The Rogue (17 page)

“They’re trapped!” he shouted in elation.

Almost instantly, Rube and Holt were riding out of the narrow opening. Holt was dismounting before his horse plunged to a stop. He didn’t waste time exclaiming over their triumph.

“Let’s get a barricade up,” he said to Rube. “Guy, Diana, be ready in case they try to come out.”

Working with a speed and ingenuity Diana would have marveled at if she hadn’t been so alert to the sounds coming from inside the arroyo, Holt and Rube erected a barricade of brush, stones, and dead limbs.

“It don’t look very substantial,” Rube panted when they were finished.

“It isn’t,” Holt acknowledged. “But it looks like it could be. We’ll just have to hope the stallion doesn’t decide to test it.”

“Well, he’ll be goddamned reluctant to get cornered in that narrow chute of an opening, so it could be he won’t make a try at the barricade.”

“I hope so.”

“Are you sure there isn’t any way for them to get out?” Diana dismounted now that there was no longer any need to guard the opening.

“There must have been once, or that mare wouldn’t have led them in there,” Rube insisted. “I thought I caught a glimpse of a small landslide that carried away
one wall of the arroyo. Could be there was a trail out, but the slide buried it. They’re boxed in there just as big as you please. We couldn’t o’ driven ’em into a better trap.”

“Are we going in there and rope the mares?” Guy was still on his horse, a lariat in his hand.

“It’s getting too dark to see,” Holt said. The sun was behind the horizon, leaving a crimson afterglow to light the sky. Soon that would be fading to purple. The sheer walls of the arroyo would make it even darker inside its confines. “And our mares are almost as wild-eyed as that stallion. They can’t get out of the arroyo, so rather than risk an injury from panic, I think we should let them settle down overnight. In the morning, we can catch our mares and let the stallion and the buckskin go.”

“Do you mean we’re going to camp here for the night?” Diana questioned. Then she instantly protested, “But all our food and gear is—”

“We are camping here,” Holt stated in an uncompromising tone. “We’ll build a fire right in front of the barricade just in case the stallion decides to investigate it. The fire should keep him back. As for the food and bedrolls, I guess we’ll have to go hungry and sleep close to the fire to stay warm.”

“I might be able to scare up a jackrabbit or a chukar,” Rube suggested. “Don’t fancy the idea of goin’ without any goddamned thing to eat.”

“If you can see it to shoot it, you are welcome to try,” Holt answered.

“Always gotta come up with somethin’, don’t ya?” Rube grumbled. “Just can’t give a fella credit for comin’ up with an idea. Nah, ya gotta poke holes in it. If ya can go without eatin’, so can I. Here, take my horse.” He shoved the reins into Holt’s hands. “If you’re gonna be that way about it, I’ll just gather up some firewood and get a fire goin’. Probably ain’t gonna get done lessen I do it.”

“I think I’ll see if I can’t find a jackrabbit before it
gets too dark.” Guy picked up on Rube’s idea, pulling the rifle out of the saddle scabbard and dismounting.

“The horses will need to be walked to cool off,” Holt said as Guy passed Diana the reins to his horse. “They worked up a hot sweat.”

Holding the reins of her horse and Guy’s, as well as the lead rope of the pack horse, Diana began walking behind the horses Holt led. Slow, monotonous circles they made in front of the arroyo as Guy disappeared into the shadowy dusk and Rube wandered about, loading his arms with wood fuel.

The dominating sounds came from inside the arroyo. The angry squeals of the trapped horses were punctuated by the trampling of hooves around their natural enclosure. Their frenzy seemed to fill the air, clawing at sensitive nerves until Diana wanted to tear down the barricade herself and set them free. Common sense kept her from giving into the impulse and she tried to appear as stoically indifferent to their cries as Holt did.

From somewhere out in the purpling desert came the explosive report of a rifle shot echoing through the night. Diana paused to look in the direction she believed the shot had come from, absently stroking the muzzle of the horse at her shoulder. There was an empty gnawing in her stomach, endurable for the moment, but not for long.

“I wonder if Guy hit anything,” she mused aloud.

“We’ll know when he gets back to camp,” was Holt’s clipped response.

