CHAPTER 46
Brice Rogers felt the horse wearying underneath him and reined to a halt. He swung down and immediately started unsaddling the sorrel so he could switch the rig to the rangy gray. He had rented both mounts from Fulger’s Livery Stable back in Stirrup, which, based on the two citizens Brice had met, seemed to be inhabited entirely by cantankerous gents about to slide over from middle-aged to old-timer status.
Brice finished tightening the cinches and stepped back from the gray. He took off his hat, switched it to the hand that also held the reins, and scrubbed his right hand over his face. Like his horses, he was weary, too, right down to his bones. He hadn’t slept much on either of the trains, just dozed a little sitting up, and the previous night, after leaving Stirrup, he had ridden until well after midnight before finally stopping to grab a couple of hours of sleep.
He would have kept going even then, only the moon had lowered enough that he could no longer make out the trail left by the horse herd. Earlier, he’d been able to follow it with a fair degree of confidence.
By switching back and forth between mounts, he hoped to catch up to the herd today. Since he had two horses, he could push them harder than he would have dared with only a single mount.
That meant pushing himself hard, too, but he was willing to do that. Denny’s safety . . . her very life . . . might depend on it.
A moment more to catch his breath and he was on his way again, following the unmistakable tracks left by the dozens of horses he was following.
He rode on through the morning, stopping from time to time to check the manure left by the herd. He could tell the droppings were fresher, which meant he was getting closer.
By midday he was able to make out a faint dust haze hanging in the air ahead of him. It was difficult to judge the distance, but he thought it originated no more than a mile away. It was stationary, too, which meant the animals that had kicked it up had stopped moving for the moment.
Knowing he was that close made him urge even more speed from the sorrel. The gray trailed behind on a lead rope, but it hadn’t been all that long since he had changed mounts. As he rode on, Brice wondered if he should let the gray go and come back to retrieve the horse later. That way he could push the sorrel even harder.
He bit back a groan as he realized the dust cloud was moving again. He’d hoped to catch up while the herd was stopped for its noon rest. He was still moving faster than they were, so it was only a matter of time until he caught up, but it would take longer now that the herd was moving again.
Fifteen minutes later, he came in sight of a dark mass moving over the gentle hills in front of him. That was the horse herd, he thought. He was almost there.
The terrain had changed somewhat, with snowcapped mountains drawing in from the west. The lower slopes were heavily forested, while higher rose sheer, massive slabs of rock climbing to those white peaks. Under different circumstances, Brice would have appreciated the beauty of the scenery, but he barely saw it. His attention was focused on what was directly in front of him.
He reined in at the top of a rise when he saw that the herd had entered a broad basin stretching for several miles. It was the first chance he had gotten to take a good look, so he reached into his saddlebags and brought out a pair of field glasses. He lifted them to his eyes and peered through them.
His quarry seemed to jump a lot closer. He could see the individual horses through the glasses, as well as the riders coming along behind them and traveling out to the sides. He swung the glasses slowly from right to left, searching for Denny. If she had her blond hair tucked up under her hat, he might not have been able to spot her. She would look like one of the other slender, athletic young cowboys.
No, wait!
Far out on the left flank—farther out than they should have been—two riders had veered away from the herd and appeared to be headed toward the mouth of a rugged-looking canyon in the nearby foothills. Brice saw the flash of sunlight on hair that tumbled around one rider’s shoulders. He thought the other rider had red hair . . .
Denny. And Steve Markham, he thought. Leaving the herd together and headed for God knows where.
Brice’s breath hissed angrily between his teeth as he jammed the field glasses back into the saddlebags. He untied the gray’s lead rope from the saddle and let it drop to the ground.
Then he jammed his heels into the sorrel’s flanks and sent the tired but willing horse leaping forward into a gallop that carried him toward the foothills where Denny and Markham were disappearing from sight in that canyon.
* * *
“This is a mistake,” Denny said. “We should have stayed with the herd.”
“But what about that pesky bay?” asked Markham. “You said yourself, your pa wouldn’t like losin’ even one head of stock on a drive like this.”
“I know, I know. But we should’ve told Cal. Actually, we should have taken a better look around the herd before we rode off over here. Maybe the bay’s still with the others, and we just didn’t notice it.”
“We both looked.” Markham sounded a little impatient. “The damn horse ain’t there.”
“Well, I don’t see him in this canyon, either.” Denny jerked a hand at their surroundings. “Do you?”
The canyon was about fifty yards wide, brushy in places, open in others, with walls too steep for a horse to climb. Here and there a boulder had rolled down from above in ages past. A bend with rocky ridges on both sides lay several hundred yards ahead of them.
“Let’s just ride on up around that bend and take a look,” Markham suggested. “If we don’t see the bay by then, maybe I’ll admit that I was wrong.”
“And then we’ll tell Cal and stop the drive until we find the bay.”
“And then we tell Cal,” Markham agreed.
Side by side, they rode up the canyon toward the bend.
Along the way, Denny watched the brush to make sure the bay wasn’t hiding somewhere in the thick growth. She didn’t see the horse, and although she admittedly wasn’t much of a tracker, she didn’t spot any hoofprints where they were riding, either. “I think we’re on a wild goose chase. The bay was never here.”
“Well, we’ve had a nice ride, if nothin’ else,” he replied. “I’ll never complain about spendin’ time with you, Denny. In fact, I’d be plumb pleased to spend a whole heap more time with you, for a long time to come—”
“Wait just a minute,” she snapped as she reined in. “This whole thing really was just an excuse to get me off by myself, wasn’t it? Now you’re going to start flattering me and making calf eyes at me—”
“Good Lord, woman!” he burst out, finally unable to contain his frustration. He brought his mount to a halt as well. “Don’t you ever take that burr out from under your saddle? Every time a fella starts to talk plain about how he feels, you’ve got to cut the legs right out from under him! You ever stop to think about how intimidatin’ you are, Denny Jensen? Why, you’re rich and beautiful, and you got a pa who’s ten feet tall that no other man could ever live up to. A fella unlucky enough to fall in love with you might as well have a mountain as big as those up yonder to climb over!”
Breathing a little hard, Denny waited for the words to stop spilling out from Markham’s mouth. When they finally did, she asked, “Are you trying to say you’re in love with me?”
“Well, why the hell else would I have done all the things I did? I knew from the first second I laid eyes on you—”
The swift rataplan of hoofbeats from somewhere behind them cut into whatever he was about to say. Both of them turned in their saddles and saw a rider just entering the canyon, heading toward them at a fast clip. Whoever it was, he was too far away for Denny to recognize him immediately, but at the rate he was moving, that wouldn’t last long.
“Cal must have seen us leaving and sent one of the hands after us,” she said. “Now we’re going to be in trouble.”
Even more unexpected and alarming was the faint popping that suddenly came to their ears. Denny had heard that sound before and stiffened in the saddle as she realized what it was.
“Shooting!” she exclaimed. “Something’s wrong at the herd!”
The rider following them must have heard the gunfire over the pounding of his horse’s hooves, too, because he reined in sharply and half turned the mount, as if he couldn’t decide whether to turn back or gallop on toward Denny and Markham.
Denny was going to save him the trouble of deciding. She lifted the reins and said, “We have to get back—”
“No, Denny.” Markham’s voice was flat and hard, and the menacing tone in it made a chill shoot down her spine. “We’re not goin’ anywhere.”
She turned her head and saw the gun in his hand, its barrel aimed directly at her.