Wyoming Wildfire (57 page)

Burch did not know if his horse could carry them both out of the path of the oncoming tree, but if he dived into the water to relieve his horse of his weight, the current would drag him under. They must perish or survive together. With an earsplitting yell easily heard above the roar of the water, Burch dug his heels into his horse’s side and rode furiously toward the shore. Silver Birch’s powerful muscles strained against the sandy bottom as his hooves found the opposite bank. Then with a mighty effort, his forelegs pulled his body out of the deep water and the heavily muscled hindquarters sent them surging into the safety of the shallows. An outflung branch raked across his rear, but he charged out of the water, his legs shaking under him. Burch slid out of the saddle.

“I hope it doesn’t get any closer than that,” he said, knowing how close they had come to death. Silver Birch shook himself, throwing water all over Burch. “I suppose I deserved that, but you’re going to have to carry me anyway. I’ll never reach that ridge in these boots.”

The last clouds gave way before the bright morning sun as Burch rode toward the mouth of the canyon, hugging the base of the ridge so that anyone waiting for him could not see his approach without exposing their own position first. If Jesse planned to ambush him, he was probably waiting where the path became a narrow track at the stream’s edge. Burch dismounted and hid his horse in a pine thicket. Then he started to climb the back side of the ridge that formed part of the mouth of the canyon; he was going to come down on Jesse from above.

Over an hour later, after Burch crossed the top of the ridge and stealthily descended the other side, he spotted Jesse crouched at the base of a large tree, his rifle ready, his eyes intently watching the entrance of the canyon. Below him, the swollen stream filled almost the whole width of the canyon; the current lashed out, clawing at trees and rocks, and swallowing large chunks of the yellow earth.

Burch picked his way carefully between the pines. There wasn’t much cover, and he tried to keep at least one large tree trunk between him and Jesse in case some sound should betray his presence. Using extreme care, he had come within thirty feet when his eye was caught by the sodden blanket tied to a tree. His curiosity changed to blind fury when he realized that the sagging, rain-soaked body in the blanket was Sibyl. In his wrath, he descended too rapidly and the earth, soaked by too much rain, gave way under his feet, sending him and three tons of dirt hurtling down the hillside toward the rampaging stream.

The avalanche of mud rolled over Jesse, imprisoning him in its slippery grasp at the same time it deposited Burch at Sibyl’s feet. He was so horrified by her condition he forgot about Jesse. He dug in his pocket for his knife, swiftly cut the ropes that held her up, and caught her before she slid to the ground. The blanket was soaked through with icy water that drew all the warmth out of her body. Her lips were blue, almost too stiff to move; her eyes opened only slightly, but Burch could see that a fire still glowed deep within them.

“Burch.” Her voice was a ragged, hoarse whisper.

Burch threw off the blanket and wrapped her in his own coat. Her limbs were dangerously cold, but she was burning up with fever; he had to get her to a doctor at once. He rose to his feet, intending to wrap her in Jesse’s buffalo robe; he was just in time to see Jesse, freed from the mud, point a rifle straight at him. He dove through the air, striking Jesse in the chest as the rifle went off in the air. They tumbled down the hill, coming dangerously close to the edge of the stream.

Jesse found his feet first and scrambled up the hill, trying to reach his rifle, but Burch crawled up behind him, caught him by the ankles, and sent him tumbling down the hill once more. Jesse was on his feet like a cat, springing for Burch’s throat with bare hands. Burch could see his eyes, red with fury. A powerful man made more powerful by the mad hatred that drove him, Jesse bore Burch down by the savagery of his attack, but Burch’s mighty muscles threw him off. Jesse scooped up two handfuls of the mud beneath his feet and flung it in Burch’s face. Unable to see, Burch was almost helpless against Jesse, and the two tumbled down to the edge of the water. Jesse got his hands around Burch’s throat, trying to choke him, to push his head under the water. Burch could feel the cold sodden ground beneath his shoulders and men the numbing water as it lapped at his head.

With a wrenching effort, he threw Jesse aside, but before he could clear his eyes of the mud, Jesse struck him from behind with a limb. Dazed, Burch was unable to regain his feet before Jesse raised the limb over his head to deliver a blow that would either break his neck or send him to his death in the swollen stream. But the blow did not fall. Burch cleared his eyes to see Sibyl leaning against a tree, exhausted, and Jesse lying sprawled on the ground where he had fallen after she hit him on the head with a rock.

Burch swept her up in his arms and kissed her passionately.

“If you can kiss me looking like this, you must love me after all,” she said, looking adoringly into his eyes.

“I’d take you back in rags.”

“I’m near that now.” She managed to smile, then a racking cough shook her.

“I’ve got to get you to a fire. You must get warm.” Her sudden gasp of horror caused him to turn just in time to escape having his skull crushed by the stock of Jesse’s rifle. Both men lost their footing in the mud, but Jesse was above him and had the advantage. Jesse regained his feet and swung his rifle in a vicious arc. Burch flung himself into the mud to escape the blow. The force of Jesse’s swing carried him too far forward; he lost his footing and fell into the stream.

The current grabbed Jesse and swept him out into the center of the stream. Heedless of the danger to himself, Burch plunged in after him, only to find that he, too, was helpless in the raging torrent. Jesse was already beyond his reach, and now Burch was fighting for his own life. He managed to get a precarious hold on a large boulder, but the current was too powerful; his grip was slowly being wrenched loose. In seconds, he would be washed away just like Jesse.

Sibyl watched, paralyzed, until she realized Burch’s life depended on her. She struggled to her feet and looked wildly about for some way to save him.

“The rope,” Burch called from the water. “Throw me the rope.” Sibyl stumbled over to Jesse’s horse, untied the rope, and staggered back to the stream’s edge. Her hands fumbled and her body shook terribly as she tried to unwind the rope. Painfully slowly, it seemed to her, she got the rope uncoiled.

