To Tame a Wolf

Kavanagh remained in the saddle for the next mile. Often he bent low over Diablo’s barrel, supple as a cat, to examine the ground. When the main trail branched, Kavanagh chose the fainter course. But soon the way became rough and uneven, pushing between ocher turrets and thick stands of pine.

“We walk,” he finally said. Tally dismounted and took Muérdago’s lead. The air was rarer here than at Cold Creek, cooler and sharper. She saw traces of snow on the highest mountains. At noon they briefly stopped for Mrs. Bryson’s sandwiches, made of that morning’s fresh bread and leftover bacon. Kavanagh checked the horses’ hooves for stones, and then continued along the track. He sifted dust between his fingers and paused to contemplate the very rocks as if they spoke to him.

“Your brother came this way,” he said in answer to Tally’s questioning look. “He moved slowly. One of his mules was lame.” He gazed at the steep slope ahead. It was almost impossible to pick out any sort of trail amid the rubble, low shrubs and pinnacles. “I’m going on alone, on foot. The horses can’t travel quick enough in this country. You’ll have to stay here and watch them.”

“I agree, Mr. Kavanagh,” she said. “I’ll make camp.”

He blinked, as if he’d still expected her to argue in the way of a “normal” female. And then he smiled. The expression transformed him—for an instant, no more, just long enough for Tally to glimpse that playful boy who’d splashed her in Castillo Creek.

She smiled back at that boy like the thirteen-year-old girl from Prairie d’Or, the child who’d grown up with farm dirt between her toes and all the wild places as her sanctuaries. The girl who was so good at pretending.

Before she could regret what her own smile revealed, Kavanagh thrust Diablo’s lead into her hand, sat on the nearest boulder and removed his boots and stockings. He sprang to his feet and sprinted lightly up the trail. Fast as he was, his bare feet didn’t dislodge as much as a pebble. He rounded a curve out of Tally’s sight.

Tally led the horses to the shade of a cliff. The strong afternoon sunlight hid behind heavy cloud cover, and she thought she smelled rain. The horses were restless, sensing both the change of weather and her unease.

She sat with her back to the cliff and closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts away from André. She wondered if Sim had learned his tracking from the Indians. She’d never heard of a white man running barefoot in the mountains. She’d never heard of anyone quite like Kavanagh.

A light rain began to fall within the first hour. Soon it became a downpour, and Tally moved Muérdago and Diablo to the shelter of a stand of pines. She paced restless circles around the horses, water dripping from the brim of her hat. Dusk fell quickly. Kavanagh returned just as the storm came to an abrupt end.

“I found André,” he said.

TAL DIDN’T SWAY or swoon. Her gaze held Sim’s as she waited for the worst.

“Dead?” she whispered.

“Alive. Barely.” He took her arm and made her sit, though she flinched at the contact. He let her go as soon as he was sure she wouldn’t fall. “He’s only about a mile from here, but he was hidden in an arroyo. I didn’t see any sign of the mules.”

“Did he speak?”

Sim knew he couldn’t give her anything but the truth, at least about her brother’s condition. “There’s not too much blood or deep wounds that I could see, but he’s unconscious. Looks like he fell and hit his head. Could have been lying there a couple of days.”

“Oh, God.”

“He’s in one piece. Nothing got at him.”

Tally scraped her palms across her face. “You left him alone.”

He bristled, as if her accusation had the power to wound him. She couldn’t know that he’d tracked most of the way as a wolf, hiding his clothes in a crevice until he was ready to return. The rain had made his hunt much more difficult. Even in wolf form, he’d been lucky to find André at all.

“I didn’t want to risk carrying him,” Sim said gruffly, “so I came for Diablo.” He sniffed the air. “It won’t rain anymore tonight. There’s a pool on the other side of that low ridge. Find some dry wood, if you can, and get a fire going.”

Her dazed eyes looked through him. “André needs me.”

“You can help him best when I bring him back.” He pulled a large empty can from one saddlebag and pressed it into her hands. “You can use this to heat some water.”

She took the can and stood. “Go. I’ll have everything ready.”

He untied Diablo and left at once. The stallion was sure-footed and willing to follow where Sim led. Full night had fallen by the time man and beast stood on the ledge overlooking the deep but narrow gorge where André lay.

