Rosanne Bittner (5 page)

Maggie could only hope Sage truly did know where they were. Most of the day he lapsed in and out of consciousness as she struggled to keep him on Henry’s back and guide the horse at the same time.

“You’re a damn good horse, Henry,” she soothed, hoping the animal wouldn’t balk or possibly even collapse because of the pain of his own injuries. “This is one fine horse, Sage. I can see why Henry’s the one you chose for your trip. He’s got courage, and he’s faithful.”

“From here on… you won’t need to worry too much about leaving the trail,” Sage answered, his voice so weak Maggie could barely hear him. “Henry… knows the way now.”

“I hope you’re right. I’m worried you don’t even know where we are. I’m just following what must be the roadway you told me about.”

“Line shack… not far…”

Maggie was afraid to stop and let Sage get down. She worried he might not be able to get back on the horse. At least it was warmer today, but she had no doubt they were in for another cold night. She didn’t want Sage sleeping on the ground. It was imperative they reach the line shack by dark. She kept the horses going at a slow walk, so as not to wear them down, letting them stop once to drink a little water out of a puddle.

“Don’t… overwater them,” Sage warned.

“I know about horses. You just hang on till we get to that line shack.”

They rode for another hour, until the sun settled behind the western mountains. With no cabin in sight, Maggie resigned herself to making camp, hating the idea of Sage being out in the cold tonight. She drew Henry to a halt. It was then she squinted at what appeared to be a light in the distant trees. Her heartbeat quickened with hope.

“Sage, look ahead! Is that the line shack?”

Sage clung to Henry’s mane with his good arm. He managed to raise his head and looked in the direction of the light. “That’s it. Somebody’s there. Give me my six-gun, in case… they’re not my men.”

“You’re too weak to hold a gun and Henry’s mane at the same time,” Maggie answered. “Besides, I doubt you can shoot straight anyway, the condition you’re in. You leave that gun in its holster and just stay put. I’ll see about this.” She reached around Sage and quickly wrapped Nell’s lead rope around the horn of Henry’s saddle. “Can you stay on Henry if I get down?”

“Think… so.”

Maggie wasn’t sure Sage was completely aware of his surroundings. She dismounted, unsure how she’d managed to keep going against her own pain, which had gradually returned as she struggled through a long day of riding, while trying to guide two horses and hang on to a man. “You okay?” she asked softly.

Sage looked at her with eyes glazed from pain and loss of blood. “Not right… you taking chances for me. Should be the… other way around.”

“You can’t help it. Besides, you helped me when I needed it.” She couldn’t resist touching his arm lightly. She meant it as reassurance to him but found it oddly soothing to her as well.

Praying Sage wouldn’t fall out of the saddle, Maggie pulled his Winchester from its boot at Henry’s side and cocked the rifle. She limped from reawakened pain in her shin, making her way through brush and trees to a side window at the cabin. She cautiously peeked through a foggy glass pane to see two men inside sitting at a table, playing cards. One was slender, wearing a checkered shirt and leather vest. The other was bald and round. Both needed a shave and looked like they hadn’t bathed in a while, normal for men who’d spent several days in the wilds looking for stray cattle, if indeed, that’s what these men had been up to. She noticed a whiskey bottle on the table.

Just
what
I
don’t need
…
two
drunk
men
I
don’t know anything about.
She could only hope they were still relatively sober.

Good or bad, Sage needed help. She took a deep breath and walked around to the front door. She kicked at it with her foot. “You men in there work for Sage Lightfoot?” she yelled. She heard chairs scraping on the wood plank floor, heavy footsteps approaching. She backed away and held the rifle steady. The door opened. The hefty man stood in the doorway.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, a bit wide-eyed at the sight of a woman standing there.

“My name is Maggie McPhee Tucker, and don’t think I don’t know how to use this rifle!”

The big man just laughed. “Hey, Bill, come over here and see what’s standin’ on the stoop. It’s a little spit of a woman pointin’ a rifle at me.”

