The Rogue (30 page)

“Fix the coffee while I wake up the others.”

The dream vanished as Diana realized where she was. Her gaze swept the half-circle of sleeping figures. Shaking in reaction, she sat up and reached for her boots.

The breakfast was thrown together in a hurry, not one of her better efforts, but no one seemed to notice; or at least they were too polite to comment about it. Don was saddling the horses while Diana finished cleaning up. She noticed he had saddled neither of her horses.

Holt handed her his empty cup and Diana challenged: “Why isn’t my horse being saddled?” When he didn’t immediately answer and gave her one of his shuttered looks instead, her temper flared. “If you think I’m going to hang around this camp like some squaw while you go out looking for the mares, you had better think again.”

“You—”

“I don’t take orders from you.” She never gave him a chance to answer. “Don, saddle my horse!” Diana called to the hand. “I’m going with the rest of you.” And she turned back, challenging Holt to override her command.

“It’s your neck.” With an invisible shrug, Holt turned away.

All day they searched for the stallion and the mares, coming back to the camp at noon to change horses and eat. Twice they caught a glimpse of the band, miles away and running. At nightfall they returned to the camp, hot, tired, and hungry.

The second day proved as unsuccessful as the first. The third day wasn’t any better. As the horses entered the canyon at a tired shuffling trot, Diana felt there was an acre of Nevada soil clogging her pores. When they dismounted at the camp, she handed her reins to Guy.

“Would you mind taking care of my horse? I’m going to try to wash some of this grit away before I fix our supper.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.” Guy took her reins, a weary smile on his mouth. “Save some water for me.”

Pausing to pick up a pot that would serve both as a basin to hold the water and a means to heat it, Diana started for the waterhole. As she was leaving, she saw Rube approaching the camp circle.

“When you get the fire going, Rube, why don’t you reheat the coffee left over from this noon?” Diana tossed the suggestion over her shoulder, not slowing her strides.

She could hear him talking to himself as she moved away. “Get the fire goin’, Rube. Put the coffee on, Rube. You’d think I was a goddamned—” His mumbles faded into the wind.

In the shade of the cottonwoods, Diana flipped the hat off her head to hang down her back suspended by the string around her throat. Bending at the water’s
edge, she dipped the pot into the pool. The water felt cool and refreshing against her hand. It intensified the sticky, grimy dust which coated her skin.

Taking the handkerchief from her pocket, Diana moistened it in the water and began wiping the rivulets of sweat from her neck and throat. Wetting it again, she began wiping her cheeks and forehead, a preliminary rinsing in anticipation of heated water and soap back at camp. Footsteps approached through the trees. Diana didn’t bother to look around.

“Wouldn’t you love to just dive into the middle of that pool, Guy? What I wouldn’t give for a nice cool bath!” she sighed longingly.

“And to make love afterward—is that what you have in mind?”

Holt’s taunting voice brought Diana to her feet. The icy control in his face sent her heart thumping against her ribs. He was standing very close, an arm’s reach away, and his manner was threatening. The water was at her feet. Diana couldn’t back away.

“Why are you twisting an innocent comment into something suggestive? That wasn’t what I said or meant.” Her defense was in attacking.

“Wasn’t it?” he countered through clenched teeth. “You are forgetting that I know you.” He took a step forward and Diana tried to slip past him, but he caught her easily. Contact with him ended her resistance. His hand cupped the back of her head, forcing her to look at his face. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Her body trembled. It didn’t matter what Holt was referring to. Her flesh knew how much it had missed the caress of his hands and the fire of his kisses. Diana gazed at his powerfully male features, her senses clamoring in response to his hard and punishing embrace.

As if sensing her response, Holt began covering her cheeks, eyes, and mouth with rough kisses. “You wanted to dive into the pool, splash and swim naked in the water”—growling the accusations against her
skin—“later, to crawl up on the bank and make love. That’s what you and Guy did that other time.”

Diana twisted her head away, hating him for bringing up that misadventure with Guy. “Yes.” Her voice was raw and rasping with pain. “So you could watch. You get some vicarious thrill out of watching us, don’t you?” The hand gripping her arm tightened so fiercely she thought the bone would snap. She didn’t find out what his method of retaliation might be as Guy’s voice shattered the moment.