Sim scrambled down the rocky face to the bottom and crouched beside the fallen man. André hadn’t moved since Sim left; he still breathed, and his heartbeat was steady, but his sandy hair was caked with dirt and blood, and one of his arms was broken inside.

The other hand grasped a torn fragment of paper, nearly disintegrated by the rain. Enough of it remained for Sim to recognize what he’d been searching for. Someone had been here with André—someone who’d taken the rest of the map and had made a clean getaway with the mules and gear.

Sim’s first thought was that Caleb had done it, but Caleb was behind bars in Amarillo. That was why he’d sent Sim. All telltale tracks of the intruder and the mules had been washed away in the storm. André’s clothing was too saturated to hold any scent but his own. Not even a wolf had much hope of hunting down the thief.

Sim crouched beside André and scooped the soggy scrap of paper out of the young man’s hand. If it weren’t for Tal, he would be off looking for the map no matter what his chances of finding it. But she was waiting, and he’d promised to find her brother.

“I found you,” he said in disgust. “Not that you were worth the trouble. I’d as soon leave you here for the buzzards.”

André didn’t answer. The rise and fall of his chest was the only outward sign that he was alive. There was some risk in moving him, but André’s odds of survival were nonexistent if he didn’t get out of the mountains.

With a scowl, Sim gathered the young man’s sprawled limbs and lifted him, trying not to move the broken arm more than necessary. He shifted André over his shoulder, made sure of his balance, and climbed back up the cliff face.

Diablo snorted and flared his nostrils, snuffling at André with frank disapproval. Sim quieted the horse, lifted André onto his back and secured the unwelcome burden with rope from the saddlebags. André was as limp as a sack of grain.

Darkness made for a treacherous descent, but Sim’s keen vision picked out the easiest path. Firelight marked his destination for the last quarter mile. When they arrived, Tally ran up to Diablo and stopped to stare at her brother’s pale face. She murmured French words in a voice broken with horror.

Sim fought the urge to dump André on his head and end his troublemaking ways for good. “Your brother’s still alive, and at least he ain’t bleeding,” he said as he untied the ropes. Tally helped Sim ease André to the ground, cradling the injured man’s head in her hands. She’d made a bed of blankets and laid out scraps of cloth to bind any wounds, but Sim was pretty sure that the worst of André’s injuries were inside, where she couldn’t reach them.

Tal cut away her brother’s shredded clothes, covered him with blankets and continued to speak to him in her melodious French, alternately scolding and pleading. The scolding was all an act to hold the tears at bay, but it seemed to work.

Sim gathered sturdy sticks to make a splint for André’s arm, while Tally cleaned André’s cuts and bathed his face and hairline with warm water, revealing the huge raised bump and ugly gash where he’d hit his head in the fall. Tal sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.

“He could have bled to death,” Sim said awkwardly. “Head wounds are like that. He was lucky.”

“Lucky.” She shivered. “How did this happen?”

“Looks like he missed his footing,” Sim said, which wasn’t really a lie. “Easy to do up here.”

“Mon pauvre.” She rinsed the cloth in the can of hot water and dabbed at the wound. “You never saw the mules?”

“The rain washed away their tracks. They must have escaped when André fell. Could be on the other side of the mountains by now, if a panther didn’t get them.”

“No sign of Elijah?”

“He probably never picked up your brother’s trail.”

“He may even be back at the ranch by now.” She brushed at the damp tangles of André’s hair. “The important thing is that we saved André. He’ll explain what happened when he…” She bit hard on her lower lip. “You don’t have to tell me. Men who hit their heads and don’t wake up—”

She was still fighting tears, and Sim couldn’t bear it.

“Some recover,” he said.

“Some,” she echoed. She bent to kiss André’s brow. “There isn’t much more I can do for him here, but the Brysons must have a wagon we can borrow to carry him home.”

“You should leave him with them until you can get a doctor.”

“No. I want him home, where I—” She shook her head. “It will take days to a get a doctor, no matter where we are.” She rose and searched her saddlebags. Coins jingled in a small leather pouch. She picked out three silver dollars and offered them on her open palm. “You’ve more than earned your fee, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll pay you the same again if you’ll ride to Tombstone and send a doctor to Cold Creek.”

Sim stared at the coins with sudden and overwhelming distaste. “What about getting your brother home?”

“It’s less than forty miles from the mouth of Castillo Canyon. I can manage with a wagon.”

