Spirit's Song (6 page)

She soaped her hair twice and her body three times, and then stared at the bank. She had two choices…she could get out of the water and put on her dress while she was wet, or she could stand on the bank and let the waning heat of the sun bake her dry. As warm as it still was, it shouldn’t take long. Still, the idea of standing naked on the shore, with two disreputable strange men only a few yards away, wasn’t particularly appealing.

She was still debating what to do when she heard a loud popping noise. It took her a moment to realize it was gunfire.

She stood there for a moment, the soap clutched in her fist. She didn’t know what had happened back at the camp, but she knew it couldn’t be good. Several possibilities ran through her mind—they were being attacked by the Crow. Ravenhawk had tried to escape and Yellow Thunder had shot him. Ravenhawk had shot Yellow Thunder.

Another gunshot rang out and she flew out of the water and snatched up her tunic. Whatever was happening, she didn’t intend to be caught naked and helpless. She pulled the tunic over her head, tugged it down over her hips, then stepped into her moccasins. What to do, she thought, grabbing her sash, what to do?

Her first instinct was to run, yet that seemed foolhardy in the extreme. She had no food, no water, no weapons. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed help to get back home.

Breathless, she hid behind a clump of brush, her heart pounding like a runaway train. She would wait, and watch. If Ravenhawk and Yellow Thunder had been killed by the Crow, she would have to strike out on her own. They had been heading east for days. Yellow Thunder was a bounty hunter. In order to collect a reward, he had to take Ravenhawk to a town, so it stood to reason that he had a destination in mind. Surely, if she kept going east, she would find civilization sooner or later.

She huddled in the brush for what seemed like hours, ears straining for some sound that would tell her what was going on back at their camp.

Fear shot through her when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Just one horse, coming slow.

She peered through the brush, wondering who was riding toward her.

Ravenhawk or Yellow Thunder?

Chapter Eight

Ravenhawk reined the Appaloosa to a halt, one hand pressed against his wounded side as his gaze swept the ground, noting the chunk of soap lying on the edge of the riverbank, the hurried footprints that led into a tangled clump of brush and overgrown weeds.

“Hey, Red Fox, you in there?”

His voice shivered through her. Slowly, Kaylynn stepped out of her hiding place.

“I’m leaving,” Ravenhawk said. “You wanna come along, or stay here with him?”

Kaylynn looked up at Ravenhawk, thinking the choice he offered was like asking the bacon if it preferred the frying pan or the fire.

“Make up your mind, sweetheart.”

Kaylynn plucked a twig from her hair. “Will you take me to the nearest town so I can catch the first stage headed East?”

“Can we discuss this later? We’re a little pressed for time.”

Ravenhawk glanced over his shoulder, regretting the fact that he hadn’t killed the bounty hunter when he had the chance. He knew it was a decision that was sure to come back to haunt him, sooner or later.

Kaylynn looked up at him. His eyes were deep and black, with a hint of warmth, not cold and gray like Yellow Thunder’s.

Ravenhawk held out his hand, and after a moment, she placed her hand in his. He groaned softly as he lifted her up behind him but before she could ask what was wrong, he urged the horse into a gallop and they were flying along the bank of the stream. Kaylynn slid her arms around his waist, grimaced as she felt a warm wetness against her palm. She drew her hand back, alarmed to see that her palm was covered with blood. Good Lord, he was bleeding. She knew a moment of panic, and then told herself he couldn’t be badly hurt. If he was, he wouldn’t be riding like the devil was at his heels.

She didn’t know whether to be frightened or relieved as the miles went by. On one hand, she was glad to be away from Jesse Yellow Thunder. He scared her in ways she didn’t understand. It was more than the coldness in his eyes, more than the awful scar on his face, and yet, in spite of the fact that he frightened her, there was something compelling about him, something that called to something deep inside her…

She gasped, her arms tightening around Ravenhawk’s waist, as he slumped forward in the saddle. Just when she feared he was going to fall, he jerked upright.

“Are you all right?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

They rode until the horse was covered with lather. Only then did Ravenhawk allow the horse to slow, to stop.

Kaylynn glanced at their surroundings. The stream ran shallow here, edged by a few scrawny willows and shrubs, and a mound of boulders.

She felt Ravenhawk take a deep breath before he dismounted.

He stood beside the horse, leaning against the animal’s shoulder. He stared up at her, his face unusually pale.

“Can you make it down on your own?” he asked.

She nodded, her gaze drawn to the dark-red stain that covered the right side of his shirt as she slid off the Appaloosa’s rump. “What happened?”

