Blaze (62 page)

He sighed and looked away, contemplating the lie. But he changed his mind. His dark gaze returned to her face and he said simply, "A slight chance. Can you shoot?"

Blaze took a deep steadying breath, her eyes on the man she wanted to live a long and happy life with, and reaching deep for a courage she'd never had to call on before, said, "Moderately. Target practice, that sort of thing."

"If you have to, can you do it?"

She knew what he was asking. It was their lives at stake. "Yes," she said, "if I have to."

He smiled, a quick flash, gone almost before she saw it. "Good. Take the rifle, then. I'll be back in a few min-utes. I'm going to try to split them up so we can get two of them before they have time to reach cover. Then the odds will be even and I'll feel a helluva lot better."

"There're four?"

He was checking the ammunition in his Colts and only nodded. "Don't move from here," he said, looking up, "until I get back."

"If you get back," she very softly replied, a sadness clear as bell sound in her voice.

"When," he emphatically repeated. "My word on it. Now get down and watch the creek at the spot we came ashore. I'm going to leave one of our horses down there and another at the base of the outcropping. The trackers may separate to approach them. At least I'm hoping like hell they're cautious enough to."

STANDING in the middle of the stream, Hazard wedged one rein between two large rocks, nudged the horse over a few feet so the rein was taut, and left the second rein trailing in the water. He was hoping to create the impression the horse had snagged itself to a standstill accidentally. It was not very subtle but sometimes, when one was being extra wary as he hoped the trackers were, even the obvious was suspect. The other horse he left loose in a small clearing near the outcropping. The grass was thick and lush; the horse wouldn't wander.

Climbing back up, he relieved Blaze of the rifle, settled them safely behind the redoubt, and sighted in on the horse standing in the middle of the stream. He had to take out at least two of them right away. Motioning Blaze to silence, he sat waiting.

He recognized the lead tracker when they came into sight—a half-blooded Cheyenne named Hyde who'd fought with Price's Army in the war. He hired out as scout or tracker now. The Mexican, known as Montero, "The Huntsman" rode with him, two paces back. Behind were two white men, large, dressed in eastern riding wear, obviously Yancy's men. Hazard knew the two in the lead could track a sandpiper over solid granite washed clean in a rainstorm. It at least obliterated any doubts about their options. With those two, they couldn't have run. They might as well make their stand here.

He knew whom he had to kill first. Hyde's reputation as a butcher with a knife made him most dangerous. The Mexican had handled a killing or two in his past as well; he'd have to be next. They were approaching the horse in the stream as if it were booby-trapped.

About ten more yards and he'd have an unobstructed shot. Hazard could hear Blaze breathing, his own respiration momentarily arrested. He counted the paces in his head as the men moved upstream. Come on, come on, he was silently urging. Five more steps… four… three… keep going, Hyde… keep going— And then his trigger finger squeezed hard once, twice. Pandemonium erupted in the stream, two bodies fell, horses squealed, reared, the white men jerked their mounts around and raced for cover. Hazard pressed off two more shots but they were just a gesture—there wasn't enough time to sight. He was lucky to have gotten the two. "Now," he said, turning to Blaze, "the fun begins."

"Yancy's men?"

"Exactly, how moderate is your shooting?"

"I only said moderate in contrast to the dazzling displays your Absarokee so effortlessly perform on galloping war ponies." She smiled, the old assurance replacing the previous fear.

He was pleasantly surprised. "I didn't realize you had any modesty." He grinned. Home seemed more certain every second.

"Only practical, love. I was answering your question with your standards in mind. From a steady vantage point, very much not a galloping pony, Daddy taught me to shoot out the bull's-eye ninety times out of a hundred."

Hazard looked at the mother of his child dressed in calico and decided he was a very lucky man. "You never cease to amaze me."

She shot him a telling glance. "In the interest of continuing that pleasure, tell me how we're going to get out of here."

He exhaled softly and began ticking them off on his fingers, casting a glance occasionally at the wooded area where Yancy's two men were hidden. "No food, no water, we can't stay up here long; they can wait us out; they have time; we don't. When Yancy discovers we're not on the stage, he'll be back tracking at top speed. I'm going down and get them. You take the rifle and cover me." He waited and she nodded. "We're short of time. Yancy could be backtracking already. It's about four hours into the Lakota hunting grounds. From there I'll get us home. Shoot straight," he softly said and slipped over the side so quickly and quietly he seemed to disappear right before her eyes.

Her rifle poised on a large boulder, Blaze crouched down so only her eyes scanned the country below. For ten minutes she didn't hear a sound or see any movement other than those normal to the woodland, although she knew Hazard was down there somewhere.

