Mike Carey rode away for the Double B angry, depressed, and disillusioned. How could the girl he had grown to love allow a man such as Dan Sharpe to hold her close? Even in the pale moonlight there had been no mistaking the way the dark and white figures merged. Darkness and light, purity and innocence against evil.
Why had he ever come to Wyoming, anyway? The lure of now-dimmed dreams had captured him and now mocked him. Should he ride back to the Circle 5 and pack his gear, head to Rock Springs, and catch the first train back to Concord?
“Never!” The word rang in the still night. What kind of man was he to give up just because Desert Rose Birchfield had fallen from the pedestal where he had placed her? She wasn’t all of Wyoming. He loved the mountains and valleys, the rushing streams and wildflowers, the vivid leaves and cold mornings as if he had been born among them. Besides, a kiss didn’t mean Dan Sharpe had put his brand on Rose. Mike’s jaw set. He hadn’t hung around to see what happened after the kiss. . . .
“Whoa, Peso.” He reined in so sharply his horse snorted. What a fool he had been. Perhaps Rose could have used his help if Sharpe had kissed her without her consent. He almost turned back then laughed harshly. Too late now to retrace his steps and charge back to the ranch like a knight in armor. Neither could he be sure his chivalry was needed.
For several minutes Mike and Peso stood statue-like in the trail before moving on toward the Circle 5. Yet in those minutes the distant sound of hooves increased in volume until Mike knew someone galloped toward him from the Double B. Probably Joe, come to find him. Nate would have told Joe how abruptly he left the party.
Mike impulsively guided Peso off the trail and into the deep black shelter of a clump of nearby trees. He couldn’t talk to Joe now. “Quiet, Peso,” he whispered when the singing hooves drew near. The next moment Mike straightened in the saddle, his mouth hanging open. The rider wasn’t Joe Perkins but Dan Sharpe, grim-faced in the moonlight and riding an already lathered horse as if death and destruction chased him.
What did it mean? Puzzlement gave way to glee. No happy sweetheart rode away like that. Rose must have rejected the foreman’s advances. Relief nearly unseated Mike. He waited until Sharpe disappeared over a hill before riding back to the trail. His boss didn’t look to be before riding back to the trail. His boss didn’t look to be in a mood for company. More like a mood for murder. Mike’s hands convulsively tightened the reins. All the distrust he had felt since arriving on the Circle 5 rose in a surge of suspicion and he hurried Peso along, always keeping far enough behind Sharpe to escape detection. Even when the foreman heard hooves he’d assume it was some of the hands going home from the party.
Peso trotted up a hill that gave a view of the trail ahead. Mike couldn’t believe his eyes. As far as he could see, that trail lay empty in the moonlight! Of all the strange things. Mike blinked and stared again. No movement ahead. A chill crawled down his spine. Had Sharpe discovered someone following him and taken cover to ambush the rider?
Don’t be an idiot, Mike told himself. He jerked his gaze from the trail and quickly examined both sides of the valley through which it ran. Mike took in a deep breath.
A buckskin and rider appeared on the edge of the section of land between Hardwick’s Lazy H and the Double B, the same land where Joe Perkins had been shot that night weeks ago.
“All right, old man, we’d better find out what’s going on.” Mike tethered Peso instead of letting the reins hang loose. Slipping and sliding in his dress shoes, he longed for the heavy boots he usually wore but hadn’t stopped to change into when he hastily left the party. After a dozen steps he took precious time from his pursuit and raced to his saddlebags and changed. In those seconds Sharpe gained distance, although he had slowed his horse’s pace considerably. Mike ran from cover to cover and when Sharpe pulled in the buckskin, he found refuge in a prickly bush to the ruin of his dress suit.
The clear air carried sounds perfectly and Mike lay prone, listening with all his might.
“That you, boss?” An unfamiliar voice called.
“Who are you expecting? The governor?” Sharpe’s voice showed his vile mood, and Mike raised his head and parted the bushes so he could see. He almost gave himself away when Sharpe started flinging off his dress suit and white shirt then stepped into work clothing and carelessly stuffed his good clothes into his saddlebag. Last of all, Sharpe tied a bandana across his face just under his eyes and pulled his big hat low. “Ready?”
