Wayward Wind (9 page)

Roscoe was almost incapable of ignoring the lush grass and had to stop every so often to snatch a mouthful, so they moved
slowly down the valley heading for the stream that flowed alongside the cabin where Lorna and Griffin waited. The animal path
he followed had all but vanished in the undergrowth, so he let Roscoe pick his way leisurely while his thoughts strayed back
to Lorna.

She had remained on his mind all day, a disturbing but pleasing presence. He could see her as clearly as if she stood before
him, even to the cleft in her lower lip. Her skin was pure cream, her mouth soft and red as an apple, and tendrils of glossy
black hair curled about her beautiful, heart-shaped face. It was her eyes, deep violet-blue, a blue of warmth and darkness
he’d never seen before, that haunted his thoughts even more than her boyishly thin body with the small pointed breasts that
nudged at the baggy shirt she wore. She seemed fragile, like a shy, wild deer, poised and ready for flight, but also wiry,
like a small cat that would fight if cornered. It was something about the way she moved that made him think this; a mixture
of caution and alertness, so finely tuned that at any time she could explode into action. She’d said she’d come from Light’s
Mountain. He’d heard of it. Wasn’t it a two or three day ride southeast of his place; a vast, almost unpeopled mountain accessible
only by high Indian trails?

From down the valley a high yodeling call came to him riding on the wind. Cooper pulled Roscoe up sharply. Then he heard the
muffled explosion of a six-gun. Tense, he waited and listened. The silence was broken only by the faraway gobble of a turkey
and, closer to him, the sound of a squirrel scampering in the dry leaves. Uneasiness touched him and then mounted to fear.
The only gun at the cabin was Lorna’s rifle and it was not a rifle shot he’d heard. His anxiety transmitted itself to Roscoe,
and the stallion danced nervously. Cooper held him in check for a long moment while he listened for another shot, and when
there was none, he let up on the tight reins and sent the horse thundering toward the cabin.

The sun was up above the treetops when Lorna took the soiled cloths from Bonnie’s bed down to the creek. She went downstream,
washed them in the swiftly moving water, and hung them on bushes out of sight of the cabin. Bonnie had roused enough to murmur
that she was hungry and that she could smell the brown beans boiling gently in the iron kettle. Griffin had fed her bits of
biscuit dipped in the honey that Lorna had brought to sweeten their coffee, and then Bonnie had fallen asleep again.

Lorna walked slowly back to the cabin, problems nagging her mind. She had to find a place for Bonnie. Brice would come for
her sooner or later and there would be nothing she could do, short of killing him, that would prevent him from taking her.
She had thought of taking her to White Bull’ village, but this time of the year her Indian friends were in the north. She
hadn’t mentioned that possibility to Bonnie because the mere thought of Indians scared her half out of her wits. Another worry
that nagged Lorna was the fact that Volney hadn’t returned. What had happened to keep him from coming back as he had said
he would? And there was Frank to worry about. Her father had avoided her like the plague since she had caught him, Hollis
and the Bettses with old man Prichard’s cows. Lorna knew he was ashamed to face her, but he was too weak to break away from
Brice and his influence. She just wished he had more … guts!

When she entered the cabin, Griffin lifted his head with a start. He sat with his back against the wall, his chin resting
on his chest.

“Why don’t you sleep for awhile?” Lorna asked. “You didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

“I never caught ya with yore eyes shut, ma’am. Bonnie’s got no fever ’n she’s asleepin’. It’s the best thin’ for ’er.”

“I told her the babe was dead, and all she said was she figured it was. She wanted to know if it had … everything it was suppose
to have. I told her that it was perfect. It eased her mind and she went to sleep. I don’t see how she came through all that,
Griff. I really thought she’d die.”

“She’s tough. Hard life’s made ’er tough. It’d killed a softer woman. Not that she ain’t a sweet, soft woman,” he added quickly.

“I know what you mean. As soon as she’s well enough to move, I’ll have to find another place for her. None of the mountain
people I know will take her in. They’re all afraid of Brice. I was hoping Volney would come back. He said he’d try to find
a place where she could work for her keep without doing it on her back.”

“Bonnie’s not
that
kind a woman.” Griffin didn’t know why he said that, or why he felt so strong about it. Then, as if thinking aloud, he said,
“She’s done what she had to in order to keep body ’n soul together.”

