Raven and the Cowboy: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 9

  Being chosen to die wasn’t Tucker’s idea of good fortune. If Raven’s spirit world intended to make sacrifices, he didn’t intend to become their lamb.

  Swift Hand finished off the last of the Mexican cigarillo he’d taken off the dead man and smiled. He sat astride his horse, studying the mountains above the canyon wall.

  It had taken two days, but his men had finally found the way up the ridge. Come morning they’d climb to the other side, where she’d be within his reach.

  He’d force her to reveal the location of the treasure. Or maybe he’d just let her find it and take it from her. Then he’d take his rightful place as leader of the Arapaho. Once he had gold, they could buy horses and land. No man would order them around again. Or woman.

  With his fingertips he pinched off the fire and stored the remainder of the cigar in his pouch. The fat little bandit who’d provided the tobacco had been a simpering coward, but his full knapsacks redeemed his pitiful death.

  A horse. A new rifle. Ammunition and a handful of the thin black cigars. A few bandits had escaped, but they knew the power of Swift Hand and his braves now. They wouldn’t return.

  Swift Hand glanced around. There was something about these mountains, something uneasy. He’d always known certain places were sacred, forbidden to man, but he’d never experienced such apprehension before. Leaving this place would be good.

  7

  They’d finished eating when Tucker heard the braying of a burro. He grabbed the rifle and waited by the door, listening to the sound of the complaining animal.

  “Hello, the cabin. Are you in there, cousin?”

  “I’ll go,” Raven said. “Better that nobody knows you are here.”

  The stranger standing beyond the door was another half-breed miner, younger than Luce, yet with the same physical characteristics. He had a proud nose that told Raven of his Indian ancestry and a short stature that spoke of his Mexican heritage. He was dressed in a poncho and sandals, leading his own burro, with a shovel and pickax tied to his back.

  Before Tucker could stop her, she was out the door. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, señorita.” He looked surprised. “I would speak with my cousin, Luce.”

  “Luce is not here.” Until she knew more, it was better for the visitor to think Luce was gone instead of ill.

  “I am Benito,” the stranger said.

  “And I am Raven Alexander, Luce’s—friend. What did you want him to know?”

  Benito studied the ground, shuffling his feet uncertainly. “The hills—the hills are not safe, señorita. I worry about Luce. He should leave this place and go down to the village.”

  “What do you know about Luce?” Raven asked, still suspicious.

  “Luce is my cousin. His mother was my father’s sister. We both share the blood of the Arapaho and the Spanish.”

  “And do you know why Luce stays here?”

  “No. He only says that he must remain until someone comes to take his place. Is that you?”

  “Yes,” Raven said softly. “I think it is.”

  Nervously the man studied her, glancing toward the mountain and back toward Raven. “I would have come to warn him sooner, but I had to travel from the back side of the mountain to avoid the strangers.”

  “Strangers?”

  “Outsiders. Bandits look for Luce, and Indians search for one of their own. A spirit woman has been stolen from their tribe. Are you the one they seek?”

  Better to confront the accusation head on. Raven let out a light laugh. “You think Luce stole me?”

  The miner looked sheepish. “I do not know. I only know that his wife is dead and he is alone. But he is old and sometimes he talks crazy.”

  “You talked to the Indians. What did they say?”

  “The leader offered me horses to find the woman. I told him I did not know of a woman in the mountains. Luce should not have taken you. I will wait until he returns.”

  “Come inside, Benito.” He’d already seen her; there was no taking that back. They must either change the prospector’s mind or play on his decency. “Luce has been badly hurt by bandits. He is dying.”

  The miner followed her, his hand beneath his poncho as they went into the cabin. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Tucker holding a rifle leveled at his midsection.

  “So you’ve come to protect Luce?” Tucker asked.

  “He would do the same for me and my family.” He caught sight of the bed and moved to the side of his cousin, taking his hand. “Si, he is leaving this cursed place.”

