Anton Hooker was waiting at the end of town. After a brief greeting, he fell in line behind Katy. For the next half hour, while the sun was struggling to shine through the gray mist, they left the rain-soaked valley and rode toward the mountains.

  Taught by her brothers, Katy had learned to ride at an early age. They had ridden away, each on a thoroughbred horse, at the start of the war, sure that it would be over in a month or two. It had been up to Katy to care for the horses left in the stable that was known as one of the finest in Alabama. The big stallion, Rufus, had been the first to go; confiscated by a Confederate captain whose mount had been killed out from under him. The other stallions and the mares had been taken one by one until only a young filly, Katy’s favorite, was left. One night she was stolen by deserters. It was only the beginning of Katy’s grief. Next came the news that her brothers had died at Gettysburg. Then the plantation was ransacked by Union soldiers while the family hid in the cellar. A month later her father died.

  The mare Katy was riding was young but well trained like the filly she used to ride. She was sure-footed and alert. Her ears peaked and twitched when she heard the crackling noise of a deer scrambling through the underbrush. The mare was also dainty, and after considering several names, Katy decided that Juliet would be a fitting name. Of all the Shakespeare plays she had read, her favorite was the tragedy, Romeo and Juliet.

  Katy had just begun to relax and enjoy herself when the trail dipped into a ravine and sloshed through a pool of stagnant water. A swarm of mosquitoes rose up to attack them. Katy swatted at the big hungry insects with her gloved hand as they settled on her arms and face.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Rowe shouted. He put his heels to the big black and the horse took off up the slope on the run.

  Katy gigged the mare. Juliet scrambled up out of the ravine and ran easily along the upward trail. Rowe stopped on a high flat plateau where a breeze was blowing. He quickly dismounted and ran his gloved hands over the shoulders, flanks, and beneath the belly of his mount to wipe away the mosquitoes who were stuck there by their blood-sucking beaks. He came back to do the same for Katy’s mare.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as he wiped the face of the mare.

  “I’m fine,” she said evenly, although she was itching in a dozen different places. She rubbed along her jawline with a square of cloth she pulled from her pocket and then wiped the nape of her neck beneath the thick braid of hair that hung down her back.

  “Did they chew on you?” he asked as he ran his hands over her back and shoulders.

  “Some.”

  “I’ll get the water and you can wet your handkerchief.”

  “I have some right here.” She patted the canteen that hung from her saddlehorn.

  Anton stood by his horse. He took off his glasses and wiped his face with a bandanna. “Jesus! The bastards would eat a man alive.”

  “Do you want to rest a while, Katy?” Rowe asked.

  “Not unless you do.”

  “All right, but sing out if you want to stop. You’re not used to long hours in the saddle and might stiffen up.”

  “I’ll not slow you down, Mr. Rowe. Lead on.”

  His slow smile altered the stern cast of his face. For a moment he stood gravely studying her, then finally nodded.

  “All right.” He went to his horse and swung up into the saddle. “Let’s go,” he said aloud, but to himself he muttered, “The stubborn, ornery little cuss would die before she’d admit she was tired.”

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  Katy gave the mare her head as they climbed into the higher hills in leisurely stages. She was awed by the beauty of the mountains. From the towering peaks, a silent, brooding quality emanated, flowing down over the treetops, sloping meadows, and fast-running streams with an almost tangible force. She was acutely conscious of the overpowering solitude of her surroundings.

  The silence absorbed her completely.

  Juliet followed the stallion as Rowe led them through the timbered terrain, across canyons, and down long slopes that fell into hidden meadows and draws. They rode along upthrust ridges, criss-crossing fast-moving mountain streams, and into a forest of long-sighing pines.

  When they emerged from the pines, they rode along a narrow shelf, and Katy looked out over a widely sprawling landscape. She gazed with open-mouthed admiration and wished that she were an artist so that she could paint every detail, and could view this lovely scene again and again. In this broken, high country the air was cooler, sharper, sweeter, as she drew it into her nostrils and down into her lungs.

