-cocked.”

“Listen to what? More muddleheaded excuses. She’s gone!”

“Me an’ the boy here’s got us a idey.” The boy, who had been left to guard the Indian camp hung back behind Gilly. He had never seen the
Wasicun
so angry.

“Say your piece,” Buck snapped.

“Beaver Boy come an’ told me when I came in to noonin’, that Runs Fast had been to the drovers’ camp an’ asked where ya was. He told the boy a bunch of bad men was camped up on Billy Creek and Iron Jaw sent him to tell ya ’bout it.”

“Runs Fast lied. Iron Jaw knows the people camped on Billy Creek are a preacher and his boys. Tinhorn Bible-thumpers is what they are.”

“There be somethin’ else. Gus said old Sam lifted his head once and growled, then calmed down and went back to sleep. If a strange
white
man had been within smellin’ distance of Sam, he’d a raised old Ned. But that dog’s been hangin’ ’round the drovers’ camp and is used to Indian smell. Might be he paid it no mind.”

“You think Runs Fast got her?”

“The door was open. I’m thinkin’ that she went out for a breath o’ air and Runs Fast was waitin’. There ain’t been no riders on the trail a’tall. And them hired riders ain’t goin’ to circle ’round to come in from the other side and risk gettin’ their hair took.”

“Have you looked for tracks?”

“No, an’ I told ’em to stay clear till ya could look.”

Buck and Gilly took the lantern and went around to the front of the house. The group by the bunkhouse stood quietly waiting, relieved that Buck was here, even though his anger was frightening.

“Stands to reason a Injun took her,” Tandy said. “Ain’t many white men that I know of what can sneak up on a body like one a them redskins.”

“Oh, Lord. I don’t blame Lenning for being angry. Bonnie and I were talking, but I swear I never heard a thing. I was depending on the dog, and I shouldn’t have. What if we don’t find her? This is such a big . . . gawddamn country—” Gustaf finished lamely when Buck and Gilly returned.

“Found moccasin tracks,” Gilly announced. “I’d bet my hat it was that stuck-on-hisself Runs Fast that’s always struttin’ ’round like a rooster. He had his eye on Kristin’s blond hair from the start. Remember, Buck? He stole her drawers right off the line.”

“He’ll regret the day he set eyes on her when I get through with him.”