Then suddenly Hazard catapulted into the clearing between the outcropping and the creek. His reckless maneuver drew both men to their feet from their concealed positions. Frantically Blaze searched for her front sight. At last, after what seemed a lifetime, she managed to catch it and sighted in on the man behind and to the left of Hazard. There was no time left to think, only react. She pulled the trigger as Hazard rolled to his right with both his Colts blazing at the man in front of him.

Ravens and finches squawked and fluttered their disapproval at the hail of gunfire tearing up the underbrush, their scolding falling into a deathly silence. When the smoke cleared, Hazard cautiously uncurled from behind a windfall and, rising, walked slowly over to the two white men, his pistols drawn, to make certain they were dead. He did the same for the two trackers face down in the creek.

Then he turned to Blaze standing high against the blue sky and blew her a kiss.

Within ten minutes they were heading north-northwest, four additional horses tied behind with food, weapons, supplies, enough to last them home. Blaze had changed into the leather trousers Hazard had purchased for her at their last stage station, and she looked com-fortable astride the Indian pony once belonging to the half-blooded Hyde. "I'll take you for backup any day, Miss Venetia," Hazard drawled, a warm, encompassing smile taking in her new apparel and exotic beauty. They were cantering knee to knee through waving buffalo grass, with a light wind in their faces. "If I'd known Boston society misses were so damnably accomplished I'd have considered some of the other debs more seriously."

"For your information, the rest aren't similarly accomplished, so you can dismiss all those old memories. I, Mr. Black," she replied in a primly mocking affectation of a Boston deb, "am singular in my accomplishments."

"No quarrel there, bia." And Hazard reached over to give her an affectionate brush on the cheek. "Singular in every way." She was fire and ice, steel and gossamer. He adored her. He smiled. She smiled. They were at peace with the world, with themselves, even though they were about to enter enemy territory.

They spoke quietly, haphazardly, in the next hour about their immediate plans—the next three days' plans when they'd cut through Lakota country. By unspoken but mutual consent, neither marred the serenity with any long-range plans.

Yancy was still alive, Blue Flower was in the mountain village waiting for her bridegroom to return, Blaze had forfeited her inheritance, and Hazard's mine would require weeks of unbearably hard work to reopen. It was in the way of love that, at that moment, even such shattering obstacles couldn't impinge on their happiness.

Once they reached the Powder River country, they only traveled by day; Hazard knew of shelters in badland caves and harsh ravines where they were safe from any normal scrutiny. It was against his principles to dally on dangerous journeys such as theirs—against his principles, better judgment, and training—but Blaze wanted to be held while she slept and he'd never been able to refuse her. So he indulged her, with one eye on the approaches to their shelter, and after she was sated and sleeping, when he sat watch, he'd think about how she'd come into his life and changed so much, the changes both had brought to each other's lives. And he thought about his child. His child's imperiled future terrified him beyond the limitless joy the child itself evoked. In the previous three years more whites had settled in Montana than in the last three million years. And the settlers never left once they came. The miners left when the gold was gone but not the farmers.

While The Seven Stars—the Big Dipper—turned around The Star That Does Not Move—the North Star —and the night moved westward, Hazard, sitting awake, staring into the darkness and listening to the even breathing of the woman he loved, wondered how long there would still be choices for his people before a generation would come, born into captivity. And then a weariness would assail him, a seasoned warrior born too late. Too late to live his life out in the old ways. Too late to stop the inexorable tides of civilization. Too late to know the peace of his father in a land dark with buffalo and plenty.

And then, when the universal issues were left unexplained, uncertain, and undealt with, the less universal remained—imminent and spectacular—how to handle his wife-to-be, Blue Flower.

IN FOUR more days that issue faced him squarely as he and Blaze rode into the village, weary but alive. Hazard was almost to the point of exhaustion. It had been nearly a month since he'd slept more than snatched hours here and there. And in the last few days, he'd carried Blaze when she tired, watched over her while she slept, gave her the bulk of their food.

In his weariness, more short-tempered than usual, he was hoping they could reach the security of his lodge and sleep for a few hours before he confronted Blue Flower. When they reached his lodge, however, Blue Flower was waiting at the doorway, beautifully dressed like a young bride, smiling her welcome. Calling on what few reserves of restraint he still possessed, Hazard very deliberately, in a subdued voice, said to Blaze, pleadingly, "You're tired. I'm tired. This is a very large favor I'm asking, but if you'd do it for me without argument, I'd be eternally grateful."

Blaze turned her head, saw the fatigue on his face, heard it in his husky voice, looked into his dark eyes trained expectantly on her.

"Please," was all he said, low, gently, poignant in its need.

She mutely nodded her consent and Hazard smiled his thanks. A frugal smile, symptomatic of his exhaustion.

"Will I have to sleep in the same lodge as—" Blaze's glance took in the young girl standing possessively by Hazard's lodge.

