Halfway to the top of the Growler Mountains, Samantha halted to give the horse an opportunity to catch its wind. As the animal pulled deep breaths, she looked east at the silent explosion of red and gold fanning out across the eastern sky as the dawn increased. Then, she dropped her view down into the valley to see, for the first time from the mountain, her new home.
The twenty acres of irrigated meadow they had so laboriously leveled could easily be picked out of the desert brush, but the two-room cabin, its dark form squatting beside the spring, was barely visible. No cows were in sight. They had been pushed to the high range so the grass on the lower slopes could be saved for winter feed.
East of the cabin, the valley floor broadened rapidly, growing to nearly two miles wide where it opened out onto the valley of the Ajo. The mountainsides adjacent to the valley reclined at a moderate angle, a slope a cow could climb without much effort to graze the grass and brush.
She was pleased with her family’s accomplishments since their arrival on the mountain. But these past months had been filled with work from daylight to dark for all the Tamblins. Her grandfather had laughingly stated that was the way all worthwhile things were gotten.
She glanced at the thick beds of lava rock rimming the valley on the far south side. Somewhere there, her father and grandfather were building a fence. She could see nothing of the men or their horses because of the long distance.
Sam pulled the mare to face the mountain and sent her climbing upward, following the trails the wild animals had selected over thousands of years as the easiest route to get to the pass connecting Ajo Valley with Growler Valley. Off to the right a few hundred yards, a doe and fawn slowly picked their way up toward their daytime bed in the juniper thickets on the higher ridges.
The doe stopped. The fawn nuzzled in close to its mother for comfort. They both watched Sam with sharp eyes until she was out of sight.
Juniper clothed the saddle between the peaks of the mountain and extended onto the drier west face where the trees became stunted and less dense. Sam held to the cover of the trees as she crossed the pass and continued for a little way to the north, until she could look down and see the full length of Growler Valley. She dismounted and dropped the reins, ground tying the mare.
On a soft bed of needles beneath a jumper, she found a seat and leaned back against the bole of the tree. She removed her hat to allow the gentle wind to cool her warm brow, and breathed deeply of the pungent scent of the juniper.
A raucous cawing began, grew louder, and half a score of crows, their thick black wings scooping air, pressing it down to stay aloft, sailed by overhead. They disappeared south along the mountain, still arguing among themselves.
Samantha remembered her father’s description of important landmarks located on this side of the mountain and began to pick them out. Straight west, ten miles or so, and half the size of the Growlers, lay the Granite Mountains. Northwest thirty miles, the Palomas Mountains were faintly visible on the hazy horizon. She knew the Gila River passed close to the mountain’s southern end.
South of her, twenty miles, the Agua Dulce Mountains could be seen. And five miles beyond that, lay the border between Mexico and the United States.
She started to shift her attention to Growler Valley when, as if by magic, a tiny hummingbird materialized in front of her.
Not much more than two yards away, the half-ounce body hung swaying almost imperceptibly in the sunlight. Its brilliant red-orange throat patch and the iridescent brown of its back and sides rivaled the rainbow.
The wings were a blur of movement, emitting a soft buzzing whisper of soft feathers stroking the air at sixty beats per second. As the bird hovered, its needle-billed head, designed to reach deeply into cactus flowers, flicked from side to side as first one bulbous black eye and then the other appraised his strange find.
The hummer glided sideways to a downwind position to catch her scent. Sam’s eyes followed the small aerial acrobat as he drifted, stopped, remained suspended as if by some invisible thread, and examined her.
Then, impossibly fast, quicker than she could blink, the bird darted in, closing two thirds of the space between them, stopping a mere arm’s length away. Frightened, afraid the hummingbird would mistake her blue eyes for a flower and plunge that long bill into them, Sam clamped her eyelids tightly closed and held them that way for a few excited heartbeats.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes a crack and saw nothing; she widened her eyes more, and looked quickly around. The hummingbird had vanished as swiftly and silently as it had arrived.
