Defiant (27 page)

“They value children,” she reminded him.

“They value their own children too, and helping yours could injure theirs,” he said bluntly. “We don't have any more time to waste. You can return with Tom Berry and get help in town or you can stay here and trust them, trust me.”

Mary Jo was defeated, and she knew it. Jeff had been out here three days now. She didn't have time to go back, summon a search party of white men. Jeff may have somehow gotten back home, but she didn't think so. Deep in her heart, she knew he was in these mountains. She nodded.

“Her name is Shavna,” he said. “She is a good woman who has two sons of her own.” He turned, nodding to Manchez and leading Mary Jo to the tepee he'd left. He stooped to go in again, and in a moment was back out, a pretty young Ute woman following him.

The woman smiled shyly at her and held out her hand, inviting Mary Jo in. Mary Jo hesitated once more. Wade took several steps toward her, and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“We'll find him,” he said with one of his rare smiles, and for the first time since she'd known Jeff was missing, Mary Jo felt hope welling inside, drowning out all the misgivings, the fear and distrust of those warriors now springing to the back of horses that had been grazing among the rich mountain grasses. She nodded and followed the Ute woman inside.

Jeff's stomach rumbled and ached. He'd been eating berries, too many of them. He just hoped they weren't poisonous. He had little food left, only a piece of jerky he'd been hoarding.

He'd tried to go hunting today, but he missed two squirrels and he'd been afraid to use any more of his ammunition. He'd only had six shells and he thought he'd better save the remaining four for varmints. He'd seen tracks earlier today, several of them, and he thought they might be wolves.

He'd already collected lots of wood for the fire tonight, to help him stay awake.

His fingers shook as he prepared the fire. The sun was setting now, red streaks coloring the sky. He'd never been so lonely or scared in his life, not even when his pa didn't come home years ago, or when Ty was killed in Harmony. He'd had Ma then. He'd never felt so awfully alone. And Ma. He knew she must be going crazy now, and guilt weighed on him.

The bloody crimson of the sky dissolved into the dark blue of night. The darker it got, the scarier it seemed. And more dangerous. Every sound now was enough to make him want to jump out of his skin.

Old Seth stamped nervously where he was tethered, and Jeff heard a faraway cry of something terrified, a cry like a baby's. An eagle grabbing a rabbit? Whatever it was, it ran a chill through him. Wind brushed the tops of the tree, and he drew his blankets closer. The temperature was falling fast now, as was the last light. He struck a match and lit his precious pile of kindling, fanning it with his hands. He knew he had to keep this fire going, not only to keep the animals away but because he was running out of matches as quickly as he was running out of everything else, including courage. He wanted to cry, but that wouldn't help.

An owl shrieked as the night turned entirely black. He wished Jake was there with him. Jake would miss him, too. He was a one-man dog, at least he had been until he found Wade Foster. He prayed. At least he tried. He was too scared, and he didn't really think God was listening to him. He hunched his shoulders against the darkness, the night, and snakes and coyotes and other animals he knew prowled these woods.

He reached out and touched his rifle. He had to stay awake. He had to.

Shavna did not speak English, but Mary Jo sensed her sympathy, her worry, and she found herself responding to it.

The inside of the tepee surprised her. There was a strong odor, but everything was neat and clean. Buffalo robes were folded in a corner, and gaily decorated pottery and intricately woven baskets edged the circle of the elkskin that covered the frame. A baby gurgled happily as it lay in a hide cradleboard, elaborately and apparently lovingly decorated with laces and fringe and beads. Another child, no more than two, played happily with a small drum.

Shavna leaned over and touched her hair, as if it were something wondrous, and then smiled shyly again. She pointed to what appeared to be a doeskin dress she'd been beading. Mary Jo touched it, wondering at its color and softness. It was lovely, the skin exquisitely tanned and ornamented with beads. Shavna handed it to her and smiled.

Mary Jo, not knowing exactly what was expected, smiled back, her fingers touching the softness of the garment. Worry kept her from concentrating. Her mind was far away, riding with Wade. But her fear began to fade as the little boy toddled over to her, his fingers catching in her braid, as fascinated by her hair as his mother was.

