Climb the Highest Mountain (35 page)

He sat down to pull on his boots. “She’ll leave with me. She’ll have no choice. This has gone on far too long. Abbie has been going mad from worry while men have pawed at my daughter. I shouldn’t have listened to any of you. I should have dragged her out of there the first day I got here.”

“It would have been a mistake, believe me. And if you drag her out of there today it will still be a mistake. She has wounds that have to heal, lessons to learn. She’ll come around to the way she was brought up in the end.”

“I don’t have forever. It’s been a long winter, and there are decisions to be made.” He turned and their eyes held. “Thank you, Anna. I know now what I will do.”

He left the room. “Good-bye,” she whispered. She glanced at the bed, then walked to it and stretched out on it, running her hand over the place where he’d lain. Then she curled up into a pillow and wept.

Zeke walked through the muddy streets of Denver, dodging horse dung and the mud splattered by passing wagons. Sometimes women stared at him, but most people stepped back as though they feared for their scalps. Men tended to eye him suspiciously or to make hostile remarks: “There should have been more incidents like Sand Creek”; “Why aren’t you on the reservation with the rest of the red bastards?” A child emitted an Indian howl. A few people were pleasant and courteous, seemingly unaffected by his heritage—a few.

He walked into a general store, thinking about Anna. He knew he had hurt her, but he seemed to be hurting a lot of people lately and Anna was Anna. She had seen a lot and done a lot. She had no fantasies about there being anything permanent between them. She would survive. He was glad Winston Garvey was out of her life. The man had held her indebtedness over her head for years. He’d been a senator then, and a steady customer of the young Anna Gale. But that was a long time ago, and Winston Garvey was dead. Zeke grinned at the thought of how horribly the man had died. He would never cease to derive pleasure from that memory.

He approached the store clerk. “You got any tobacco and some of those papers for the new smokes, cigarettes?”

The clerk cleared his throat and swallowed, wondering if the big Indian had come to rob him. “Yes, sir,” he answered quietly. He was reaching for the tobacco
when a young, sandy-haired man asked him for a canteen.

“Maybe I should just leave this list with you, mister,” the young man told the clerk. “I’m heading back to Texas and I’m low on supplies, but I’m in a hurry. Can I leave this and come back later?”

“That’ll be all right. And the name?”

“Temple. Sam Temple.”

Zeke turned to study the man. He fit the description, and he was from Texas. According to what Abbie had told him about the young man who had ruined their daughter, this had to be the one … and he had said he was going to Denver. Temple left, and Zeke looked at the clerk.

“Get my tobacco and papers. I’ll be back in a minute.” He hurried out and glanced up the street to see Temple head for a hotel.

He walked quickly after the man, glancing around to be sure no one noticed. People went about their business as Zeke followed Temple into the hotel lobby, where a few men sat reading papers and conversing. The clerk was busy signing in a new guest. Zeke watched Temple go up the stairs; then he followed, speaking to no one, making himself look as though he belonged there and was simply going to his room. He reached the top of the stairs just in time to see Temple go into a room and close the door.

Quietly, Zeke went to the door and knocked. “Come in!” came the reply. Zeke gladly obliged, and when Sam turned to see him he froze momentarily, remembering a tall Indian who had come to the Tynes estate with his family. Zeke closed the door, his dark eyes burning into Temple, who swallowed and stood up straighter, his hand resting on a gun. “Monroe?”

Zeke just stared at him, making his heart pound. Sam glanced at the window, then the door.

“You won’t escape either way,” Zeke hissed.

Temple began to shake. “Look, Monroe, your daughter was willing! I did what any red-blooded young man would do!”

“She was willing because you won her friendship first, then her trust, then you promised to marry her! You ruined her! Destroyed her pride! Robbed her of something precious! You deliberately led her on. You had no right to take advantage of her innocence.” The words were hissed.

“I didn’t hurt her. She learned a good lesson, that’s all! Now get out of my room before I yell for help and get you thrown into jail.”

