Hawke's Pride, page 22
Adams reached into the fire and brought a flaming twig to the bowl of his pipe. He drew on the stem clamped between his teeth, and when the tobacco burned to his satisfaction, he leaned back and the rocker creaked in motion. He gave a relaxed sigh and watched the smoke curl from his pipe.
Then, as had been his habit for a week or so, in quiet moments, his thoughts turned to the couple who had spent a night with him some time back. Rue had been the girl's name. A strange name, he thought and wondered how was she getting along with that stony-faced husband of hers.
He had puzzled on that strange marriage for a long time after they'd left. There had been no love between them, that was for sure. The only thing they seemed to share was resentment, as if neither one wanted to be hitched to the other. He had especially felt that about the man, Masters. Hell, he slept on the floor rather than share his wife's bed. The girl wasn't having an easy time of it with that hard case, he imagined.
The old man continued to rock slowly, stopping once to add another log to the fire. For some reason he couldn't get that big-eyed girl out of his mind. He couldn't shake the idea that she was in danger, or was about to be.
The wooden clock on the mantle struck ten and Adams yawned, rose, then knocked out his pipe on the hearth. When he had banked the fire and was shucking down to his woolen underwear, he said, "Dog, I'm not goin' to bait my traps after runnin' them tomorrow. The day after, me and you are gonna strike out and see for ourselves how Rue is farin'. I got an uneasiness about her."
The dog thumped his tail again, then stretched out on the hearth, his big head between his paws. Soon Adams's loud snores filled the small cabin.
It was a blustery morning when Adams called the dog and climbed onto the gray mule. There was a feel of snow in the air, he thought as he prodded the animal to move out. "She's gettin' ready for a blizzard, Mule," he said. "So I don't want you dawdlin' along."
The mule stepped briskly along all day, and when Adams made camp at sunset, he was pleased with the distance they had covered. He built a fire in the center of a stand of spruce, then placed an open can of beans close to the heat, and started a pot of coffee brewing. Shortly, as he and Dog shared the skimpy meal, the air became damp and biting.
The lonely howl of a wolf drifted through the night as the old man drank his coffee and smoked his pipe. "You keep your eyes and ears open tonight, Dog." He scratched the soft hair between the brown eyes. "That lobo sounded kinda hungry. I wouldn't want to be his supper."
Later, rolled up in a buffalo robe, his feet to the fire, the stars that looked down on Adams were cold and brilliant, seeming to crackle in the sky. "We're gonna get snowed on tomorrow," he spoke to the dog stretched out beside him. "I hope we make it to Masters's ranch before it gets too deep."
The morning was freezing cold when Adams awoke. He started a fire, and when he picked up the half-full pot of coffee to reheat, he grunted sourly. It was frozen solid.
"It'll take us a few minutes longer to get on the trail, Dog," he said. "And we ain't got all that much time to waste."
While the coffee thawed and warmed, Adams rolled up the buffalo hide and tied it with a thin strip of rawhide. When he walked over to the mule to saddle it, he wasn't surprised to see wolf tracks circling his small campsite. Dog's threatening growls had awakened him a couple times during the night.
When Adams finally resumed his trip, he kept the mule at a trot. The weather grew steadily colder, with heavy clouds building up in the north. He had been riding about an hour when a heavy wind came up and the day turned gray. A worried frown drew his shaggy eyebrows together. He and the animals were in for some rough weather.
It was close to dark when the first flakes of snow began to fall. Soon it became a white curtain, and with the oncoming night, Adam's surroundings were almost obscure. He urged the mule on, his eyes peering ahead, looking for a spot to make camp and wait out the storm. He would never make it to the Masters's ranch this night.
"And pray God I find a sheltered spot soon," he muttered. The old mule had just about had it.
Adams continued to squint through the snow, alert to see a boulder, a tree, anything that would cut the force of the wind. Finally, through the screen of snow, he spied the dark shadow of trees. Heaving a sigh of relief, he guided the mule toward them.
