A lifetime ago Laurel Birchfield had told her daughter, “I know that with your faith in our heavenly Father you will never act in any way except an honorable one.”
Now, trapped by the storm and Dan Sharpe, Rose wondered. Could she live up to that trust?
Faithful Peso continued to breast the storm under a double burden. Suddenly Rose said in a broken voice, “I can’t marry you, Mike, even to save my life. Marriage has to be between two persons who love each other or it can’t be blessed by God.”
“I have loved you ever since I saw you,” Mike quietly said. “If you can’t learn to care, I’ll never ask anything of you except the right to protect you until I can get you back to your family.”
He loved her. Mike Carey loved her. Why should the fear and gloom that closed in around them suddenly lift? Dazed, torn between an idol created through letters and a strong man who had braved both elements and man to save her, Rose’s feelings churned. Carmichael Blake-Jones suddenly seemed so far away, so vague. . .she had never even seen a picture of him! Mike Carey, cowboy, was here. She thought of his golden hair, his round, appealing face, and most of all the blue eyes anyone on earth could trust. When he vowed to protect her and ask nothing in return she knew she had nothing to fear. Too tired to sort through her fears any longer, Rose shakily said, “I’ll marry you.”
How different she felt when Mike’s arms tightened protectively around her from when Dan had pinioned her against her will! One man gave freely, expecting nothing, while the other selfishly demanded and took.
Mike’s hold tightened. “I hope you will never regret it, Rose. It’s the best I can do for you.”
She longed to comfort him, to tell him she appreciated and cherished the dearness of him, but mute lips could not form the words. Her newly awakened feelings were still too fragile and perhaps born only from the perilous situation. A little sob came but she disguised it by saying, “You—I’m not really dressed for a wedding.”
“I fell in love with a girl with an auburn braid on a roan horse,” he told her, and again Rose marveled.
“You saw him kiss me?”
“Yes, and I ran from it. I learned what you did when out on the range Sharpe said you struck him for the second time.”
Rose felt the heat of gladness fill her veins.
Long before they reached the renegade who still carried the title justice of the peace Rose felt they had come ten miles, not two. Yet she thanked God for the ever-increasing storm. There was little likelihood that Sharpe could trail them quickly. Besides, why would he suspect their destination? A ripple of nervous laughter escaped, and Mike’s arms around her tightened.
“Are you regretting your promise, Rose?”
“No.” She shivered in spite of the warmth from Mike’s strong yet respectful hold. “It just isn’t—I didn’t think—you have to admit this isn’t exactly the kind of wedding a girl imagines.”
“I know.” Did the husky voice whisper “dear” before Mike said, “Whatever happens, you’ll be safe.”
She lapsed into silence and Mike concentrated on Peso. The strong horse carrying a double load snorted and hesitated at times but picked his way when Mike wisely let the reins lie loose. A lifetime later Mike wordlessly lifted Rose from the saddle and they stamped their way to the door of a crude hut. Mike pounded and called, “Business for you, sir. We’re eloping.”
Eloping! Some of Rose’s confusion fled but when Mike held out his hand and said, “Come,” she obediently followed him into the dim interior of the hut. A quick survey in the lamplight showed it was clean. She sighed in relief and looked at the justice of the peace.
“How’d you know I lived here?” the paunchy, balding man demanded, laying a rifle on the table.
“Sharpe told me. I work on the Circle 5. Can you marry us?” Mike’s voice sounded strained.
“I’ll hitch you tighter than a peach and its skin,” the older man bragged but turned a sharp look toward Rose. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Names?” The justice of the peace stuck a pair of pince-nez on his nose and procured from a makeshift bureau a stubby pencil and a dirty piece of paper.
“Desert Rose Birchfield.” The words had trouble getting out of her parched throat.
“Michael Carey. . .” A loud crash cut Mike off. He backed into a chair and it overturned. “Sorry.”
Rose would remember the brief ceremony only in flashes. “. . .take this man. . .love, honor. . .take this woman. . . love, honor. . .” The only words that sounded clearly in her tired brain came when Mike answered the questions with a ringing, “I do.” Her own whispered responses evidently satisfied the justice of the peace for he concluded, “. . .pronounce you man and wife.” He slowly removed his glasses and added, “You may kiss your bride.”