In a flash a big hand grabbed Temple around the throat. The hand was amazingly powerful, for Zeke Monroe squeezed not just with his own strength, but with a fury aroused by the thought of what had happened to Margaret and aggravated by his terrible sorrow over his recent losses. This man was the reason for Margaret’s despair. He had deceived the girl, deceived Abbie. He was the reason Zeke had been forced to stay in this city that he hated. All Zeke’s agony and restlessness and sorrow were being vented on Sam Temple. His grip was like a vise around the man’s throat.

Temple started turning red as he tried to pry the arm away; then he went for his gun. Zeke caught the movement and grasped the man’s wrist with his other hand, kneeing Temple between the legs. The man’s eyes bulged, and he started to crumple, but Zeke hung on, watching the color in the man’s face turn from red to purple, then to an ugly gray as his body slowly slid to the floor. Zeke kept hold until he knew the life had gone out of Sam Temple. Then he rose and looked down at the dead man.

“Who says a man can’t deal out his own justice in a civilized town?” he hissed. He felt good. Somehow he even felt relieved. He wanted to let out a war whoop, but he didn’t dare. He went to the door, opening it cautiously. No one was in the hall. He closed it quietly and left by the back way.

Minutes later Zeke Monroe entered the general store again. “I’ll take that tobacco and paper now,” he told the clerk.

“Certainly,” the man replied nervously. “I have them ready. Will there be anything else, sir?”

Zeke looked around. “Yes. Maybe a bottle of nice perfume for a lady friend of mine—and a couple of fancy combs, for my daughter.”

The clerk looked around, finding suitable items. “Fine day, isn’t is, sir?” he said, wanting to stay on friendly terms with the big Indian he waited on.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Zeke replied. “One of the best I’ve seen in a long time.” He paid the clerk and left.

Margaret opened the door to her room and stepped back when she saw her father, allowing him inside. Zeke’s eyes rested on a tall, handsome man standing in the room. A carpetbag was on the bed and Margaret was dressed.

“I was just coming to see you, Father.”

He frowned and looked from the carpetbag to the man, who smiled and nodded to him. “Morning, Mister Monroe.” Zeke looked at Margaret.

“You running away again, with this man? Get him out of here or I will! You’re going home with me.”

She smiled and took his hand. “Father, sometimes you’re such a bear.” She led him to the man. “This is Morgan Brown, Father, and he’s my husband. We
were just coming to see you.”

There was a moment of silence as Zeke looked from Brown to his daughter, surprise in his eyes. Morgan put out his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, sir. I saw you once before, but you didn’t see me.” Zeke hesitated. Margaret couldn’t have known the man for long. “I know what you’re thinking, sir, and you shouldn’t. Margaret and I care for one another very much. Marriage just seemed like the right thing for us. I intend to take as good care of her. In fact, we have a lot to talk about.”

To Margaret’s relief, Zeke finally shook the man’s hand. He was good at judging men, and he liked the look in Morgan Brown’s eyes, the firm friendliness of his handshake.

“We have a lot in common, Mister Monroe,” Morgan told him, releasing his hand and putting an arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “You are a half-breed. I am a mulatto. We might as well get that cleared up right now. We were coming to the boardinghouse to talk to you, but we can talk here.”

Zeke just stared at him. “Mulatto?”

Morgan chuckled. “You look as though you could use a drink.” He walked to a night table and poured Zeke a shot of whiskey. “You do know what a mulatto is, don’t you?”

Zeke looked at Margaret. Sheer happiness glowed on her face. She seemed totally changed. “I love him, Father. We are very close. And he’s proud and independent, like you.”

Zeke turned back to Morgan, who handed him the whiskey. “I know what a mulatto is,” he replied. “I grew up in Tennessee.”

“Well then, by your own experience, you know what life has been like for me. Margaret has told me a lot
about you—your family. I look forward to meeting all of them.”

Zeke drank down the whiskey. This was turning out to be a strange morning indeed.