He was within half a mile of the sheltering spruce when the dog, a few yards ahead of him, stopped suddenly and raised his head to sniff the air. He darted off then, heading for a large tree that stood apart from the others. When a minute later he set up an anxious barking, Adams called on the mule for more speed. He knew that bark. It was telling him to hurry, that he was needed.
Stiff-kneed and near frozen, Adams slipped off the mule and tramped through the snow to where the dog whined and pawed at a curled up, snow-covered figure. A youngster caught in the storm, he thought, kneeling beside the slight frame.
He gasped in disbelief when he turned the body over onto its back and he stared down at Rue's pale face. "My God, girl!" he exclaimed. He hurriedly felt for a pulse in the cold, limp wrist, and finally felt it, faint and slow.
"We've got to get her blood circulatin', Dog," he whispered in near panic. With his mittened hands, Adams frantically scraped the snow from under the spruce, piling it into a wall around Rue. When it was about three feet high, he hurried to the mule and returned with the buffalo hide. He went through the doorlike opening he'd left in the center of the wall, and spread it on the ground.
Adams stood a moment, catching his breath, then brushing the snow off Rue, he lifted her onto the heavy robe. After he folded the edges tightly around her, he ran to search out and gather up pieces of dry limbs beneath the stand of trees. Placing them into a loose pile, he jerked the scarf from around his neck and shoved it under the stacked wood.
Because of his hurrying and his cold, stiff fingers, he broke two sulphur sticks before he got a fire going. When the flames leapt high, he made another trip to the mule, returning with a bottle of whiskey. Kneeling beside Rue, he lifted her head and tilted the bottle to her lips.
"Come on, Rue," he ordered sharply as a father would to his child, "open your lips and swallow this."
Rue, in her semiconscious state, heard the order and obeyed. Her lips parted and the raw whiskey trickled down her throat. She gasped, choked, and coughed. But the alcohol warmed her stomach and sped up the beat of her heart. She opened her eyes and blinked at the old man in confusion.
"Adams," she croaked, "what are you doing here?"
"What are you doin' here is a better question?" Adams answered. "What in the blazes are you doin' out in a blizzard alone? You'd have frozen to death in another hour if Dog hadn't found you."
A spasm of pain moved across Rue's face. "I was running from something worse than death," she said hoarsely.
Before Adams could question her strange statement, she cried out in pain. The warmth of the fire and the whiskey had started the blood circulating in her feet and hands. All else was forgotten as Adams removed her boots and socks and began to massage her ice-cold feet.
Slowly the pain stopped as the cold eased out of Rue's body. When the warmth of the fire stole over her, she looked at Adams and her cracked lips parted in a smile. "I didn't think I would ever be warm again."
The old man returned her smile, then asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Starving." She nodded, and the elderly trapper made yet another trip to the mule that stood tail to the wind. He removed the grub sack tied to the back of the saddle, then took the time to lead the animal into the shelter of the trees.
In a short time Rue knew she had never smelled anything so good as the aroma of brewing coffee and frying salt pork wafting toward her. She watched avidly as Adams placed the larger share of the meat on a tin plate, added a piece of hardtack, then handed it to her. She ate ravenously, uncaring that her host watched her with dry amusement.
When the meal was topped off with steaming cups of coffee, Adams lit his pipe, then looked across at Rue. "I'll have your story now."
Rue set her coffee down and stared into the fire, reluctantly remembering what she would like to wipe from her memory. With pain and bitterness threading through her voice, she spoke.
In as few words as possible, leaving out the nights of lovemaking with her husband—she was too ashamed to tell that—she told Adams what had happened since her arrival at Masters' ranch. She ended with Hawke's betrayal, and how she had eventually wound up under the tree where Adams found her.
When Rue finished, Adams shook his head in bewilderment. Never in a million years would he have thought that Hawke Masters was capable of such a dastardly act. He had known right off that the man was hard, but he hadn't read him as being deceitful. He had certainly been outspoken with Rue the night the two spent at the cabin. Why would he back off telling her to her face that he wanted out of the marriage?
