Swift Runs The Heart (4 page)

They slipped through, carefully replacing the slab behind them to conceal their exit, and within seconds were hidden by the thickly waving tussock coming down the steep slope on this side. Above it, the sheer bluff prevented their escape, but also halted any who might come that way, and while the tussock offered no way out, the waist high waving strands provided a perfect refuge. Carefully, they crawled higher and higher up the slope until, well hidden from prying eyes, they found a spot from which they could overlook the whole gully below and the path winding over the hill opposite.

He looked at her once, then swung his head back to its careful scrutiny.

It was enough.

He's enjoying this,
she realised with shock. Those dratted bright eyes of his had been shining in the moonlight.

It was perhaps as well that she had no time to pursue the thought further. A rogue moonbeam shone off a boulder below them, and she saw their visitors. Two men, carefully making their way up the stream, armed with pistol and rifle.

Two men she had seen in the saloon at Dunstan, at the table with Black jack MacRae.

Softly, she nudged Deverill. He had seen them too. He nodded, then tapped her shoulder, and his finger pointed up to the path. Two more, just appearing over the edge of the brow—one was leading Deverill's horse, keeping it in front of him as a shield to cover their approach. Halfway down, he waved to the two below, pointing to the side. They planned to come up on the open sides and surround the hut, it seemed. Even with her on watch, without the escape slab they would have been trapped.

“Shh.” Bas Deverill's finger gestured, gently touching her mouth. She could feel him watching her eyes, sure he saw the fear that must be reflected there.

Finally, their attackers had reached the hut.

Crash!
As one, two slammed in the door, two more followed swiftly with guns upraised.

Tensely, Geraldine listened to the bangs and smashings from below. They seemed to take forever and from the sounds issuing from it, they were doing a thorough job of ransacking what had seemed such a safe refuge mere hours ago.

Finally, the four emerged. They walked slowly out, their eyes scanning the hills. Fearfully, Geraldine eased herself flat to the ground and could feel Deverill do the same.
Please God, don't let them see us
, she found herself praying.

She could barely see them through the grass, but knew the men continued to scan the hills, seeking Geraldine and Bas.

She froze. Only in stillness lay safety. The slightest of movements could set the tussock moving in a telltale ripple.

Suddenly, Bas's horse swung its head up, pulling away from the stranger with a frightened whinny. The man's gun swung about, fingers tightening.

A shape flapped into the air nearby, an agitated squawk of anger at being disturbed echoing from the fleeing shadow.

Geraldine grinned. A kea, the cocky mountain parrot of New Zealand's Southern Highlands, hunting unusually early in the morning. The tension drained from her, and below she could see the same in the hunting man.

“Reckon they're well gone all ready,” she heard one of the men below say.

“Yeah,” another agreed. “They been here, all right, but Bas Deverill ain't no fool. He knows Black Jack would'a been following close behind, and he's on foot now. No way we can follow him up into that.” His thumb jerked up behind him, pointing to the jumble of shale and rocks littering the upper slopes. It was not horse country.

“He'll be back,” said the first, who seemed to amount to the leader of the pack. “Would you leave as sweet a business as Molly's to be taken over by any who cared to pick up the pieces?”

Geraldine did not have to see the grins to sense their amused agreement. She shot a querying glance at the man beside her. The dratted creature was grinning again. Did he never take anything seriously?

Disgruntled, she switched her gaze back to the men below. Their voices had dropped too low to overhear as they conferred. Then they seemed to come to some agreement. To her relief, it appeared that the decision was to leave. All four headed back up the path. Unfortunately, they had re-caught Deverill's horse and were taking it with them.

She felt a poke. Deverill was already beginning to crawl.
After them
, his hand silently pointed.

That was not what Geraldine's dismayed heart wanted, even as her head said he was right.

Quietly, they followed the men, freezing whenever one of the four stopped to check behind them. It seemed to take hours till they regained the brow of the hill. Once there, she and Bas eased into a cleft of rock, lying still as the men followed the path down, twisting about hills, stopping a terrifyingly long moment at one bluff, then emerging leading four horses. They must have tethered them there, well out of earshot on the way in.