Brown rambled on about his own background, and about how he had saved a great deal of money. He’d been told of Zeke’s misfortunes, and since he was now part of the family, he wanted to help.

“I’ve been looking to settle down for a long time, Mister Monroe, and I’m a hard worker. You have a ranch but no horses. I have money but no home. I propose to buy you a good start to a new herd, if we can use your ranch to raise them on. You have horses, I have a home, and we split the profits. I’d like to live there with Margaret—build ourselves a little cabin. It would make your wife happy to have her daughter near, and Margaret says you’re good with horses, maybe the best. There’s no way my investment could go wrong, and you’d be back in the business of ranching. I’d be there to replace the loss of your brother. I’m good with a gun, Mister Monroe, and not afraid of many things. Men like us soon learn to take care of ourselves, don’t we? What do you say?”

Zeke looked at Margaret again, overjoyed by the eagerness in her eyes. He had his daughter back, the Margaret he knew and loved. If this man could do that for her, he had to respect him. And there was an honesty about Morgan Brown that he liked, as well as the similarity of their situations. He rose and walked to the window. This husband of Margaret’s gave him new hope, more hope than he had had in months. But there was still Abbie … and Edwin Tynes. The fact remained that she had a chance to live in peaceful comfort for the rest of her life. Perhaps he could just give the ranch to Morgan and Margaret. Yet the
thought of starting up again, having things the way they once were, excited him.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he answered. “I had … plans. I didn’t think I could start over, and even if I can, I’m not sure what’s best for my wife and family.”

“Oh, Father, if you’re talking about that lily-white Englishman, you’re being foolish. Mother is no more interested in him than she would be in a doorknob! You can’t leave her and you know it. And we all”—she swallowed—“we all love you.”

He met her eyes and they were wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, Father, about… about things I said.” She rose and walked up to him and they embraced. Then she wept quietly. “I want to go home,” she whimpered.

He patted her shoulder. “We’ll see, Margaret. I have much to think about now. Much to think about.”

He gave her a squeeze and kissed her hair. “Why don’t you finish packing and we’ll leave today. I had planned on it anyway. We’ll all have plenty of time to talk on the way home.”

She pulled away and walked to a dresser to take out some clothes while he strode to the window and glanced down at the street where a crowd was gathering. He wouldn’t tell his daughter the real reason why it was best to leave right away. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to know her father had ended Sam Temple’s life, even if she did think she hated the man. Two men were coming back toward the saloon, and Zeke could hear them talking as they passed beneath the open window.

“Wonder when this place is gonna get really civilized,” one commented.

“Out here?” The second man laughed. “Probably never. That’s why I like it. I just hope I’m not one of
those that gets buried in some unmarked grave—probably because of an argument over an unpaid bet.”

“Nobody knows much about him. The hotel clerk said he was from Texas and was headed back there. Too bad he didn’t leave yesterday, huh?”

Both men chuckled and went inside the saloon.

Chapter Twenty-One

Zeke stood in the doorway of the small ballroom in which Edwin Tynes was entertaining guests from Denver. He quietly watched Abbie, his heart aching at the knowledge that she really was better off here, yet his whole soul yearning for her as never before. She was unaware that he had quietly entered the house, unaware he was even back. She wore a full, flowing gown of dark blue velvet, the material gathered in deep loops over a lighter blue silk skirt. Her hair was drawn back and held in place by jeweled combs. She looked as though she fit there, and Zeke was convinced that she did. He had half considered taking her back to the ranch and starting over, but seeing her this way, so at peace, so beautiful and pampered, living in luxury, how could he ever again make her go back to their old life?

He turned and walked back down the hallway. Two guests passed him, staring, then whispering after he went by. He walked back to the large entrance hall, where Margaret and Morgan waited, Margaret still hugging LeeAnn and both of them jabbering, wanting to share their experiences. Zeke realized it would be good for both of them to talk to each other. It would
help to relieve the horrors they had both experienced over the past few months.