  She was smiling but was unaware of it.

  As they passed beneath a tall topless pine, the victim of a mountain storm, an outburst of furious scolding came from a bluejay, followed by a concerted chorus of profanity from a dozen others. Several minutes later, a doe with a fawn close to her flank ran out of the forest and on down the trail ahead of them, disappearing into the shelter of a thicket. When all was quiet again, the song of a mountain thrush came from far away. After that there was only the tunk, tunk of hoofs on the deep-cushioned humus.

  The sun shone bright in the overhead greenness when they came through a thick grove. Rowe stopped. The mare moved up beside him. A steady, muted roar assailed Katy’s ears before she caught the gleam of sunlight on water falling over sheer rock down into a wide pool. Rowe laughed aloud at the look of pure pleasure reflected on her face.

  “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes,” he agreed still looking at her. “I thought you’d like it. We’ll noon here.” He dismounted and came to help her dismount.

  “I can do it.” She swung her leg over the rump of the mare. When her foot hit the ground, the leg folded. She held to the pommel for long moments until the feeling came back to her limbs. Sensing her chagrin, Rowe turned away to speak to Anton, then lifted the saddle from his horse, tossed it to the ground and spread the sweat-soaked saddle-blanket in the sun.

  Katy legs stiffened, but were still unsteady from the long ride. She loosened the cinch and was lifting the saddle when Rowe took it from her hands.

  “We’ve got a long ride this afternoon. We’ll rest the horses for an hour. Care for a swim?”

  “I don’t swim.”

  “I’ll teach you someday,” he said and led the two horses down to the pool to drink.

  Katy walked back and forth to strengthen her legs, then went into the thick foliage that surrounded the clearing. When she was sure that she was out of sight, she emptied her aching bladder, leisurely straightened her clothing, and walked back toward the waterfall. She entered the clearing to see Rowe running up from the pool. He stopped short when he saw her.

  “Don’t wander off like that! You scared the hell out of me.”

  A look of irritation settled on her face. “You scare easily. I’ve got my pistol in case an Indian grabs me.”

  “That damn pistol wouldn’t do you much good if you ran into a grizzly.”

  “In that case, I’ll yell and you can come running to save me.” She refused to let him see the fear that knifed through her at the mention of a grizzly bear. She had seen the remains of a big, burly miner who had been surprised by one.

  “You shouldn’t be shy about having to relieve yourself. We all do it. The next time you feel the need for privacy let me know and I’ll take a look around before you go behind the bushes.”

  A flush of color came to her cheeks and the light of battle came into her eyes, but she refused to argue with him. She tossed her hat on the ground beside her canteen and food pack, sat down, leaned against the trunk of a tall spruce and worked her fingers into the hair at her temples. She was terribly conscious of him standing there looking down at her, but she ignored him and took out a slice of buttered bread and a piece of venison.

  “I’m going to take a quick swim.” He stood his rifle against the tree beside her. “Do you know how to use a .44 Henry?”

  “I think I can figure it out.” Her tone was indifferent. She began to eat.

  Struggling for patience, Rowe flipped off his hat, whipped his shirt up over his head, and threw them down on the ground beside her. Her lashes swept up; beneath them, her eyes burned bright with resentment. Suddenly, desperately, he wanted to see them shine with pleasure as they had done when she first saw the waterfall. Her face, paler than when he had first met her, showed signs of fatigue. Her eyes seemed larger, bluer, more mysterious with the dark bruises beneath.

  Why couldn’t they exchange a dozen words without locking horns? Damn her! He couldn’t keep himself from staring at her. If anyone had told him that a light-haired, blue-eyed woman could tie his stomach in knots, dry up his throat and mouth, cause him sleepless nights and worthless days unless he was with her, he would have called him a liar. Yet it was true . . . and more. A grinding need to be with her was with him constantly.

  A slip of a woman called Katy had led him to the border between heaven and hell.

  “Rest, Katy,” he murmured and fought the urge to say anything else by walking away.

