She shot a glance at Dodger.He appeared to be in complete agreement, and her stomach sank at the way he was running his eyes over her.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.Thank you for the offer, but I’ll wait for my father here.”
Wendell had moved closer to her, and his dark eyes had lost their friendly look.“That weren’t an offer, miss.You’re coming along.”
In one quick movement, he took hold of her arm and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Sheila fought her assailants, but they were too strong for her.A moment later, she stood with her hands tied tightly in front of her.
Her fear was wild now, but beneath it something colder and clearer began to take shape.She would remember everything.Their names.Their faces.The direction they traveled.Whatever mistake they made, she would seize it.
“I’m a-gonna take my hand off your mouth now, miss.But if you make so much as one peep, we’ll be forced to shut you up, and you won’t like that none.You understand me?”
She looked into his eyes and nodded.
Wendell took his hand away, still holding her arm in a viselike grip.
“Go to the livery stable,” he ordered Dodger, “and bring back a horse for her.No trouble and no noise, you hear?I don’t want no one knowing we’re taking her.And don’t show your face.Got it?”
“Got it.”With one more look at her, Dodger went out.She heard the front door of the house close behind him.
“Why?”Sheila asked.“Why are you doing this?”
“I get a feeling your father needs a little prodding.And you might be just the poke he needs to get the job done.”
ChapterTwenty
Caleb openedhis eyes and breathed in the cool, clean mountain air, marked only by the scent of a dead cooking fire, healthy horses, and his three snoring companions.
He looked up into the deep, endless blue-black canvas, still studded with stars so bright, they looked alive.But as he tilted his eyes to the east, he saw the faint lightening of the blue and knew dawn would soon be breaking.He sat up and pushed off the bearskin covering.Even now, his eyes could distinguish the ridges and the craggy boulders and the lines of treetops plunging down on a sharp angle to the river far below.Above their camp, a pair of deer moved cautiously along the slope and disappeared into the firs.
Caleb rose, picked up the coffeepot, and padded off along the trail.Leaving the camp behind, he entered the darker gloom of a wooded grove.The air immediately became cooler and the earthy forest smell filled his lungs.Here, with the evergreen canopy above and a carpet of needles beneath his feet, it was silent as a church on a Wednesday, and he had no desire to disturb the peace.
For a moment, before men and guns and trouble came crowding back in, the stillness of the forest reminded him of Smith and Imala’s place, of the kind of life was trying to build.
After a few moments of walking, he heard the burbling sound of the creek falling with whispers and murmurs over the rocks.The light ahead brightened a little, and he soon came to the grassy banks where the trail crossed the shallows.It was the place where he and Zeke had watered the horses last night.
Dropping his hat on a flat rock beside a wide pool, he went down on one knee and rinsed out last night’s coffee before scooping up cold water in both hands.After drinking deeply, he washed his face and neck and dipped his head in the water.
As he wiped his face, a glance at the soft earth by his knee made him pause.
Two fresh prints, side by side, caught his eye.Four toes and a palm pad, each print as big as a man’s fist.Cougar.
He ran his eyes around the edge of the open area.The cat had been here not long before him, no doubt stopping for a drink after a night of hunting.
And Caleb had left his gun belt back at the camp.
Traveling in these hills at any time of day could be hazardous.Travel at night was another thing entirely.Black bears, grizzlies, wolves, and coyotes stalked their prey along these trails.But they were not the most dangerous.Aside from the two-legged predator, cougar or puma or mountain lion—whatever the locals chose to call it—the big cat was the cruelest.
Caleb hadn’t been concerned about mountain lions yesterday as he climbed the slope.The crackle of gunfire would have been enough to drive them off.But the rock slab overhangs and shallow caves and ledges like the bluff where he’d encountered the rattler provided perfect lairs for the big cats.There, they would lie comfortably, still as death, eyes shining, and watch their evening meal grazing below them in the grassy hillside.
Caleb had encountered dozens in his travels and seen signs of a hundred more.In lands farther to the south and west—places like the red rock hills of Mormon country and the woody river valleys of New Mexico—a man couldn’t spit without hitting one.He’d seen many over the years.And killed a few.
The cougar was a strange animal, though.As predators go, they were easily the most unpredictable.Caleb had run across some that would be scared off with a mere wave of his hand.Others—maybe the hungrier ones—would stalk you craftily for an hour, showing up only now and again, their green-gold eyes glowing.Those were usually the ones that wouldn’t take a friendly warning.And when they were ready, they could bring the fight to you with such speed and ferocity that a man couldn’t help but pay attention.When that happened, a cool head, a sure hand, and a dead aim were the only things that could deter the big cat’s dinner plans.
On one of his early travels with Jake out in western Wyoming, they ran across a man who herded appaloosas.Caleb recalled sitting around a campfire, listening to the man complain that mountain lions cost him thousands of dollars every year.No one ever hunted them, he said.They couldn’t be hunted.And wherever there were deer and horses, the cougars lived fat.He had a score of stories, and Caleb remembered every one.
He thought of the deer he’d seen above the camp, moving silently into the trees.