LeeAnn had brought the rest of the children down. They stood around watching their older sisters and staring at the man Margaret had brought home with her. Margaret looked at her father when he approached.

“Where is Mother?” she asked.

“I… I don’t want her to see me. I’m leaving, Margaret. You go and get her.”

“What do you mean, leaving? You’re staying right here.” She looked at LeeAnn. “Go and get Mother, quickly!”

“Damn it, Margaret, you don’t understand!” Zeke growled.

“Oh, yes I do! You’re being silly, that’s what. If you leave without seeing Mother, you’ll kill her! Besides, you have to take Morgan to the ranch—show him around. You’re going to stay, Father. We’re all going to be together!”

She took hold of his arm and he knew she’d make a scene if he tried to leave. He loved her for it, but it also made him angry. A moment later Abbie was rushing in, Tynes right behind her. She stopped short, meeting Zeke’s eyes, each of them wondering about the other. Had he slept with Anna Gale? Did she want to stay with Tynes? Would he go away now and never return? Had Tynes touched her, perhaps made love to her? The man looked at her now with deep affection. Zeke had seen him with his arm about her waist, as though it was quite natural for him to hold Abbie. She looked beautiful, so beautiful! And to her, Zeke looked more wonderful than ever, standing there in buckskins and moccasins. He had not cut his hair; she had been afraid he might do that.

There was nothing to be said at first. They just
looked at each other. Then Abbie’s eyes turned to Margaret. For the moment it didn’t matter who the stranger with her was. Margaret was home! The girl looked healthy—happy—and she was crying now, walking up to Abbie. They embraced, and both of them wept.

Zeke met Edwin Tynes’s eyes, noting the jealousy in them, the possessiveness. Zeke thought he might go mad from wondering. Not Abbie. Not his Abbie! She wouldn’t. But the way Tynes looked at her, the way he’d had his arm around her when Zeke first arrived, as though they were natural together, like a husband and wife … Tynes held up a glass that had a drink in it.

“Welcome back,” he told Zeke. “I am going to rejoin my guests. I will leave Abigail to her family.”

The man turned and left, and for the next several minutes there was much commotion and talking. Morgan Brown’s presence was explained, he was introduced to the rest of the children, and there was talk of Morgan investing in the ranch and buying a new herd. Abbie’s face glowed with happiness, and she kept glancing at Zeke. Was it true? Would he really go back now and start over? He misinterpreted the questions in her eyes, thinking she was trying to think of a way to tell him she didn’t want to go back. Suddenly he turned and exited amid the confusion, waiting until Abbie was absorbed in Margaret again so she wouldn’t realize that he was leaving. When she saw that he was gone her heart tightened and she panicked.

“Zeke!” she called. She hurried to the door, only to see him riding away. “Zeke!” she screamed.

Morgan Brown took her arm. “It’s all right, Mrs. Monroe. He told me on the way here he’d like to spend this night alone on the prairie … pray to his Gods. He’ll be here in the morning.”

“But… we didn’t even speak! After all this time we
didn’t even speak! He’ll ride North! He won’t come back!”

“Yes he will.”

“Mother, he promised me if he went off to be alone tonight he’d come back in the morning.” Margaret came up and put an arm around Abbie. “He said he’d be back to stay … or to tell all of us good-bye.” Abbie looked at her in near terror. “Mother, we talked and talked to him, mostly about the ranch, about how much fun it would be getting things going again, all being together again, building a cabin for Morgan and me. I think he wants to, Mother, I really do. I don’t think he’ll go away now.”

Abbie looked out at the horizon. Zeke had already disappeared. “You have to be right, Margaret. You have to be!”

The night was long and quiet, a sleepless one for Abbie. Once she thought she heard the howl of a coyote, or was it a man’s cry? It seemed that morning would never come, and when it did, there was still no Zeke. She picked at her breakfast, while the children talked and laughed and ate, all anxious now to go home. But home wouldn’t be home without Zeke.

