Nan Ryan (23 page)

In time Shorty moved his hat from the chair and took a seat He stayed there watching over his old friend through the long night, smoking one cigarette after another, recalling fondly all the years he and the old Ute had been with the troupe.

Shorty Jones was still there at dawn, worn out and worried. As the September sun began to spill through the hospital room’s one tall window, Shorty was again at Ancient Eyes’ bedside. This time he wasn’t speaking; he was listening.

Ancient Eyes’ lips were moving; he was struggling to speak. Shorty held his hand and leaned close, doing his best to understand the old Indian’s murmuring.

“I’m here, my friend,” Shorty assured him in quiet, soothing tones. “I’m listening. Tell me what you want I’ll get it for you.”

Ancient Eyes’ hand, clasped tightly in Shorty’s, moved slightly. Shorty’s gripping fingers loosened immediately. “What is it, Ancient Eyes?”

The Ute weakly pulled his hand from Shorty’s. Feebly he reached up and patted at Shorty’s white shirtfront. The weak, trembling lingers seemed to be searching for something as they tapped lightly on Shorty’s bony, narrow chest.

“I don’t know what you want, old friend,” said Shorty, “I’m sorry … I …”

Those frail fingers slowly climbed to the open collar of Shorty’s shirt, touched the silver link chain, and curled tenaciously around it. Shorty smiled and quickly hauled the silver whistle outside his shirt. Ancient Eyes’ mutter-ings continued as he clutched at the silver chain as though he would never let it go.

“Yes,” said the animal wrangler, “yes, old friend. Now you know it’s me, Shorty. I’m here, I won’t leave you. You can hear me, can’t you?”

“Of course, he can’t hear you!” boomed a loud, intrusive female voice from behind. Shorty looked sharply over his shoulder. A big, stocky nurse wearing a patronizing expression filled the doorway. “What are you doing in here?” she snapped irritably.

“Watching over my friend,” Shorty replied resolutely.

“You’re not allowed here at this hour!” She glanced past Shorty to Ancient Eyes. “That old Indian’s the same as dead; you’re wasting your time. Get out of here.”

Ancient Eyes immediately stopped murmuring, his face drew up into a frown, and his hand fell away from Shorty’s silver chain.

Horrified that a so-called angel of mercy could be so callous and uncaring, the distraught Shorty Jones, for the first time in twenty years, lost his temper. Now Shorty was still Shorty, so he didn’t shout and raise a ruckus. He didn’t curse and yell and wake up half the hospital.

The skinny little man simply looked the big, insensitive nurse in the eye and coolly said, “I’m going nowhere.
You
get out.” His skinny body vibrated with anger and his eyes were murderous.

Taken aback, the startled nurse said, “You can’t talk to me like that! You don’t belong here.”

“It’s you who doesn’t belong here, so leave.” Shorty’s voice was so cold and commanding the bullying, portly nurse winced and took a step backward. “It takes a lot more than a white uniform to make a nurse.” said Shorty Jones, dismissing her, and turned back to the bed.

“Why, I’ve never been so insulted in my—”

“Get out. Now! I don’t care where you go, so long as it’s out of my sight.”

Furious, talking to herself, the big, stocky woman backed out of the hospital room, turned, and waddled away. She never noticed the big, stocky woman standing just outside the door.

Texas Kate had arrived just in time to hear the entire exchange between Shorty and the nurse. Kate hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but she’d stopped short and listened intently, as surprised by Shorty’s behavior as was the retreating nurse.

She had no idea that the skinny little animal wrangler could be so assertive. So commanding. She’d always thought of Shorty as a pleasant, kind, thoughtful man, a tame little lapdog who ran errands for her and assisted in her act.

Texas Kate’s heart fluttered like a schoolgirl’s. Never had she seen Shorty the way he had been just now. How different he was, how provocative.

How manly.

Kate straightened her skirts and patted at her curly brownish gray hair. She pinched her fleshy cheeks and bit her lips. She felt giddy and excited and like very much of a woman simply from being in the presence of such a man.

She stepped into the doorway. Shorty stood at Ancient Eyes’ bedside, his back to her.