He said something she didn't understand, and his mother smiled with the kind of pride that all mothers knew. The boy was irresistible, his dark eyes glowing with curiosity and fascination as his small hands touched Mary Jo's mouth and gave her a big baby grin.

Mary Jo had to smile back, her arms going around the child, and he cooed with pleasure and laughed. In minutes, she was teaching the boy a little game she used to play with Jeff, riding a horse to market, and taking pleasure in the shrills of delight that accompanied it.

Later, when the boy was sleeping, Shavna pushed the dress back in her lap, and Mary Jo then realized it was a gift. Already emotionally battered, she fought to hold back tears at the generous gesture. The woman had obviously worked on the garment for days, if not weeks, and Mary Jo had never felt quite as humbled.

Wade rode off with Manchez and eighteen other warriors who had volunteered to join the search. Even Tom Berry surprised everyone by accompanying them. Wade had tried to thank his brother-in-law, but they had never needed words between them, and Manchez had shrugged off his halting words. But Wade knew the possible cost of the search to Manchez and his people.

The Utes had been pushed farther and farther west and now lived on the western slope of the Colorado Rockies, having given up much of their land in the San Juans in a succession of treaties. They had done so under the leadership of Chief Ouray, who'd devoted his life trying to ensure that the Utes wouldn't be forced on a reservation as other tribes had. He had signed treaty after treaty with the white man, each time seeing the treaty broken by greed. Now there were renewed calls to completely displace the Utes from the new state of Colorado.

Any incident, any at all, would strengthen the pressure for all Colorado Utes to be moved to the semiarid mountains of Utah, away from the rich grass of their centuries-old homeland.

Chief Ouray had been one of the few Indian leaders to see early on that the Indians could not win a war with the whites, that they had to find some way to satisfy the increasing lust for Indian land while keeping some for themselves. It had not always been easy to control the Ute warriors, who found their buffalo gone along with their grazing lands. But he had managed to keep the peace, except for a few isolated incidents.

Wade was keenly aware of the quiet, hopeless rage that often affected his friends. He had known he had to avenge the deaths of his wife and son, or Manchez would, and that would have meant disaster for his band, and possibly for the Ute nation.

And now they were risking a great deal for this white child, because he'd asked them. Although supposedly they had hunting rights in these mountains, the establishment of a summer camp went beyond the treaty. The Utes had taken care to keep far away from white settlements and new mines, but now they would be searching in areas where whites could be encountered, in the areas where Wade had killed three miners.

The Utes, though, could move like shadows. They'd always been hunters, had controlled these mountains for hundreds of years, and for years had fought the Arapahoes and Navahos. If anyone could find Jeff, it would be these men.

Manchez had asked only one thing when Wade had returned two days earlier. “The men who killed Chivita?”

“Dead,” Wade had replied, and Manchez had nodded in approval.

Wade had told him about the last miner, his own wounding, and the white woman and boy who had saved him.

“I owe them for my brother's life, as I now owe my brother once again,” Manchez had said.

After several hours, the Utes separated into groups of two and three, to cover more ground and to better fade into the forests if they encountered miners or troops. Wade went with Manchez, heading down toward the main trail to Black Canyon. They spoke very little; Wade's thoughts were focused on Mary Jo and Jeff. He couldn't banish her from his mind; it amazed him that she had come to him for help, and not only, he knew, because she thought her son might be with him. He had seen the hope flare in her eyes when she'd first seen him, and he'd felt both pleased and unworthy. He'd also known gut-deep fear for the boy. He hadn't realized until this morning how much he cared about Jeff, how much he cared about Jeff's mother, how much he'd been trying to deny those feelings and how badly he was failing.

He only knew he couldn't lose Jeff. He couldn't stand another loss in his life. His gaze met Manchez's, who watched him with compassion. “We find the boy,” he said.

Wade nodded. He only hoped it wouldn't be too late. Night was only hours away and these forests were filled with killers, human and animal alike. He kept remembering Drew, his crumpled body, his cut throat, and he dug his heels into his horse.

17

Jeff huddled next to the fire as dawn came slowly. Very slowly. The fourth morning. But last night had been the worst. He'd felt surrounded by the night, enveloped by it, haunted by the continued calls of the wolves.