Abbie kept glancing anxiously at Edwin, who only smiled reassuringly. Soon the others were through and Margaret took Morgan out to show him Kehilan. The children followed, fascinated by Margaret’s new husband, trying to imagine what a Negro looked like, for Morgan Brown didn’t look anything like what they’d heard about black people. But then neither did LeeAnn look anything like an Indian.

Soon the kitchen was empty except for Abbie and Tynes.

“Edwin, he isn’t here yet!” she whimpered.

“He will be. Remember what I told you, Abigail. Remember his jealousy. He apparently saw us together yesterday, perhaps in the ballroom.”

She met his eyes. “Edwin, you must think of a way to keep him here when he returns. If he says he’s leaving for good, we must find a way to make him stay at least a few days, until I have a chance to talk to him!”

He nodded. “I’ve already thought of that. One of my prize thoroughbred studs is very sick. I can’t think of a better man to doctor him than your husband, can you? Who else is better with horses?”

Hope came into her eyes. “Yes. He loves horses. He’ll not leave one sick and dying.”

“Nor will he leave you. Remember what I told you now, about letting him think for a while that you and I have been more than just friends.”

Her heart pounded. It seemed everything—her past, her future—rested on the next twenty-four hours. She could keep him, or lose him forever. Her Zeke! Her beautiful Zeke! Her strength, her courage, her life.

The morning hours stretched to noon, and again the Monroes were seated round the table, some of the children now asking when their father would come so they could go home. Suddenly he appeared at the back door, his quiet approach reminding them of how stealthy an Indian could be, bringing to LeeAnn’s mind the night he had so quietly entered the camp of Comancheros and saved her.

Abbie just stared, her heart racing. “Zeke!” Tynes called out. “It’s about time. Come in and join us. Are you hungry?”

He quietly stepped inside, wearing buckskins, his infamous knife on his weapons belt. Abbie studied him lovingly, glad to see his limp was gone now. His sleek hair was brushed out long and clean, the buffalo hair ornament braided into one side of it, the tiny bell
making a tinkling sound. She was very aware of his masculinity, which was accented by the dancing fringes of his clothes and the tinkling bell. He looked at her, more love in his eyes than she had ever seen. Was it because he was leaving? He walked closer to the table.

“I’ve come to spend the day … with my family,” he said quietly, struggling to keep his voice. “Then I will leave—tonight.”

Abbie paled and wondered if she might faint. She began to tremble and shook her head. Tynes grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. Zeke’s eyes rested on their hands and his jaw flexed, but he tore his eyes from the sight and glanced around the table. “Morgan and Margaret can run the ranch as they see fit. You children can live with them, or remain here, whatever you choose. The same goes”—he met Abbie’s eyes—“for your mother.”

“Father, you can’t be serious!” Margaret said angrily.

His dark eyes flashed to hers. “I am! I want no more arguments!”

“I am afraid you can’t go, Zeke.” Tynes rose, doing his best to appear angry. Zeke looked at the man and frowned.

“Who is going to stop me?”

“I am!” Tynes shot back. “Not physically, of course. A man would be a fool to try to do that. But you owe me, Zeke Monroe. I have watched over your family all these months, and watched over your ranch … as well as your wife!” Zeke’s eyes flared and Tynes felt elated, but Abbie cringed. “I have known you to be an honest man, Zeke, one who pays his debts. You’ll not leave here until you pay your debt to me.”

Their eyes held challengingly. “And how do I do that? I don’t have anything left, Tynes, but a small savings—pennies compared to what you have.”

“You have a great talent with horses,” Tynes replied. “Something that money cannot buy. I have a prize stud that seems to be dying. If you can save him, I will consider the debt payed. He is a very expensive animal.”

They glared at each other, anger emanating from Zeke Monroe. He had not planned on this. He was prepared to leave—tonight. If he stayed longer, he might not find the strength to go. But Tynes was right. He owed the man.

“Where is the animal?”

“I’ll take you to him.”

“Then take me now!”