"No," he quickly interposed. "But I might have to be gone for a few hours. I was hoping this would wait until"—he paused and exhaled—"later." His explanation to Blue Flower and her family would tax the most adroit diplomat, and Hazard knew he was too tired to be at his best. But, he thought, squaring his shoulders, it had to be done.

"I wish I could say I'm sorry, but I'm not," Blaze said. "I would have fought for you. I still will if I have to." Her lush cerulean eyes glimmered hotly.

Among all the other things he loved about her, Hazard loved her intrinsic strength. Here was a woman as strong and determined as he. In all places in the world, through fate's most convoluted machinations, he'd met his match. And in the mystic core of his being, he gave thanks to the spirits. He smiled a little when he answered. "That won't be necessary, bia. But thank you. I would fight for you as well." Something, he reflected, he was just about to do.

Before he greeted Blue Flower, he lifted Blaze down from her pony, a quiet opening statement of his intent. It was also the first move in the complex procedures to follow, and he wanted his intentions clearly visible to the village.

When he greeted Blue Flower a moment later, the adoration in her eyes was momentarily disconcerting. He had forgotten, with his own private disinterest, that polygamy was an accepted fact in a female's education. Some liked it less than others, while many who were sisters lived happily and harmoniously with the same husband. A woman's own nature determined her accep-tance. He had also forgotten, he recalled with dismay, how passive, how young Blue Flower was.

She opened the lodge door for Hazard and Blaze and followed them in. His home was immaculate, food was cooking on the fire, his clothes were all neatly arranged near his bed. Even his favorite medicine bundle was hanging in the place of honor. He briefly—and uneasily—wondered how she knew so much about him.

"Lie down, eat, rest. I'll be back," he murmured to Blaze, and turning to Blue Flower he spoke rapidly to her in Absarokee. Formally, he apologized for his appearance, thanked her for keeping his lodge in his absence, and then asked her if she would walk with him.

She accepted, pleased to be seen with her betrothed before the village, acquiescent by nature and agreeable to any request he might have made. He walked with her to her father's lodge and, after a lengthy welcome which Hazard was obligated to endure in the name of courtesy and which further depleted his resources of energy and diplomacy, he put forward his proposal. Somewhat more bluntly than he'd planned. Somewhat more precipitately than he'd intended. Sweetened with an enormous gift, much more lavish than necessary.

But he was driven by fatigue and urgency, beyond sensible calculations of propriety. And he felt more guilt than anticipated. Blue Flower's expression was artless in its worship. He gave them his entire herd of horses, keeping only Peta and the palomino he'd given Blaze. He apologized for his rough manners; it was impolite to offer a gift directly. He should have gone through a relative, but he'd been on the trail for twenty-eight days, he said, and hoped they'd forgive the rudeness.

Bold Ax remembered Hazard's first refusal and understood his heart now. He knew Hazard's honor and integrity, knew his daughter was too young and beautiful to be seriously affected. He accepted Hazard's proposal with good grace. Blue Flower was crying, though, when Hazard left, and he felt a sharp twinge of unease at her tears.

"IT'S over," Hazard said when he walked back into his lodge.

"Thank God," Blaze softly breathed.

"Thank Bold Ax for his understanding," Hazard replied, hauling his shirt over his head. "It could have caused hard feelings for years." He kicked off his moccasins and fell down on the bed. "I'm too tired to bathe." He shut his eyes and breathed deeply twice, then opened his eyes and said, "Sorry."

"You're forgiven." Blaze was sitting cross-legged beside him, having spent the last hour waiting, unmoving, trying to anticipate what was going on, frantic to know, terrified to know.

"Have you eaten?"

Blaze nodded.

"I'm too tired to eat."

"You shouldn't go without—"

His dark, slim hand went up and his midnight glance silently stopped her. "Just because you're my only wife now," Hazard said, a boyish smile gracing his classic features, attenuated by the fatigue of his cross-country journey, "does not entitle you to nag."

"How about friendly persuasion?" Blaze countered with the faintest of grins, never in the least intimidated by Hazard.

"That's allowable," he replied, his arms opening wide, his smile crinkling his eyes half-shut.

"How friendly?" Blaze teased, falling into his embrace.

"Your usual friendly will do nicely. And an extra-friendly friendly wouldn't be out of line on this single occasion in our life when I've diminished my wealth by three hundred horses to maintain your position of only wife." It was an unheard-of gesture of apology, costing him all his horses.

"Three hundred horses?" Blaze repeated, astonished.

"Every one I owned, save Peta and your palomino."

"That's rather sweet." She kissed him lightly. "Just think, I'm worth three hundred horses."

"The first solid night of sleep in twenty-eight days was worth three hundred horses," he mockingly retorted.

"Are you really going to sleep all night?" Blaze quickly asked in a touchingly doleful way.