Four similarly clad men, complete with bandana masks, circled Sharpe. One demanded, “What took you so blasted long? We gotta get these cattle outa here before yore hands start home.” “Keep your shirt on,” Sharpe barked. “Miss Desert Rose Birchfield’s party will last for hours yet.”
Mike gritted his teeth and prayed for help. He passionately wanted to leap out of hiding and smash Sharpe’s face for the way he said Rose’s name.
“Haw, haw, guess it will at that. Well, let’s get on with it.” The clatter of hooves and creak of leather slowly faded. Mike sat up and rubbed his eyes. Had he really seen five masked men sitting there planning a night raid of Hardwick’s cattle? “Ouch!” He rubbed his hand. Both the prickly bush and the incredible scene were real. The question now was, what should he do? Ride back to the Double B for help? The whole Hardwick crew was at the party.
Mike deliberated. Five men against one offered odds only overcome in adventure novels. Trying to hold up the holdup men would be insane. What if he tracked them so he could find out where they took the rustled cattle? Could he do it?
“I have to,” he muttered. “If I go get help it will mean shooting and killing. If I can identify the men then find the cattle the law will get them.”
His heart thumped, anticipating the long night ahead. He climbed the hill back to Peso, sighed with regret that he still wore the suit, and stepped into the saddle. “Old man, Carmichael Blake-Jones never in his wildest imagination pictured anything like this.” He chuckled. “Wonder what Mercy will say when I write to her about it? She’ll probably wish she’d been here with me!”
Hours later Mike wearily tailed the five riders and about thirty head of cattle they hazed off toward the mountains. Shock chased away his fatigue when he saw Sharpe’s chosen path—across the edge of the Double B not far below the knoll where Mike first saw Desert Rose. The fickle moon darted in and out of gathering clouds, casting eerie shadows on the sinister scene.
Five minutes later raindrops spattered the earth. Mike threw on the slicker he’d learned always to keep rolled behind his saddle. It concealed his dress suit as well, with his pant legs stuffed into his high boot tops. If he were spotted, he could pass as one of the riders. He took further precautions by searching his saddlebags for a neckerchief and knotting it around his neck. He’d observed in following the rustlers that once they left the section of land with their stolen cattle the men pulled down their masks, but left them handy.
“Hey boss, someone’s comin’!” a hoarse voice warned. Mike froze and strained to hear. Above the slow-moving shuffle of cattle came the clear, rhythmic sound of hooves. “Get your masks on and keep the cattle moving,” Sharpe called. “I’ll take care of the jasper. Probably a night herder.”
The moon chose that moment to reveal the exciting happenings below. Mike stifled a cry when he saw the gun in Sharpe’s hand. He wheeled, still unobserved. He must cut off the unsuspecting rider before Sharpe got to him.
Too late. Peso with all his skill couldn’t intercept the racing roan. . . .
“Please God, no!” Mike whispered, unable to tear his gaze from Mesquite, carrying Desert Rose into danger at a dead run.
A hiss from Sharpe betrayed his fury. “You!” He snatched the bandana mask from his face.
“What are you doing on our land and with our cattle?” Rose’s voice rang like a hammer on an anvil. Mesquite slid to a stop.
Sharpe doffed his hat. “They aren’t your cattle. They were Hardwick’s, but they’re mine now.”
“You beast!” She raised her quirt and struck him full in the face.
Sharpe’s gun spat and the bullet sped past Rose within inches. “That’s the second time tonight you’ve struck me. It won’t happen again.” He kept the gun trained on her. “I’ll shoot to kill if I have to.” His eyes glittered. “That shouldn’t be necessary, however. I have other plans for you. Strange how history really does repeat itself, only this time the ending will be different.”
Rose fearlessly challenged him. “You know you will be found out and hanged this time, as you would have been before if Mother and Aunt Ivy hadn’t kept still.”
Mike saw the powerful convulsion of Sharpe’s shoulders. “So they broke word and told after all.”
“They did not!” Rose’s voice went to a high pitch. “Nate accidentally overheard them talking and he told me.”
Sharpe shrugged. “Just as well. Now, young lady, you’re going with us.” The gun pointed steady while he dismounted.
“I am not! I won’t tell if you’ll let me go.” For the first time she betrayed her fear.
“Moffatt, get over here,” Sharpe ordered at the top of his lungs and one of the four men with the herd rode back. “Tie her to the saddle and blindfold her.”