Tynes nodded. “As you wish. But I expect you to stay here until the animal is definitely well, not just to tell me what is wrong with him. I want you to tend to him, not some bumbling idiot.”

“That could take days!”

“So be it.” Tynes threw down his napkin, walking through the back door. Zeke hesitated, then glanced at Abbie’s stricken face. How had this great wall come between them? Why couldn’t he say anything to her? Perhaps it was the way she looked, sitting there perfectly coifed, wearing a beautiful yellow dress. He turned and walked out, angrily slamming the screen door. Margaret actually snickered.

“Did you see his face, Mother? He’s so mad that he can’t leave today. What a good idea! I’m glad Sir Tynes’s horse is sick.”

Abbie just looked at her helplessly, unsure what to do, not knowing how to approach Zeke. She turned and looked out the door, watching the two men walk to the huge barn where the stud was kept.

Outside Zeke studied Tynes’s back. He had been prepared to leave Abbie to the man, yet at this moment he wanted to sink a knife into the man’s spine for loving
Abbie. But he had made a promise not to harm the man if Abbie went to him willingly. Had she? They walked into the barn.

“Tynes!” Zeke barked. The man turned, waiting. “Has anything happened between you and my Abbie?”

“Your Abbie? That is a strange thing to call her if you are considering leaving her for good.”

Zeke grabbed his lapels. “If I leave her, she is free. But I haven’t left yet! Is she still mine?”

Tynes met his eyes challengingly. “Remember your promise, Zeke. You said if she was willing, you wouldn’t harm me. I love her. If you want to know whether you should kill me, then ask her. Only she can give you that answer.” Edwin’s heart pounded with fear, for the look on Zeke Monroe’s face was terrible. He could only rely on Zeke’s honesty and word of honor to keep him from harm. Zeke’s breathing was hard, his dark eyes were blazing, but he suddenly released Tynes.

“Where’s the horse!” he hissed.

Tynes smoothed his lapels and ran his eyes over Zeke. “I’ll have to turn my back on you to take you there. I trust nothing will be plunged into it.”

Their eyes held. “Lead the way,” Zeke grumbled.

Tynes turned and led him to a stall. A shining black stallion lay on its side, breathing heavily, its nostrils flaring at the entrance of the men, its eyes bulging and wild looking.

For the moment Zeke ceased to think of anything else. “This horse is in pain,” he commented, immediately bending down and gently touching its back.

“Be careful, Zeke. He’s been behaving wildly ever since we tried to break him. Then he started getting sick. We can’t understand it.”

Zeke ran experienced hands over the grand horse, feeling for anything that might be swollen or broken.
“He’s a beautiful animal,” he commented. The horse reared slightly, but Zeke just bent closer, putting a hand on the animal’s head and talking to it in the Cheyenne tongue. As he ran a hand over the horse’s neck and under its cheek, the animal reared again, as though suffering renewed pain.

“You say it all started when you tried to break him?”

“Yes. I was going to send for a doctor from Denver, but then you showed up. I thought perhaps you would be better at finding out what is wrong with him.”

Zeke gently ran a hand over the cheek and lower jaw again, speaking softly in Cheyenne. The horse lay perfectly still, obedient. Tynes watched in great admiration. Zeke Monroe had a natural way with horses. He spoke to this one as though they were spiritually kin. Tynes’s heart ached at the realization that he couldn’t hold a candle to Zeke Monroe, in spite of his wealth. A vision of Abigail lying beneath the handsome Indian jabbed at him, but there was no other man for her. He smiled to himself as he visualized her as a fifteen-year-old girl, seeing the savage-looking scout for the first time and being unafraid. That would be like Abigail.

“Some fool didn’t know what the hell he was doing!” Zeke was saying. He spoke softly to the horse while he gently pried open the animal’s lips. “Someone used the wrong kind of bit—one that didn’t fit properly. The bars of the mouth are badly swollen, and I think there is infection farther down in his neck. I might have to cut him to drain the infection.” He looked up at Tynes. “What the hell was used for a bit?”