Rube’s fire was crackling into full flame when Guy returned triumphantly to camp. He carried a scrawny jackrabbit by its long ears, held high for all to see the evidence of his successful hunt.

“Ain’t much, but it’s better than nothin’,” Rube conceded. “Let’s get it cleaned and skinned and on a spit. You always was a good shot, Guy. There was a day when I coulda done it, but ...” He let the rest trail off unfinished.

“I never thought a jackrabbit could look as delicious as a steak. It just shows how hungry I am,” Diana remarked with a laugh.

“I know what you mean,” he agreed.

The look he darted at Holt was smug and arrogant; he had accomplished something Holt had said couldn’t be done. But Holt was stringing a picket line for the horses, ignoring the byplay around the fire, as if he found Guy’s game of one-upmanship beneath his notice.

Rube took his knife from its sheath, the blade gleaming in the firelight. Guy handed him the rabbit and walked over to his horse, returning his rifle to the saddle scabbard. The pride of accomplishment had diminished from his expression at Holt’s failure to acknowledge it. Gradually the noises from the arroyo had reduced to angry snorts and restless pacings, the initial panic of the captured horses subsiding.

“It’s going to be chilly tonight,” Guy commented, pausing beside Diana.

“Yes.” It wasn’t difficult to guess the direction his thought was taking him, and Diana sought to avoid it. “But the fire will keep us warm, and, thanks to you, we’ll have food in our stomachs. So it won’t be too bad.”

His mouth opened to make a response, but Holt’s approach stopped him. “I’ll take the horses,” Holt said, reaching for the reins Diana held.

His presence brought an added chill to the already cool air. Handing him the reins, Diana avoided looking at him directly, aware of the silently bristling Guy beside her. As Holt led the horses to the picket line where the others were tied, Diana turned toward the fire.

“I’d better give Rube a hand with the rabbit,” she said.

Guy followed her like a bodyguard, unwilling to let her be more than a few feet from him. The rabbit was skinned and cleaned and Rube was using a sparing
amount of water to rinse the blood away. “Puny, ain’t it?” Rube slid the carcass onto a stick.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Diana reminded him, taking the spitted rabbit and holding it over the flames, while Rube drove a pair of forked sticks into the ground for the spit to rest on.

The rolling snort of the wild stallion seemed to come from directly behind her. Diana glanced over her shoulder in alarm, staring at the blocked arroyo entrance. There was a rustling of dead brush, and the muffled thud of hooves in sand.

“He’s checking out the barricade. Chase him back, Guy,” Holt called from the picket line.

Walking toward the arroyo, Guy clapped his hands loudly. “Hiyaa! Get away from there!”

His shouts were followed by a crashing sound. “Look out!” Holt called.

The warning came too late, as a white mound suddenly burst through the barricade. Guy had no chance to get out of the path of the stallion. He attempted to dive to the side and was knocked to the ground by the onrushing horse. Right on its heels came the mares.

At the first glimpse of white, Diana had frozen in shock. As the white stallion swerved toward her, a second obstacle in the way of his escape, his ears were snaked flat against his head, menacing ivory teeth bared, hatred blazing in his dark eyes.

“Diana!”

She heard Holt’s shout, but she was powerless to move, mesmerized by the awesome fury charging toward her. The stallion was a bounding leap away when a driving weight hit her side, tumbling her to the ground and knocking the breath from her lungs. Crushed by the same weight that had struck her down, Diana was helplessly pinned.

Her dazed senses were aware of pounding hooves thundering past, but it took a full second longer before she realized the force that held her down was Holt.
Flat on her stomach, tasting what seemed like a mouthful of gritty soil, Diana was conscious of his hard body spread protectively on top of her. By then the horses had stampeded by, but the sensation of danger still thudded in her ears.

“Are you all right?” Holt levered himself off.

Spitting out the grit from her mouth between gulps of air, Diana managed a breathy, “Yes.”

Holt didn’t wait to see whether her answer was merely brave words or the truth. With a muffled curse, he was pushing to his feet.

“The horses,” he said in a muttering explanation.

As she rolled onto her back, Diana thought at first that he was referring to the stallion and mares until she heard the plunging, panicked sounds coming from the picket line. It was their own horses being stampeded into flight by the wild ones. The prospect of being afoot this far from the ranch drove Diana to her feet and sent her running after Holt.

