11
Willow awoke with the sun in her face and the sound of Ishmael’s frantic whinny ringing in her ears. Heart pounding, she sat up suddenly. It took her a moment to remember where she was — in a tiny hanging valley on the western slope of the Great Divide. The whole valley was barely three hundred acres of grass surrounded on three sides by steep, forested ridges. The fourth side fell away so sharply that the stream was as much a waterfall as a cascade.
«Caleb?»
No one answered Willow’s call. Belatedly, she remembered that Caleb had left long before first light, riding Trey and seeking the four mares that hadn’t found their way into the valley by moonrise. She had wanted to go with him, but had fallen after she took three steps. He had carried her back to the blankets. She had dreamed she was following him and had wept each time she awakened to find herself alone and her mares lost.
Now Willow could sleep no more. She crawled out of the bedroll, picked up the shotgun Caleb had left for her, and went to see what was bothering Ishmael. The angle of the sun told her that it was mid-afternoon. She had slept all night and most of a day.
Ishmael snorted and tugged against his picket rope, whinnying wildly.
«Take it easy, boy,» Willow said, glancing in the direction the stallion was staring. «What is it?»
The stallion’s call split the silence again.
Riding on the wind came an answering cry. A few minutes later three of the missing mares walked wearily into the meadow. Willow took the stallion off the picket rope and led him to a rock. Shotgun in hand, she leaped from the rock onto the stallion’s bare back. Instants later, he was cantering eagerly toward the mares, nickering a welcome. Willow stared at the forest beyond the three mares but saw no sign of Caleb, his big Montana horse, or Dove, the only mare still missing.
With rising uneasiness, Willow waited while Ishmael sniffed over the mares, assuring himself that they were indeed the same ones he had lost. After a few moments, the mares began cropping grass ravenously, ignoring the delighted stallion.
«Ishmael, that’s enough. Let’s go see what happened to Caleb.»
Willow had no sooner reached the edge of the meadow when Ishmael’s ears pricked and he whinnied softly. An answering whinny came from the forest. Trey trotted into the open. A page from Caleb’s journal had been torn out and tied to the saddle horn. Willow worked the paper free and opened it.
I’m walking Dove in. The other mares perked up and started tugging to be free as soon as they got below nine thousand feet. They were headed in the right direction so I turned them loose, and Trey, too. Give them some grain.
Dove is done in, but still game. I’ll stay with her as long as she’s standing.
Tears scalded Willow’s cheeks at the thought of her tired mare. Dove, more than any of the horses, had borne Willow’s weight through the long days on the trail. That was why she was so exhausted now.
A glance at the angle of the sun told Willow she had better get to work despite the tiredness that sapped her strength. The valley was more than eight thousand feet high — lower than Black Pass, but nowhere near as low as she was accustomed to. She led Trey to the campsite, stripped gear from him, and turned him loose in the meadow. While she poured out grain for the horses, he rolled in the thick grass, drank deeply from the stream, and fell to eating grain as though starved. She knew how the horse felt. It had been more than a day since she had eaten, and then it had been only a bit of jerky.
Caleb would be ravenous when he returned, for he had taken no food with him.
Working as quickly as she could, stopping from time to time to catch her breath, Willow dragged the saddles and packs in under the overhanging cliff that protected the campsite on one side. She dragged downed wood into camp, started a fire, rigged a tripod for cooking, fetched water, andflet as though she had been running uphill carrying a pack. She had long since abandoned her heavy jacket and Levis. Now she unlaced the buckskin shirt, unbuttoned the flannel beneath, and thought longingly of a bath. But there were too many other things to be done and not enough time before the sun set behind the looming peaks.
Just as the last shaft of light abandoned the high valley, Caleb and Dove emerged in the meadow, startling deer that had drifted out of cover to feed near the horses. After a few seconds the deer resumed browsing. It had been so long since they had been hunted by man they had lost much of their fear of humans.
Dove didn’t notice the deer or anything but the grass and water. She nudged Caleb’s hand, asking to be released from the pressure on the halter that had kept her walking long after she wanted to stop. Caleb stroked her neck, spoke softly to her, and released her to join the other mares.
Willow grabbed the canteen, poured in coffee, snatched up a handful of fresh biscuits, and hurried across the meadow. She was breathless by the time she reached Caleb, who had just finished pouring out some grain for Dove.
«Is she all right?» Willow asked.
«Played out, but nothing that rest and food won’t cure. Her breathing doesn’t rattle, so her wind wasn’t broken.»
«Thank God,» breathed Willow. She held out the canteen and biscuits. «Here. You must be starved. Thank you for getting the mares. I dreamed I was going back for them, but when I woke up I was still here and I didn’t know how I could —»
Caleb drew Willow close and kissed her. When he straightened, he was smiling despite the exhaustion that lined his face. He made a sound of enjoyment and licked his lips.
«You taste like coffee and biscuits,» he said teasingly. «And something else…»
«Venison stew,» she admitted, laughing despite the color flooding her cheeks. «I cooked up what was left.»
«You taste like heaven,» he corrected, brushing his lips over her mouth again. «Sheer, sweet heaven.»
Caleb stretched and yawned, trying to revive himself. Willow uncapped the canteen and held it out. The rich aroma of coffee drifted up. He took the canteen and drank deeply. The liquid was strong and black and hot enough to steam. He made a thick sound of pleasure and drank again, feeling warmth expand through him like a second sunrise. He took a biscuit, popped it whole into his mouth, and chewed. Two more biscuits disappeared in the same manner, to be washed down by more coffee.
«Come to camp,» Willow said softly. Her clear hazel eyes measured Caleb’s exhaustion in the slowing of his reflexes and the darkness beneath his tawny eyes. «You’ve barely slept in days. Eat some hot stew and sleep. I’ll stand guard.»
«No need,» he said, yawning again. «See those deer?»
She nodded.
«We’re the first people they’ve ever seen,» Caleb said.
«But I saw the marks of other fires against the cliff.»
«They burned a long, long time ago, before the Spanish brought horses. At least, that’s what my daddy figures, and he knew more about Indians and wild land than any man alive.» Caleb’s eyes searched the heights that all but surrounded the small valley. «He figured he was the only man in centuries to see this place.»
«Why did the Indians abandon it?»
«Horses, I imagine. From what I read in the journal, the trail out of here is almost as rough as the one over the top. Fine for a man on foot who’s used to altitude, but damned hard on a horse.» Caleb smiled crookedly. «It’s quicker and a damn sight easier to use lower passes and let a horse do the work. Man is a lazy creature, given the chance.»
«You aren’t,» Willow said. «If it weren’t for you, my mares would be stranded in the rocks on the other side of the pass.»
«They came too far to let them go,» Caleb said simply. «How is Deuce?»
«He must have strained his left foreleg when he went down after being shot. It’s swollen below the knee.»
«Is he putting weight on it?»
«He favors it, but he moves more easily since I bound it with cloth from my riding habit.»
Caleb grunted. «Best use for the damn thing. What about the bullet burn?»