“What do you think?”

“He shot you.”

Ravenhawk nodded. He swayed on his feet, blinking rapidly as the world seemed to spin out of focus.

Kaylynn stared at Ravenhawk as he took a step toward her, then slowly crumpled to the ground. So much blood. Was he dying? Dead?

She looked at the horse. She would never have a better chance to escape than she did now. There was a waterskin looped around the saddle horn, a bedroll behind the cantle, food in one of the saddlebags. A rifle in the boot.

She stared down at Ravenhawk. She didn’t know anything about the man except that he was an outlaw. She didn’t owe him anything. For all she knew, she might be in more danger with Ravenhawk than she had been with Yellow Thunder. She glanced over her shoulder. If the bounty hunter was still alive, he was sure to come after Ravenhawk.

The thought eased her conscience as she reached for the Appaloosa’s reins.

With a snort, the gelding tossed its head and backed away from her.

“Hold still, horse.” She took a step forward.

The Appaloosa lifted its head to the side to keep from stepping on the dangling reins. And took another step back.

“Stupid horse,” she muttered. She took another step forward and when the horse backed up again, she lunged forward and made a wild grab for the reins.

The Appaloosa reared, forelegs pawing the air, one hoof coming dangerously close to her head.

Kaylynn shrieked as she ducked out of the way. Hands fisted on her hips, she glared at the horse.

She was trying to figure out how to catch the beast when she heard the man groan.

She glanced over her shoulder to where he was lying in the dirt and knew that, even if she had been able to catch the horse, she wouldn’t have been able to ride off and leave him lying there. Outlaw or not, she couldn’t just abandon another human being.

She didn’t know what she could do to help him, either. Her medical knowledge was less than impressive, although she had learned a few things while living with the Cheyenne.

She knelt beside him, trying not to be sick as she lifted the edge of his shirt to look at the wound beneath. There were two holes just above his waist on his right side, the exit wound a little larger than the other. Two holes, raw and red and oozing with blood. She supposed that meant she didn’t have to worry about the bullet being lodged inside somewhere. And it was a good thing, too, because there was no way on earth she would have been able to get it out.

Rising to her feet, she looked at the waterskin looped over the saddle horn, wondering how she could get close enough to the horse to get it.

The Appaloosa eyed her warily as she took several slow steps toward it. It was a big horse, all black, save for a patch of white sprinkled with irregular ebony spots across its rump. It had a short thick mane and a scraggly tail.

“Please,” she murmured. “Please, horse, just stand still.”

Surprisingly, the Appaloosa did just that. Eyes wide, ears twitching, the gelding stood poised for flight as she lifted the waterskin from the saddle horn.

Returning to Ravenhawk’s side, she knelt beside him. As gently as she could, she eased his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Removing the sash from her waist, she soaked one end in water and began washing the blood from his side. The sash, made of thick red wool, had been a gift from Mo’e’ha.

A low moan rose in Ravenhawk’s throat as she dragged the cloth over the wounds. Looking at them made her stomach queasy. They were red and ugly, the edges looking raw and painful.

She cleaned the wounds as best she could; then, remembering something she had seen one of the Indians do, she packed the wounds with damp tree moss to stem the flow of blood. Removing Ravenhawk’s headband, she made a thick square pad and placed it over the wounds. She used her sash to hold the bandage in place. It took all her strength to lift him enough so that she could wrap the sash around his middle. She was perspiring by the time she finished.

Now what? She glanced around. At least he had picked a sheltered place to stop. Rising, she gathered an armful of sticks and twigs and one good-sized branch. She dug a shallow pit and laid a fire, then looked over at the horse.

Smiling, she walked toward the Appaloosa. “Hey there,” she said quietly. “I bet you’d like to get rid of that heavy old saddle, wouldn’t you?”

The gelding snorted softly as she approached, but didn’t back away. Taking up the reins, she tethered the Appaloosa to a tree, removed the saddle and blanket. The blanket was soaked with sweat and she spread it out on the ground to dry; then, remembering Jesse’s admonition to cool his horse, she untied the Appaloosa and gave a gentle tug on the reins. To her surprise, the gelding followed along behind her, as docile as an old dog.

A short distance from the streambed, she found some berry bushes heavy with fruit. She would come back later and pick some, she thought.