The pack horse was already racing into the night. A second was pulling at its knotted reins until the leather snapped, unable to take the strain. As it whirled to follow the other fleeing horses, Holt stood in its path, waving his arms to turn it back. Diana hurried to the three that were still tied, rearing and plunging in panic, and tried to calm them.

“Whoa, boy, easy now.” Diana’s firm, soothing voice talked to the dodging horse.

Out of the corner of her eye, Diana saw him grab for the reins as the horse bolted past him, and miss. The remaining horses were beginning to respond to her quieting words, still snorting and tossing their heads, eyes rolling, but no longer tugging at the reins. Holt moved swiftly but smoothly to the nearest horse, untying the reins.

“You aren’t going after them in the dark?” Diana protested.

“I might catch them.” Holt swung into the saddle. “They’ll be halfway back to the ranch by morning.”
He didn’t immediately set out after their fleeing mounts, but reined the excited and prancing horse to the edge of the camp circle. Diana knew one rider could only hope to catch one horse, but two riders might possibly bring back both. Untying the reins of her gelding, she ducked under the picket line and mounted.

“How’s Guy?” Holt called out.

On the other side of the fire, Diana saw Rube bending over Guy, who was sitting up, his head cradled in his hands. She had forgotten all about the stallion knocking him to the side when it broke out of the arroyo.

“He got his bell rung, but he’ll be all right,” Rube answered, turning to see Holt astride his horse. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

“Two of our horses got loose.”

“You ain’t goin’ after ’em now? You’ll break your goddamned neck!”

There was more, but Holt was already turning his horse around and sending it bounding into the night shadows, with Diana right behind him. At the sound of hooves pounding after him, Holt glanced over his shoulder.

Before his grim look could be put into words, Diana shouted determinedly, “I’m coming with you! You need me!” She was secure in the knowledge he couldn’t force her back to camp without turning back himself.

Into the night they raced. The sliver of moon cast insufficient light to illuminate the ground. Blindly they galloped, only a sixth sense telling the horses of the footing beneath them. It was a reckless, heart-stopping ride, with Diana clinging to the saddle, never knowing whether the next stride would leap over an obstacle or descend a hollow.

A black silhouette of a racing horse crested a rise ahead of them, head held to the side to keep from tangling its feet in the trailing reins. Their first objective
had been sighted. Holt whipped his horse with the reins and Diana did the same. The escaping mount’s headlong flight had been reduced to a steady gallop. Within minutes, they overtook it.

From her tomboy years, Diana knew the routine by heart. They approached on either side of the horse, forcing it to run straight rather than swerve away from its captors. Holt was on the side nearest the trailing reins. She saw him lean in the saddle to grab for them.

A split-second later, her horse was falling and Diana was somersaulting over its head into the emptiness of night. A stifled cry of surprise was caught in her throat. She flew through the air for what seemed an eternity before hitting the ground, but it all happened in the blink of an eye.

The jolting impact knocked the wind from her. Diana lay on the ground, the pain in her chest too intense for her to move. She had fallen free of her horse, which was thrashing a few feet away from her. It was rising to its feet shaking like a dog as she took the first painful gasp for air.

The pounding hooves of more than one horse vibrated the ground beneath her. “Diana!” Holt called out to her.

“Over here.” It was a weak, breathy answer.

Yet somehow he managed to hear it. Within seconds he was kneeling beside her, a dark shadow looming over her. “Are you all right?”

Diana had already tested the mobility of her limbs and could answer truthfully, “Nothing is broken. I just had the wind knocked out of me, that’s all. You caught the horse,” she observed shakily.

“Yes,” Holt said in a terse response that indicated it was unimportant. “What happened?”

“My horse fell,” she said, stating the obvious. She reached out with her hands. “Help me up.”

As he pulled her into a sitting position, Diana gasped at the stinging pain in her left elbow. She reached to explore the cause and her fingers came away wet and sticky.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hurt my elbow when I fell.”

“Let me see.” When he reached to turn her elbow toward the faint moonlight, his forearm brushed against the pointed tips of her breasts. Her flesh tingled at the contact. His arm hovered there a fraction of a second longer than necessary, enough to make Diana aware that he was conscious of the intimacy.