“Shorty,” Kate softly called his name.

He turned to look at her, and Kate saw yet another side of Shorty Jones. Shorty’s eyes were swimming in tears. His thin face was drawn and haggard. He looked as if his big, kind heart were breaking.

“Ah, Shorty, don’t … don’t …” cooed Kate, crossing to him.

And her fleshy arms opened wide.

Chapter 22

By high noon they had ridden down out of the western foothills, having successfully crossed the awesome Front Range, going up and over America’s backbone, the high, jagged Continental Divide.

In the early afternoon they rode across a flat, high mountain meadow, but another range of mountains loomed just ahead on the near eastern horizon.

Diane had been silent all morning.

She was angry. She was confused. She was afraid.

She was thoroughly disappointed in herself. This cool, handsome savage who spoke perfect English seemed able to control her as no man ever had and it mystified her.

She should have killed him. Instead she had kissed him.

Now she knew she would
never
kill him, no matter how many chances arose. She knew as well she would
always
kiss him, anytime his cruel, sensual lips closed over hers.

Diane involuntarily shivered at the recollection of that powerful, prolonged kiss.

“Cold, Beauty?” came the deep, monotonic voice from just above her ear.

Diane gave no verbal reply. Grateful he couldn’t see her face flushing, she shrugged slender shoulders and hoped that would satisfy him.

“If you’re chilly, I can unstrap a blanket from behind the cantle.” She shrugged again, more pronouncedly. “Or you can lean back against me and I’ll—”

“I am not cold!”

“I thought I detected a slight shiver.”

“Well, you didn’t.” Her violet eyes on the mountains ahead, she asked, not really expecting an answer, “Tell me where you’re taking me.”

“To Wind River, Wyoming,” came the calm, soft reply.

She twisted around to look at his face. “You’re an Arapaho?”

“No.” He bit out the word, and his stark features instantly hardened perceptibly. “The Arapahos are our oldest foes.” Silent for a moment, he then added, “I’m Shoshoni.”

“I see,” she said, trying to recall if she’d ever known any Shoshonis. “And you want to go back and be among your own kind?”

“Something like that”

“But why take me?” He didn’t answer. Sighing, she pointed. “Are those the Wind River Mountains in front of us?”

“Beauty, we’re still in Colorado. That’s the Nichebechii Range of the Rockies.”

“Can you give that to me in English, Beast?”

“Literally translated, it means the Place of No Never Summer. The white man has shortened it to the Never Summers Range.”

“Because it’s always cold up there?”

“Not today. It will be warm enough for you to have a bath. We can make camp on a branch of the Cache la Poudre River or beside a mountain tarn and you can … wash yourself.”

Diane said nothing. She hated the thought of taking off her clothes with him around, but she felt as though if she didn’t have a bath soon, she’d scream. Her hair was dirty and tangled, and her skin was caked with dust and grime. Her purple dress was filthy and wrinkled. She was hot and dirty and miserable and knew she looked a mess.

She resented the Indian for habitually appearing clean and cool and comfortable and … and …

Suddenly it dawned on Diane that she had seen him shaving this morning! She remembered now. When they’d first awakened, there had been the dark shadow of a beard on his face. And when he had hotly kissed her, she’d felt the definite tickle of prickly whiskers against her cheeks.

Good Lord, she hadn’t even thought about it then!

Now she puzzled over it. She’d been around Indians all her life. She’d seen Ancient Eyes and the other show Indians pluck the few scattered hairs from their bronzed faces with tweezers. They had never needed to shave. Why, then, did this Shoshoni have to shave?

There was only one way to find out, much as she hated talking to him. “Beast?”

“Yes, Beauty?”

“Why did you shave this morning?”

“I shave every morning.”

“I know, but why? I thought Indians didn’t have any hair on their—their—” Into her mind leaped the remembered glimpse of his almost exposed groin, and Diane’s sentence was never finished.

“On their what?”

“Faces!”

“Most don’t. Hair grows on this Indian’s face.” He paused, then added, “As well as on other parts of my body.” He gave her his coldest black-eyed stare.