  Raven watched Benito take Luce’s hand. “Cursed?” she questioned.

  “Luce swore the Ancient Ones made his family guardian of the mountain before our tribe was divided. That was so long ago that we no longer knew which tribe we were.”

  “The Arapaho,” Raven whispered. “Half of the tribe remained in these mountains, and half journeyed to the north. Your tribe was guardian of the treasure. My mother’s tribe was charged with claiming it when the time came.”

  Benito shook his head. “I’ve searched the hills all my life, señorita, and I’ve never found anything. There is no treasure. Luce was my cousin, but he was a fool.”

  Tucker could have produced the gold nugget and the watch fob, but he didn’t. If Luce had wanted his cousin to know what he’d found, he’d have shown him. Though Benito’s affection for Luce was obvious, Tucker sensed that for now, the less said the better.

  After sharing their meager supplies, Benito sat by Luce’s side. When night came, he made his bed outside the cabin beside the lean to. During the night, Tucker was aware of every time Raven tried to force rabbit broth and water down Luce. But he refused to swallow and finally she gave up.

  Tucker worried for the first part of the night about how he could ensure the prospector’s silence. Finally he decided that one of the nuggets could be sacrificed. The next morning, he’d give Benito the gold and promise him more if he would conceal Raven’s presence.

  But the next morning, Benito was gone.

  When Tucker returned to the cabin to warn Raven, she met him at the door, her eyes washed with tears.

  “I think he must have known. Luce is dead.”

  “And we still don’t know where we’re supposed to bury him.”

  “We will be shown,” Raven said with more confidence than she felt. “First we bathe him.”

  “I know, and shave his head. Though for the life of me, I can’t see why. Most Indians associate losing their hair with losing their power.”

  “He was insistent.” Raven turned back to the cabin to gather their supplies. “Give me your razor. And bring the bedroll.”

  Tucker, who was following, came to an abrupt stop. “Why?”

  “How else are we to shave his head?”

  “I didn’t mean the razor. Why bring the bedroll?”

  “We have to have something to cover him with.”

  Tucker groaned. “I was afraid of that.” He handed Raven the straight razor and wrapped the old man in the blanket. The pain in Tucker’s ribs was less now as he carried Luce up the trail to the waterfall.

  On reaching the spring, Tucker laid the old man down and started back down the path.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the cabin. Just to be on the safe side, I’m going to pack the saddlebags and bring the horses and the burro to the spring. They can drink and graze on what little grass they can find while we give Luce his last rites.”

  Raven didn’t have to be told that Tucker was worried. She was worried as well. Benito had disappeared. No telling what he would do. If Swift Hand was still in the area, they could be in even more danger. Because of her, Tucker’s life would be threatened.

  Tucker was right. The sooner they buried Luce, the better. She’d figure out a way to convince Tucker to move on. Then she’d find the treasure herself.

  She quickly shed her buckskin dress and slid into the water, pulling Luce’s head over the edge of the pool. By the time she
heard Tucker returning, she was lathering Luce’s hair with the root of a plant that was sometimes used as a poor man’s soap.

  Tucker rounded the boulder and stopped short. He hadn’t thought ahead to what would happen at the spring. He certainly hadn’t expected to find Raven in the water, without her clothes. Nudity was natural for Indian women, but it wasn’t natural for Tucker, and he didn’t welcome his body’s response.

  “You’ll have to help me, Tucker. I will hold him while you remove his hair.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” he said, covering his confusion with his sharp reply and snappy salute. “Do I remove my clothes, too, or just jump right in?”

  “I’m sorry, Tucker. I don’t mean to take charge, it just seems to happen. What would you like me to do?”

  “Put on your clothes,” he snapped. “Get on your horse and ride back to wherever you came from.”

  She stood, supporting Luce’s head in the icy water. “You know we must do what we promised. Then you can go, if you choose.”

  “And if the Mexicans and the Arapaho come, you’ll dig a tunnel and haul off the treasure. And if there are any wild animals, you’ll kill them with your bare hands.”

