Oklahoma kiss (6 page)

      
Instantly, Adam's smile disappeared and he swore beneath his breath. There was no mistaking the loud clinking noise he had just heard or the sudden giving of the horse's left hind leg. He knew what had happened. The sorrel had thrown a shoe. Quickly, he reined the horse, dismounted and the moment he saw the shoe dangling and the cracked hoof, his stomach tightened into a hard knot.

      
"Whoa, boy, easy now." He soothed the skittish animal while examining the extent of the damages.

      
Upon closer inspection, he realized there was a good chance the sorrel might be saved. Most of the time, when on the trail, a quarter-crack in a hoof lamed a horse so badly it had to be destroyed, but this one did not look as bad as it had first appeared. With the proper treatment and without his bearing the additional weight of a man, the sorrel might be as good as new within a month or two. Of course the horse's injury meant he had to walk out of these hills. Worse, it meant there would be a delay in bringing Talley to justice.

      
Adam shook off his disappointment. He would just have to accept the situation and push Talley from his mind.

      
Even though he did not have a pack horse, Adam did carry a small kit with him for emergencies. Searching through his saddle bags, he removed a rawhide bundle which contained a balm that hardened when it dried, and a pair of nippers; the perfect items for this sort of emergency. With any luck at all, the balm would prevent the crack from becoming worse.

      
Firmly holding the animal's hoof between his knees, Adam clipped the nail heads and removed the dangling shoe from the injured hoof, then applied the balm. While waiting for it to harden, he lit a cheroot and thought about his predicament.

      
He was stranded afoot in the middle of nowhere and the nearest town or settlement was at least twenty to thirty miles away. And, the man he had sworn to bring to justice was putting miles between them.

      
Then, a cold, tingling sensation coursed up and down his spine. Perhaps he had given up too quickly. There were several farms and ranches around, in fact a good friend of his owned a ranch in the area. If he could borrow a horse, he might be able to pick up Talley’s trail before it got too cold. He had passed one farm the night before, and the farmer had even invited him to stay for supper, but he had declined. The farmer had so many children, Adam doubted if he needed another mouth to feed.

      
He muttered aloud, "But I don't remember seeing any horses in the corral except for the drays the man used for plowing. If it was a different time of the year, I could commandeer one of the plow horses — hell, I've ridden worse—but it would leave the man without a way of plowing his fields. So it appears that Tm going to have to find a ranch in order to borrow a mount." He stroked the sorrel’s neck. "If there's a chance of saving you, boy, I will. But I hate to let Talley and his gang slip through my fingers without giving it one last try. Who knows when I’ll get another chance?

      
"If I’m where I think I am, there is a big spread not more than ten or fifteen miles from here as the crow flies. There shouldn't be any problem in my borrowing a horse from them."

      
Adam swung the saddle across his broad shoulders, took the sorrel's reins in hand, and started walking.

      
The sun was well past its zenith and shadows stretched across the land when Adam finally set the saddle on the ground and drank eagerly from the fresh spring water that had seeped from the rocks and formed a pool below. After drinking his fill, he slumped wearily against a tree; he felt that if he sat down, he might not be able to get up again. Not only was he exhausted, the two hot coals that used to be his feet felt as though they had swollen to three times their normal size. His high-heeled, pointed-toe boots were expressly made for men who spent most of their time in the saddle. They were not designed for walking over rugged, uneven terrain. The heels gave him a firm hold in the stirrup while the pointed toes help him slide easily into those stirrups or slip free if his horse went down. However, walking in them for any distance was nothing but sheer torture.

      
He could have decided to put on his pair of moccasins. But moccasins offered little protection against thorns, sharp rocks, and especially snake bites. Men did not die from blisters and swollen feet, whereas rattlesnake and copperhead bites were a different matter entirely.

      
He removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and reached for a cheroot inside his shirt pocket. He winced when the pin on his badge dug deeply into his finger.

      
"Damn!" he swore angrily, yanking the badge from his shirt front and throwing it to the ground. His fit of anger had a sobering effect and he immediately felt ashamed. The badge was a symbol of respect, law, and order, and should never be treated so contemptuously. Sheepishly, he picked up the badge then reached into the large pocket inside his vest and removed a leather, wallet-like case. After affixing the badge, he then stuck it back into the pocket and lit a cheroot.

      
Adam doubted if the ranch was more than five miles away. Yet, he knew he would never be able to make it without rest, not the condition his feet were in. The most logical thing to do was make camp and continue on in the morning. But first, the boots had to go. After tugging his boots off, he hobbled over to the pool, and gasped at the sudden shock of plunging his burning feet into the icy water
. But damn, it felt good!

      
Suddenly, he cocked his head to one side and listened very carefully. For a moment he was very still. Was that a voice he heard? A grunt? A groan? Animal noises had a strange way of carrying a great distance through a wooded area, but these sounded close by and they were definitely human sounds. Hearing the same noise again, he dried off his feet and slipped on the moccasins. He knew it was too much to hope for that by some strange quirk of fate he had stumbled onto Talley’s hideout, but hope surged through him nevertheless. The noises could be coming from hazers rounding up cattle from the underbrush, especially this time of the year. If so, they were certainly being quiet about it—too quiet, nothing like the hazers he knew.

      
He was keenly disappointed when, as he took cover behind a large elm tree, he spotted two men he had never seen before, who did not fit any of the gang's description. But there was no doubt in his mind that they were up to no good. The evidence was staring him in the face. He had uncovered a nest of cattle thieves. They had ropes tied to a dead steer's legs and were hoisting it over a sturdy tree limb. He noticed there was already one beef carcass in a rickety wagon parked close by.

      
They were probably stealing cattle, he thought, butchering them, and selling the meat to those homesteaders who were waiting for the government to open up the Indian land to them.