Rose saw the poignant look in Mike’s blue eyes before he caught her close, whispered in her ear, “We can’t let him be suspicious,” then tenderly, almost reverently kissed her lips.
“Sorry I can’t offer honeymoon accommodations, but she can use the extra bunk and you’ll have to roll up in front of the fire,” their unwilling host grudgingly told them. “Night’s not fit for critters, let alone humans.”
“I’ll take care of the horses.” Mike’s warning glance stilled the protest forming on Rose’s lips. “We thank you.” The bewildered girl admired his coolness, but when he stepped out into the storm to stable Peso and Mesquite, she nearly panicked. Something in the justice of the peace’s knowing look infuriated her.
“Well, Desert Rose Birchfield eloping with a ranch hand!” He slapped his thigh and cackled. “Never thought I’d live to see it.”
She summoned up every bit of ancestral southern pride to sustain her as she looked through him. “My husband and I appreciate your hospitality. I’m sure you will be well paid.”
Greed brightened the small watching eyes, and when Mike came back in and pressed money into his hand he grew positively affable. “Don’t forget to sign the wedding certif’cate,” he reminded.
“Go ahead, Rose. I’ll just dry my coat first,” Mike told her. She shakily wrote her name where the justice of the peace pointed, not reading the remarkable documents. She did wonder why it took Mike so long to sign his name. Perhaps he felt as unsure as she. Too tired to care, she roasted in front of the fire until her riding jeans and shirt and socks felt dry then gratefully crept into the rough but clean blankets on the extra bunk, knowing she would never sleep. Fatigue and strain thought otherwise. Long before Mike closed his eyes and shut out the walls of the hut, Rose’s soft breathing showed that she slept.
Had he done the right thing? Had his love for her prompted his bold action? Or had there been no other choice? Dear God, he prayed, and shifted on the hard floor, examine my heart and forgive me if I have done wrong.
Sometime in the night the snow stopped. The Wyoming sun burst over a nearby mountain peak in a glorious flood. It first touched the tall, evergreen tree tops, then the snow-crowned roof of the shack. At last it sent an exploring finger through the single window and into the hut. Still the weary three who had been up until the early morning hours slept. Climbing higher, the sun began to melt the snow. Rose awoke when a plop-plop outside the window warned that the storm had passed. At the same time Mike sprang up and the justice of the peace stretched himself and muttered something inaudible.
How could he have slept so long in time of danger? Mike chastised himself and pulled on his boots. “May we trouble you for some breakfast?”
Mellowed by the generous money donation of the night before, their host produced bacon, surprisingly good coffee, and a mountain of flapjacks. An hour later Mike and Rose rode away down a trail they were told was a shortcut back to the Double B, mentally making note of the location so a posse could come as soon as weather permitted. The going proved hard. Rose insisted on riding Mesquite bareback for a time, but the roan’s hide grew wet and slippery from kicked-up snow. Again Peso resumed his stalwart pose and carried double.
When they reached the familiar bald knob that meant home lay near, Rose’s eyes filled with tears. Everything seemed so unreal. She turned to Mike and again saw the poignant blue light in his eyes that betrayed so much.
“You—you promised—” She swallowed hard. “Mike, could we just keep still?” She hardly believed the look in his face. Relief? A lessening of strain?
“Whatever you say.” He laid his hand over her gloved one. “It might be better not to shock your family just yet.”
Rose shivered at the just yet but managed a wavering smile. “What shall we tell them then?”
“The truth.” He acted surprised, and she straightened. “Let me do the talking,” he said quietly.
She numbly nodded, and the horses picked their way down the slope and across the level ground to the ranch house. The warm sun had melted snow in the open and the earth felt soggy from the moisture.
“Thank God, Mike has her!” rang from Nate, who raced toward them on Piebald, his raven hair tossing wildly. “Where have you been?” He stopped his horse in front of them.
“Wait until we reach the ranch,” Mike told him. “Rose is worn out, and we don’t want to explain but once.”
A little later, warmed and fed, Rose quietly listened while Mike told her grandparents and Nate a condensed version of what had happened. “Rose decided on a midnight ride and ran into Sharpe and his band of rustlers stealing Hardwick’s cattle. I happened to be trailing Sharpe and saw the whole things. Sharpe took Rose to a cabin he must have had built for his secret meetings. I managed to get her attention and let her know I was there. She slipped out in the night and the snow covered our tracks. We found a shack for the rest of the night and came home.”