  Tucker saw the wounded expression on her face and realized how he’d sounded. He was worried, very worried, and he didn’t want to think that most of his concern was for this woman. Not because of her possible enemies, but because of what he was feeling.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I gave my word.” Determined to put her nudity out of his mind, he hobbled the two horses and the burro. Taking a deep breath, Tucker pulled off his shirt and removed his boots. Still wearing his trousers, he picked up the razor from the bank and slid into the pool.

  This woman was changing the patterns of his life. He’d already slept with her without making love to her. Now for the second time, he was about to try to ignore her lush nude body while he stood hip to hip with it.

  He began to shave away Luce’s hair, catching it as it fell and slinging it toward the rocks on the bank. Having the horses drink from the pool and bathing in it seemed natural. But Luce’s long, unwashed hair felt wrong.

  As Tucker shaved, a series of black marks were revealed.

  “Look, body painting,” Raven said. “The design must be some kind of tribal symbols.”

  Tucker frowned. “You probably know more than me, but I’ve never heard of them being applied to the head.”

  “Neither have I, unless someone wanted to keep the design secret.” She raised her gaze to Tucker. “Do you suppose this means something?”

  “The only thing I’m sure of, Spirit Woman, is that you’re turning into a prune and my razor is getting dull. Let’s get him bathed and get out of here.”

  Moments later Tucker had finished the job and pulled Luce back into the shade of a boulder. Squatting beside the body, he studied Luce’s head. Something about the design looked familiar. Following a hunch, he removed the tin pan from Yank’s saddlebags and, with his knife, transferred the pattern etched on Luce’s scalp to the bottom of the pan. He was beginning to get an idea.

  “What are you doing?” Raven asked as she pulled her dress over her bare body and came to kneel beside him.

  “Bring your mother’s carrying bag.”

  Raven handed it to him.

  Tucker looked at both the pan and the drawing, then nodded. “They’re the same, or almost. Except for the butterfly.”

  “Why a butterfly?” Raven asked curiously.

  “I have no idea. On your drawing there are little jagged marks between the dots and wavy lines. I think both of these sketches are maps.”

  In the bright morning sunlight, Raven squinted her eyes, trying to see a map in the pinpoint holes Tucker had made with his knife.

  She couldn’t make any sense of either. Surely they hadn’t come this far to fail. Flying Cloud had said the spirits would protect her. Maybe, if she concentrated, they’d show her the way.

  As she looked her heart rate decreased and she felt very cold. A bright blue-white glow settled over her, but the glow was not warm.

  From some far place, she heard the low, mournful sound of drums beating in a curious marching rhythm. This time the chanting spoke of the sun and the moon, of water. She saw the drawing in her mind. Lines radiated outward from the sun. As she watched they rippled like the waves of a mirage on the desert floor. The sun rolled and began to move. Behind it, like thunderheads in a storm, lines curled into round half-circles.

  Then came water, a great flood of water that lifted and swept her along. Follow the water, the voices said. Then came darkness and great pain.

  “Raven! What’s wrong?”

  Tucker lunged toward her, catching her as she fell, pale and lifeless, onto the rock beside the pool. With his hat Tucker scooped the icy water and splashed it across her cold face.

  Too cold. She felt like Luce, like death. Quickly Tucker carried her away from the pool, wrapped her in her own blanket, and cradled her to him. To hell with the treasure, with burying an old man who meant nothing to him. All he cared about now was the woman in his arms.

  There was something ethereal about her pale skin, about the dark, lush lashes that lay still on her cheeks. Shell-like pink lips closed, barely moving as she breathed. She lay still against him, as trusting as a sleeping child. Was she dying? Was he responsible for this terrible thing?

  His heart hurt. After the painful war years, Tucker had managed to separate himself from caring about anything. Now this woman had split him open and forced him to care.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “Smile at me like you did that night on the ledge when we kept each other warm.”