He looked at her. At the woman he'd traveled four thousand miles for, had fought and killed for, the woman he'd paid three hundred horses for, who'd almost cost him his life. He looked at the woman who made life worth living and smiled. "An hour?" he indulgently inquired.

It WAS only the time when wild geese fly south to the winter sun, but the first snow came early in November that year and postponed Hazard's plans to reopen the mine. With the arriving snows, the clan broke up into smaller units, migrating to sheltered locations in the Wind River Valley where hunting and grazing for the horses was made easier. Hazard and Blaze chose to go into winter camp alone.

He didn't mind that his plans had been altered by the early blizzards. The mines everywhere were shut down for the winter; mining needed water to operate, and once the rivers and streams were frozen, operations ceased. He and Blaze welcomed the peace and solitude. They had stayed a month in camp but were now snug in a small mountain valley with enough buffalo grass to last their two horses the winter, and a stream he chopped open daily for their water and his bathing. Hazard had improvised a buffalo-skin tub for Blaze supported on a folding wooden framework and rubbed with tallow until the hide was waterproof. In the evenings he'd watch her bathe or help her bathe by the light of the fire and watch his child growing. They had food in good supply, enough firewood on the mountainside to last several lifetimes, fur-lined moccasins, and warm buffalo robes. The lodge, heated by a fire, was snug and warm against snow, wind and cold. So when snows covered the mountainsides and every twig and tree and bush snapped with cold and even the rushing waters of the Echeta Casha were frozen over, their short winter days by the Yellowstone were theirs alone.

They had books to read; he taught her some Ab-sarokee gambling games, and she taught him bridge with a set of cards she made. She was learning Absarokee and improving as a cook, although Hazard still did a healthy share of the meal-making. Hazard made them a sled from a hollow log, and on warm afternoons they went skimming down the powdery snow on the mountainside.

Their winter alone was one long honeymoon—perfect, joyous, distant from the outside world, with love and their child growing strong and healthy amid the mountain splendor of Hazard's homeland.

At Christmas the mercury was stagnant at twenty below and the sky had been clear with Northern Lights for a week. Hazard brought in a small pine tree for Blaze, and she trimmed it with ribbon bows and strings of berries. On Christmas Eve, Blaze insisted he unwrap his present first and, like a young child, eyes alight with the pleasure of giving, she watched him carefully undo the small fur-wrapped package. She had unstrung her black pearls and sewn them in a flower pattern on Hazard's ceremonial tobacco pouch. The stitches were irregular and knotted in places—she had never acquired the necessary skill as a child, much preferring less sedentary pursuits—and all the imperfections of her rudimentary sewing technique were candidly exposed on the fine light leather. Hazard touched the asymmetrical flower, the petals tilted slightly lower on one side than the other, ran his slim fingers lightly over the precious black pearls, and looked up at his beloved wife, her expression expectant with anticipation, and softly said, "It's the most beautiful tobacco pouch I've ever seen. When I wear it at the ceremony in the spring, everyone will be green with envy." She was radiant with happiness, and he had never loved her so much. "Open mine," he gently prompted her, nodding at the large deerskin-wrapped bundle he'd placed beside her. It hadn't been intended as a Christmas gift, but when Blaze started very early talking about Christmas, he'd saved it to give her then.

In her excitement, she struggled with the leather ties until Hazard calmly helped undo the knots. Seconds later the deerskin was tossed aside and even the millionaire's daughter was momentarily at a loss for words. Silently she unfurled the lush ermine until it was spread in a large opulent drapery across her lap. "It's magnificent," she whispered at last. "Absolutely magnificent." Hundreds of skins had been sewn, with stitches so fine they were invisible, into a flowing hooded cape, lined in black velvet embroidered in traditional Absarokee geometric patterns.

"Put it on. I hope it fits." Standing, he scooped it up and held it out for her.

It fell gently around her shoulders. Grasping it under her chin, she swung in a slow circle before Hazard, the supple fur gleaming in the firelight.

"It fits," he drily commented, "my Boston princess."

"How did you ever think of it?" Blaze asked, burying her chin in the plush softness.

"Couldn't have my princess cold this winter. There's something in the pocket, too," he added.

Blaze slid her hand into the deep inner pocket and pulled out a small birch-bark box. Lifting the cover, she found a tiny pearl on a gold chain lying on soft green moss. "It's very lovely," she said, lifting the locket out.

"Do you recognize it?" Hazard asked.

She looked at him, faintly perplexed. Although she had pearls in her jewelry collection, she'd never had a single pearl. "Should I?" she asked.

"It's from your dress…"

"The Territorial Ball!"

"I found it after you fled from the summer kitchen. I

don't know—didn't know why I saved it then. The spirits must have known even that night how our lives would turn out. It was the first time I kissed you. Do you remember?"