Reckless Desire (36 page)

Rolling catlike to his feet, Cloud Walker sprinted across the street. Dunhill gained his feet seconds later and fired three shots in Cloud Walker’s direction.

Cloud Walker grunted as the last shot grazed his rib cage. Pressing a hand to his bleeding side, he ducked into an alley, vaulted over a six-foot fence, and took cover under a pile of wood and debris stacked against the fence.

Marshal Dunhill cursed under his breath as he followed the Indian into the alley. Where had the redskin gone? With his gun at the ready, he walked the end of the alley. Nothing.

Dunhill grinned. The redskin had fled, but there might be something he wanted more than his freedom.

The marshal was smiling when he returned to his office.

Cloud Walker pressed a handful of dirt over the wound in his side to stem the bleeding. Closing his eyes, he settled down to wait out the day.

It was near midnight when he left his hiding place and made his way toward the doctor’s house. He had to see Mary one more time, had to know that she was well before he left town.

He circled the doctor’s house twice, his eyes wary as they probed the darkness for any sign that the place was being watched.

When he was certain there were no lawmen lurking in the shadows, he padded noiselessly toward the room where Mary was sleeping.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted the window and stepped into the room. He had no sooner set foot inside the building than he felt hard steel against his spine, and he knew he had walked into a trap. Someone lit a lamp and he saw that the bed was empty. Dunhill and three deputies grinned at him over their gunsights.

“We’ve been expectin’ you,” Dunhill said. “Hank, put the cuffs on him.”

“Where is my wife?” Cloud Walker asked.

“She’s sleeping in another room down the hall.”

Cloud Walker nodded, his body growing tense as the deputy known as Hank cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Let’s go,” Dunhill said.

“Can I see her?”

“Doc gave her a sleeping draught. She won’t wake up until tomorrow.”

“I want to see her.”

Dunhill shrugged. “Make it quick.”

Cloud Walker followed the marshal down the hall and into a small room. Mary was asleep on a narrow bed. Her face was pale, her hair like a dark halo around her head. Her injured leg was propped up on a pillow.

Cloud Walker felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at her. She had been attacked by a mountain lion and nearly raped and it was all his fault. No doubt that she would be better off without him.

“Let’s go,” Dunhill said impatiently, and Cloud Walker nodded. Bending, he brushed his lips across Mary’s cheek before he followed the lawman out of the room.

At the jail, the marshal removed the handcuffs before ordering Cloud Walker into a cell. Cloud Walker fought down a growing sense of panic as he stared at the thick iron bars, felt his soul recoil in horror as the door closed behind him, trapping him within a cold, steel cage.

* * * * * *

Mary stared at the doctor in dismay, her mind reeling. Cloud Walker had been arrested. Her son was being cared for by a stranger.

“Another couple of days and you’ll be back you our feet,” Dr. Harley said. “Get as much rest as can.”

“I want to see my son,” Mary said.

Marvin Harley smiled indulgently. “I’ll have Mrs. McBain bring him by. He’s doing just fine. You needn’t worry.”

Mary nodded, holding back her tears until the doctor left the room. Cloud Walker was in jail. She could not picture him locked behind bars. How he must hate it.

A short time later, Mrs. McBain brought Adam to her. Mary’s heart swelled with love as she cradled her son in her arms once again. How she had missed him!

“He’s a fine boy,” Melinda McBain remarked as she watched Mary examine her son from head to foot. “Always hungry.”

“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done,” Mary said sincerely. “Dr. Harley told me how kind you’ve been.”

Melinda McBain made a gesture of dismissal. “It wasn’t anything. I love children and Marvin knows it. He often sends me little ones who need temporary care, and I’m glad to have them.”

They chatted amiably for twenty minutes or so, and then Melinda McBain took Adam and left Mary so she could rest.

But Mary could not sleep. She climbed out of bed and limped over to the window. Gazing out into the street, she saw the marshal’s office at the far end of town, and felt tears well in her eyes as she pictured her husband locked inside. Cloud Walker, who hated small rooms and enclosed spaces, who loved the out-of-doors and vast, sunlit prairies.

The doctor scolded her when he entered the room a few minutes later and found her out of bed. Clucking to her like a mother hen with one chick, he shooed her back into bed, then brought her a cup of tea.