He thought he'd seen a pair of eyes staring at him at one point, and he'd fired his rifle twice in panic. He'd barely restrained himself from taking more shots, and now he had only two left. There had been a rustle in the bushes, and then stillness. His horse had neighed and pawed the ground frantically, and Jeff had brought Seth closer to the fire and rubbed his neck until the trembling stopped.

But his own trembling hadn't stopped, not at any time during the long dark hours.

He watched the first morning glow widen and spread across the sky in pinks and golds, wishing he could take pleasure in it. But he was tired and hungry. The fire was almost out, and he didn't try to keep it going any longer. But he did lean against a tree trunk and close his eyes, wondering whether he dared sleep now, or whether he should try looking for the trail again. Just a few minutes sleep. No more, and he would start looking again. Just a few minutes. He felt his head nodding, and even his hunger started to fade under his immense exhaustion.

Jeff wasn't sure how long he'd slept when something awakened him. He just felt heavy all over. His head hurt, his stomach ached from emptiness. He tried to shake the shadows from his mind, tried to figure out what had awakened him.

And then he heard the cry of his horse, its frantic thrashing against the rope that tethered him to a tree. In one sudden lunge, he broke free, rearing up, his front hoofs pounding against the hard, rocky terrain. Jeff reached out to grab the rope, but then had to duck to avoid the horse's hoofs as it reared once more, then turned and fled through the trees.

He heard something, or sensed it. His back stiffened and he grabbed the rifle, just as there was a movement above him, the smell of animal, and he saw the large cougar perched above him on a rocky ledge, its eyes fastened unwinkingly on him.

Jeff swung the rifle up, trying to take aim. Two shells left. The large cat was in a crouch, obviously ready to spring, and Jeff fired. The cat roared in fury and sprang. Jeff tried to twist out of the way, but he felt the full weight of the cat on him and everything went black.

Wade was tired but he wasn't going to rest. Neither was Manchez. They had traveled fast during the afternoon, then slower during the night hours, moving down toward the main trail from the San Juan mountains to Black Canyon. They had stopped only to rest the horses, using what little moonlight there was to pick carefully through the woods. Manchez had always been able to see at night, a talent Wade had envied.

Just past daybreak, they heard the insistent call of an owl, and Wade knew one of the warriors had found a trail. He and Manchez quickened their pace, soon meeting Cavera, a cousin of Manchez's. Cavera had found a piece of cotton cloth and picked up horse tracks. The three of them followed the trail as it led upward. Before long, those tracks had crisscrossed, and crossed again. The rider had been traveling in circles. They found the remnants of a fire, then a cartridge.

Suddenly there was a thrashing sound from the left and a horse burst from between trees, a rope trailing behind it. Wade spurred his horse in that direction and saw the boy just as he fired at the large cat. He couldn't reach his rifle tucked in the saddle scabbard fast enough with his wounded arm, but Manchez's hands quickly aimed the rifle he'd been carrying and fired just as the cat leapt from its ledge.

The horses were going crazy with the cat smell, but the two Utes had no trouble controlling them. Wade was riding one of his own Indian-bred ponies since it was more surefooted than Jeff's, and it danced nervously as Wade slipped off and hurried over to where the cat and Jeff lay in a deadly embrace. Wade took his pistol from his belt with his left hand, but the animal was still, dead, one of its paws resting on Jeff's chest, its claws stained now with blood draining from the boy.

The two Utes were next to him, pushing the animal off Jeff, kneeling next to him. Wade knelt on the other side, leaning down to place his ear next to the boy's mouth, then his chest. Jeff was still breathing, but he was bleeding profusely and there was a large jagged scratch in his side. His head had obviously hit the ground, knocking him out.

Hampered by his bad arm, Wade moved aside and watched as one of the Utes cut a piece of cloth from Jeff's shirt and pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding. Wade felt so damned helpless as he knelt beside the boy, his hand touching the now pale face. The freckles stood out more than ever. This was his fault. He'd allowed himself to care, allowed the boy to care, and he'd once more been the instrument of disaster. If Jeff died …