Next instant came a blessed sound—hoof beats fading swiftly into the distance.

At long last, they were alone again.

Still, her eyes kept following the thin trail of dust just visible in the moonlight. Long after all trace had disappeared, she continued to watch warily. Were they truly leaving, or was it but a trick to flush them out?

Finally, she heard a soft voice beside her. “I think they have really gone,” said Deverill.

She looked down the road a bit longer, then turned to look at the smudged circle of his face, hidden by the shadows.

“What now?”

“Follow our departed friends' advice, of course. Someone must have talked in town and told them of this place. Our only hope is to go where no one expects me to be. It's over the hills and far away for us, I'm afraid. I do hope you are not averse to a stroll through this pleasant land.”

“I think I could manage it,” she returned dryly. “And you. Are you willing to abandon your saloon? It sounded to be quite a profitable venture.”

“There's no need for that tone, young lady. It is very profitable. Not an undertaking I care to see fall into Black Jack's hands. Fortunately, I have plans in place to cover a contingency such as this. Black Jack is in for a surprise if he thinks to acquire my business. Molly does not take kindly to unfriendly partners, and is well able to get herself and the girls out of there, if he is stupid enough to threaten her. Lose her, and you lose the heart of my business, and he knows better than to risk that. Why ruin the whole enterprise and be left with nothing for his troubles? Now, time we left, I think.”

Giving her no chance to utter the shocked rejoinder rising to her lips, he swiftly eased himself backwards. Realising he was about to disappear, Geraldine abandoned her outrage and squirmed backwards hastily over the brow, fearing to stand upright yet till the edge of the hill hid her from any backwards glance by their erstwhile visitors.

Once safe, she stood up, hunting for Bas. Much as he disconcerted her, she had no desire to be stranded in this unknown wilderness on her own.

She swung her head about, seeking a telltale ripple of the tussock, only to discover him standing not four feet from her, watching her with arms folded.

That dratted twinkle was back in his eyes.

“Next time, I hide the horse.” Geraldine's feet ached, her eyes watered from the dusty grit and she was grindingly hungry as she gave voice to the misery growing in her with each passing mile.

“Don't be pettish.”

Bas Deverill may be right, but her back stiffened at the snap in his words and there was nothing on Earth she would now concede to him.

It was well into the new day. They had been slipping and climbing over rough shale patches for what seemed hours. Bas had told her their destination; the high plateau country of the Dunstan ranges, too cold and too far from the gold rivers to attract others. One more pull at a tussock, another twist of her ankle, and finally they were up and over the lip of the hill. A flat, bare expanse greeted them, windswept and cold with a meagre covering of scrubby grasses, mosses, lichens and the rock-clinging groundcover plants that were unique to this southern upland. Fleshy mounds of grey fuzz, their leaves were tiny, curled-up ramparts against the biting cold and the searing winds that could scour the ground clean. Fortunately, on a calm summer's day like this the wind was gone, but the heat of the sun was already making its presence felt. Geraldine could feel a very unladylike trickle of sweat begin its slow dribble down the back of her neck. On top of all her discomfort, her irritating companion continued to plough ahead of her, making no concession to whatever aches or weariness she was suffering. Not that he was under any obligation to do so, she had to admit, remembering her insistence on accompanying him.

It did not help that the man chose that instant to turn back with a smile that would melt the heart of the toughest harridan.

“Sorry I had to push you like that, but we needed to be well gone before our friends returned. Nor can we stop yet. This tableland may be deserted, but it offers little concealment if any should come hunting us. Still, chin up. Just across this part, into that broken country beyond and we will be able to pause a spell.”

Now Geraldine did feel the lowest of the low and all she could force past the gall throttling her tongue was a brief nod as she lifted her skirts clear of a thorny matagouri bush in her way and put another foot forward. She could feel Deverill watching her, and somehow became convinced he knew exactly what she was feeling. His short laugh came as no surprise.