“Hey, Diana, what’s keeping you? Did the waterhole run dry or—” He emerged from the trees and froze. His face went first, white with shock, then livid with rage. “Let her go!”

Alarm pulsed through her, aware the scene was teetering on the edge of violence. She strained against Holt’s hold. He glanced down at her, a cold smile in his eyes.

“Sure. But she needs cooling off.”

As he released her, Holt gave her a push. She stumbled backward into the water. A gasping cry ripped from her throat as Diana lost her footing on the slippery rocks and sat down with a resounding splash. Stunned and outraged, she couldn’t will herself to move.

“I warned you to stay away from her. If you’ve hurt—”

“Save it.” Holt’s voice sliced off Guy’s threat. “I think your lady fair needs rescuing.”

Tom between wanting to go to Diana’s aid and confronting his father, Guy did neither as Holt strided past him into the trees. With his second option eliminated, Guy waded into the water.

“Are you all right?” He took the hand she extended to him and pulled her upright.

Her Levi’s were sopping wet. Water filled her boots. Her blouse was splattered where it wasn’t completely soaked. Her rump tingled from the hard landing, but she was otherwise unhurt.

“I’m okay.”

“I ought to—” Guy cast a murderous look over his shoulder.

“Forget it.” Diana shouldered the blame. “It was my fault. I made him angry.” Just by breathing.

“What happened? What did you say?” He kept a hand at her elbow as they waded through the shallow water to dry ground.

“Does it matter?” She shrugged away his question. “After these last three days, we’re all tired and irritable. Holt’s temper was on a short fuse. It didn’t take much of a spark to light it. Just leave it at that.”

“I suppose,” he gave in grudgingly. “But if he—”

“Do me a favor, Guy?” Diana sat down to pull off her boots and empty out the water squishing inside them. “Go back to camp and get me some dry clothes. And don’t pick a fight with Holt,” she added with heavy impatience. “It isn’t worth it.”

“One of these days, I’ll kill him.” He breathed in deeply, then nodded a reluctant agreement and walked away to carry out her request. Cold shivers raced over Diana’s skin.

The morning of the fourth day they came upon the band and the chase was on. As they had the previous time, they pursued the horses in relays, each rider taking a leg, including Diana. This time the stallion refused to leave the mares, relentlessly driving them on, sporadically stampeding them in an effort to escape the pursuit.

The sun had angled past the midday point into the afternoon and Diana marveled at the endurance the band displayed under the stallion’s leadership, especially that of the white stallion. He seemed to cover four times as much ground as the mares, darting back and forth to keep any mare from lagging.

More than half a mile behind the herd, Diana watched the stallion suddenly accelerate to slice his way through the small band and force the buckskin mare in the lead to swerve in the direction he wanted her to go. Satisfied, the stallion fell back to the rear and continued pushing them on. She realized his domination was total.

It was exemplified further when the young colt could no longer maintain the pace and fell behind. Its mother tried desperately to stay with it, but the stallion unmercifully forced the mare on with raking hooves and snapping teeth.

When Diana overtook the foal, it was still trying to
stagger after the herd. Its weak, puny whinnies for its mother were plaintive, lost sounds. Frightened and too exhausted to flee, it stood trembling as Diana approached.

A mile ahead, she knew another rider was waiting to take over pursuit of the herd. She couldn’t leave the colt behind. Reining in her horse, she dismounted and walked slowly toward it, leading her horse and talking softly to the colt. It jerked its head away at the first touch of her hand, then submitted to the contact.

She tried to lift the colt onto her saddle, but it was almost a dead weight in her arms. Diana couldn’t lift it high enough to drape it over the saddle. Setting the colt on the ground, she tried to think of another solution.

The cantering hooves of several horses came from behind her. With her hands on her hips, Diana turned as Holt rode toward her, leading two fresh mounts. He checked the horses to a stop, a frown gathering on his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” He hadn’t seen the colt until after he had asked the question. “Is he hurt?”

“Exhausted.”