The slender man came to stand at his side. He grinned. “Well, now, ain’t you the prettiest thing we’ve seen in months?” He chuckled. “She’s just a kid, Joe.”

“I’m woman enough to have shot a grizzly this morning. I don’t have time now for small talk. I asked if you men work for Sage Lightfoot.”

The big man leaned against the doorsill. “What if we do?”

“Hey!” The slender man frowned. “That’s Sage’s rifle! What are you doing with it?”

“Well, I guess if you recognize this rifle, you must be one of his men. Sage is out there a ways, about to pass out and fall off his horse. He was attacked by a grizzly this morning and needs help.”

The smiles left both men’s faces as they quickly shoved past her. “Where is he?” the big one asked.

“This way.” Maggie led them to where she’d left the horses, and just as she feared, Sage was on the ground. The two men picked him up and lugged him to the cabin, while Maggie took care of the horses. She noticed a large shed nearby and led Henry and Nell inside, next to four other horses that were unsaddled and nibbling hay from a trough. She began unloading supplies off Nell’s back when the heavy-set ranch hand came inside.

“I’ll do that, ma’am.” He tipped his hat slightly. “My name’s Joe Cable. Sage said I should let you rest. Go on inside. There’s stew on the stove, if you can stomach Bill’s cooking. Sage gave us strict orders to be proper gentlemen.”

Maggie wished she knew how much she could trust any of them. “Thank you,” she answered. “If you have any bear grease or poultice you could put on Henry’s chest, that would be advisable. A grizzly got to him when he reared up—put some pretty good scratches in his chest.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll look after him.” Joe hung a lantern on a nail and studied her a moment. “Sage says you saved his life—shot a griz ’fore it could chew him up and spit him out. That’s somethin’, I’ll say, especially for such a little thing like you.”

“Well, I pointed my old Sharps and pulled the trigger. The rest was up to God.” Maggie suddenly felt light-headed. “It has been a long day. I guess I’ll take you up on your offer and go inside.” She walked past Joe.

“How’d you end up travelin’ with Sage anyway?” he called after her. “And what was he doin’ headin’ back home? He was supposed to be goin’ after some sons of bitches that killed one of the ranch hands.”

Maggie turned, realizing Sage had not explained the details of how they met. It was probably best for now. She didn’t want the stress and embarrassment. “It’s a long story, Mr. Cable, and I’m too tired to talk about it tonight.” She wondered how these two and the rest of the ranch hands would look at her once they knew the truth. She held her chin up, reminding herself again that it didn’t matter. It didn’t change her morals or her pride.

“Bill’s last name is Summers,” Joe yelled before she reached the line shack.

Maggie could already hear Sage shouting a stream of expletives from inside. She shook her head, figuring Bill Summers must be doing some stitching. She headed inside, not terribly fond of the thought of sleeping in a one-room shack with three men tonight, two strangers, and the third likely to pass out from loss of blood, unable to help her if she needed it. Still, Sage had apparently given orders to treat her right, and she had a feeling his men were not apt to disobey the man.

Maggie felt removed from herself, a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by more strangers. She couldn’t grasp the reality of all that had happened, or that James lay in that grave so far away. She longed to sleep soundly, in a soft bed, free of pain, free of ugly memories that tried to steal her sanity. Maybe once they reached Sage’s ranch house she’d at least get the soft bed, and eventually, her injuries would heal. Healing her emotions and thoughts would take much longer.

She spent part of the night helping nurse Sage, who now lay on a travois Joe made from a couple of sturdy limbs from aspen trees and a buffalo hide secured between them. The buffalo hide was taken from the wall of the line shack…
brung
this
big
fella
down
myself
last
year
, Joe had told her.
Ain’t nothin’ much more challengin’ than a buffalo hunt, ’cept for facin’ a grizzly.

