The Glass Orchid (22 page)

Ev shook his head to clear it. Had he felt breasts beneath the rustler’s shirt?

That moment of wonder cost him as the man — or was it woman? — leapt for him.

This time Ev was ready. He gripped his attacker at shoulder and thigh, lifted, and tossed the suspect away.

A satisfying ‘oof’ sounded as the man, or woman, hit the ground back first and lay still as stone.

Ev stood and waited.

His opponent was so much smaller, that standing, he — or she — wouldn’t have a chance of beating Ev in a fist fight.

The suspect coughed and heaved in a breath, then another.

Ev studied the face and bone structure, the slight build. The distinctive white blonde hair straggled out from a covering bandana framing lake green eyes and a mouth too generous for any man but just right for a woman. “Geezus in a dress. You’re a female.”

The smile that mouth formed dazzled him, but the eyes remained hard. “You noticed that, did you?”

Her husky voice struck him like the punch he’d expected earlier. He felt embarrassment creep up his neck. “Uh, kinda hard not to when I, uh … ” he looked at his hands before holding one out to help her up.

“Well, then let me return the favor.”

He quirked an eyebrow in question.

She grasped his extended hand and used it to pull herself to her knees where she hauled back and plowed a fist into his crotch.

Ev crumpled like a wad of paper, writhed on the ground, and moaned in agony. “Why?” he managed to croak.

“I noticed you’re a male.”

“You all right?” An Indian dressed Shoshone style, asked the question. He held a rifle on Boyd.

Still in pain, Ev looked from the woman to the Indian and back.

“I’ll be fine.” She rubbed one hand at a scar on her left temple then folded her arms across her chest. Her shoulders hunched as if to relieve some sort of pain. She tossed her head in Boyd’s direction. “How’d you get him?”

The Shoshone grinned. “He ran out of bullets before I did. When he tried to sneak off, I got the drop on him.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” The gunman stared at the woman. “What about you, Marshal Quinn? You okay?”

“I’ll live, but I won’t be walking for a time. What are you gonna do with us?” If he was a dead man, Ev wanted to know.

“We’re not going to kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” remarked the woman.

“Matter of fact, that did concern me some.”

“Help your friend move over to that rock.” The Shoshone gestured Boyd to a nearby boulder. “Then sit down with your backs to it.”

Boyd helped Ev hobble to the rock.

“Here’s your gear.” The woman had removed the saddles and other equipment from both Ev’s and Boyd’s horses. Keeping the weapons and ammunition, she dropped the rest beside Ev. “We passed a way station about a day and a half walk from here. We’ll leave your horses there. You’ll find your weapons and ammunition under the deadfall half a mile east of this canyon.”

The Shoshone helped the woman to mount one of the unsaddled horses before scrambling atop the other.

Ev watched the two ride off.

“Well if that don’t beat all,” remarked Boyd. I sure as hell wouldn’t leave an enemy behind me, ‘specially not with weapons he could use against me.”

“They’re young. Maybe they don’t have enough experience to know better.”

“That’s just plain stupid. Don’t take experience to do the smart thing.”

Ev gave that some thought. He never would have left an enemy with access to weapons. ‘Course, in his line of work he didn’t leave enemies behind. His job was to bring them in and lock them up. The only reason he could think of for leaving the weapons was so that two men on foot wouldn’t be completely defenseless. The woman and the Shoshone weren’t stupid, which left kindness as the most likely motive for leaving the weapons behind. Somehow the thought rankled. The woman clearly didn’t like him. Shoot, she’d punched him in the nuts and knew damn well he wanted to send her to jail. Why in God’s name would she do anything kindly toward him?

Ev shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe they aren’t murderers.”

“They were smart enough to leave our gear to slow us down,” muttered Boyd, looking with disgust at his heavy saddle. “And they set that fire at the Flying V to cover up the murder of Sheriff Boswell. Between the bucket brigade and those newfangled hoses, Si managed to save most of his barn, and Boswell’s body was still recognizable.”

“That gear will help us stay alive. Thieves starting a fire at the same time they’re stealing horses doesn’t make sense. The horses would spook. If they murdered the sheriff, why not murder us? Leaving us alive makes even less sense, if they’ve already killed.” The thoughts made Ev more curious than ever about what was going on. More and more this incident looked like something other than simple horse thieving.

“You’ve got a point. ‘Sides, what kind of horse thief leaves two good mounts where the owners can find them?” wondered Boyd.

Ev wanted an answer to that question too. He sighed, slung his saddle and gear over one shoulder then commenced walking. He was gonna be mighty footsore by the time he reached that way station.

“So why, d’you suppose, is she traveling with a Shoshone?”

“She?”

“Yeah, she, the blonde woman.”

“How’d you figure her for a woman?” He looked at Boyd.

The gunman smiled. “Well, I watched you tussle with her, and she sure doesn’t fight like a man. And, no man I know wears a face like hers.”

Ev couldn’t quite figure why he should be bothered by the fact that Boyd noticed the blonde was a woman. He wanted time to sort out all the thoughts swirling around in his head and wished the gunslinger would stop talking.

Boyd kept on talking. “Then too, the Shoshone helped her onto your horse. If he did that to another healthy man it would be an insult.”

“You know, for a gunslinger, you sure talk a lot. Ask a lot of questions ‘bout a woman Big Si wants you to kill, too.” Ev tried to stare the man into silence.