“You’ve got to rest,” he admonished. “You’ve been through a bad time.”

“I feel fine,” Mary said, though in truth her leg pained her considerably.

“I don’t care if you feel like dancing,” the doctor replied briskly. “Don’t you get out of that bed again until day after tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Mary promised. “Dr. Harley, would you do me a favor, please?”

“Of course.”

“I want to send a wire to my family and let them know where I am.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Shadow had ridden a good thirty miles before he bedded down for the night. Now, lying on his back under a blanket of stars, he listened to the sounds of the night—the swoosh of an owl stalking its prey on silent wings of death, the melancholy lament of a lonely coyote baying at the moon, the squeaky song of a cricket, the deep-throated call of a bullfrog looking for a mate. It felt good to be alone, miles and miles from another living soul. Overhead the stars twinkled brightly on a bed of black velvet. Nearby Smoke stood grazing on a patch of thick buffalo grass.

Closing his eyes, he found himself thinking of Mary and Cloud Walker. He knew that Hannah worried about Mary constantly, and as much as he longed to go after them to ascertain for himself that all was well, he dared not interfere. Cloud Walker was a warrior, strong, reliable, and capable of looking after Mary. Probably they were somewhere in the Black Hills, holed up in one of the many canyons where the Sioux and Cheyenne had once sought refuge.

Being a fugitive was never easy, Shadow mused ruefully. But he and Hannah had survived, and he was confident that Mary and Cloud Walker could do the same.

He rose with the dawn the following morning and rode northeast, heading for the land that had once belonged to the Sioux and the Cheyenne. It was a big land filled with rolling hills and timber. Smoke moved in an easy lope, his long strides covering the miles with little effort. Shadow rode easily in the saddle, his mind devoid of all thought as he enjoyed the beauty of the country around him. He saw a small herd of white-tailed deer, a prairie-dog town, a skunk, a family of possums, a doe with a pair of twin fawns at her side, a fat raccoon. But no buffalo. Not one.

At noon he drew the stallion to a halt beside a clear stream. Dismounting, he chewed on a piece of jerked beef, drank from the stream.

Resting in the shade of a tall pine, he closed his eyes. Immediately Hannah’s image danced before him. Beautiful, lovable Hannah with hair like a flame and eyes of soft dove gray. Hannah, who had charmed him from the day they met. Hannah, who had loved him and seduced him without shame, never caring that he was an Indian, never asking him to be more or less than he was. Sweet Hannah, who had sold herself to Joshua Berdeen so that he, Shadow, might not hang. She had ridden the war trail at his side, enduring hunger and cold and heartache just to be with him. Brave, loyal Hannah. She had more courage than a whole war party of Cheyenne braves.

Sitting up, Shadow perused the countryside, his eyes loving the beauty of the land that had once belonged to his people. He had been born here, grown to manhood here, fought the Crow and the Pawnee and the white man here. Likely he would die here, his body returning to Mother Earth to nourish the land for those who would come after him.

Hannah. He could think of nothing else, and he wondered what it was that had driven him out into the vast lonely prairie when he had a woman waiting for him at home. A woman who loved him with all her heart.

Shadow grinned ruefully. He was forever telling Hawk that the past was over and gone, that it was foolish to yearn for that which could never be, yet here he sat, foolishly wishing for a life that had been gone for over twenty years while Hannah waited for him at home, alone. Hannah, who had a smile warmer than the summer sun; Hannah, whose beauty rivaled that of the earth itself.

Rising, he whistled for Smoke, smiling as the big Appaloosa stud trotted obediently toward him. Like all true warriors, Shadow appreciated a fine horse, and Smoke was one of the best, second only to the big red roan stallion he had ridden to battle at the Greasy Grass.

Shadow patted Smoke’s neck affectionately. He had trained the horse himself, breaking the animal to hand and heel and the sound of his voice. The stallion had speed and bottom. In the old days he would have been prized as a war horse.

Tightening the cinch, Shadow was about to swing into the saddle when a rustle in the underbrush caught his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he felt his blood turn cold as he saw a huge silvertip rear up less than twenty feet away. The stallion snorted and rolled its eyes as it caught the scent of the bear, and as the grizzly dropped to all fours and lumbered toward them, the Appaloosa jerked the reins from Shadow’s hand and bolted down the hillside.

