in her lap.
“What’s in that long crate that you guard like a she-cat with a new litter?” he asked, adjusting the oxen’s load.
“A gift for my Uncle Marcel,” she said, her eyes fixed on the green-dotted prairie.
“If he’s as rich as you say, why wouldn’t he have the goods shipped with an armed guard of men, instead of a—”
Noelle lifted her chin. “It’s none of your concern, Mr. Savage.”
Damn right it wasn’t. He swore under his breath. What he should be concerned about is how he’d make up the time to get to Crooked Creek by Friday noon. Lady luck had turned against him, and there was no sign that she might change her fickle mind.
Luke’s thoughts returned to Noelle Bellencourt. He knew women as well as he knew not to draw to an inside straight. Better, in fact. And he’d bet all the poker chips in the Silver Hearts Saloon that Noelle didn’t have a rich uncle waiting for her. But whatever her story, once she saw Crooked Creek, Nevada, she’d turn tail and head back East.
At the sound of his footsteps, Noelle turned toward him.
“When we get to town, you’re on your own,” Luke said. “If we walk all night, we’ll reach Crooked Creek by morning.”
“Why do we have to?”
“Because I’ve got to stop Blackjack from hopping the noon stage to ’Frisco. That slippery rascal isn’t getting away from me this time.”
“Blackjack?”
“My business partner, or I should say, was.” Luke mopped his face, then knotted the bandanna loosely around his neck. “Cheated me out of a string of gambling concessions. He knows I’m on his trail, but he’d never dream I’m this close.” Luke smiled as he thought of the surprised look on Blackjack’s face when he saw Luke, waiting for him with the sheriff.
“What type of business are you in, Mister Savage?”
He grinned. “Gambling, Miss. I’m the best poker player in all of Nevada.”
Noelle’s face paled. “And this...Blackjack? Is that his profession, too?”
“That, among others. But after I’m through with him, Blackjack will be shuffling his next deck in jail.”
Luke strode to the logs tied to the oxen. Satisfied, he moved toward the horse. The buckskin shied uneasily.
“Did you hear something?” Noelle asked uneasily.
“Yeah.” Luke felt it, too. It was as if someone were watching them. He’d had the feeling ever since he found Douglas’s body.
“Think it’s just the wind.” Luke hoped she’d believe him. “If Indians are out there, the open country affords no chance for ambush. We’re safe for the time being,” he added, hoping to reassure her. No sense having a hysterical woman on his hands.
He helped Noelle mount the horse, then walked beside her, leading the oxen as they lumbered along, handling the cottonwood logs easily.
Luke’s thoughts strayed back to the lone prairie schooner, stranded like a wounded white dove, and the woman riding beside him.
Before they reached the top of the ridge, a rifle shot, coming in the direction of the prairie schooner, cracked the silence.
Luke’s horse whinnied, then reared. Before he could reach Noelle, she had slackened the reins, leaned her weight forward, and grabbed Deuce’s mane to keep from falling.
Grateful that she’d had the sense to control the buckskin, Luke secured the oxen’s reins to a mesquite bush, then mounted the horse behind Noelle. He grabbed the reins, then kicked his heels into the animal’s sides, charging the horse over the rise in the direction of the wagon.
Chapter Two
Ayeee! Hoop hoop hoop! Ayee! Coo-wigh!
Anger and fear raged within Noelle, but fury won out as she listened to the rising shrieks behind her wagon. Several spotted ponies stood nearby. A tall, lanky Indian, dressed only in a buckskin breech clout and knee-high leggings stood, reloading a rifle. His head shot up when she and Luke galloped within sight.
In a lightning-fast motion, Noelle positioned her rifle, ready to take aim.
“Don’t shoot!” Luke yelled in her ear. “That’s Little Henry, the chief’s son.” Luke pointed to the lanky Indian, who by now had grabbed the rifle and ducked behind the wagon to warn the others.
“I don’t care if he’s President Andrew Johnson!” Rancor sharpened her voice. “He’s attacking may wagon!”
Although she was breathless with rage, she didn’t resist when Luke took the Hawken from her.
He drew the six-shooter from his holster and shot into the air, the acrid smell of black powder was everywhere. A stockier Indian, a few years younger than the first, jumped from the wagon bench and staggered to his knees. He hesitated, shaking his head as though dazed.
Noelle gasped, her blue eyes wide. Her small hand flew to her mouth as she stared. Luke glanced at the brown leather vest and gray shirt the savage wore. From Noelle’s stifled cry, he knew the garments must have belonged to Mr. Douglas.
Luke stopped the horse a safe distance from the wagon. After he dismounted, he gave Noelle a stern glance. “Stay on the horse,” he commanded, not trusting her to remain out of the fray. “Don’t aim, but keep your rifle handy.”
Renewed anger lit her eyes, but she nodded. Her teeth clenched as her wide-eyed gaze returned to the stocky Indian bent over on the ground.
Another Indian, wearing a black cowboy hat, stuck his head from the front of the prairie schooner. He shook his fist, then shouted a blood-curdling scream as he tossed an earthenware jug into the air. The bottle bounced along the sand, finally breaking in two.
Whiskey! Luke swore under his breath. Damn the luck. Even peaceful Indians, when drunk, were unpredictable.
Luke strode cautiously toward the chief’s son. “Little Henry,” he said in the native tongue of the Paiute. “Take your braves and go peacefully.”
The dark eyes studied Luke for a long moment, appraising the man and the situation.
Luke noticed the gold watch fob and chain dangling from Little Henry’s left braid. No doubt the chief’s son took what he deemed the most valuable of their booty. Luke also knew that Douglas’s horse must be tethered nearby.
“Tell your father, Captain Henry, that the yellow-haired woman sends her compliments to him, and wishes to give the horse you found, which belongs to the lady, as a gift for raising such a fine son as yourself.”
Little Henry’s almond eyes lit with surprise, then he glanced back at Noelle, who waited anxiously on Luke’s horse. When he gazed back at Luke, his expression, wiser than his eighteen years, held a question. “You will tell my father of this happening?”
Luke took his time answering. He knew that a lengthy spell was required to show Little Henry that his question was considered serious. Luke stared into the deep-set eyes of the brave who would one day become chief of the Paiute Nation.
Little Henry had showed good sense in waiting to search the wagon after Noelle and Luke had left. Besides, Luke understood the young brave’s need to prove himself. When the Indian found Douglas dead, with his chestnut alone on the prairie, Little Henry knew a horse was the highest honor to give his father.
“I have given your question great thought.” Luke spoke the words solemnly. “I find no reason to speak to your father of this happening. If you leave peacefully with your braves and do not bother us again, I believe the matter should be forgotten.”
Little Henry began to untie the watch fob