      
Adam stared thoughtfully at the wagon. The horses were ready for crowbait, but a magnificent steed could not have looked more appealing. This unexpected development could very easily solve part of his dilemma.

      
Raising his rifle, he sighted the man who he figured to be the bravest, or the most foolhardy — whichever proved to be the case —and ordered sternly, "Freeze! I have you covered. Make an unnecessary move and it'll be your last one. My name is Adam Cahill, United States Deputy Marshal. You are under arrest for cattle theft. You can come along peacefully, or you can come along lying beside that beef carcass, makes no difference to me."

      
The men, completely taken by surprise, did as ordered. The one who Adam figured might behave foolishly, moved reluctantly, his face twisted with anger, "You can't arrest us," he growled. "This ain't the States. This is the Indian Nation and a deputy marshal's got no say-so 'bout what goes on in these parts." His hand inched slowly toward his gun.

      
"That's where you're wrong, mister. I'm looking at you down the barrel of a Winchester. That, and the fact that you're nothing but low-down cattle thieves gives me the say-so of what goes on. And if you get one inch closer to that gun, you'll be minus a hand. If you don't believe me, just try it."

      
The man was now thoroughly convinced Adam meant what he said. He thrust his hands high into the air. But knowing they faced a hangman's noose if they were brought in, he tried a different maneuver. "It's your mistake, Mr. Deputy. I'd like nothing more than to see the expression on your face when the boss gets through with you. Did you ever stop to consider that we were sent out here by the foreman to bring some beef meat in? Hell, as for us skinning the steers out here, we figured it would be easier than toting them back to the ranch." He glanced at his partner. "Ain't that right, Baldy."

      
"U-uh, y-yeah, every word is the gospel truth," the other man stammered.

      
There was a faint whisper of a boot in the grass but Adam's mind was on what the men had just said. The warning was an instant too late. He felt the blow coming before it hit him. He started to turn, and then something smashed down on his skull and he felt himself falling . . .

      
Chapter 4

      
Pain . . . pain wrapped Adam like a shroud. He slowly reached out his hand and pushed. It was cold . . . cold and hard above him. He was dead. No, not dead. He could still feel cold, and he could still feel pain. And there was a coppery scent of blood in the air.

      
Buried. Yes, that must be it! He was buried. They had placed him in a coffin and buried him alive!

      
There was a moment of sheer panic, then he struggled to regain a calmness he did not feel. He had been in many dire situations before, but how in the world was he ever going to get out of this one?

      
Tentatively, he reached out his hand again and pushed, trying to judge how deeply he was buried. Then, he opened his eyes and an immediate relief washed over him. He was neither dead, nor had he been buried alive. When knocked unconscious, he had simply fallen face first onto the ground, and when he started to regain consciousness, his thoughts had been confused and addled.

      
Another searing stab of pain shot through Adam's head when he sucked in a deep gulp of air and
      
struggled to his knees. Even though he was in an addled state of mind, he realized, from the shadows, not much time had passed since he had been attacked from behind. Glancing about, the small clearing appeared to be deserted except for him. The wagon was gone and there were no signs of the men. But there was a glimmer of satisfaction when he saw the partially dressed steer still hanging from the tree. At least he had cost them something.

      
He swore softly beneath his breath as he gently probed the tender spot on the back of his head. He had never stopped to consider that there had been more than two men involved. How could he have been so careless? It wasn't like him at all. He had simply been too intent on finding a way to stay on Talley's trail. That was a mistake he would not make again.

      
His movements were jerky and sluggish as he made his way back to where he had left his horse and saddle. Everything was just as he had left it. Apparently those owlhoots had been too interested in making their getaway than to concern themselves with stealing his outfit. For that, he was relieved.

      
Swallowing back the nausea that rose in his throat, he slowly knelt beside the pool of water and dipped his head into it. Withdrawing quickly and gasping from the icy coldness, he then dipped his handkerchief in the water, wrapped it around his head, and simply knelt there for a few minutes until the thudding pain eased a bit.

      
After his thoughts cleared a bit more, Adam decided he might feel stronger if he ate something; remembering the steer the owlhoots had left behind, he figured there was no need in letting a perfectly good beef going to waste. A thick steak and a hot cup of coffee would taste mighty good.

      
He had been making cold camps ever since he had been on Talley's trail, and while jerked beef and cold flour would keep a man alive for a long period of time, it wasn't satisfying or all that filling. Injured as he was, he'd need all the strength he could muster in order to reach that ranch.

      
Blair rode with no purpose, direction, or destination in mind. Just to ride aimlessly and feel the sun on her skin and the clean, fresh wind blowing in her face was nothing but sheer heaven after being confined for years in that stuffy finishing school and crowded city. The exhilarating freedom she felt was enough to make her forget her dread of facing Warren and her anger at him for having such a tight control over her life. Those problems could be confronted later, but for now she was free!

      
Pulling back on the bridle reins, she stopped her mare and looked about her, awe-struck. While living in Pennsylvania the winters were so harsh, she could hardly wait until spring. And as soon as the first flowers bloomed, she spent most of her spare time strolling through the school's tiny gardens, and, whenever a chaperone was available, through the city parks. But they always seemed to be so manicured, almost artificial. But here, it looked as though God had taken a huge handful of wildflower seeds and flung them into the wind. And absolutely nothing could compare with the scent of a crisp spring day in the countryside.

      
Abruptly, Blair took a deep breath. "Well, almost nothing," she murmured aloud.

      
A pleased smile spread across her pretty lips. She sniffed again, and her mouth watered. There was no mistaking the tantalizing aroma of woodsmoke and the scent of meat sizzling over an open campfire. It had been so long, she had almost forgotten how good it smelled.