“Is that all?” Nate looked at them suspiciously and acted disappointed. “We looked and looked for you, but the snow defeated us.”
“What more do you want?” Rose demanded. “Seems to me that cattle rustling, being abducted and carried away and rescued all in the same night should be enough for anyone, even Columbine,” she mischievously added.
“I would have been scared to death,” Columbine confessed, then blushed. “I–I’m sorry I ever felt sorry for Dan Sharpe!”
Rose escaped to her room in the wave of laughter that followed, but not before Thomas Brown said, “Mike, are you too tired to take a ride over to Hardwick’s with me?”
“Not at all.” His voice floated to where Rose stood halfway up the stairs. “Except—I don’t think Sharpe knows I saw him. Maybe it would be better for me to head for the Circle 5 and poke around, see if I can find anything incriminating.”
“Good idea,” Thomas agreed. Rose heard the stamping of his heavy boots. “Come on then, Nate.”
Only after the men left did Rose realize that she hadn’t even thanked Mike for saving her. Remorseful, she sprang to her window, but Mike and Peso were too far away to hear her call.
All the way back to the Circle 5, Mike sternly suppressed the desire to gloat over the way things had turned out. Suppose Sharpe turned toward the justice of the peace when he could find no trace of Rose? On the other hand, why should he? The deep snow should have obliterated their tracks. Sharpe would probably think Rose had ridden off on Mesquite and headed home. Even if he did go to the justice of peace he would find no evidence of Mike Carey, unless he could get that name out of the Carmichael Blake-Jones signature Mike had used. Back and forth, back and forth his mind seesawed until he reached the corrals at the Circle 5.
“Where in tarnation have you been?” Joe Perkins, ruddier than ever, met him at the corral gate.
“Got caught out. Stayed in a shack.” Should he confess to Joe who he really was? With all the intrigue and danger swirling around him, Mike knew he could use some staunch support. He searched Joe’s loyal face and made a snap decision. “Come up to the ranch house with me, and I’ll tell you a story.”
“What kind of story?” Joe followed Mike’s brisk steps after Peso had been freed and rubbed down. Clinking spurs and the rolling gait of the cowboy on foot made Mike grin.
“First, we’re going to search the house.”
“We’re what?” Joe gasped and his blue eyes popped. “Are you plumb loco? If Sharpe catches us we’ll be goners.” He drew a brown forefinger across his throat.
Mike figuratively fired both barrels at once. “I saw Sharpe and four men steal about thirty head of Hardwick’s cattle last night, but it’s my word against theirs. If I can find proof—bills of sale, that kind of thing—we can get him.” His face hardened. “Joe, those cattle came right to that piece of land where you got shot.”
Joe stuck both hands on his hips. His eyes narrowed to slits. “So-o-o, either Sharpe or one of his rustlers tried to kill me.”
“Looks that way to me.” They had reached the porch of the ranch house. Mike checked to see no one was around and pushed open the door. “Come on, let’s get us some evidence.”
“Say, I got a grudge against Sharpe, but how come you’re so het up to get him?” Joe demanded when their search turned up nothing.
“Keep your lip buttoned, but I own the Circle 5.”
The dumbfounded cowboy stared then shoved back his hat and sadly shook his head. “Aw, now I know you’re loco.”
“I’m not.” Mike laughed at Joe’s expression. “My real name is Carmichael Carey Blake-Jones—isn’t that a monicker?”
“But the owner’s a Mr. Prentice,” Joe argued.
“Prentice is my mother’s maiden name.” Mike hadn’t dreamed how much fun he’d get in unmasking himself to Joe.
“One of us is crazy, and it shore ain’t me,” Joe solemnly announced.
“Neither of us is crazy, and as soon as we get this mess cleared up, how would you like to be the new Circle 5 foreman?” Mike told the dazed cowhand. He couldn’t help but wickedly add, “Nice steady job, foreman. A man could think about getting married. Especially when the way I see it is, a foreman needs his privacy. I plan to build a brand-new home in the spring, and there’s bound to be logs and window glass enough left for a sung three-or-four-room cabin over there.” He waved toward a pretty knoll maybe a quarter mile from the ranch house.