It surprised him how easily he could talk to Lorna. He could count on his fingers the number of times during the last ten
years he’d talked to a good woman. He’d known the whores in the bordellos south of the border, but they hadn’t wanted to talk
much. While he’d been here with Lorna and Bonnie, he’d felt decent, almost like anyone else, and he wasn’t looking forward
to the time when he’d ride away and leave them.

Bonnie woke and looked around drowsily. She didn’t appear to be frightened when Griffin slid his arm beneath her shoulders
to lift her so she could drink the cup of water Lorna brought to her. She drank thirstily, her eyes on Griffin’s face, then
closed them wearily and drifted back to sleep.

“You can sleep too, if you like.” Lorna sat down on the end of the straw pallet, untied her long mane of black hair and pulled
it over her shoulder. The end of it lay in her lap. She began to stroke it with a wide-toothed heavy comb; lightly at first,
until it was smooth enough for the teeth of the comb to penetrate the heavy mass.

Griffin tried to turn his eyes away from her, but it was a sight he’d not witnessed for a long time—a woman combing her long,
silky hair. She was as beautiful and serene as the Madonna in the cathedral at Juarez. The feeling that came over him was
much like the same feeling he had when he walked into the cool, quiet church after being released from the hellhole that was
Yuma Prison, and knelt at the feet of the mother of Christ.

“Griff?”

This
Madonna spoke to him. He brought his mind back to the present with difficulty. “Are ya sure ya don’t want to sleep awhile?”

“I’ve got too much on my mind. I’ll sleep after Mr. Parnell comes back.”

“If you’re sure, ma’am.” Griffin lay down on the floor with his face to the wall and pillowed his head in his arm. So much
had happened in the last few days, yet he had never felt so at peace in all his young life. He was alive, he was here, and
he wasn’t alone. That was the last thought to register in his mind before he fell asleep.

Lorna combed the tangles from her hair, retied it at the nape of her neck, and then with several strips of rawhide, tied it
every few inches down the full length to keep it from tangling. She longed to plunge naked into the creek, but even more so,
she longed to get on Gray Wolf’s back and ride like the wind to some faraway place, stretch her arms wide, feel the warmth
of the sunshine on her face, and release the full volume of her voice in song.

She reached over and laid the back of her hand against Bonnie’s cheek. No fever, thank God! She lay down, pillowing her head
on her arm. Her thoughts turned to Cooper Parnell. She had been sure he would ride out at dawn. Why hadn’t he believed her
when she told him about the mare? And why had she felt almost betrayed that he would think she lied? This morning he had looked
at her as if he knew her every thought. Did he know that she wanted to follow him out the door, ride with him on the hunt,
be alone with him? Did he have the same strange feeling for her that she had for him? Was that the reason he’d stayed?

She was tired. Her eyelids felt as if they were weighted with lead; she’d close them for just a moment … It seemed only seconds
later that she came up out of a deep sleep, her mind mixed and unclear, her eyes trying to focus on the men coming through
the door.

“There’s the sonofabitch! Get ’em!”

Lorna was brought to full wakefulness by the loud, harsh voice. It also brought Griffin up off the floor grabbing at an empty
holster. Two men sprang on him and he was flung back by their tremendous weight. Quick as a cat, Lorna dived for the rifle
beside the door. A huge hand lashed out and grabbed the heavy rope of hair hanging down her back. She was hauled back with
such force that tears of pain gushed from her eyes, but she never uttered a sound.

A man with a red stubble of beard on his face gave a shout of laughter. “Wal, looky here, boys. Looky here what we got. We
got us a bonus fer acatchin’ our horse thief.”

Lorna made no attempt to struggle against the superior strength of the man holding her. Even in her near panic, she realized
the folly of it. Trying to foresee what future action she might take, she made every effort to conceal the knife in her sash.
Fear gave way to a feeling of such implacable hatred for men of this breed that droplets of sweat broke out on her forehead.

Griffin was hauled to his feet, defenseless, but jerking violently at the hands holding him. The first thing he saw that registered
in his mind was Dunbar with his arm wrapped tightly around Lorna, her back pulled to his chest.

“Get yore filthy hands off ’er, ya stupid bastard!” he shouted hoarsely and tried to lunge forward. The two men holding him
hauled him back and slammed him against the wall.

“Who cut ya down, horse thief? Was it yore woman here?”