Anger tightened Sim’s chest until he could barely breathe. “Why should I bother to earn the money when I could take it from you right now?”

She closed her fist around the coins. “You could have done so at any time, Mr. Kavanagh.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sim got up and stalked out of the firelight, turned on his heel and faced her again. “No one ever calls me mister.”

“What do you want to be called?”

“Sim. Just Sim.”

“I usually go by Tally at home.”

“When you’re not a boy.”

She nodded, staring into the fire. “I was christened Chantal.”

Sim felt the anger evaporate as quickly as it had come. “Simeon,” he muttered.

“It’s a nice name.”

“There’s nothing nice about me. But I’ll ride to Tombstone, and you don’t need to pay me a cent.”

“I thought you needed the money.”

“I’ll take two dollars.”

Solemnly she passed him the coins, and he shoved them in his pocket. “Now you get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’ll watch.”

“No more arguments? You permit me to trust you after all?”

He pointed toward her bedroll. “Sleep. I’ll ride for Tombstone soon’s we get a wagon from the Brysons and you’re on your way home.”

She smiled at him warmly, and he was afraid she was about to say something stupid and sentimental. But she went to her blankets and lay down on her side, gazing at her brother’s expressionless face.

Sim sank to his heels by the fire and waited her out. Eventually the long day took its toll, and Tally slept. He tested the air for the scent of two-or four-legged intruders. Nothing stirred. He tossed pebbles into the fire until it burned down to ashes, considering how best to proceed with his plan.

The map was gone, and there was no telling how close André had been to his goal when he met with his “accident.” Sim wasn’t likely to find the treasure with a random search of every arroyo, mining camp and settlement in the Chiricahuas. But it was a sure bet that the thief would be looking for it. Sim had to stay in the area if he wanted to catch his prey.

There was only one other way to learn the contents of the map, and that was to wait and see if André recovered enough to talk.

Either possibility presented the same challenge. Sim had to find a legitimate excuse to remain in the Valley, close to Cold Creek. And he had an idea how to manage it, even though it would make his life a thousand times more complicated. Even though he would have to keep lying to Tally for as long as it took.

The problem was that he liked her. Hell and damnation, he liked and respected a female who hadn’t enough sense to see him for what he was.

Esperanza knew. She’d seen into his deepest soul. Without her…

A wolf’s howl echoed among the pinnacles. Tally woke with a start.

“Sim?”

“Here.”

She rubbed her eyes and tossed her blankets aside. “I heard wolves.”

“They won’t do us any harm.”

The howling came again. Tally crawled to André and touched his cheek. “Could they have attacked André and caused him to fall?”

“Ain’t likely. Wolves are more afraid of men than men are of them.”

“Most people would consider them dangerous.”

“Most people don’t know them.”

She sighed, stroking André’s hair. “All the wild creatures are leaving the mountains,” she said with an aching, almost tangible sadness. “The Apaches lost their country, and soon the wolves will be gone.”

“A few will survive.”

“The strongest. The most ruthless.”

“Do you blame them?”

“No. I don’t blame anything for trying to stay alive.”

“Then go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

She tugged André’s blankets higher around his shoulders and lay down again. “Bonne nuit, Simeon. Good night.”

The wolves answered for him.

CHAPTER FIVE

“SHE’S BACK,” Miriam said, pausing breathlessly in the doorway of the barn where Elijah was shoeing Federico’s dun mare. “Miss Tally’s back!”

Eli set down the mare’s hoof and straightened to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His heart thumped several times like a blacksmith’s hammer and then settled into its regular rhythm. “How does she look?”

“I can’t tell yet. Pablito saw her coming down the road in a wagon. God grant she’s found Mr. André.”

Eli closed his eyes. “I’ll ride out to meet her.”

“How’s that leg?”

“Fine. I told you it was nothing.”

“You’d say that if it was cut off at the knee. You take care while you ride. I’m getting that poor child something to eat.” She rushed off, full of purpose, as she always was when she had someone to care for. Especially Tally. They had a long history together, sisters in all but the color of their skins.

When he’d first met Tally and Miriam, Eli had envied that unique female intimacy. Miriam had been born into slavery, and Tally Bernard had endured her own brand of servitude, but she’d been free enough to make her own choices. Just as Eli had.

