Wolf Shadow (2 page)

He frowned as his gaze settled on a man standing at the bar.
The gent didn’t look like trouble, quite the opposite, actually. He wore a
natty blue pinstripe suit, a boiled shirt, and a black bowler hat. A neatly
folded white handkerchief peeked out of his jacket pocket; a diamond stickpin
winked in his cravat. His hair was brown with a heavy sprinkling of gray in his
sideburns, his eyes were a deep, dark blue.

The man’s gaze met his, and then he pushed away from the
bar. He leaned heavily on a stout wooden cane as he threaded his way between
the tables.

“McCloud, are you in?”

Chance glanced at his cards and tossed five dollars into the
pot. “I’m in.”

“Mr. McCloud?”

Chance looked up at the man with the cane and wondered what
a gent of such obvious wealth and good breeding was doing in a backwater town
like Buffalo Springs. “Who wants to know?”

“My name is Edward Bryant. I would very much like to have a
few moments of your time, if I might.” The man’s voice betrayed a slight New
York accent.

“I’m busy.”

“Yes,” Bryant said dryly. “I can see that.” He reached into
his coat pocket, withdrew five crisp one hundred-dollar bills, and laid them,
one by one, on the table in front of Chance. “Do you think that might buy me
twenty minutes of your time?”

Chance glanced at the greenbacks spread on the table in
front of him, then looked up at Bryant again, wondering who the man wanted him
to kill. Chance wasn’t into hiring out his gun but, hell, for five hundred
bucks, he was willing to listen to almost anything.

Rising, Chance tossed his cards face down on the table.
“Deal me out.” He picked up his winnings and the five one hundred-dollar bills
and shoved them into his pants pocket. “Let’s talk.”

He followed Edward Bryant across the dusty street and into
the plush lobby of the Windsor, the town’s finest hotel.

Bryant gestured at a sofa covered in a dark green damask
print. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Chance sat down, his gaze moving around the lobby. He didn’t
have much call to frequent the place, but it was every bit as fancy as he
remembered, with spindly-legged furniture that didn’t look strong enough to
hold anyone who weighed more than fifty pounds. There were a dozen or so fancy
lamps with fringed shades, and a sparkling crystal chandelier. Potted palms
provided a touch of greenery in the corners. There were low tables of shining
mahogany in front of the sofas, thick carpets on the floor, and a number of discreetly
placed brass spittoons. A clerk in a dark brown coat and starched collar stood
behind the desk, idly thumbing through a copy of the local paper.

Chance turned his attention back to Bryant. “So, what’s this
all about?”

“I was told that you sometimes go into Indian Territory to
search for people, that you…” He ran a finger inside his collar. “That you have
a certain…ah…inside track with the Indians.”

Chance lifted one brow. “Is that right?” It was true, but
only a few people knew that he occasionally went looking for whites believed to
have been captured by the Indians. With distrust and tension running high
between the whites and the Indians, it was something he preferred to keep to
himself.

“I did not mean to offend you,” Bryant said quickly.

Chance grinned. Apparently Bryant feared he had somehow
insulted him by referring to his obvious Indian heritage. “I’m not offended. If
I was, I’d be on my way out the door. Let’s cut to the chase. What is it you
want?”

Bryant laid his cane aside and pulled a folded piece of
paper out of his coat pocket. Unfolding it, he handed it to Chance.

It was a flyer, similar in size and shape to a wanted
poster. His gaze skimmed over the words:

Fifteen thousand dollar reward

For the return of

Teressa Elizabeth Bryant

Kidnapped by Indians

The same reward will be paid for

Information that leads to Teressa’s recovery

Teressa, now 17 years old,

has blue eyes and dark brown hair

Contact Edward Bryant c/o Wells Fargo

Chance grunted softly as he studied the pen and ink drawing
above the description. It showed a pretty little girl with large light-colored
eyes and long dark curls. But it was the reward that held his attention.
Fifteen thousand dollars. That was mighty sweet, and he could sure as hell use
the money.

“My family and I were on our way to San Francisco when our
coach was attacked by Indians. They left us alive, though I don’t know why. The
men who rescued us said the Indians were probably Sioux.” Bryant regarded
Chance curiously. “Why didn’t they kill us?”