Adams grew angry, felt let down. He had always thought that he was a good judge of people. He glanced at Rue's drawn face and at the single tear that slipped down her cheek. "Put it all behind you, girl." He reached over and patted her knee. "All men ain't like that. We'll head for my place in the momin'. You'll be safe there with me and Dog."
When Rue's eyes thanked him, he added, "It'll be right pleasant, havin' someone to talk to in the evenins'. Dog ain't much on answerin' me." He grinned. Adams stood up then and stretched his tired muscles. "Finish your coffee, then get back in the bedroll. I'm gonna see how Mule is doin'."
The coffee had grown cold and Rue poured it around the edges of the fire. After making a nature call behind the large tree trunk, she hurried to get into the warm bedroll. She lay a moment, then scooted over to leave room for Adam's skinny body. There were no other blankets, she knew.
As she drifted off to sleep, she heard Adams say, "Dog, you keep an eye on Mule tonight. He's old and stringy, but I'm thinkin' the wolves wouldn't mind that."
Sometime during the night the wind died down and the snow ceased. There was a white silence when Adams awakened Rue at dawn. She found herself refreshed, except for her hands and feet. They were sore from being nearly frozen.
She and Adams shared a can of beans he had warmed and drank the leftover coffee from the night before. The sky in the east was pink when, riding double on the old mule, they started out, the snow up to the mule's knees, and up to Dog's belly.
Jeb Masters stared out the kitchen window, his hands cupped at the sides of his face, cutting down the reflection of the lighted lamp behind him on the table. All he saw was the driving snow and, dimly, the outlines of the outbuildings.
The glass panes reflected his anxiety. Where was Hawke? He had been gone for six hours now, and for the last two the snowstorm had raged. He could only hope and pray that his son had found Rue and that they were holed up in one of their line shacks, waiting out the storm.
His granddaughter fussed from the parlor and Jeb hurried to her side. He pulled the blanket she had tossed aside back under her chin, then removed the wet cloth from her forehead. It felt hot in his hand as he dipped it into the basin of water on the floor. When he had wrung out the square of soft flannel and bathed the small flushed face with it, he looked over his shoulder at Tommy, who stood ready to help in anyway he could.
"Go fetch another pan of snow, son," he said quietly. "This water is warm."
Tommy grabbed up the basin and half ran to the door, water slopping onto the floor. In his concern for his granddaughter, Jeb didn't notice the wet spots on his cherished carpet. He wouldn't have said anything had he seen it. Tommy was just as worried as he was about the little girl.
He did, however, start to chastise Tommy when a minute later the boy burst into the room, the door slamming back against the wall.
But the words died on his lips when Tommy cried, "Grandpa, Uncle Hawke is outside, slumped over the saddle. I think he's been shot. There's blood all over the saddle!"
Jeb shot to his feet. "Go get Josh," he called over his shoulder as he rushed to the door.
Tommy darted out behind him and was halfway to the bunkhouse when Jeb began to examine Hawke. His eyes were drawn immediately to the dark red stain on the twill material covering the muscular thigh. He noted that the edges of the discoloration was dry and frozen, but when he carefully touched a finger to its center, he found it wet and warm. He shook his head. The wound still bled. How much blood had Hawke already lost? Jeb wondered with a groan.
He was holding his son's limp wrist, checking his pulse, when Tommy and Josh rushed up. "How bad is he?" Josh asked, concern on his face. Although he was jealous of the man, would take his wife away from him if he could, Josh still liked Hawke Masters.
"He's alive, but just barely," Jeb answered, his voice shaky as he dropped Hawke's wrist. "His pulse is very feeble."
"He'll be all right," Josh said soothingly. "Let's get him inside and see how much damage has been done to him. See if he's been shot anywhere else."
Tommy ran ahead and held the door open as Hawke was carefully hauled from the saddle and carried between the two men into the house and then into his bedroom. They stretched him out on the bed and as Jeb removed his boots and then his trousers, he glanced at his hovering white-faced grandson.
"Go sit with your sister, son," he said gently. "Your Uncle Hawke is goin' be all right." As he turned his attention back to his son, Jeb silently prayed that his words were true.