Brows lifted slightly, Boyd returned Ev’s gaze. “Maybe I don’t plan on killing her. Si doesn’t know one of the rustlers is female. Even if he does cotton to killing womenfolk. I don’t. As for conversation, where’s the harm? Didn’t know not talking was a requirement for being able to hit what I shoot at.” He uttered the rebuke in a level, almost cheerful tone. “Not all folks in a profession behave the same. For instance, I know at least one lawman who can laugh.”

Ev couldn’t restrain a smile. “That’d be me, right?”

Boyd rolled his eyes. “Ah, yeah, right.”

Ev nodded and pondered the benefits and risks of trusting Boyd. “C’mon, let’s catch those two and get some answers.”

He lengthened his strides, and for the first time, Boyd fell silent. Unbidden, the image of the blonde woman came to Ev’s mind, and a queer sort of tension curled in his chest. He wasn’t certain what the feeling meant other than that he wanted to get his hands on her. He forced the image from his mind and kept walking. No woman was going to do what she’d done to him and get away with it.

• • •

When Kiera and Muh’Weda, their string of ponies trailing behind, finally rode into the Shoshone village near the shore of Lake Yellow Stone the entire population came to welcome them. As Muh’Weda dismounted, three girls broke from the crowd, rushing to hug him and hang on his shoulders. “Yes, I am happy to see you too.”

Listening to him murmur endearments to his sisters, Kiera smiled and slid from her saddle. Family would occupy her friend for some time.

A hand on her shoulder had her turning to see the well-worn face of Spirit Talker, the band’s elder medicine man.

“Welcome home, Dabai’Waipi — Sun Woman. Our prayers have been answered. You and Muh’Weda have returned safely, and we have much to celebrate. Muh’Weda has proven what the elders could not decide — that it is possible to get our horses back from the white rancher who stole them.”

“We only took four horses.” Leading her mount and the other four horses, she walked toward the village corral of scrub and branches.

“True.” Beside her Spirit Talker nodded sagely. “But you brought our stallion, which we badly need, and three fine mares — one of them is in foal.”

“She’s not showing yet.” Kiera knew better than to ask how Spirit Talker knew about the mare’s condition. If the medicine man wanted her to know, he’d tell her. Spiritual leaders held positions of great respect in the Shoshone community. The stronger the spiritual power, the greater the respect. The principle was similar to a Shoshone man’s
puha
. The term had no equivalent in English but had much to do with a man’s personal power and the community’s respect for him.

“She will soon enough, and the colts she bears will be mighty war horses.”

“We may need those war horses sooner rather than later. Along with the four ponies, I’m afraid we may have brought a great deal of trouble for the village.” She curried her mount and put the gray into the corral of wild brush. Closing the barrier, she turned to study Spirit Talker.

“You are wise for such a young woman. Trouble is coming, but not in the way you believe. The white man’s army will stop the rancher from attacking us, and eventually we will get all of our horses back. Now, I have taken too much of your attention for myself. Others wish to greet you.”

Together they returned to the main part of the village.

Spirit Talker caught her arm before allowing her friends to surround her. “When you are done here, my daughter and I will assist you and Muh’Weda at the sweat lodge.”

“Ah, so we will celebrate tonight. Thank you for thinking of our needs.”

“Of course,” the old man smiled. “But before that we will eat, and you and Muh’Weda will tell of your adventures.

Kiera turned from Spirit Talker to greet her friends and was soon engulfed in hugs and backslapping. She was a bit embarrassed, for she hadn’t gone with Muh’Weda for glory. She’d only wanted to help a friend and had hoped to talk him out of an action that — despite Spirit Talker’s assurances — could very well bring more trouble than the horses were worth. Nonetheless, she accepted the praise of the villagers, for she loved and admired them. To reject their thanks would be churlish and rude. They believed her deserving, and that was all that mattered.

Soon enough she emerged from the crowd and waited on the edge for Muh’Weda to finish his greetings. He loved his sisters as much as Kiera loved her own, and she would not grudge him a minute of the time he spent with them. What did it matter, if she missed her family a little more on this occasion or if an empty place in her heart held nameless longing.

Unbidden the face of the marshal came to mind. Honey brown eyes that might melt a woman’s heart, if kindness ever shone in them. Thick, feathery red hair just a shade off copper that looked soft as a dove’s wing. A three day shadow of the same hue softened the sharp planes of his face. Long, lean, broad and strong. Strong most of all, in both body and mind. For even when she’d struck him where it hurt most, long moments passed before he fell. The promise of retribution in his hard gaze had grabbed her and shook her, refusing to let go even when she was weak and limp inside. Because their encounter had been short and not an occasion for smiles, he should have been frightening. Nonetheless, her mind conjured a grin on that beard-shadowed visage.

Quinn, that’s what the other man had called him. He was a U.S. Marshal, with both personal and professional reasons to hunt her down like a rabbit. She’d do well to remember that. Thankfully, a full month would pass until she had to leave the mountains to get supplies. She hoped the marshal would give up searching for her long before then, but she wouldn’t take any chances. She was prepared to fight if need be, although she’d much rather not. Distraction had always worked best for her, so she’d do what she could to change her appearance and make herself unrecognizable. She’d done it before; she could do it again. Her photographer’s eye for image and the tricks learned in San Francisco would help. When she went for supplies, she’d test the result on Muh’Weda. If she could fool him, she could fool anyone.

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