  The regret in his eyes, the kindness in his voice, forced Katy to swallow several times before the bread in her mouth would go down her throat. She watched him stride toward the far end of the pool. His dark hair glistened in the sunlight. The satin-smooth skin that stretched over his broad shoulders and back was as dark as the skin on his face. To her shame, she wanted to kiss him again as she had done before. It’s only the mating urge, she told herself sternly, and it has nothing to do with love. When she chose a husband, it would be a man with whom she had a lot in common; a man who wanted roots, not a fly-by-night miner with his sights set on the pot at the end of the rainbow.

  Rowe sat down on the bank and removed his boots. When he stood, Katy saw a flash of his naked body before he dived into the cold mountain pool. In growing disbelief she watched his dark head surface. He was naked! Knowing that he was in plain sight of her, he had stripped off his clothing. No one had seen her completely naked since she was old enough to bathe herself.

  Katy stared at him with the dull, fixed expression of the hypnotized before she shifted her eyes toward the waterfall. Anton was there, climbing on the rocks. He, at least, had kept on his britches. Her eyes went back to Rowe circling the pool with long even strokes. What had he said? “I’ll teach you someday.” How wonderful it would be to be so uninhibited that you could bare your body and frolic in a mountain pool.

  A stifling heat and a tangible palpitation centered in her groin, steadily mounting, causing her to clamp her thighs tightly together. The hand holding the meat and bread rested in her lap. The vision of Rowe’s turgid maleness impaling her and setting up its own tempo of invasion and withdrawal caused her face to burn with shame. Quickly she got to her feet, walked a short distance, and stood with her back to the pool until the unnerving, alien thing inside her subsided.

  The nooning past, they wasted no time saddling the horses and moving out. This time it was Anton who led, with Rowe falling back behind Katy. At first, the fact that his eyes were on her exerted a constant tension in her, and then the beauty of her surroundings assumed dominance over her mind.

  For several miles they rode across barren places of exposed rock that in places were made wet by a mountain spring. Then they dipped down into thick forest, along a frequently used trail that followed the natural contour of the wooded mountainside. Once, they passed beneath an overhang where one corner was blackened by campfires made by travelers who had spent the night there.

  The sun had gone behind the mountain and the air was decidedly cooler when Anton stopped and held up his hand.

  “Someone coming up the trail,” he said quietly over his shoulder.

  “In here.” Rowe rode around Katy and led the way into trees so thick that after twenty feet they were invisible from the trail. “Get down, Katy. Throw a rein around the mare’s mouth and keep her quiet.”

  Katy did as she was told. The mare’s ears were peaked and she tossed her head. Katy stroked her nose, but held tightly to the strap that kept her from nickering a greeting to the horses approaching.

  Anton held the other two horses as Rowe, with rifle in hand, moved silently back through the trees toward the trail.

  “Who is it?” Katy whispered.

  “Don’t know. Could be friendly, could be robbers, could be Indians. It’s best to be sure.”

  The sound of male voices reached them, growing stronger as the riders neared the place where they had gone into the woods. The gruff laughter was an unnatural sound in this dim, cool place. Birds flew silently away; a rabbit bounded out of the brush and raced through the trees. Then it was so quiet she could almost hear her own heartbeat.

  Katy glanced at Anton. She had no time to wonder why he was frowning. A voice came from directly behind them.

  “Ya did jist what I ’spected ya’d do if ya heard us coming. Step out from behind that horse, mister.”

  Katy whirled around. The man who spoke was tall and gaunt. He wore filthy buckskins, a small leather hat, and his face was covered with a stubble of black beard. He held what looked like an ancient shotgun in the crook of his arm, the muzzle-end pointed at her.

  Anton moved around, his eyes never leaving the stranger.

  “What do you want?” Katy demanded.

  “Wal, now. I was jist wantin’ the horses, but seein’ how ya’re young ’n’ ain’t all used up yet, I just might take ya along too.”

  “You lay a hand on me and I’ll blow a hole in you so wide that—”

  “Katy.” Anton’s voice held a warning.

