Shadow Walker
Authors: Connie Mason
| Shadow Walker |
| Flame Set [2] |
| Connie Mason |
| Leisure Books (1997) |
Sold to the highest bidder, Dawn, a beautiful half Indian, finds comfort in the arms of her rescuer, Cole Webster, a fierce warrior who reveres the Native American traditions and shows her a passion that she has never known. Reissue.
Cole awoke slowly to darkness and a feeling of contentment. He couldn’t recall when he’d felt so at peace. The woman in his arms was warm and sweet-smelling. A firm breast filled his hand and he fondled the nipple pressing impudently against his palm.
Morning Mist.
He almost said her name aloud until he remembered. Morning Mist was dead. The woman beside him was named Dawn. Dawn, with long black hair and innocent blue eyes that held the ageless knowledge of Eve. Vulnerable Dawn. She had known many men yet gave the impression of being untouched.
His hand moved against her breast, stroking her gently, restless, wanting. A groan slipped from his throat when he felt her nipple harden against his palm.
CONNIE
MASON
SHADOW
WALKER
© 1999, 2011 Connie Mason. All rights reserved.
To my wonderful family,
for all their love and support.
SHADOW
WALKER
Colorado Territory—1872
Straight as an arrow, tall and broad-shouldered, Shadow Walker braced muscular legs upon the ground where his beloved wife, Morning Mist, had lost her life. Lofty, snow-capped mountains soared above him, making his own imposing form seem insignificant in comparison. During his years with the Sioux, Shadow Walker had shared their pain, their joy, their sorrow, but deep within his heart he knew his future lay elsewhere. His body had hardened, matured, adjusting to the harshness of the weather and the capriciousness of nature. Regrettably, the time to leave had arrived.
Running Elk was moving his people to the reservation, and Shadow Walker realized his life
must take a different course. The People didn’t belong on a reservation any more than he did, but he, at least, had a choice.
Shadow Walker turned his face toward the sun, savoring its warmth upon his wide, bronzed chest. He wore an eagle feather in his mahogany hair, which had darkened with the passing years, changing from bright red to a rich, deep auburn. Shadow Walker wondered if his twin sister’s hair had darkened also, or if it still glowed like living flame. It was time he found out, he decided. A visit to Oregon City was long overdue.
“You appear troubled, Shadow Walker.”
Shadow Walker turned to greet his brother-in-law, Running Elk. “I can no longer delay the inevitable. I must leave the People.”
Running Elk nodded sagely. “It is time. Where will you go?”
“I long to see my family in Oregon. I will visit Ashley and Tanner first, then look for work.”
Fond memories assailed Running Elk, and he smiled as he fingered the hank of bright red hair woven among his own dark locks. “I still mourn the loss of the woman called Flame. But the Great Spirit chose her for another. Tell Flame that her strong medicine continues to protect me after all these years.”
“I will tell her. I will always treasure my years with the People,” Shadow Walker said. “I have learned a great deal from the Sioux. Knowledge that will serve me well in the White world.”
“Have you learned how to live without a woman? You have repeatedly refused to take another
wife from among our maidens and widows. Do you prefer a White wife?”
Shadow Walker’s rugged features hardened. “I prefer no wife. I will never love any woman the way I loved Morning Mist. No woman can compare with her. I take my pleasure where I find it and leave with my heart intact.”
Running Elk found Shadow Walker’s words worrisome. “Morning Mist walked the spirit path four winters ago. It is time for you to move on. Men need to father strong sons and daughters to honor them in their old age. You are wasting your seed, Shadow Walker. Find a good woman to warm your mat and bear your children.”
Shadow Walker turned his emerald green gaze toward the towering snow-peaked mountains. “Morning Mist was pregnant with my child when she was slain. I have vowed that no other woman will bear a child of mine. I will spend my seed on Mother Earth before giving it to another woman.”
Distressed, Running Elk shook his head. “You have carried your grief long enough, brother. I, too, miss my little sister, but no amount of wishing will bring her back. I have consulted with Dream Spinner about you. He says the signs are favorable that you will find a woman to take Morning Mist’s place.”
“No!” His denial was swift and decisive. “I will never take another wife.”
“Laughing Brook will be devastated. The widow has shared your blanket many times during the past four years.”
“I made Laughing Brook no promises.”
Running Elk nodded, in no way condemning
his brother-in-law. He had almost forgotten that Shadow Walker had skin several shades lighter than his own and a White name. “Go, then, Shadow Walker. But mark my words, one day you will return, and then we will see if your vow was spoken in earnest. Every man needs a woman to ease his body and bear his children.”
Running Elk’s entire band was on hand to bid Shadow Walker good-bye when he left two days later. Laughing Brook gave him a misty-eyed smile and brushed away tears as she waved farewell. Shedding his familiar breechclout and moccasins, Shadow Walker had donned buckskin trousers, flannel shirt, leather vest and supple boots. He was mounted upon the faithful sorrel gelding he had acquired several years before, after he left the army.
“Farewell, Shadow Walker,” Running Elk said solemnly. “May
Wakantanka
watch over you until your return.”