“Most likely they were just after the horses. If it had been
a war party, you’d be dead now.”

“If all they wanted was horses, why did they take my little
girl?”

Chance shrugged. “Indians have a soft spot for kids. Any
kids. A lot of theirs die young.”

Bryant stared at him a moment, then went on. “Be that as it
may, they took my Teressa. I have hired several men to find her over the years.
They have all given up.”

“Go on.”

“Teressa was…
is
our only child. My wife has been
understandably heartbroken. We have been told our daughter is most likely dead.
If that is true, then I want…” His voice broke and he took a deep, steadying
breath. “I want to know. I need to know, one way or the other.”

Chance glanced at the flyer again. “How long has she been
missing?”

“Ten years.”

Chance whistled under his breath. “Ten years and no one’s
found her? How old was she when they took her?”

“Seven.”

Chance shook his head. “You’re wasting your time and your
money.”

“It is my time, Mr. McCloud, and my money. Will you help
me?”

“If she’s still alive, she’s one of them by now. You’ll
never find her, and if you do, she won’t want to leave.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Doesn’t much matter what you believe. That’s how it is.”

Bryant started to reply, and then gained his feet, his
expression softening.

Chance looked over his shoulder to see a slender woman clad
in a modest dark gray dress, a matching hat, and white gloves walking toward
them. She had dark brown hair, an olive complexion, and a figure that was
slender but well-rounded. But it was her eyes that caught his attention. They
were dark brown, fringed with thick dark lashes. And filled with so much sorrow
he felt it like an ache in his own soul.

Bryant smiled at the woman. “My dear.”

“Eduardo, I am sorry I am late. The dressmaker…” She made a
vague gesture with her hand.

“Mr. McCloud, this is my wife, Rosalia. Rosalia, this is Mr.
McCloud.”

She graciously offered Chance her hand. “I am pleased to
meet you,
Signore
McCloud.”

“Ma’am.” She had a thick accent. Italian, perhaps.

Rosalia Bryant sat down, spreading her skirts around her.
Edward Bryant sat beside his wife, and Chance took the chair vacated by Bryant.

“I was just telling Mr. McCloud about our problem,” Bryant
told his wife. He took her hand in his and held it tight.

Mrs. Bryant turned dark luminous eyes toward Chance. “Will
you help us?”

“Does your daughter look like you, Mrs. Bryant?”

“She did as a child, yes, very much, except for her eyes. Teressa
has Eduardo’s eyes. Of course, I do not know how she looks now…if the
resemblance is still there.” She took a deep breath, her free hand worrying a
fold in her skirt. “You will help us, will you not? Please,
signore
, you
must help us.”

Chance stared at the woman. Was it possible? Could he be
that lucky? Damn, if he was right, the rest of that fifteen grand was as good
as his. “I can’t promise you anything, ma’am,” he said. “But I’ll scout around
some and see what I can find out.”

Hope flared in Rosalia Bryant’s eyes, spilling over in a
sprinkling of tears. “
Grazie! Grazie! Dio Di Elogio.”

“I will draw a bank draft for you in the morning,” Bryant
said. “Five thousand dollars now, and another ten thousand when you return with
our daughter. Is that acceptable?”

Chance nodded. “Just deposit the money to my account over at
the bank.” Five grand would go a long way to keeping that weasel, Harry
Conreid, off his back, at least for a little while. He held up the flyer. “Can
I keep this?”

“Of course.”

Chance folded the paper and slid it into his back pocket.
“Where should I get in touch with you?”

“Right here. My wife and I will be staying in your town
until we hear from you.”

“As long as you don’t expect to hear from me right away.”

“I understand, but…do you have any idea how long it might
take? We are understandably anxious.”

“I don’t know. Could be a couple of weeks. Could be a couple
of months. Depends on how long it takes me to find the Lakota.”

“Excuse me,” Rosalia interrupted, “but who are the Lakota?”

“Sioux is a white man’s term. The Indians call themselves
the Lakota. Now, as I was saying, it depends on how long it takes me to find
the Indians who’ve got your daughter and whether or not she’s willing to
leave.”