Shadow swore softly as his hand moved toward the knife sheathed on his belt. The grizzly was close now, so close Shadow could smell the bear’s foul breath as it sniffed the air. Shadow stood his ground, knowing that the worst thing he could do now was run, though all his instincts urged him to flee. But no man had ever outrun a grizzly.

He held his breath as the bear came to a halt a few feet away, felt his whole body tense as the grizzly suddenly reared up on its hind legs and walked forward, towering over Shadow, who quickly pulled his knife from its sheath. He jabbed the blade into the bear’s stomach as the animal slapped him with one huge hairy forepaw. The blow sent Shadow reeling backward and he fell heavily to the ground, landing on his back with such force that it knocked the breath from his body.

The grizzly roared with pain and rage. Dropping to all fours, it charged the fallen warrior. Shadow scrambled to his feet. Placing his knife between his teeth, he reached for the low-hanging branch of a nearby tree in an effort to escape, but the bear was too fast. One paw swiped through the air, knocking Shadow to the ground again, and then the bear was on him, sharp yellow teeth and razor-like claws ripping through skin and muscle.

Teeth clenched against the pain, Shadow fought against the panic rising within him. Fur filled his nose and mouth as the bear mauled him, and he stifled the scream of pain and fear that rumbled in his throat as the bear’s claws ripped into his side.

“Maheo, help me,” he gasped, and in that instant he knew that his only chance for survival was to play dead.

Letting his head loll back, he went suddenly limp, forcing himself to relax completely even though the bear’s teeth were buried in his arm.

The bear sensed the change in the man immediately. Releasing her grasp on Shadow, she backed off, her nostrils sniffing the man’s body. Shadow remained perfectly motionless, his eyes closed, his mouth slack. Rearing halfway up, the bear nudged Shadow with her forepaws. Limp as a rag doll, he rolled over several times before coming up hard against a rock.

The bear followed her prey, swatting him back and forth like a cat toying with a mouse. Once, her tongue washed across Shadow’s face and he was certain he was about to be eaten alive, but she merely licked the sweat from his brow.

Lying there, pretending to be dead, Shadow lost track of the time. The sun was hot on his face, flies swarmed over his wounds, but he dared not move. Once, chancing a quick peek through slitted eyes, he saw the grizzly. She was sitting on her haunches a few feet away, licking the blood from her wounds.

Minutes passed, each one seeming like an hour. Now and then the bear nudged him with a paw, but he kept his eyes closed and tried not to breathe too deeply. He could feel the blood oozing from the many claw and teeth marks the bear had inflicted in his arm and back and chest. There was a large gash in his right side. The ground beneath him was wet with his blood.

Then blackness washed over him, pulling him down, down, into a dark tunnel that had no end…

He regained consciousness a layer at a time. Opening his eyes, he stared up at the sky. He was badly hurt. Perhaps he would die. But first he must see Hannah one more time, hear her voice whisper that she loved him, feel the warmth of her smile.

Scooping up a handful of dirt, he packed it over the wound in his side to stop the bleeding and then he began to drag himself toward home. Hand over hand, slow inch by slow inch, he went forward. Dirt clods and sharp stones scraped his flesh until his arms and legs and chest felt raw. And still he went stubbornly forward, refusing to give up, refusing to quit. Refusing to release his tenuous hold on life until he had seen Hannah one last time.

He didn’t remember passing out, but when came to, it was dark. He knew a moment of apprehension as he sensed a presence near him. Had the grizzly come back to finish him off? The thought made his mouth go dry.

Warily he opened his eyes, smiled weakly as he saw Smoke standing near his head. The horse whickered softly, its nostrils flaring at the scent of blood.

“Easy, boy,” Shadow rasped. “Easy, now.”

Clenching his teeth against the pain of his wounds, he managed to sit up. Dizziness engulfed him and he felt himself slipping into oblivion again. Fighting off the urge to surrender to the peaceful darkness, he reached for the stallion’s reins and pulled himself to his feet. The movement broke the scab over the gash in his side, and he knew he was bleeding again. With an effort he hung onto the stallion’s mane and managed to make his way to the horse’s side. For a long moment he just stood there, his forehead resting against the stallion’s warm flank. His arms and back and side felt as if they were on fire.