She felt a little foolish, sorry it was gone. And for just a moment, she felt a little lonely on the top of the tall mountain.
She raised up to see if the mare had gotten her wind back and was ready to make the descent into the valley. The animal stood tense, attention fastened on something in the juniper.
Sam never heard the approaching horse, until suddenly a young man on a tall roan rode into the clearing. She started hastily to rise. His horse saw her and stopped stone still.
The man’s hand flashed down and up and the black deadly eye of a six-gun pointed unerringly at her. The weapon threatened her for an instant, then disappeared into its holster.
Apprehension showed on the man’s face and Sam wondered how close she had come to getting shot. His expression changed and gimlet eyes touched her horse, swept the patch of trees all around and the hillside beyond.
Now the stranger’s attention settled on her, regarding her with a stern yet quizzical countenance. Sam straightened her body and steadily returned his look.
He was tall, and clothed in rumpled, dusty clothing. A youthful blond beard, not many days old, covered a face burned brown.
His left hand moved, sweeping the battered hat from his head. The skin above the demarcation line where his hat had protected him from the sun was startlingly white.
“Hello,” said Russ. “You don’t act like you’re lost, but do you need any help?”
“No, I’m not lost,” responded Sam and volunteered no further information. There was a tone in his voice, disapproval maybe, that she did not like. He had no right to make a judgment about her. He was not all that much older than she was.
Russ was still partially stunned by the unexpected appearance of the girl. Primed for an attack by the Indians, he had come frighteningly close to triggering his gun at her when she had risen from under the tree. What was keeping him even more off balance was the striking beauty of her.
He wasn’t quite sure that she wasn’t a lovely spirit teasing him with wide innocent eyes. However, spirits did not wear pistols strapped to their sides, although she seemed to have forgotten hers was there.
“What in the hell are you doing on top of Growler Mountain?” he asked in a voice that was slightly hoarse.
“And why shouldn’t I be on Growler? I have as much right here as you or anybody else.” She doubted that was really true. When he had come upon her, his reflex action had been to draw his gun in readiness to fight, or to kill if the need was there. While she had been greatly surprised at the sudden meeting, no thought of defense or attack had entered her mind.
“Maybe so, but there are six Indian warriors about three miles north of here that might not see it that way. At least they were in that location late yesterday. If they had come onto you instead of me, this parley might be going a lot worse for you. Where did you come from and which way are you going?”
She did not like his attitude, his direct questioning as if she were a child, or someone not quite right in the head. But the mentioning of the Indians so near sent a chill through her. She examined the man’s face to see if it was a joke or some trick.
Russ felt the girl’s eyes, unnaturally large and piercing, probing his thoughts. Felt them as if she were touching him, caressing him. And the thought of a caress from her caused his pulse to race. This was why the outlaws had broken their rule of only making one cattle drive to Mexico each year; it was to find a female such as this one. No, not such as this one. Russ was certain he had before him a very rare specimen. One in many thousands of young women.
But what should he do? What could he do in the short time before Raasleer arrived? The Indians must not capture her. Surely Raasleer’s gang could not be allowed to find her. And yet, there she stood, slightly scrappy, and acting as if no danger existed.
Samantha smiled to herself at the change of expression on his face. He wore a serious, worried frown.
“We have a ranch over there”—she turned to point—”at the base of the mountain where there is a big spring.”
‘I know the place. Camped there a year or so ago. You folks must have moved in recently.”
Sam nodded. “Snow was still on the ground.” She recalled the two cold months they had lived in the open until the men had hauled in the logs, and collected the rocks to build the cabin.
“Where are you heading now?”
“Down to the bottom of the valley to see if I can find any water in the creek bed.”
Russ shook his head in the negative. “Appears best to me that you should hightail it back to your ranch and tell your menfolk about the Indians. You wouldn’t want them to get scalped.” He looked sharply at her in warning. “They would also take a pretty white girl if they happened on to her.”