The man couldn’t get over the fact that Maggie had actually shot the grizzly herself. Joe was big and rough, but amazingly kind and respectful, seemingly in awe of the abilities of “such a little thing.”
The
men
are
gonna
have
some
fun
teasin’ Sage about this one
, he’d joked.
His
hide
saved
by
a
woman.

The trouble was, Sage’s situation was no laughing matter, and Joe and Bill darn well knew it. It was difficult to watch Bill pull a big needle meant for leather through Sage’s scalp and through the deep gash on his arm, sewing his flesh together with cat gut. They’d gone through half a bottle of whiskey dousing the wounds in hopes of staving off infection. Sage drank the other half and then some, and Maggie couldn’t be sure his unconscious condition now was from loss of blood, or from being passed out from drink.

“Do you think Sage will be all right?” she asked Bill as he and Joe managed to tie Sage onto the travois.

The short, slender man faced her with true concern in his brown eyes. “I reckon if anybody can get over wounds like that, it’s Sage Lightfoot. He’s the toughest buzzard I ever knew. He was such a bloody mess you probably didn’t notice the other scars from an old gunshot and a couple of knife wounds. His toughness comes from the Indian in him.” He checked to be sure Sage was secured tightly to the travois. “I swear, human or not, an Indian is harder to kill than a white man, just like wild animals are harder to kill.”

So he
was
part Indian, just as Maggie suspected. “What tribe runs in his veins?” she asked.

Bill shrugged. “Cheyenne, I think. He don’t talk much about it, and he don’t like bein’ asked, so I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He looked her over curiously. “Ma’am, Sage told us not to ask any questions, but I figure if he run into you out there on the trail, then them outlaws he was after did the same. Me and Joe know what they was like. You ain’t complained none, and we’re kind of surprised on account of you’re limpin’ some. You’re pretty bruised up. Them men hurt you?”

Maggie turned away, embarrassed. She walked over to Nell. Joe had saddled the mare for her. He decided that Sage’s gelding should simply be led by a rope with no weight on him because of his wounds. “They killed my husband, stole our mules, and took a good share of our supplies,” she told Bill. “When Sage came upon me, I was burying James.” She mounted Nell. She refused to add anything more, suspecting both men had a pretty good idea what else had taken place. “I’m limping because I got kicked by a horse back at Wolf Canyon.”

She heard Bill heave a sigh. “Well, ma’am, I noticed you didn’t sleep much last night, and I thank you for helpin’ watch over Sage. You must surely be bone tired. Sage mumbled somethin’ about you bein’ up most of the night before last keepin’ the horses calm, while he staved off some hungry wolves. Be assured you can rest up good when we get to the ranch house, other than helpin’ nurse Sage, and maybe do some cookin’ for him. The rest of us will have to get on with ranch work and roundup.” He climbed onto his own horse. “I’m right sorry for all that has happened. Sage already told us the location where he found you—said we should go back and get your wagon once we get you to the ranch.”

Maggie still could not meet his eyes. “I appreciate that. And if you could put some kind of marker on my husband’s grave, I’d be grateful for that too.”

“Yes, ma’am, we’ll do that.” Bill rode up beside her, leading a packhorse. The very hefty Joe rode behind them on a huge black gelding, leading the fourth horse Maggie had seen in the shed the night before. Sage’s travois was fixed to straps tied around its belly.

“Main thing now is that Sage doesn’t take a bad infection,” Bill told Maggie as they left the line shack. “I’ve seen small wounds take down big men just because they festered into somethin’ that ate up their whole body. You’ll have to keep a good eye on those wounds and keep them constantly cleaned. Reason I said you’ll have to do the cookin’ is because the ranch cook is miles away with the cook wagon, way over to the northeast, I expect, where most of the hands are searchin’ out the biggest share of the herd. We’ve lost a lot of them because of the hard winter, but it’s not as bad as we thought it would be.”

