He smiled in the darkness. It had been worth it. He had gained a loyal
following, and good men. Nothing would come slipping through his lines
tonight. He could rest with If he could rest at all.
Despite himself he felt his eyes drawn toward the wagon that stood just
outside the circle of small cavalry-issue Aframe tents.
"What a burden," Jon said quietly from behind. Jamie swung around,
arching a brow. Jori wasn't the usual subordinate, nor did Jamie expect
him to be.
"Why don't you quit making the comments and start telling me something
about this von Heusen fellow."
"You really interested?" Jon asked.
"Try me. Come on. We'll get some coffee and take a walk up by the
ridge."
Monahan gave them coffee from a tin pot at the fire, then the two men
wandered up the ridge. Jamie found a seat on a flat rock and rested his
boots on another. Jon stood, watching the expanse of the prairie. By the
soft light of the moon, it was a beautiful place, the mountains rising
like shadows in the distance, the sage rolling in ghostly fashion and
the camp fires and stars just lighting up the darkness around them.
"She's telling the truth," Jon said.
"How can you know?" Jamie demanded.
Jon shrugged, scuffed his boots against the earth and turned to hunker
down near Jamie.
"I know because I've heard of this man before. He wanted land further
north during the war. He was a cattle baron up there then, and he was
ordered by the government to provide members of the Oglala Sioux on
reservation land with meat. He gave them maggot-fiddled beef that he
wouldn't have fed to his own sows. The Indians formed a delegation to
speak with the man. He called it an Indian uprising and soon every
rancher in the area was at war with the Sioux. Hundreds, red and white,
died. Uselessly, senselessly. And von Heusen was never punished."
Jamie was quiet for a moment. He stared toward the remnants of the wagon
train.
"So he's got property now in Wiltshire. And he wants more. And he likes
to rile up the Indians. I still can't do anything, Jon. Even if I
believed Miss. Stuart, there wouldn't be anything I could do."
"Because you can't prove anything."
"Exactly. And no sane white man is going to believe it."
"That's too bad," Jori said after a moment.
"That's really too bad. I don't think Miss. Stuart can survive very
long."
"Come on, Jon, stop it! No matter how powerful this von Heusen is, he
can't just out-and-out murder the woman!
The whole town would be up in arms. He can't own the whole damned town!"
Jon shrugged.
"He owns the sheriff. And we both know that he doesn't have to
out-and-out murder the girl. There are ways."
"Damn!" Jamie stood up, dusting the dirt off the rump of his breeches
with his hat.
"So what are you going to do?"
"I told you. We're riding back to the fort" -- "And then?"
"Let's get there, eh?"
Jon stood.
"I just wanted you to know, Jamie, that if you decide to take some of
that time the government owes you, I'll go with you."
"I'm not taking any time."
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say, Slater." Jamie paused, grinning.
"Thanks, Red Feather. I appreciate it. But believe me, I'm sure I'm not
the escort Miss. Stuart has in mind."
Jon pulled his hat low over his eyes, grinning.
"Well, Jamie, me lad, we don't always know just exactly what it is that
we need, now, do we? Good night." Without waiting for a reply he walked
down the ridge.
Jamie stayed on the ridge a while longer, looking at the camp fires.
He'd stay up with the first group on watch; Monahan would stay up with
the second.
But even when he saw the guard change and the sergeant take his place
silently upon a high ridge, he discovered he couldn't sleep. The cot
didn't bother him--he had slept on much less comfortable beds--nor did
the night sounds, or even the nightmare memories of the day.
She bothered him. Knowing that she slept not far away. Or lay awake as
he did. Perhaps, in private, the tears streamed down her face.
Or perhaps she was silent still, done with the past, determined to think
of the future. She believed what she was saying to him. She believed
that the wagon train had been attacked by white men dressed up like
Indians. She wouldn't let it rest.
He groaned and pulled his pillow over his head. It wasn't exactly as if
she was asking for his help. She'd made it clear she didn't even want to
hear his voice. He owed her nothing, he owed the situation nothing.
Yes, he did.
He owed the people who had died here today, and he owed the Comanche,
who were going to be blamed for this.
And he owed all the people who would die in the bloody wars to follow if
something wasn't proven one way or the other.
Still, he didn't sleep. He lay awake and he wondered about the woman
with the sun-honey hair who lay not a hundred yards away in the
canvas-covered wagon.
Sometime during the night Tess slept, but long before dawn she was wide
awake again, reliving every moment of what had happened. Her grief and
rage were so deep that she wanted to scream aloud, but screaming again
would do no good, and she had already cried until she felt that her
tears were a river that had run as dry as the plain with its sagebrush
and dust.
She cast her feet to the floor and stared across the darkened wagon to
the bunk where her Uncle Joseph should have been sleeping, where he
would sleep no more. Joe would lie out here in the plain for eternity,
and his body would become bone, and in the decades to come, no one would
really know that a brave and courageous man had died here fighting, even
if he'd barely had a chance to raise a weapon. Joe had never given in,
not once. He couldn't be intimidated. He had printed the truth in the
Wiltshire Sun, and he had held fast to everything that was his.
And he had died for it.
Tess pulled on her shoes and laced them high up her ankles, then
silently slipped from the wagon. The cavalry camp fires were burning
very low. Dawn couldn't be far away. Soldiers were sleeping in the
A-frame tents, she knew, and more soldiers were awake, on guard, one
with the rocks and cliffs that rose around the edge of the plain.
They were on guard--against Indians!
She clenched her jaw hard, glad of the anger, for it helped to temper
the grief. What kind of a fool did they think she was? Not they--him!
That Yank lieutenant with the deep, soft drawl.
The one she'd like to see staked out for the ants. Walking silently
through the night, she came upon the graves at last. She closed her eyes
and she meant to pray, but it wasn't prayers that came to her lips.
Goodbye, Joe, I loved you! I loved you so very much! I won't be able to
come back here, I'm sure, but you're the one who taught me how special
the soul was, and how little it had to do with the body.
Uncle Joe, you were really beautiful. For all that grizzled face of
yours and your broken nose, you were the most beautiful person I ever
knew. I won't let you have died for nothing, I swear it. I won't lose.
I'll keep the paper going, and I'll hold onto the land. I don't know how
I'll do it, but I will, I swear it, I promise. I promise, with all my
heart. Her thoughts trailed off and she turned around, uncannily aware
that she wasn't alone.
She wasn't.
The tall lieutenant with the wicked force to his arms was standing not
far behind her, silent in the night. In the haze of the coming morning,
he seemed to be a towering, implacable form. He wasn't a heavy man, but
she had discovered in her wild fight with him that his shoulders were