Weathered Too Young (35 page)

Lark giggled and called, “All right!
All right!
I’ll come for a visit.”
As she stepped off the porch and started toward the corral
,
however, she added, “But only for a moment.
Those parlor rugs are so dusty I can hardly breathe.”

By the time Lark had made her way to the corral, Coaly was at the fence too.
Lark smiled as both horses nuzzled their velvet noses into the palms of her offered hands.
“I’m sure you girls are drinking in this day, hmmm?”
She
patted both horses
and
bru
shed their necks with her hands,
speaking to them in a quiet
,
loving voice as she did so.

“If Slater catches me
,
he’ll turn me over his knee,” she said.
“He thinks I spoil you two, you know.”
Her smile broadened as Dolly stomped the ground with one enormous hoof.
“That’s right, Dolly,” she giggled.
“He is a hypocrite…for I’ve seen the way he pampers you when he thinks no one’s watching.
If he thinks for one minute that I thought he was really eating five apples a day out of the crates in the cellar…really!”

Lark lingered with Dolly and Coaly for a time.
Yet as she looked up, glancing beyond the corral, she decided that the fresh air near the corral wasn’t quite fresh enough.
The warm horizon beckoned
,
and she soon found herself meandering toward the canyon ridge.
Oh, the canyon was too far for a simple stroll, yet she’d heard Tom tell Slater just that morning that the river winding through the small canyon was already running high.
She wondered if she might be able to hear the water—hear the rush of the moun
tain’s melted snow as it raced d
own through the canyon.

She found she had to be wary
,
however.
She’d forgotten how many
w
alking
s
tick
c
actus
es
grew between the east fence and the canyon.
Some were nearly as tall as she was, and though they owned a certain wild beauty, Lark surmised the prick of their needles would be painful to experience.

All was still and peaceful as she walked.
Meadowlarks called back and forth
,
and the breeze was fresh.
Lark fancied that the sagebrush and chamisa were already beginning to show a hint of color.
Soon everything would begin to green up a bit
;
soon the wildflowers would begin to sprout.
The thought caused Lark to smile.

“Howdy.”

She startled—gasped as she turned to see a man standing a short distance behind her.
He had dismounted his horse
and stood with the bridle reins draped casually over his shoulder.
Immedi
ately, the pace of Lark’s heart
beat increased—but not for the same reasons that it increased in Slater’s presence.
This hammering of her heart was all too familiar to Lark.
Though it had been months since she’d known fear for the warning in her bosom, Lark recognized it immediately—a sense of menace.
How had he managed to come upon her so quietly?
She hadn’t heard a hint of his approach!

“Hello,” she managed, forcing a friendly smile.
She sensed malice from the man,
but she would not let him know she sensed it.

The man offered a smile.
It was meant to be a friendly
,
calming smile, but it was marred by yellowed and rotting teeth and more portrayed malevolence than innocence.
“
Good m
ornin’, ma’am,” the man said, touching the brim of his hat in greeting.

“It is a good morning,” Lark said as she began to walk in the direction of the house.

“I’m
…
uh
…
I’m lookin’ for a feller by the name of Slater Evans
,” the man began.
“He’s an old friend of mine
,
and folks in town tell me he lives here about.”

Simply the feeling of dread that enveloped Lark the longer she lingered in the man’s presence told her that he was no friend of Slater’s.
The man was tall with long blond
hair
—
braided
and hanging down his back nearly to his waist.
A broad
,
livid scar
traveled diagonally from his forehead
just above one eyebrow,
down and over his nose
,
to disappear
beneath a scraggly red beard.

“
Yes…he does live near here,” Lark said.
For she knew the man would not believe her if she entirely lied.

“Might you be Mrs. Evans, ma’am?” the man asked, his smile broadening.

Lark forced an amused laugh.
“Me?
Oh no, sir.
Not me,” she told him.
“You want the Evans ranch.
This is the Thornquist’s place.
I work for Mrs. Thornquist.”

The man’s eyes narrowed
,
his smile fading to a grin.
“Then where might I find the Evans
es
’ place?” he asked.

Inwardly, Lark offered a pray
er
of thanks
,
for it seemed the man had believed her—at least for the moment.
“Well,
you’re almost there,” she said
,
smiling.
Knowing that the man must’ve come from town, she turned and pointed east.
“The Evans
es
are just about three miles out from us…just a little f
a
rther east.
Beyond them is the Jacobsen place
. S
o if you get to their place
,
then you’ve gone too far.”

The man slowly studied Lark from head to toe
,
and the obvious perusal heightened her fear.
“Well, I need to get back,” Lark said.
“I just stepped
out
for a breath
of
fresh spring air.
It was nice to meet you, Mister…”

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am,” the man said.