  “He’s not taking my horse . . . or me!” she flared.

  “Whopzee-do! She be one of them what gets her dander up. I ain’t had me no fightin’ woman in a spell.” He swung the gun toward Anton. “Stand clear a that horse.”

  Anton stood his ground. “If you shoot that gun, you’ll hit both the horses and you’ll still be afoot.”

  The gun swung back toward Katy.

  “Not if I shoot her. Move, or I’ll cut ’er in two with a blast from this buffalo gun.”

  Anton stepped back from the horses but held the reins in his hand.

  It rankled Katy that Anton was so ready to do what this dirty, seedy character told him.

  “You’re a two-bit excuse for a man,” she snarled recklessly. “You’re no better than a belly-crawling snake!”

  “Right sassy, ain’t ya? I can fix that. A week on yore back, naked as a young jaybird, would take some of the sass outta ya. After that ya’d be lickin’ my hand.”

  “I’d die first!” Katy’s eyes darted toward the trees where Rowe had disappeared.

  “That ’en ridin’ that black ain’t goin’ ta help ya. Zoot and Willy’ll take care of him. We seen ya from the bluff when ya come out on the rocks. Our horses is ’bout played out. Figured we’d take yores.” The rebounding crack of a rifle punctuated his words. “See thar what I mean?” Two more shots were fired and the man began to laugh. “Haw, haw, haw.”

  The bone-chilling fear that pierced Katy was as sharp as a knife. Concern for Rowe took hold of her and shook her. A startled scream died in her throat as illogical rage took possession of her reason. Rowe! Rowe! As she turned, her hand delved into her pocket seeking the Derringer. Without removing it, she pointed it toward the hated laughing face and pulled the trigger. To her utter amazement the bullet missed and the tree behind him spat bark. The man’s face stiffened with anger.

  “Gawddamn! Ya’d shoot me when I was meanin’ ta take ya with me? Ya gawddamn slut! I’ll kill ya—”

  “Drop the gun! I’ll not miss from this range.” Rowe, holding his rifle at waist height, stepped out from behind the shelter of the trees directly behind the attacker.

  “Don’t move, woman,” the man warned, when Katy dropped the reins to run to Rowe.

  “Mister, if you don’t want my bullet to take away the base of your spine, and rip out the front of your belly, drop your gun.” Rowe spoke calmly. The skin at the corners of his eyes tightened ever so slightly, narrowing his gaze.

  Katy couldn’t take her eyes off of Rowe. Relief made her weak.

  “Ya’ll shoot me anyways.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “I can get the woman first.”

  “Then you’ll die slow, strung up to a tree for the buzzards to pick at and the wolves to gnaw on.”

  To Katy, the entire scene seemed to play out with agonizing slowness. The air of nonchalance around Rowe was unrealistic. His eyes were devoid of expression, his features as blank and cold as marble.

  “I ain’t here all by my own self.”

  “Your friends were stupid, like you. Loud talk and looking this way told me right where to find you.” Rowe spoke calmly, as if he were speaking of the weather. “One horse carried double by the looks of the sweat on his rump. I figured that man was in the woods. I gave them one shot, then I rushed matters a little to get back here.”

  “Ya kilt Zoot ’n’ Willy?”

  “Deader than hell.”

  “Wal, I guess I know when I’m licked.”

  Katy opened her mouth to shout a warning. The man’s face was like that of a cornered wolf. His lips curled back in a snarl. He lowered the end of the gun, then, as he turned, he jerked it up.

  “Don’t!” Rowe said and fired.

  The bullet crashed through the man’s chest, out his back, and across the mare’s rump. The snarl was still on the man’s face as he was thrown back. He was dead before his body hit the ground. The frightened mare, stung by the bullet, charged into Katy, knocking her off her feet, then bolted through the trees.

  “Katy!” She heard Rowe’s voice through the pounding in her head. The breath had been knocked out of her when she hit the ground. She felt herself being lifted into a sitting position. Rowe brushed the wet leaves from her face. “Are you hurt?”

 

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