Maggie thought how she probably needed some nursing of her own, but it was natural for men to think that nursing and cooking were a woman’s job whenever there was one handy. “I’ll be glad to take care of Sage while you men get your work done. He’d want that, and I owe him for filling in my husband’s grave and probably saving my life. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t come along. I am swiftly learning that survival out here isn’t easy.”

“No, ma’am, it ain’t. And wherever you want to go when you’re healed, Sage will see that somebody goes along and gets you there safely.”

Maggie sat a little straighter, her anger and hatred toward the men who’d turned her life upside down returning with a vengeance. “Where I’m going, Mr. Summers, is with Sage, soon as he’s healed enough to go after those men. He’s sworn to hunt them down, even if it takes weeks, and I’m joining him. I want to see them dead as badly as he does.”

She heard Joe clear his throat and suspected he was forcing himself not to argue the matter, but the more talkative Bill shook his head and spit some tobacco juice before answering her. “Ma’am, that would be a foolish thing to do. You have no idea what men like that are like.”

“Oh, I think I have a good idea, Mr. Summers.” She stared straight ahead—sure he understood what she was saying.

“Well, I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was they’ll head into country where there’s more men just like them—country you don’t want to venture into, and men you don’t want to be around. Sage—he can handle them, but you’d be a real distraction—him worryin’ about you and all… let alone the draw you’d be to men like that. Even all messed up and bruised up, like you are, a man can see how pretty you are. Believe me, that will make things real difficult for you and Sage if you go with him into outlaw country.”

Maggie refused to let the thought intimidate her. “I’ve already proven I can handle a gun, Mr. Summers. And nothing can happen that could be any worse than what has already taken place. I’m sure you realize that. I’m not afraid of those men, and I have a right to go after them, and see them die, if I want. I hope to have a hand in killing at least one myself.”

Joe cleared his throat again. Bill glanced back at him, and Maggie suspected they were sharing a smile.

“Don’t underestimate me, Mr. Summers.”

Bill adjusted his hat. “Oh, no, I’d never do that, ma’am. I expect the final decision is up to Sage.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s up to me. If Sage won’t take me, I’ll follow him whether he likes it or not.”

Bill chuckled. “I think maybe you would. Either way, while you’re still with us, I wish you’d call me Bill. Mr. Summers just don’t feel right. Me and Joe ain’t exactly the gentleman types.”

Maggie finally looked over at him. “You have both been perfect gentlemen since I met you last night.”

“Well, respectful, maybe… but we ain’t true gentlemen. You’d faint dead away if you knew all the things we’ve done in the past… Sage too. He’ll be respectful too, but ain’t none of us no angels, that’s sure.”

Joe let out a deep laugh at the remark. “That’s puttin’ it lightly.”

Maggie felt a quick, tiny hint of how ruthless these men could be and probably had been at times. Still, she felt no fear around them, other than wondering how their demeanor might change if they drank too much. She was glad they’d used up most of the whiskey on Sage.

They finally cleared the trees and came into wide, open country covered with yellow grass, like Sage had told her it would be. Again the weather amazed her… a bitter snowstorm the day before yesterday… today, sunshine that actually warmed her through her wool jacket. For the first time since entering Wyoming, the morning brought no wind. She remembered Sage telling her that the wind never stopped blowing out here, and she wondered if the calm would last the whole day or just a little while.

She looked at an extravaganza of clouds that occasionally hid the sun as they moved on the higher elevation winds. Behind them the sky was a brilliant blue, and as always the Rockies loomed to the west, their towering peaks still heavy with snow.

She couldn’t help appreciating the grandeur of the landscape, but for her it was a lonely grandeur. She felt small and alone and vulnerable, but she refused to show it. She’d grown up having to be strong, doing a man’s work, and forced to hide the softer, womanly side that her father would not acknowledge. James never understood. The only thing that had brought it out in her was her baby girl… but her precious child was dead.

She was starkly alone in an unforgiving land, among rough-hewn men who couldn’t possibly understand what she’d been through. She had no one on whom she could rely… no one but herself.