“Have I died an’ gone to heaven already?” Joe gasped. His mighty hand shot out and gripped Mike’s. “Put her there, pard. Now how’re we gonna trip up Sharpe? By the time we can get into that little hidden valley you know he will have moved those cattle on.”
“I know and I’ve been thinking. First thing I’m going to do is pick a fight with our present boss when he gets back.” The plan sprang full blown while he talked. “Then I’m riding into Rock Springs. I’ll get myself men who are getting pretty fed up with some of his doings—”
“How do you know that?” The pupils of Joe’s eyes turned to steel points.
“Overheard them last night while Sharpe was holding Rose Birchfield captive.”
“Wh-at?” Rage filled Joe’s face and he leaped for the door.
“Hold it, she’s home safe. The men wanted no part of it. What I thought I’d do was let word get around I’m for hire and not particular about what I do.”
“You’ll be walkin’ a narrow trail,” Joe warned. “Why not let me do it?” His eyes glistened.
Mike hesitated, tempted. Joe had far better skills than he. No, he wouldn’t ask another man to kill his snakes.
“You lay low right here on the Circle 5 and protect my—our—interests,” he ordered. “Joe, I don’t have to tell you what this means to you and me and the Wyoming range.”
A second strong grip of hands and they slipped out of the ranch house. Not a moment too soon, either. Joe’s keen vision observed a dot in the distance and he softly laughed. “ ’Pears to me, our boss is ridin’ in a big hurry.” He laughed again without mirth. “Reckon your chance to pick an argument’s comin’ quicker than you thought.”
“Good.” Mike’s blood leaped high. “Back me, no matter what I do, all right?”
Joe only nodded but Mike had the feeling the lithe body beside him was poised to spring should it be necessary. They lounged against the corral fence until Sharpe galloped in, his face dark with anger.
“Why aren’t you working?” he yelled. “I don’t pay no-good hands to stand around with their hands in their pockets. Either get busy or get your time.”
Mike sprang erect. “I’m taking my time, Sharpe. We’ve worked like slaves, and you know it. Well, no more. Are you coming with me, Joe?” He shot a secret glance of warning toward Joe who glanced down and drew circles in the ground with his boot. “Well, are you?”
“Uh, sorry, but I reckon I’ll stick.” Apology shone in the blue eyes, and Mike had to look back toward Sharpe to conceal his gleam of triumph.
“Of all the—I thought we were pards.” Mike worked himself into a simulated rage. He took off his sombrero and threw it on the ground. “This Circle 5’s one fine place!”
“That’s enough,” Sharpe barked. His face fairly shouted his glee over finally getting rid of the cowboy who had been a burr under his saddle ever since he rode in. “Pack your gear and get out, Carey. You’ll have what’s coming to you ready by the time you are.” He dismounted and tossed his buckskin’s reins to Joe. “Rub him down, Perkins.”
“I don’t know if I can stick it,” Joe burst out the moment Sharpe got out of hearing distance. “With you gone, the boss will treat me lower than Wyomin’ dirt.” He sighed. “Just don’t make it too long, pard. I mean, boss.”
“Just pard,” Mike told him and noticed how Joe smiled in relief. “One other thing. If we meet in town, don’t act too friendly and be sure and drop some hints here and there on how funny I’ve been acting. Wonder out loud if I’m guilty of something nobody knows and that’s why I’ve gone back on you.”
“Aw, Mike, I can’t do that!” Joe protested. “At least, not to the Birchfields.”
“You have to or we’ll never get Sharpe.” Mike walked toward the bunkhouse and softly reminded, “Everything will work out but a lot rides on how well you play your part.” An hour later he rode into Antelope and acted out the disgruntled jobless cowboy to perfection. After staying overnight, he headed for Rock Springs, thankful for the continuing fair weather that had followed the snowstorm.
A week later he returned, properly deputized and eager to put Sharpe back behind bars. From the frosty glares he received Mike knew Joe had done his work well. Word reached Mike that Sharpe had boldly ridden to the Double B and called on Desert Rose, blandly assuring the Browns and Nate he had found the girl injured from a fall and so delirious she thought she was being abducted. Sharpe even offered to bring in his men to verify the story and only shrugged when Rose turned on him and said he lied but refused to allow her parents to take action against him. Mike realized she must be protecting him, and he prayed for self-control to carry out his work.