He led the dun mare out to the corral and saddled his own favorite, a big-boned grullo gelding he called Hierro for his iron coloring. Pablo, Federico’s ten-year-old son, was in the yard, excitedly repeating his news to his little sister Dolores. Bart and Federico were combing the range for cows with newborn calves, but they would be back in time for supper.

Elijah rode out of the yard, past the outbuildings and the main house to the rutted dirt road that ran alongside Cold Creek. Road and creek emerged from a bosque of sycamores, ash and cottonwoods into a spare land of broken hills dotted with oak and piñon pine. On every side rose mountains— Liebres to the west, Chiricahuas to the northeast and Pedregosas to the south. A few cattle—pitifully few—stood out against the dried grasses like fat ticks on a yellow dog’s hide.

A plume of dust marked the wagon’s position, and Elijah spurred Hierro to meet it. He could just make out the bundled human shape in the bed of the wagon.

André. He wasn’t moving, but Tally hadn’t covered his face. His head was bound in heavy bandages, and his right arm had been splinted and strapped to his chest. Tally’s features were strained and weary, yet she still summoned a smile for one of the few men she trusted.

“Elijah,” she called as he pulled up beside the wagon. “Thank God you’re here.”

Eli touched the brim of his hat. “I’m sorry I gave you cause for worry, Miss Tally. I just got back last night. I rode over half the Valley looking for word of Mr. André, but—” He choked on his excuses and shook his head. “You found him.”

“Two days ago, up in Castillo Canyon.” She glanced over her shoulder at her brother, and Eli saw the fear she so seldom revealed. “He’s alive, but badly hurt.”

Eli stared into the wagon bed. André didn’t look alive. Any man might mistake him for just the opposite. “When Miriam told me you’d gone on from Tombstone…”

“Don’t blame yourself, Eli,” Tally said. “I know you did what you could.” She frowned. “What happened to your leg?”

He rubbed the stiff limb. “Hierro caught a prairie-dog hole and threw me. It’s just a little sore.”

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

His health was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “Miriam said you’d hired a tracker. She’s been sick with worry herself.”

“I know.” Tally clucked to her footsore team. The horses had already smelled the water from the spring and increased their pace, ears pricked toward the green swath of trees. “The tracker rode straight for Tombstone to bring the doctor. I expect both of them any time.”

“Miriam knows you’re coming, Miss Tally. I’ll tell her about Mr. André.” Eli wheeled Hierro about and rode back to the house, grateful to escape the horrible sight of André’s pale, staring face. Miriam came out as soon as he dismounted at the garden fence.

“She’s found André,” Eli said. “He’s hurt bad, but a doctor’s coming.”

“Then we’ll need an extra bed made up,” Miriam said. “Miss Tally?”

“As well as you’d expect. Bone-weary and downhearted.”

“Alone?”

“Someone patched André up, but she’s by herself now. That tracker she hired is getting the doctor in Tombstone.”

Miriam pursed her lips. “I didn’t know back then if Miss Tally did the right thing in hiring him, but I was wrong to doubt her judgment.” She peered up at Eli’s face. “And why the sorrowful looks, Sergeant Patterson? The Lord’s blessed us this day.”

Eli pretended to adjust Hierro’s bridle. Miriam always knew what he felt inside, even when he didn’t show it. “I failed Miss Tally, Miriam.”

She gripped his forearm with a strong, slender hand. “It was Mr. André who failed her first. Now go help Miss Tally and let me get back to my work.”

She rushed inside, leaving the faint comforting scent of flour behind her. Pablito dashed up to Eli and tugged at his sleeve. “Can I ride Hierro, Eli?”

Now you hide behind a child, Eli thought as he scooped the boy up onto the saddle. But he was glad for Pablito’s incessant chatter, especially when Tally made the last turn away from the creek and past the outermost corral. Eli met the wagon, letting Pablito stay on Hierro’s back while he carried André into the house.

Miriam gave Tally a firm hug in the doorway and spoke softly to her friend. Tally answered, but Eli didn’t hear her words. André felt like skin and bones in his arms. He didn’t stir even when Eli laid him down on his bed.

“Thank you, Eli,” Tally said. She touched his arm and knelt at her brother’s bedside.

“Do you know how this happened?” Eli asked, sick in his belly.