“I never thought to regret the company of a lady, and it seems I need not do so this time. But a lady who knows when to keep silent – now that is something I never thought to encounter.”

Geraldine's head shot round at that.

“Ah - I was too optimistic.”

“Far too much, Mr Deverill. Might I remind you that it was your own perfidious wrongdoing that landed us in this plight.”

“Perfidious!”

“And stupid, if you thought to cross the likes of Black Jack MacRae.”

“It was the other way round, as it happens.” His eyebrows lifted at the sceptical glare she could not keep from her face. “I see you need an explanation,” he added with that annoying lilt of laughter in his face that she had come to regard as his special daemon. “Among other delightful tricks, Black Jack is an expert at creating duff rushes – you do know what they are?”

“Deliberately planted rumours of gold to cause a false rush.”

“Precisely. And the rumour spreader then proceeds to fleece the idiots who hare off in pursuit of the threadbare tale, selling them all manner of useless supplies for their journey. Only it happened that this particular duff rush would have resulted in a serious loss of business to one of my establishments: a general goods store down country a bit. Probably actual damage too, when the idiots returned, penniless and angry, to vent their ills on any whom they perceived to be connected with their misery. Protestations of innocence matter little to such a mob.”

“So you are the wronged party. No one ever promised that fairness should rule on a goldfield.”

“No, just blind greed, idiocy and all the chances in the world for an intelligent man to make a fortune.” And the smile was back, blinding in its lightness. “Thank you for the reminder. I was beginning to feel some of your own disgruntlement. I had forgotten the alternative to being hunted by dangerous cutthroats.”

She couldn't help herself. “And what might that be?”

“Drinking polite cups of tea with the ladies back home.”

She had to laugh at his accompanying grimace.

It felt good, that laughter, lifting her mood sufficiently to be able to endure the next hour of trudging across the flat plateau. At the end, when they came to the edge of it, she almost ran, slipping and sliding over the lip of the broken country to stare longingly at a crack she could see in the gully ahead.

“It's ideal,” agreed Deverill, squeezing through the gap in the rocks shortly after, then reaching back to pull her through. Once inside, she found herself in a semi-enclosed niche shaded by rocks from the hot sun and hidden safely from any pursuers.

“You take the first rest while I watch.”

“Thank you. That is very gentlemanly of you.”

“Not really. That trip was harder on you than on me, bred to this land though you may be, and you are far more likely to fall asleep on watch if you try to go first. I don't fancy waking up to find a bullet coming at my shoulder blades.”

She smiled her thanks, too tired to be other than grateful. He was not joking either, she realised as she settled her head into the crook of her arm. There was a very strong streak of practicality in her curious rescuer.
Thanks be given
, she added to herself with a swift smile.

They holed up for the rest of the day. Geraldine spent the first hours starting up at every strange noise. After yet one more fright turned out to be no more than a bird landing on a loose piece of shale, Bas finally succumbed. Clutching his stomach, his laugh rang out.

“Shh, someone might hear you.”

“Who? The wind, the scrubby bushes, the mice in the grass?” he tossed back. “Do you know how far we are from anyone here?”

“No, and nor do you. Those men might come back.”

“Not in this country, not on horse. Far too much rock and shale. The horses would be slipping with every footstep and heard for miles. Also, I do know where we are.”

“You can't.”

But he did, and Geraldine saw it in his eyes. Suddenly furious, she shoved him. It did not stop him laughing but did send him toppling backwards. His hand shot out, grabbing her, and the next minute she found herself falling with him.

“Oh! Stop that.”

“It was your idea, my fair one,” he retorted. Then a wicked glint touched his smile. “But while you're offering…” Before she knew what was happening, both his arms caught her, pulling her close. His mouth sought hers and for one long minute in time, his lips played on hers. Slowly, his magic lapped her in its spell. This was madness. There was no one else around. Her hand came to life, pushing back at him.