Moffatt grunted. “I never bargained for nothin’ like this.” Obviously reluctant he obeyed but only after spirited resistance from Rose.
“I won’t gag you if you promise not to holler,” Sharpe told the bound girl just before Moffatt wrapped a scarf over her eyes that blazed hate at her captors.
“Why should I holler when there’s no one around?” she burst out and squirmed helplessly against the ropes. “I’m not stupid, Dan Sharpe.”
He cursed. “Shut up. The first noise out of you and you’re gagged. Moffatt, put her horse on a lead line behind mine then halt the cattle.” His teeth gleamed. “Miss Birchfield and I will ride ahead so any tracks will be stamped out by our new herd.”
Mike felt sweat crawl under his collar. Only the knowledge he could be of better help to the girl by remaining undiscovered held him from taking his chances and holding up Sharpe and Moffatt. Keep cool, a little voice inside commanded. It’s your—and her—only chance.
Bad as things were, they got worse. Sleet that chilled and washed out tracks fell until Mike’s hands turned numb. Misery washed over him. Yet the faith of his childhood that had returned since he reached Wyoming routed total despair. Surely God would make a way. Mike clung to this thought and kept his distance from the herd and riders ahead.
Dawn streaked gray and the rain had turned to snow before Sharpe’s trek ended. The exhausted men and cattle had been led across rocky patches, down slopes and up trails Sharpe must have learned by heart. Mike had thought he knew the country from combing the draws for wandering cattle, but he’d never come across the sheltered valley hidden deep in the mountains like a pocket in a cloak. To his amazement a snug cabin awaited the riders, old but in good repair. How he longed to warm himself at the crackling fire Moffatt built that sent smoke curling into the snowstorm! Shivering outside an uncurtained back window, Mike noticed the snow had increased until it had already filled the tracks behind them. How could he survive if he remained? Yet could he bear to leave Desert Rose here with this gang of outlaws, especially the ruthless Dan Sharpe?
He crept away from the cabin and stamped life back into his hands and feet. Taking advantage of the heavy snowfall, he even dared to build a tiny fire. If the rustlers smelled smoke they’d associate it with their own fire. Next to the trunk of a large spruce the snow barely sifted through the tightly interlaced branches, and Mike managed to sleep.
He awakened to take stock of the situation. The best thing he could do was abduct Rose and get her away, soon. Threat of another storm offered possible protection. Everything would depend on how things lay in the cabin. Mike crept back to his post and rejoiced. Rose lay on a bunk just inside the window to the left, concealed from the main part of the cabin by an old blanket someone had strung up.
At least she hadn’t been mistreated or she wouldn’t sleep so soundly. He wormed his way around the cabin and pressed his ear to the crack in the door. At the first words he heard he clenched his hands and set his teeth into his lower lip.
“I’m agin it.” Moffatt’s glare matched the looks on other faces. “Forcin’ a girl like her to marry’s a pure shame, an’ kidnappin’s likely to get us hung.”
Sharpe’s ugly laugh made the hair rise on the back of Mike’s neck. “Once I’ve married her, it won’t be kidnapping but elopement. Wives can’t testify against their husbands.”
“Count me out.” Moffatt spat into the open fireplace with its blazing logs. His grizzled countenance turned toward the silent three grouped near the fire. “Me an’ the boys’ll be ridin’ out soon as the snow quits for sure. You can send us our share when you sell the critters.” His suggestion carried the weight of an order. “I wouldn’t advise any funny business neither.”
“Oh, you’ll get your money. You always have, haven’t you?” Sharpe rolled a cigarette, lit it and puffed out a cloud of smoke that hid his face.
“There never was a skirt mixed up in our dealin’s before,” Moffatt reminded.
“By all that’s holy, I didn’t ask her to stick her nose in.” Sharpe leaped to his feet so fast his crude chair crashed to the floor. “Now that she has, I’m going to marry her and even old scores.”
“And just how do you plan to do that?” a new voice demanded. A tanned hand shoved back the frail curtain partition and Desert Rose Birchfield stepped toward the men. “It takes a minister to marry folks, and somehow I just can’t see Uncle Nat taking kindly to performing a ceremony for us.”
Magnificent! Mike wanted to shout. The sleep had given Rose new courage and strength.
Evidently Sharpe’s men thought so, too, for Moffatt laughed and the others joined in.