Lark watched as he mounted his horse—not
ing
he wore a large
,
sheathed knife on one hip, his gun at the opposing thigh.

“Tell those Evans brothers we said hello,” she said,
smiling and resuming her walk
back toward the house.

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said.

“Bye, now,” Lark said, smiling and waving as the man rode off—east.

Instantly, a terrifying sense of panic gripped her!
Lifting her skirt, she turned and began running back toward the ranch.
She had to tell someone—she had to tell Slater!
Nothing in her would accept that the stranger was a good man—that he owned only the intention of visiting with an old friend.
He’d inquired about Slater
. T
herefore, whatever his malevolent intentions were
,
they were directed
at
Slater.

Lark glanced over her shoulder to ensure the man was still riding east and not following her.

She cried out as a sharp pain exploded at the top of her right arm.
In looking over her shoulder, she’d missed seeing the large
w
alking
s
tick
c
actus in her path.
She stumbled, wincing with pain as she looked to see the cactus needles protruding from her upper arm.

“Ow!” she gasped as she pulled one needle from her flesh.
But there was not time to remove the remaining needles.
She had to warn Slater.
The needles could wait until she was back to the ranch house, at least.

Her chest burned with the excretion of running in the cool spring air, but soon the ranch house was in sight.

“Slater!” Lark called as she approached the
corrals.
Dolly and Coaly raced
across the corral when they heard her, nodding happily in anticipation of her returning to offer them attention.

“I’m sorry, girls,” Lark said, pausing long enough to stroke each horse’s nose a moment.
“I have to find our Slater.”

Lark glanced
down at her arm again, however,
for the pain inflicted by the cactus needles was increasing to a near excruciating intensity.
She gasped, “Oh no!” when she saw that the needles were no longer visible above the fabric of her sleeve.
Whether it was their natural way or
because
of the exertion of Lark’s run for home, the cactus needles
had
begun to work their way deeper and deeper into her flesh.

“Slater!” Lark cried.
Oh, he had to be with
in
the sound of her voice—he had to be!
Lark knew she m
ust remove the cactus needles from her arm
immediately
,
before they drove themselves completely
into her flesh.
The pain the cactus needles
were inflicting was monstrous
,
and Lark could no longer keep from weeping for the sake of it.
Still, she was worried for Slater.
In less than half the hour, the man she’d met would know she had lied to him.
She had to find Slater!
Yet the pain in her arm was nearly paralyzing
.
Lark’s body had begun to tremble.

“Slater!” she cried.
Still, she had no idea where to look for him. She didn’t know where Outlaw had broken through the fence—didn’t know if mending the fence was even still his task.
She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat
and
angrily brushed the tears from her cheeks—though more simply streamed from her eyes.

She had to remove the cactus needles
, and
then she’d be able to saddle a horse and ride out to look for Slater.
Until the needles were pulled from her arm, however, she was nearly helpless.

Hurrying into the house and
into the
kitchen,
Lark reached back with her left hand, struggling to unfasten the buttons at her collar.

“Please, please!” she sobbed as her fingers endeavored to
work the buttons at the back of her shirtwaist then.
At last her shirtwaist was unfastened, and she carefully slipped her arm
s
from her sleeve
s
,
wincing and crying out
,
for each movement caused pain
to
flame up and down her arm—even through her body.

Once her shoulder
s
and arm
s
were free of her shirtwaist, she studied the place where the cactus needles were wounding her.
The needles, which had once merely pricked her flesh—the greater part of their inch length appearing above her skin—now only showed perhaps a quarter inch above it. Lark wondered if she could indeed remove all
the needles, still working their way deeper and deeper into her tender arm,
before several managed to disappear entirely.

Her hand was trembling so very violently that she couldn’t grip the short end of any cactus needle protruding from her flesh.
Wiping the tear
s
from her eyes, she inhaled a deep breath
,
held it
,
and tried again.
This time she managed to grip a needle with her fingertips, but as she tugged on it, the pain of the resistance it offered caused her to cry out.
Angrily, she brushed at her tears.
She had to find Slater—had to warn him.
She tried again, moaning and weeping as she managed to extract one of the cactus needles.
Panting with pain and
relief
, she looked to her arm.
At least twenty more needles were there—twenty!
How would she ever remove them all?

“Lark?” Slater cal
led as he opened the front door, stepping
into the house.

“Slater!” Lark cried.

Careless of her pain, of the fact that her shirtwaist no
w
hung at her waist
,
exposing her camis
ole and corset, she ran to him. Taking hold of his shoulder, she sobbed
, “There was a man!
H-he was looking for you!
I know he’s someone bad
.
I know he is!
I lied…I lied to him and told him
—”