Guessing her problem, Holt swung out of his saddle. “I’ll hand him up to you.” Diana mounted and waited while Holt picked up the foal and draped him across the saddle in front of her. “Take him back to camp. He’s probably hungry, as well as tired. If you have any dried milk, mix some up for him. If not, feed him some sweetened water. Who’s ahead of you?”

The colt struggled briefly, then quieted under Diana’s hand. “Don, I think. He should be waiting about a mile up.”

“We’ll keep pushing the stallion until sundown.” Holt remounted. “Take care of the colt. I’d like to take one of them back alive to the Major.” He rode off and Diana started back to camp at a walk.

It was dark when the four men rode into the camp. The evening meal was simmering on the edge of the fire. Diana sat close to the warmth. The chestnut colt
was curled up beside her like a puppy dog, its dainty head resting on her lap, sound asleep.

“How’s the colt?” Holt walked over to examine it, squatting on his heels beside her.

“Doesn’t seem to be any worse for the experience.” Diana tried to match his impersonal but conversational tone.

“I think he’s decided he doesn’t need his mother now that he has you,” Guy observed.

“It’s amazing how everything seems to eat out of your hand.” Holt’s caustic murmur was barely audible, but Diana heard it.

“He’s lucky he didn’t break one of those spindly legs, considering the rough ground we went over today,” Don said, reaching for a plate Diana had stacked in readiness by the fire. “Is it all right if we eat?”

“Help yourself,” Diana insisted. “I’ve already had mine.”

“That little fella is lucky to be alive.” Rube joined them around the fire. “I had an old mustanger tell me one time that some stallions will kill the colts rather than have ’em hold back the whole herd. It ain’t a common practice, mind ya. But it’s been known to happen. An’ I wouldn’t be surprised at anything from this stallion.”

“Tomorrow should do it,” Don said. “If we push that band as hard tomorrow as we did today, we’ll get those mares.”

“They could be miles away by morning.” Diana watched as the men dished up their plates.

“Ain’t likely. Maybe the stallion isn’t, but them mares are goddamned tired—too tired to eat, probably, or get much rest. They won’t be more’n a couple of miles from where we left ’em,” Rube predicted.

He was right. Approximately two miles from the point where they had abandoned the chase the night before, they found the stallion and mares. Showing no sign of weariness, the white stallion had the mares
bunched and at a run within seconds after sighting the riders.

It seemed to start out as a repetition of the previous day. Then Diana began to notice that each relay rider was following closer and closer to the herd. Instead of the distance varying from a mile to a half-mile, it became a half-mile to a quarter-mile. The mares were tiring badly. Only the tyranny of their master kept them going. And the stallion still refused to leave them. It was as if he knew the riders were after the mares he had stolen.

The sun was a white-hot ball directly overhead and Diana was on her third relay lap, driving the herd down a long mountain valley. They were approaching an area where a smaller valley intersected with the main one. The buckskin mare had always tried to veer into it, leading the band where the terrain was rougher and pursuit more difficult. Rube was stationed there to keep the herd heading straight down the main valley and take Diana’s place in the chase.

Diana eased her horse into a slow canter as the buckskin mare angled for the mouth of the smaller valley. Almost immediately, Rube appeared in the center of the opening to race down the center of the main valley. The lead mare swerved away violently, the other mares following, finding the reserve strength to break into a hard gallop. Rube urged his horse into a canter to intercept the path of pursuit and relieve Diana.

Her horse willingly responded to the checking pressure of the bit and slowed into a hard trot, tossing his head, foam flicking from his lathered neck. As Diana watched Rube angle toward the band, she saw the white stallion become aware of his second pursuer. With a shake of his white mane, he switched directions. A whistling scream rent the air in challenge. Her eyes widened as the stallion charged at his enemy, his neck snaked low, his ears flat against his head.

“Rube!” Diana screamed in warning.

But Rube had already seen the sudden attack and was pulling back on the reins. His horse sensed the danger from the stallion and reacted with fear, plunging and fighting the hands on the reins. Diana could see Rube waving his arm and shouting, trying to scare off the stallion. She spurred her horse toward him.

Like a white fury, the stallion charged at the horse and rider. Rube tried to avoid it, manhandling his mount into a pivot. His horse panicked and reared. Rube clung to its neck like a monkey, but the horse overbalanced and fell backward onto his rider.