“Let ’er go. I ne’er set eyes on ’er till this mornin’.”

“Ya shore as hell didn’t cut that rope yoreself. If’n I hadn’t a got to wantin’ that horse ya was aridin’ I might a not knowed.
It warn’t no chore a’tall to track ya here. There ain’t agoin’ to be no little gal to climb the tree ’n cut ya down this time.
We’ll hang ya proper, like a horse thief ort a be hung.”

“Lorna! Lorna—” Bonnie’s voice was weak but loud enough to hold a note of hysteria. Her eyes were wide with fright and she
cowered back against the wall, pulling the cover up until it concealed all but her eyes.

“Stay still, Bonnie. They won’t hurt you.” Lorna spoke as reassuringly as her own fright would allow.

“What’s a matter with ’er?” Dunbar’s bellow filled the small room.

“She’s… sick.”

“What’s she sick of?”

Lorna’s busy mind churned and grasped at an idea. “I don’t know. She broke out in spots and took a fever—”

“Spots? Fever?” The older of the two men holding Griffin whispered hoarsely and swore under his breath. “Gawda-mighty… the
smallpox!”

Both men released their hold on Griffin and bolted for the door. Griffin stood there, his eyes on the six-gun Dunbar had pressed
menacingly against the side of Lorna’s head.

“Ya move a inch ’n I’ll blow ’er head off,” Dunbar snarled.

“Let ’er go. She’s got nothin’ to do with this. I forced my way in here.”

“It shore looked like it. Ya was asleepin’ like a babe.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, Dunbar—” Griffin held up his hands, palms out, and took a step forward.

“Stay back or I’ll blow ’er head off!” Dunbar started backing to the door, dragging Lorna with him. “C’mon. C’mon outta there,
horse thief. I ain’t awantin’ to shoot this purty thin’, but I will.”

“Lorna—”

“Stay put, Bonnie. Don’t move off the pallet and keep covered.”

“Has she got the smallpox?”

“I don’t know. She may have.”

Dunbar pulled her through the door and out into the grassy area in front of the cabin. Griffin came out. Lorna noticed for
the first time that he had the remote, careful eyes of a man who has lived much with danger. His quick glance took in the
two men standing beside their horses. Lorna knew that he was weighing his chances, and if not for her he would leap back into
the cabin and slam the door. It would buy him time, and perhaps Cooper would return. She also knew that he wasn’t going to
take the risk that Dunbar would shoot her, and her mind groped for a way to help him. Dunbar had her arms pinioned to her
sides or she could stab him with her knife and create a diversion. The only other weapon at her disposal was her powerful
voice. She took a deep breath and prayed that Cooper or some of White Bull’s people—even Brice—would hear her call.

“Wah-eee… hoo-oo! Wah-eee… hoo-oo! Wah-eee… hoo-oo!”

The high clear sound that came from deep in Lorna’s throat blasted through the silence. It was so loud, so startling, that
it was seconds before Dunbar realized that it was coming from the small woman clamped to his side.

“Shut up, gawddamn you!” His big, rough hand moved up to cover her face and squeeze cruelly. Arms free, Lorna flung one hand
up to claw his eyes and the other sought the knife in her sash. In the struggle, the gun barrel momentarily slipped away from
her head.

Griffin chose that moment to jump at Dunbar, but the distance was too great. Dunbar shoved Lorna to the ground, raised the
gun and fired. Griffin was flung back. He staggered to the wall of the cabin and leaned there, blood oozing through the fingers
of the hand he clasped to his shoulder. Momentarily forgotten, Lorna scrambled to her feet and ran to Griffin. Within the
time it took to draw a breath she was in front of him with both feet planted firmly on the ground, knees slightly bent, head
forward, poised to throw the knife she held in her hand.

“I warn you: I can put this blade in your heart before you can lift that gun to fire again.” She was deadly calm, knowing
what was coming and settling herself for it. The seriousness of her voice caused Dunbar to pause. He stared uncomprehendingly
at her for an instant.

“Ya dumb bitch! Ya ain’t agoin’ to hold off three guns with that knife.”

“It’ll not matter to you. You’ll be dead.”

“I ain’t awantin’ to shoot no woman, but—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll not shoot me. One of those sorry no-goods might, but not you.” She jerked her head toward the
men beside the horses, but her cold, steady eyes never moved from his.