“Farewell, brother. I will be forever grateful to you and the People. Because of your friendship I am now able to return to civilization and make a life for myself, a life without Morning Mist, a life without love. May Wakantanka protect you.”
A faint smile stretched the corners of Running Elk’s mouth. Intuition told him that Shadow Walker’s words would come back to haunt him. Shadow Walker would find love where he least expected it.
Dodge City, Kansas—August, 1875
Cole Webster crouched in the underbrush, his rifle balanced on a rock as his sharp green eyes narrowed on the crude log cabin on the bank of the Arkansas River. Adrenalin pumped through his veins. It was always the same, he reflected. During the three years he’d worked as a Pinkerton detective, the chase and capture never failed to instill a wild excitement within him.
No one tracked better than he. He’d been taught by the Sioux. His skills had served him well in the job he had taken after visiting his sister and her husband in 1872. Detective work satisfied the restlessness that had churned inside him ever since the death of Morning Mist. He enjoyed traveling to wherever he was needed to investigate a crime
or recover stolen goods. Currently he had been hired by the railroad to recover money stolen from the Union Pacific in a daring raid near Dodge City by the notorious Cobb gang. Operating in and around Dodge City, the Cobb gang had recently pulled off several train robberies and continued to elude the law.
It hadn’t taken Cole long to close in on Billy Cobb, the leader of the gang. After several days of scouting, he had located Cobb’s hideout in a remote area west of Dodge and was fairly certain Cobb was alone in the cabin now. Cole stared at the run-down cabin, pondering whether to rush it or wait to nab the bastard when he came out. It wasn’t necessary to bring in Cobb alive as long as Cole recovered the loot from the train robbery that had taken place a week before. Four men had pulled off the robbery. One of the conductors had recognized Cobb from a Wanted poster he’d seen. After the robbery the gang had split up. Cole had tracked Cobb to his hideout on the bank of the Arkansas.
Suddenly Cole tensed as he heard a muffled scream coming from inside the cabin. His grip tightened on the rifle. The scream turned to pitiful whimpering, but Cole maintained his position. He’d been so certain Cobb was alone in the cabin, he would have bet money on it. The unexpected sound had unsettled him, something that rarely happened. His sojourn with the Sioux had taught him to conceal his emotions and remain calm no matter what.
Cole rose to his haunches, preparing to sneak up to the cabin, when suddenly the door burst
open and Billy Cobb stormed out. His ugly face was like thunder as he flung himself atop his mount and took off, riding hell-bent for leather. Cole sprang to his feet and ran for his own mount tethered nearby. If Cobb had the money on him, Cole couldn’t afford to let him get away.
Cole’s horse shot out of the narrow forest that grew along the riverbank onto a flat grassy prairie surrounded by low hills and rocky outcroppings. Cobb was nowhere in sight. Cole spit out an oath and reined in sharply, realizing immediately that he had blundered into an ambush. Cobb must have heard Cole pounding after him and hidden behind the large rocks scattered on either side of the trail. Cole felt a prickling at the back of his neck when he saw the sun reflect off a shiny object a short distance to the left. Cobb’s rifle? Digging in his spurs, Cole let out a Sioux war cry and flattened himself against Warrior’s sleek withers. The animal surged forward beneath Cole’s expert handling.
Bullets whizzed past Cole as he pinpointed Cobb’s hiding place. Lesser men would have called him excessively reckless, others fearless, but in truth Cole was inured to danger and accustomed to taking chances with his life.
Removing his rifle from the saddleboot, Cole knew he was close enough now to return Cobb’s shots with some accuracy. He didn’t want to kill Cobb if he didn’t have to. He needed Cobb alive to tell him where to find the train loot if he didn’t have it with him. Unfortunately, one of Cole’s bullets ricocheted off the rock behind Cobb and entered
his heart through his back. Cobb died instantly.
“Dammit to hell!” Cole cursed when he reached Cobb and saw that his bullet had killed him. “Just my luck,” he muttered sourly after a search of Cobb’s saddlebags yielded nothing except a small amount of money and a gold bracelet set with rubies. Draping Cobb’s body over the back of his horse, Cole took him to Dodge City, turned him over to the undertaker, and stopped by the sheriff’s office to report the death.
“There’s a reward out for Billy Cobb,” Sheriff Tayler said.
“I’ll be around to collect it after I recover the railroad loot. Cobb didn’t have it on him, so I suspect it’s still at his hideout. I’m heading out there now.”
Sheriff Tayler appeared stunned. “Don’t tell me the bastard has a hideout nearby? I never would have guessed he’d hole up so close to Dodge. What about the rest of his gang?”
“They split up. My partner is on their trail.”
“Maybe Cobb gave the loot to one of his gang.”
“I’d bet my last dollar Cobb took it with him when the gang split up. I reckon they’ll turn up before long for their share. You’d best be on your guard.”
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled, Webster. I always cooperate with the railroad. The railroad brought prosperity to Dodge, and we all appreciate it. I hope you find the money. I’ll form a posse to track down the rest of the gang members. I’ve been looking for them for months. They disappear as soon as they rob a train and don’t turn
up again until they pull off another robbery. Do you want me to go out to the cabin with you?”