Should she trust what the man said? Was there some other reason he did not want her to go into Growler Valley? She cast a glance past him, down into the desert basin.
Russ saw and understood her suspicion. He was a complete stranger to her and she had no reason to believe him.
“There is one thing that I can tell you that might be helpful. Straight west of here, in the wash, there’s considerable water. It’s not on the surface, you have to dig about two feet or so down in the gravel. I dug out a hole yesterday evening and found plenty of water to supply a hundred cows or more in a permanent way. After each flood it would have to be opened up again. Lot of loose sand and gravel in the bottom that moves with the run-off and will fill any hole right back up.”
Russ replaced Iris hat. “Come. I’ll point out the place to you where I found the water. I think we can see it well enough from up here that you can find it easy when you do go down to search.”
Without a word, Sam strode to her horse and, lifting her foot up to the stirrup, hoisted herself into the saddle. Russ watched her young woman’s body move beneath the heavy cloth of her riding pants. Beautiful, he thought. Beautiful.
They rode a few hundred feet down the slope to the edge of the juniper. Sam halted the mare and sensed the man had stopped very near her. He said nothing, staring searchingly toward the north end of the valley. For a long moment he was absorbed in his scrutiny. Then, seemingly satisfied at what he had seen, or not seen, he looked down into the basin in front of them and pointed.
“Do you see that big bend in the channel, the largest one and due west of us?” he asked.
“You mean the one that curves away from us?”
“Yes, that’s it. Well, downstream about three hundred yards is where I located the water. Good water and plenty of it. I had some and it had no bad effect on me at all.”
“How do you know there is a lot of water?”
Sam saw the hint of irritation on his face and wondered why the question bothered him.
“I dug a hole large enough to take a bath in,” he said shortly. At least that was half true, he drought. “Will you please”—and he stressed the last word—”go home for now? It’s not safe for you and I must be traveling on.”
“Well, if it’s so dangerous, why are you here?”
Russ put his hand on the stock of the rifle that hung beneath his left leg. He was not afraid at all for his own safety. He was cautious, yes, and ready for action, but there was no fear of the danger that surely lay ahead. He laughed at the revelation.
Sam saw the large calloused hand fondle the weapon, heard the laugh. More strongly than ever before in her life, she sensed the immense feeling of independence, the freedom from fear that a strong man could possessed. She could never have the strength of a man, however she could acquire equal skill with weapons. Beginning immediately she would practice in earnest with rifle and pistol.
“I’ll ride back to the other side of the pass with you, if that’s all right,” said Russ.
Without speaking, Sam and Russ crossed through the pass. At the first down slope, she pulled rein and turned to look directly into the lean, hard face.
“Our house is down where the bottom flattens out and on the left side of the stream.”
“Yes, I know where the spring is,” said Russ.
Their eyes held and silence settled upon them. A breeze reached them and made pleasant sounds in the juniper. For Russ it was a very enjoyable span of time.
Was it possible she was reluctant to leave because of him? Perhaps he could ride with her partway to her home. Then the thought of the Englishman and his crew of cowboys riding hard to catch Raasleer and regain the stolen cattle pushed that idea from his mind. He had to get to the lookout. Caloon was his friend and had to be protected.
“I had better go,” said Sam and averted her face. “Goodbye.”
Russ felt a sad loss when the perfect oval of her face and the intelligent blue eyes could no longer be seen. He probably would never see her again.
“Good-bye.” Sam set a fast pace down the rocky trail. Her father and grandfather had to he warned about the Indians. If they were as close as the man had said, there was no time to waste.
She suddenly yanked the mare back on her haunches and looked up the mountainside. Why hadn’t she asked the man’s name? Jerking off her hat, she waved it vigorously back and forth above her head in a large arc.
Almost instantly she saw movement in the edge of the juniper and could make out the man waving his hat in return. Then he vanished into the trees.