“Why should she not want to leave?” Rosalia glanced from her
husband to Chance and back again. “Surely she is as anxious to return to us as
we are to have her with us once again.”

Bryant patted his wife’s hand. “Mr. McCloud seems to think
that Teressa might not want to leave the Indians.”

“Not wish to leave?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “But
that is, how do you say…
ridicolo
!”

Bryant smiled soothingly at his wife. “Of course it is. I
fear we have taken up enough of Mr. McCloud’s time, my dear. No doubt he has
business elsewhere.”

Bryant stood up and Chance rose with him.

“We shall expect to hear from you as soon as possible,”
Bryant said as he walked Chance to the door. “Godspeed.”

The two men shook hands and Chance left the hotel. Outside,
he stretched the kinks out of his back and shoulders. For a moment, he
considered returning to the game over at the saloon and then decided against
it. He’d be leaving for the Lakota’s summer camp first thing in the morning.
Best to turn in early and enjoy sleeping in a real bed while he could.

Stepping off the boardwalk, he headed for the livery to
check on his horse.

The stable was dark save for the lantern burning out front.

Chance rapped on one of the big double doors.

A moment later, Burt Sorenson, the owner of the stable,
opened the door. “Oh,” he said, scratching under his armpit. “It’s you.”

Chance didn’t reply as he walked past the man toward a stall
in the back. His horse, a bay Quarter-Morgan mix, made a soft snuffling sound
at his approach.

Reaching over the stall door, he scratched the mare’s neck.
“Hey, girl. They takin’ good care of you in here?”

The mare rubbed her head against his shoulder, then nosed
his coat pocket.

Grinning, Chance reached into his pocket and withdrew an
apple. The mare gobbled it down, her head bobbing in approval. Smoke wasn’t the
prettiest horse he had ever owned, but she was far and away the best. She was
fast and quick, with enough staying power and heart to keep going long after
another horse would have folded up and quit. That extra speed and bottom had
saved his life on more than one occasion.

Chance gave the mare a final pat, nodded at Sorenson, and
left the stable.

Pulling the flyer from his pocket, he read the description
again; then, whistling softly, he turned down the street toward the hotel.
Bryant’s fifteen thousand dollars would not only pay off the mortgage on the
ranch, but also allow him to buy a section of land adjoining the east pasture,
repair the roof on the barn, and buy that new bull he had his eye on.

He glanced up and down the darkened street. Bryant’s offer
had come at just the right time. Chance ran a hand over his jaw. He’d been
filled with an old restlessness lately. Spending some time with his mother’s
people might be just what he needed. And if what he suspected was true, it
would be time well spent.

Chapter Two

Winter Rain sat outside her mother’s lodge, tanning a deer
hide her father had brought her that afternoon. As she scraped the flesher over
the hide, her thoughts wandered to a certain young warrior. Strong Elk.

She had met him that morning when she went walking through
the forest to gather firewood. She had paused now and then to admire the beauty
around her. The summer camp of the People was one of her favorite places. Tall
mountains thick with spruce and pine rose in the distance. The lodges of the
people were spread along the grassy banks of a wide, slow-moving river.
Scattered stands of timber provided ample wood for the fire. Game was plentiful
in the hills.

When she had gathered an armful of wood, she turned back
toward the village. She was almost there when she heard the soft call of a
dove. She had felt a thrill of excitement as she glanced to her right and then
to her left, smiled when Strong Elk stepped out from behind a tree. He was a
handsome young man, held in high esteem by the elders of the tribe. The maidens
in the village spoke of him often, for he was a daring hunter and a brave
warrior, one who had counted many coups. One who had not yet taken a wife.

“Good morning,” he said.

Winter Rain had smiled shyly. A maiden was not to be alone
in the company of an unmarried warrior, but it was acceptable to meet “by
accident”.

“I was just gathering wood.” Such a foolish comment, she
thought, when he could easily see that that was what she had been doing.

Strong Elk had nodded, then glanced up and down the trail,
making sure they were still alone. “I might be walking by your lodge this evening,”
he remarked.

She had felt a rush of color sweep into her cheeks. “I might
be outside this evening,” she had replied and then, hugging the firewood to her
chest, she had hurried up the path to her mother’s lodge.