“Shut up, all of you!” Dan Sharpe glared at his men then at Rose. “Justices of the peace marry folks, too, and I just happen to know one not more than two miles from here due east.”
“You’re lying,” Rose laughed scornfully. “No decent justice of the peace would be holed up out here in the winter unless—”
“Unless he is a rascal who needed to get away,” Sharpe finished smoothly. “I’d rather have married you in the proper way then have a rascally man read the lines, but then circumstances don’t always allow for all the nicer things in life.” “And you think such a ceremony will hold? When the moment we get back to civilization I’ll tell what really happened?” Rose laughed in Sharpe’s face. “You must be mad.”
Sharpe’s tawny eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “You turned eighteen yesterday, my dear girl. With both my justice of the peace friend and myself swearing this is an elopement and that you left the Double B and came after me of your own will, we’ll be married proper and binding.”
Rose whirled toward the other men and cried, “You’re going to let him get away with this?”
Moffatt shrugged and the others shifted uneasily. “We didn’t ask to get in on this an’ we’re agin it, but we’re ridin’ out soon as we can. This other ain’t none of our business.”
“You—you—” Sheer fury cut off her indictment and Rose ran back behind her curtain and pulled it into place.
Weak from holding himself back, Mike slunk away. Not until he could trust himself to speak rationally did he dare creep back to the little window. Rose sat huddled on the bunk, all the fight she had shown earlier gone. Mike tapped gently, then again. She turned. Hope replaced fear in her glorious eyes. She glanced at the curtain then imperiously waved Mike away from the window and opened it a crack.
“What are you doing in there?” Sharpe bellowed.
“Getting some fresh air,” she yelled back. “Who can stand all the smoke?” She defiantly pushed the window up more.
“Don’t get any ideas about trying to run away from your bridegroom-to-be,” Sharpe taunted. “On foot in the snowstorm that’s coming you’d get maybe fifty feet.” He laughed delightedly.
Mike reached for the two hands she held out to him. “Quick, don’t ask questions. Can you slip out after they’re asleep?”
Her cheeks whitened. “I’ll try, but if they catch you—”
“They won’t. God will help us.” He saw color return, but she clung to his hands.
“Mike, you’re here, you’re involved?”
“I can’t explain now. If you start out and anyone challenges you, tell them you’re going to the—the—”
“I understand.” Her eyes looked enormous. “Where will I find you?”
“I’ll be watching.” He pressed her hands, smiled, and fled into the safety of the woods.
Endless hours after when the early November dark had come, Mike stood by Peso, ready and waiting. No danger of discovery now. The expected snow had come again, and the large lazy flakes showed every intention of multiplying and continuing for hours. The glow from the fire that had streamed through the window earlier dwindled. Silence replaced the occasional laugh and sporadic conversation. Still Mike waited.
The cabin door opened. A bundled-up figure stepped onto the porch, silhouetted against the dimly lit interior.
“Where are you going?” Sharpe’s voice followed.
“Where do you think I’m going in the middle of a snowstorm in the dark?” Rose flung back and slammed the door. She ran down the single step and into Mike’s arms. He tossed her onto Peso’s back in one easy motion, swung up behind her, and started off. Mesquite, whose saddle lay in the cabin, followed.
She didn’t speak until they were out of earshot of the cabin. “Where are we going?”
“I’ve asked myself that a thousand times this afternoon,” he said huskily. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes’ start on them, the way I figure. A few minutes before they miss you, more to saddle up and find our tracks. In this snow and dark it may take some time.”
“They’ll expect me and whoever has me to aim straight for home.” Rose shuddered. “There are so many of them. Do you have a gun?”
“Yes.”
“Promise you won’t use it unless—”
“I promise.” His arms around her tightened. “Rose, if they catch us Sharpe will kill me and marry you the way he said. The others won’t interfere. I’m not so sure they’ll even follow us, but we can’t take that chance. I know this is all terrifying and I wish there were another way, but if there is I just can’t figure it out.”
He took a deep, unsteady breath then let out a croaky little laugh. “Rose, will you go with me to that justice of the peace and marry me—tonight?”
She jerked up and Mike added, “It’s for your protection. If you’re already married, there’s not a thing Sharpe can do about it. I doubt even he would kill me and marry my widow all at the same time.”