“Throw it upstream, well above me,” Burch directed. She dared not look at him for fear that any second she would see him lose his hold on the rock and be washed away forever. Using all the strength she had, Sibyl whirled the rope above her head, as she had seen the men do so many times, and flung it out into the stream as far as she could. She almost fainted from relief when she saw the rope splash down a full three yards beyond Burch. Almost immediately, the rushing water carried the rope to him.

“Now wrap it around a tree,” he said. “Hurry.”

That last word, the only time she had ever known him to admit he needed help, drove her to call upon the last of her strength. Images began to blur before her eyes and there was a ringing in her ears, but she stubbornly forced herself to climb the bank to the nearest tree. The pine began to move, to bend and become distorted as she struggled to reach it.

“You can’t faint now,” she muttered to herself. “Hell die.” On she struggled until she felt rather than saw the tree. She leaned against it and wrapped the rope about the trunk. “Again,” she murmured, “again, or it won’t hold.” But the images blurred completely and she knew no more.

Chapter 39

Sibyl opened her eyes to see the same fire in the same hearth. Could she have dreamed everything? She tried to sit up, but her body wouldn’t move. Rolling up on her elbow, she saw a man with his back to her. Jesse, she thought, slumping back on the bed. She tried to remember, tried to concentrate, but her mind refused to hold firmly to any thought except one: Something
was
different. Her eyes roamed about the cabin. It certainly was the same cabin and the same fire. Of course, it was the same man.

But the conviction that this was not the same man was so strong she struggled to prop herself up in the bed. Almost at once she knew that back, knew every part of the body from any angle. She had dreamed of him, longed for him, feared she would never see him again. She could never mistake him for anyone else. “Burch,” she called softly He turned abruptly, crossing the room in three running strides. A warm, eager smile wreathed his face in a welcome so genuine her eyes went misty, and his beloved image was obscured by a veil of tears.

“Sibyl, my love, I thought you’d never wake.”

My love! He had called her his love. Her heart thumped violently in her chest. He did still love her; he did forgive her. Relief, joy, disbelief, and a multitude of other emotions swept over her and she found herself clinging to him, sobbing in his arms.

“It’s all right,” he said, trying to soothe her.

“I know, that’s why I’m crying,” she said as she laughed through her tears. “I was so afraid it wouldn’t be.”

They sat for a long time, talking occasionally but mostly holding tightly to one another. They had waited so long for this moment, had saved up so much to say to each other, yet now all that was important was that they held each other in their arms; as long as their hands could touch, no words were necessary. Someday they would talk, would offer each other explanations, but for now their nearness filled their hearts to overflowing.

“You hungry? he asked at last.

“Starved,” she said, starting to get out of bed.

“Don’t move, I’m fixing dinner.”

“I can’t be poisoned now, not after I’ve waited so long to catch you.”

“That’s gratitude for you when you’ve been eating my food for the last three days.”

“Three days!” she exclaimed as he brought her a bowl of thick soup from the three-toed pot nestled in the coals.

“You, my girl, have been very sick, and it was only because of my expert care that you are alive at this moment to cast aspersions on my cooking.” He noticed her eyes were not laughing. “Don’t you remember what happened?”

“Some, but not all.”

“Tell me what you can.”

“I remember that Jesse left me here when he went to ambush you. I escaped, but I think he was expecting me, and he tied me to a tree while he waited.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“No. Where is Jesse?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“He’s dead. I suspected he might try to waylay me, so I came over the top of the ridge.”

“I remember now. He hit you with a limb.”

“He fell in the creek. I couldn’t save him.”

“Poor Rachel. You know she’s his mother?”

“She told me, and why he kidnapped you.”

“But you went after him,” she said with sudden recollection. “I remember now I tried to tie the rope around the tree, but I could only get it around once.”

“That rope was wound around the tree three times and bed with a double hitch. You could have pulled a horse out with it.”

So she hadn’t failed him; she had held on long enough.

“I tried so hard, but I wasn’t sure . . .”

“I owe you my life.” She forgot the soup.

“I guess I owe you
my
life, too.”

“Since you owe it to me, can I keep it?”

“Don’t ever let me go, no matter how horribly I behave. I’ll never tell you how to run the ranch again; I won’t even use my money without your permission. I’ve never been so miserable in my life as when I left you.”

“I think your fever is back up again,” he said, holding her closely. “You
must
be delirious. I promise I won’t hold you to anything you say until you’re well enough to know what you’re talking about.”

Sibyl laughed joyfully and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

“But you said I’ve been here three days?”

“You were delirious and burning up with fever. I wanted to take you to Augusta, but I didn’t dare risk such a long trip, so I brought you here.”

“You must be a good doctor. I feel marvelous.”

Burch grinned wickedly.

“Don’t tell me you did something hideous and I have to be grateful for it.”

He grinned even more.

“Tell me right now. I don’t trust you the least bit when you wear that indecent smirk of triumph.”

“It wasn’t anything special. I just fed you lots of hot beef soup.”

“And?”

“And held your naked body in my arms for three days.”

Sibyl flushed.

“You were cold to the marrow,” he said more soberly. “I built a big fire and piled every blanket I could find on you, but you were still blue. The only other way I could think of was to use my own body heat.”

“And it worked?”

“It warmed us both up. I had a fever almost as bad as yours,” he chuckled, his voice husky from the memory.

“And I bet you could hardly wait to tell me about it as soon as I woke up.”

“There was one time I thought you might
not
wake up. I waited almost without breathing, praying I would get one more chance to tell you how much I love you and that if you ever run away from me again, I
will
turn you across my knee.”