A quick examination showed that Hawke had been shot only once, and that the bullet had gone through the fleshy part of his thigh, barely missing the bone.
Josh stopped pressing around the wound and gave Jeb a reassuring smile. "The freezing weather probably saved his life. It slowed down the flow of blood." He straightened up. "We shouldn't have any problem stopping this seepage. The question is how much blood has he already lost."
"A lot, I think," Jeb answered grimly. "The saddle and Captain's side is wet with it."
Josh laid a comforting hand on the hunched shoulders. "Why don't you go get me some warm water, a bottle of whiskey, and maybe a sheet for bandages?"
Jeb shook his head in bemusement as he filled a basin with water from the black cast-iron kettle on the back of the stove. Cold water for Susie's fever, warm water for Hawke's wound. He felt so muddled and worried he hoped he could keep them straight.
When he returned to Hawke's room, a basin of water in one hand, a sheet and bottle in the other, he found that Josh had changed Hawke's shirt and somehow managed to get him between the covers. Josh took the water from his slightly shaking hands.
"I'll take care of the wound, Jeb, so stop worryin'. Your son is as strong as a mule and just as stubborn. He's not about to die and leave that pretty little wife of his for some other man to take."
For the first time Jeb thought of Rue and was deeply ashamed. Where was she? Did the Indians have her? Was that how Hawke had been shot, trying to rescue her? Or, was she out there, lost in the blizzard?
He gave a startled jerk when Josh asked the question that had been on the cowboy's mind since entering the house. "Where is Rue? Is she sick? Has she caught the little girl's cold?"
Jeb's shoulders slumped even lower. "I don't know. She's disappeared. Hawke was out lookin' for her when he got shot."
Alarm shot into Josh's eyes and he fired so many questions at Jeb, the older man looked at him curiously. The ranch hand seemed unnaturally worried about Rue.
His tone was a little cool as he answered, "We're just as in the dark as you are. "We have no idea how or when she disappeared. All we know is that she's gone. All we can do is wait until Hawke comes to and see if he found any trace of her before he was shot."
Chapter Thirteen
The pale winter sun had set and darkness was arriving fast when the mule stopped in front of the old cabin. Rue looked at the sturdy little building, a sharp pang jabbing her breast as she remembered the first time she'd seen it. Although it was only months ago, it seemed like a lifetime since she and Hawke had spent a night here.
Her lips thinned in a smile of self-derision. She should have thought back to that night, and all the following days before she lost herself in a fool's paradise.
Her face flamed with shame as she remembered how easily she had let herself be taken in by Hawke, how she had believed his honeyed words, had let him use her. For used her he had. He had spent his lust on an unwanted wife until he could get rid of her and have the woman he loved.
Rue came back to the present when Adams tugged at her leg, and teased, "You gonna spend the night on Mule?"
She gave a small bitter laugh as she slid off the tired mule. "I was just remembering the first time I was here, and of how foolish a young girl can be."
Adams's smile faded and his eyes became serious. "Don't linger on the past, Rue. That's history and hard to change. You must look to the future now, plan yourself a new life."
"I know," Rue said wearily, climbing off the mule and following the old man onto the small porch. "Right now I don't want to think farther than the present."
"You'll feel different in time, after your heart and mind have healed." Adams pushed open the cabin door and stood aside for Rue to enter the dark interior of the single room.
She almost tripped over Dog rushing past her. "That ding-blasted dog ain't got no manners," the old man grumped. "You'd better stand still, Rue, until I light the lamp. It's blacker than a whore's heart in here."
He scratched a sulphur stick on the underneath of the table and in a moment a small flame pushed back the darkness of the room. "Come sit down while I get a fire goin'," he said, kneeling in front of the fireplace.
Rue eased her tired body into the blanket-padded rocker and watched Adams rake away a thick layer of ashes disclosing a few red coals beneath them. He reached a hand into a large woodbox and brought out a handful of wood slivers and laid them on the glowing embers. When they caught and burned steadily, he fed larger pieces of wood to it. After he tusseled a large backlog behind the fire, he straightened up and dusted off his hands.