  Her eyes fluttered for a moment. He leaned closer to hear the words she was whispering. “Promise me you’ll bury Luce.”

  “Luce is dead. I can’t do anything for him now. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  But she remained still. She appeared to be in some kind of state halfway between sleep and death. She didn’t get any better, but she was no worse either. He had the feeling that she was waiting.

  Finally Tucker got to his feet. He had to get Raven to a doctor, no matter the risk. But first he was honor bound to bury Luce. But where?

  He’d give it one last shot. He’d climb up the cliff beyond the rock where the water fell into the pool. If the rock with the mark didn’t present itself, he’d just dig a temporary hole. Then when he’d gotten Raven to safety, he’d come back and look some more. Tucker covered Raven and returned the pan to the burro’s saddlebags.

  Tucking Raven’s map inside his shirt, he laid Luce across the burro, secured the pick and shovel in the small animal’s pack, and started up. Constantly watching for Indians, or bandits, or even Benito, Tucker climbed. The trail was nonexistent. The burro complained. They climbed over boulders, the stream disappearing for long stretches, only to reappear just as Tucker was ready to give up and dig.

  As if it were playing a child’s game, it led Tucker on. Finally, as the sun began to fall lower in the sky, its rays slanted across the rocks, temporarily blinding Tucker. What in hell was he doing up here in the mountains looking for some secret mark on a rock when Raven was in trouble?

  A loud squawk broke the silence. Tucker swore, then blinked and blinked again. A quick picture of Raven came to mind and he groaned. How long had he been gone now? What kind of man walked away from a woman who needed him?

  No answer came. What kind of man went back on his word to a dying man? Besides, he’d promised Raven. Tucker took a deep breath and hazarded one last attempt to open his eyes.

  Suddenly, as if it hadn’t been there moments before, he saw it. There, on the rock, was a drawing, red against the dazzling white limestone. Stick men held bows and arrows, and crudely drawn figures were dressed in armor. But the drawing that caught and held his gaze was that of a crude circle with rays radiating outward overlaying the same pattern of dots.

  Luce’s sign. He’d found the spot.<
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  Like a man possessed, Tucker began to dig. He didn’t know how long he’d been digging when he realized that he was standing in the hole. “Deep enough.” He climbed out and pulled Luce into the hole, then covered him with dirt. Finally, his promise satisfied, he staggered back down the trail.

  The descent was easier. He was so tired that he could barely walk by the time he got back to the pool. Late afternoon shadows fell across the pool. Tucker took a deep breath and focused his gaze on the spot where he’d left Raven. She was gone. There was no sign she’d ever been there. Even the horses were missing.

  Every thought left his mind as the truth registered. Either Raven had left of her own accord, or she’d been kidnapped. Either way, she was gone.

  For a long minute, Tucker simply stood. Then, like the mountain lion she’d likened him to, he let out a roar of pain that echoed through the rocks and was carried away by the wind.

  At almost the same time Tucker was smoothing out the earth over Luce’s grave, Raven was seated on Onawa as Swift Hand tied her hands together and looped the reins around them.

  “You will tell us the location of the treasure, Raven,” Swift Hand threatened, “or your man will die.”

  “I say once again, I have no man.”

  “Then who belongs to the black stallion?”

  “He is a stranger, following an old miner who boasts of finding a mountain of gold. Did you not see that I had been drugged and bound?”

  Swift Hand looked uneasy. He still couldn’t make sense out of what he and his men had stumbled on. Two horses were hobbled near the pool of water. Raven had lain under her blanket in a deep sleep, and there was no sign of anyone else. Only the drying strands of body hair flung against the rocks signified some kind of sacrifice.

  “Perhaps. But I saw no sign of restraints. Where is this man?”

  “I do not know. All I can tell you is that he found me on the trail, injured. For three days,” she improvised, “he kept me prisoner while he went into the mountains.”

  “Looking for the treasure,” Little Eagle said. “She probably already told him where it was. Now he’s gone.”