Diane stiffened, wondering if he’d read her thoughts. Wishing she had never mentioned it, she said nothing more on the subject.

The sun was still hot overhead when they rode into a high rocky gap up in the Never Summers Range. In deep shadow they rode between the twelve-thousand foot-high mounts Cirrus and Nimbus. Starkeeper expertly guided the stallion along the treacherous trail over Thunder Pass, and Diane’s eyes widened when they came down out of the pass and she saw the small community spread out in the narrow valley below.

“LuLu City,” he said, anticipating her question.

“Are we going there?”

“I am,” he said. “You’re not.”

She turned anxiously to look at him. “Oh, please. I won’t give you away, I promise. I’ll pretend that we’re— we’re—”

“Married?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. Yes, I’ll say you’re my husband and we’re—”

“Look at yourself, Beauty. Then look at me.” His tone was flat. “A pale-skinned white woman in a torn, dirty dress with a wild-looking Indian in breechcloth and chaps.” He paused while she studied him appraisingly. “Would anyone believe
you
are married to
me?”
Diane’s gaze met his, and there was something inexpressibly cold and savage in his eyes.

She shook her head. “No … no, I guess they wouldn’t.” She turned back around without considering the possibility that her answer had stung him.

Diane hated the Redman for having so little trust in her that he sat her down under a tall lodgepole pine on a forested slope directly above LuLu City and tied her arms around the tree’s base.

She considered screaming. He shook his dark head and said, “It would do you no good. I’ll be back within the hour.”

He climbed on the stallion, rode down out of the stand of trees, and disappeared. He cantered into town, tied the stallion at a hitch rail in front of the Glory Hole Saloon, and boldly walked up and down the wooden sidewalks so the townspeople would see him.

Then he stepped quietly into a general store.

He returned to Diane in less than an hour, bringing with him soap, towels, food—even a bottle of red wine— taken from the LuLu City general store. He didn’t pay for the items—he had no money—but he did leave his calling card in plain sight on the counter.

A brightly beaded square of leather.

Well before sundown they stopped for the night. Diane didn’t attempt to hide her delight with the stolen food he laid out before her like a banquet. It was a wonderful treat to feast on bread and cheese and ham and fresh fruit. She even nodded yes to the offer of red wine, eagerly tipping the green bottle up to her lips again and again.

When the exquisite meal was over, Diane closed her eyes, leaned back on stiffened arms, and sighed with satisfaction. Staring intently at her, Starkeeper could hardly keep from smiling. At that particular moment she looked like a happy, dirty-faced little girl who’d been playing outdoors all day. Any minute her mother would call for her to come inside for her bath before bedtime.

When Diane opened her eyes, Starkeeper rose, walked over, and sat down in the shade of a thick-branched Engelmann spruce. He produced a long, thin cheroot from his stolen stash, put it between his lips, and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He stretched out his long legs—bare of the chaps—and crossed them at the ankle. He struck a stolen match on a stone, lifted it to the cigar’s tip, and puffed the cigar to life.

He blew a well-formed smoke ring in the still, thin mountain air. Then he said, “I brought you something even better than the food.”

Diane squinted at him. “Nothing could be better.”

“A bar of soap and a fresh white towel,” he continued in that low, monotonic voice that so intrigued her. “The alpine pool you see below us is all yours, Beauty.”

She looked at him, tempted yet skeptical. “You won’t spy on me?”

His dark eyes hooded, he drew slowly on his cigar and blew out the smoke. “No. There’s no need.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Star was examining the nail of his index finger. He looked up. “Nothing. Go now while the sun’s still up.”

Ten minutes later Diane stood alone at the edge of a grass-bordered pool. It was a breathtakingly beautiful place. Ringed entirely by green and blue mountains, shadowed by the cottony white clouds hanging low over the jagged peaks, it was a pristine paradise. Rich green grass dotted with dainty yellow sunflowers grew right up to the water’s edge. A scattering of large emerald leaves floating lazily on the pool’s smooth surface looked as if they’d been carefully placed there by the master designer of this lush alpine Eden.