“Don’t you be bothering her with questions,” Miriam said. She put a basin of steaming water on the side table. “You’re just getting in the way, Elijah Patterson.”

He knew she was right, but he lingered for a few moments, watching André’s face for some sign of awareness. “I’m sorry, Miss Tally.”

But she was lost in her own worries, and Miriam had no time for him. He left the room and the house, swung Pablito down from Hierro’s back, and rode for a certain hill where a man could see most of the valley and the road along Cold Creek. At dusk he glimpsed a funnel of dust and then two riders approaching at a steady lope.

He met them half a mile from the homestead and quickly took stock of the newcomers. The older man bowed low over his horse in exhaustion, but the younger sat erect in the saddle, and his stare was that of a born predator. This was the tracker Miriam had spoken of with such wariness.

Eli turned to the other man. “Doctor?”

“Johansen,” the man coughed. “I hope the patient is still alive after…all this way.”

“He’s alive. Please follow me.”

The doctor sighed and kicked his mount’s sweat-streaked barrel. The tracker reined his seal-brown stallion alongside Hierro.

“I guess Tally made it back all right,” he said.

Tally. Eli bristled at the informality but took care not to show his annoyance. “Mr. Bernard arrived with his brother a few hours ago,” he said.

The tracker laughed. “You keep your secret from the doc, but don’t bother with me. I already know the lady pretty well.”

Eli clenched his fists on Hierro’s reins. “I doubt that, Mr. Kavanagh.”

“Tally talked about me.”

“She mentioned hiring a tracker in Tombstone.”

Kavanagh clucked his tongue. “Don’t hardly do justice to what we’ve been through together. And who’re you?”

“Elijah Patterson, range boss of Cold Creek.”

Kavanagh’s pale eyes glittered with the last of the day’s light. “The man who disappeared looking for André. Tally said you’d probably be here.”

Eli held his emotions in check. Neither Tally nor Kavanagh could know anything of what was in his heart unless he let them see. “I was looking in the Valley. Miss Bernard found her brother in the mountains.”

“Good thing I was in Tombstone to help out,” Kavanagh said, “or Mr. Bernard would be panther meat about now.”

“I’m sure you lent your assistance with no thought of gain for yourself, Mr. Kavanagh.”

Kavanagh laughed. “I reckon you’re the one who runs off any varmints that trouble the Bernards.”

“I have that privilege.”

“And I look to you like one of them varmints.” Kavanagh made no display or open threat, but Eli knew a man of his nature would pack at least one gun and probably a selection of knives for good measure.

“Miss Bernard hired you. I don’t usually question her judgment.”

“That’s right loyal of you, Patterson.”

“Are you of the opinion that Miss Bernard doesn’t deserve loyalty, Mr. Kavanagh?”

The tracker scowled. “Tally asked me to deliver the doc to her door, and that’s just what I’m doing.”

“Then your services are no longer needed. You’ll be paid what you’re owed and put up for the night. I advise you not to bother Miss Bernard. Am I clear, Mr. Kavanagh?”

“I understood Tally’s fancy talk, and I understand yours.”

“Then we have no quarrel. I’ll see you at the bunkhouse.” He fell back to join Johansen, who was nearly falling off his horse. Eli guided the doctor toward the lanterns Miriam had put around the yard to light the travelers’ way. Bart and Federico had come in from the range; they looked after the horses, while Pablo proudly carried the doctor’s saddlebags into the house. Miriam took the doctor in custody a moment later.

Kavanagh was almost to the door before Eli could stop him. Eli blocked the threshold and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got no business in the house,” he said. “You’ll bunk and eat with me and the men.”

The tracker stood a few inches shorter than Eli, but his stare was as potent as a punch to the gut. “I don’t take orders from you,” he said.

“You take them or get on your horse and ride out now.”

“No, Eli. It’s all right.”

Tally brushed past him from the doorway. She’d kept on her hat and dusty clothes so she could introduce herself to Johansen as André’s brother, but it was obvious to Eli that she was desperately in need of rest.

“Mr. Kavanagh,” she said, stepping between the two men, “thank you for your quick return with the doctor.”

Kavanagh nodded brusquely. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. The doctor…he needs some time to examine André. There’s not much more any of us can do but wait.”

“I was telling him that he can get his grub with the men tonight,” Eli said. “I’ll pay him off, Miss Tally. No need for you to trouble yourself.”