ridden hard and fast, which told him that Wolfe had come on the run, switching mounts to rest first one horse, and then the other. The second horse was tall, long-legged, with the lean lines of a racing horse and the stamina of a mustang.
«What happened?» Whip and Reno asked urgently as Wolfe reined to a stop in the yard.
«Cal galloped up to our house leading Ishmael, handed me the bridle, and told me to find Whip and find him fast. Then he hightailed it back to Willow.»
Whip looked up into Wolfe’s dark face. Eyes the same blue-black as twilight looked back at him.
«You found me,» Whip said. «Now spit it out.»
«You have a woman called Shannon?» Wolfe asked.
Whip was too surprised to answer.
«Let me put it this way,» Wolfe said sardonically. «If youknowa woman called Shannon, she’s not staying with Willow and Cal anymore.»
«What? Where is she?»
Wolfe took off his hat, smoothed back his straight black hair, and settled the hat firmly into place once more. Whip had the look of a man on a hair trigger. Wolfe suspected that his next words would set his friend off.
«All Caleb said was the tracks went north and he couldn’t leave Willow alone to follow them,» Wolfe said. «Besides, Shannon wasn’t lost. She knew where she was going.»
Whip started swearing in a language none of the others had ever heard. But they knew it was cursing just the same. Whip didn’t have the look of a man strewing blessings.
He ran toward the corral, cursing fit to burn stone at every step.
«Stop by our place on the way,» Wolfe called out. «Jessi will give you a fresh horse to use along with your own.»
Whip jammed the rifle into the saddle scabbard and grabbed his bridle and saddle from the corral rail. He walked swiftly toward the hobbled horses that were a hundred feet away, grazing at the river’s edge.
Reno glanced at Wolfe. «Are you coming with us?»
«Do you need another gun?» Wolfe asked bluntly.
«Doubt it.»
«Then I’ll stay with Jessi.» Wolfe’s smile flashed, changing the predatory lines of his face to something much gentler. «She started losing her breakfast a week ago.»
Reno’s face lit up with an answering smile. «Congratulations! Other than losing her breakfast, how is Jessi taking it?»
«Just fine. Seeing Ethan born took away most of Jessi’s fears about childbirth. My biggest problem is keeping her from dancing around so much with joy that she wears herself out.»
Whip swung up onto Sugarfoot and cantered toward the house.
«Where should I meet up with you?» Reno asked.
«Avalanche Creek,» Whip said curtly.
«Which fork?»
«East!»
With that, Whip set his heels in the big gelding and headed out at a dead run.
16
Shannon stood at the door to Cherokee’s tiny cabin. Prettyface was by her side, looking almost as healthy as before the fight. Above Shannon the wild Colorado sky seethed with clouds in every color from pearl to pewter to a strangely radiant midnight. A freshening wind swept over peaks and forests alike, making narrow stone ravines sing eerily and trees shiver and bow.
«Nice-looking mule,» Cherokee said from the doorway.
Shannon glanced back at the old woman. She was leaning on the cane she had carved to ease the burden on her ankle. Shannon suspected that the cane might become a permanent part of Cherokee’s life. The thought made Shannon frown. It was Cherokee’s stalking skills that had kept both of them alive the past winter, when snow had come early and stayed late.
«Last time I saw a mule like that was nigh onto two years ago,» Cherokee said, «when I dusted a Culpepper’s hat with two bullets from more than a thousand yards.»
«They thought it was Silent John doing the shooting.»
«Close enough. I used his long gun. Shoots true as a dying man’s prayer. I was grateful. No need to waste a fine mule with bad shooting.»
Shannon looked at the long-legged mule that was tied to a tree, waiting patiently while she visited with Cherokee.
«After the ride from the Black ranch, Razorback was too tired to go another foot,» Shannon said. «I don’t like riding a dead man’s mule, but there wasn’t much choice. Crowbait isn’t broken to the saddle.»
«Hell, gal, you been riding a dead man’s mule for years. Time you face up to it and get on with your life.»
Shannon winced. «Now that the Culpeppers are gone, I suppose there’s no real harm in folks knowing. Murphy is a weasel, but I can handle him.»
«Sic Prettyface on that old boy. Bet Murphy’s manners perk up something joyful.»
Smiling, fondling the dog’s big ears, Shannon glanced again at the wild sky. The wind rushed over her face, fresh and cold as ice water.
«I better ride soon,» Shannon said. «It smells like snow.»
«Won’t be the first time she snowed in July,» Cherokee agreed.
«A tracking snow would be a godsend.»
Cherokee straightened, shifting her weight gingerly. Though she had wrapped her foot and applied every poultice she knew, her ankle was being stubborn about healing.
«Going hunting?» Cherokee asked.
«Sure am,» Shannon said with a cheerfulness that went no farther than her smile.
The old woman grunted, turned, and limped back into the cabin. When she returned, she had a box of shotgun shells grasped in her gnarled fingers. She held out the box to Shannon.
«Go on, take ’em,» Cherokee said impatiently. «I can’t hunt for a bit and there’s no sense in letting a good tracking snow go to waste. This way you won’t have to get so close to the critter you could skin it with a knife same as shooting it.»
«But I already owe you for doctoring Prettyface.»
«Oh, horseshit. It’s been share and share alike with us for nigh onto three years, and it was the same with Silent John and me for ten years before that. Take them shells and use as many as you need to bring back venison for us to eat.»
«But —»
«Now don’t go making me mad, gal. Prettyface wasn’t no problem at all. Skull like granite and a body to match. He healed hisself without no help from me. Didn’t you, you ornery mongrel?»
Prettyface looked at Cherokee, waved his tail, and turned back to Shannon. The bullet wounds on his body had shrunk to little more than healing scabs. It was the blood that had made the wounds look so awful at the time.
As for Prettyface’s skull, Cherokee was right. Solid stone from ear to ear. Other than a furrow in the thick fur on the dog’s head, there was little to show of the bullet that would have killed a less hardy and hard-skulled animal, or one not lucky enough to be cared for by a woman skilled with herbs.
«Thank you for taking such good care of Prettyface,» Shannon said, rubbing the dog’s muzzle gently. «He’s all the family I have, except for you.»
Cherokee’s shrewd brown glance saw in Shannon’s face everything that she had left unsaid, the dream of loving and belonging that had been stillborn in a yondering man’s eyes.
«Well,» Cherokee said, «I guess you won’t be needing this after all, seeing as how you’re alone