When the horse was cooled out, she led it to the stream and let it drink, then went back to their makeshift camp. Replacing the bridle with a horsehair halter, she tethered the Appaloosa to a tree where it could graze on the sparse yellow grass that grew beside the shallow stream. She patted the horse on the shoulder, then, knowing she had stalled long enough, she picked up the bedroll and walked back to where she had left Ravenhawk. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t moved while she’d been gone. His breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps. His face and chest were sheened with sweat. She laid her hand on his chest. His skin felt warm. What if his wound got infected? What would she do if he died? Even though she had learned a lot about survival from the Indians, she didn’t think she would last very long out here on her own.

She spread one of the blankets beside him, pushed and tugged until he was lying on it. Using a knife she found in one of the packs, she cut a small square from the edge of the second blanket, soaked it in water and began to sponge him off.

It seemed an odd time to notice such a thing, but she couldn’t help noticing that his skin was a beautiful shade of copper, that his shoulders were incredibly wide, that his stomach was hard and flat and ridged with muscle. His arms and legs were also well-muscled. To her chagrin, she found herself comparing Ravenhawk’s body to Yellow Thunder’s, remembering the way Yellow Thunder had looked dancing around the Sun Dance pole, the spider web of faint silvery scars that had crisscrossed his back and shoulders. She had never thought a man’s body could be beautiful, but his was. He had moved with sinuous grace, reminding her of a panther she had seen in a circus when she was a little girl. The big cat had been sleek and beautiful too, and deadly. Like Yellow Thunder.

She thrust the thought from her mind. Soaking the cloth again, she ran it over Ravenhawk’s chest. She had not thought Alan’s body was beautiful. She had not thought of his body at all, except when he was poised over her, grunting with animal-like lust, his mouth crushing hers. She had hated his touch, used every excuse she could think of to avoid taking him to her bed. She had pleaded headaches. She had lied about the length of her monthly flow, so that three days became five, six, a week. Once, she pretended to sprain her ankle while walking down the stairs. Another time she claimed she had strained her back while rearranging the bedroom furniture.

She wet the cloth again and drew it down Ravenhawk’s arms, his legs. He stirred beneath her hand, a low groan rising in his throat. Looking up, she saw that he was awake and staring at her.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He grimaced. “I’ve been some better.”

“Are you thirsty?”

He nodded and licked his lips.

Picking up the waterskin, she lifted his head and gave him a drink. He had beautiful eyes. Surely a man with eyes like that wouldn’t beat a woman just because she forgot to invite one of his friends to a party.

She put the waterskin aside, then covered him with the second blanket.

“Thanks.” His voice was low and thick and edged with pain.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and started to sit up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kaylynn exclaimed.

“We’ve got to…to go.”

She shook her head. “You need to rest, and you should have something to eat. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Besides, it’s dark.”

“I’m not hurt all that bad. Anyway, we can’t stay here.” Ravenhawk closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He was hungry and tired, his side throbbed with pain, but they couldn’t stay here. He had to find a place to hide, a place to heal. “Yellow Thunder…”

She hesitated, afraid to ask the next question, yet needing to know the answer. “He’s not dead, then?”

“No. He’ll come…” He opened his eyes and glanced around. She’d made a comfortable camp; his horse was tethered a short distance away. He frowned when he saw she’d unsaddled the Appaloosa. “Think you can saddle my horse for me?”

Kaylynn nodded. She had removed the saddle, hadn’t she? How much harder could it be to put it back on?

“Hurry.”

The urgency in his voice propelled her to her feet. The saddle blanket was almost dry. Picking it up, she walked toward the Appaloosa.

The horse regarded her warily, sidestepped when she tried to spread the blanket over its back.

“Ridge Walker, stand.” At the sound of Ravenhawk’s voice, the gelding stood stock-still, ears twitching.

Kaylynn placed the blanket on the horse’s back, smoothed it out, then reached for the saddle, surprised that it was so heavy. It hadn’t seemed to weigh that much when she took it from the horse. It had to weigh forty pounds, she thought as she wrestled it up onto the horse’s back.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at the cinch dangling on the far side of the horse. Visions of being kicked crossed her mind as she gathered her courage, bent down, reached under the Appaloosa’s belly, and grabbed the end. It took her several minutes to get it tight enough so that the saddle wouldn’t fall off.

When she thought she had it right, she slipped the bridle in place, then led the gelding over to Ravenhawk. Taking hold of the stirrup, he pulled himself to his feet, then stood there for a minute, his forehead resting on the horse’s rump, while Kaylynn looped the waterskin around the horn, tied the saddlebags in place, then folded the blankets and lashed them behind the cantle.