Part 1 (2/2)

She carefully pulled the heavy door shut tightly behind her. The c.u.mbersome door with its worn hinges did not cooperate well, and the leather pull tended to slip through one's hands in resistance. Ariana tugged againa”just to be sure it was properly in place. She turned her eyes to the rocky path that wound its way down the hillside, over the footbridge, and into town.

It was darker than she had expected. The sun slipped quickly behind the hills, bringing night to the town before it was so evident on the surrounding prairies. Ariana quickened her step. She did not wish to be the cause of her mother's worrying.

”It's Sat.u.r.day,” Mrs. Benson said, her tone gentle but firm.

Ariana lifted her head from the book opened on the table before her. Her eyes held a question, though she did not voice it.

”It's Sat.u.r.day,” repeated the woman. ”Don't you think you can lay your books aside for one day?”

Ariana stirred restlessly. She did wish she could forsake her reading. Her eyes were weary from perusing the printed pages. She lifted a hand to rub the ache from the back of her neck.

”I haven't enough knowledge of the Industrial Revolution to challenge my two eighth graders,” she responded.

”I would think any knowledge of the Industrial Revolution would be more than what they know now,” put in Mrs. Benson.

Ariana pushed the book aside. She straightened tired shoulders and reached up to tuck in a stray lock of hair. Inwardly she once again bemoaned the fact that the tresses were too soft and wayward to stay pinned. Outwardly she turned her attention to her mother.

”You've been at that book all morning,” her mother continued.

”Was there something you wished me to do?” asked Ariana, who was careful to tend to her share of household ch.o.r.es.

”No. Noa”except give yourself a bit of rest. You can't keep studying all the time.”

With a sigh Ariana closed the book and stood to her feet.

”You are right,” she admitted reluctantly. ”But it is soa”so hard to keep up.”

”You'll be getting sick if you don't get some fresh air and exercise,” her mother went on.

Ariana let her gaze steal to the open window. Her mother was letting fresh air sweep into the home, spilling its fall fragrance into the room along with the breeze that rustled the curtains.

”It's not the same as walking in ita”breathing it in,” her mother said as though reading Ariana's thoughts.

Ariana's eyes stayed on the window. Another beautiful day calleda”it beckoned. She longed to forget her responsibility as the town's schoolteacher and follow her heart up the winding trail and into the woods. She knew the little creek would sing. The fallen leaves of aspen and birch would rustle beneath her feet. The sky would present just enough fleecy clouds to make one's imagination have full run. Ariana longed to be out in the suns.h.i.+nea”the freshness of the day. It would be so easy to feel like a kid again. She longed for that. Longed to lay aside her adult responsibilities for just a few hours.

She stretched and gave her shoulders a little shake. She had another hour's reading to do to be properly prepared for Monday morning.

”I reallya”” she began.

”You really need to get out,” her mother encouraged. ”Surely a break will make you fresher for finis.h.i.+ng the studying later.”

Ariana considered the comment, then nodded slowly. ”You're right,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with eagerness. ”I'll justa”take a little walk. I can finish up later.”

She gave her book another little push as though to inform it that she was done with it for the present.

”Where's Papa?” she asked.

”At the church. Putting final preparations on his Sunday sermon.”

”Can I take him a cup of tea?”

”He'd like that.”

The older woman smiled and moved toward the kitchen to prepare the tea while Ariana went to her room to gather a shawl and change into something more suitable for walking. By the time she reappeared, her mother had a small tray with a teapot wrapped snugly in a cozy, a single cup, and a slice of toast smothered with wild blueberry jam.

”Remember it gets dark earlier than it did,” her mother warned as she kissed Ariana's cheek.

Ariana nodded.

Once the door closed behind her, Ariana breathed deeply. Her eyes took on a new sparkle. Her step quickened and her chin lifted. Her mother was right. The fresh air and fall suns.h.i.+ne would do her a world of good.

Chapter Two.

A Boy and a Camp.

Tall trees shadowed the winding trail hidden from view of all eyes save the lone eagle drifting on soundless currents of morning air far above the crags and rocky slopes.

To those below, the hillside was unbroken from its wildnessa”uninhabited by humankind. Uninformed eyes would not have detected the slight indentation that resulted in a pa.s.sageway, small and tucked securely away against the face of steep outcroppings of rough and ragged rock, leading into a secret valley.

It was the perfect setting for any who wished to keep their whereabouts concealed from an outside world. Outlaws. Bandits. Desperadoes. Blackguards. Brigands. Freebooters. Highwaymen. They had been called many things throughout the yearsa”but always the names carried with them the same sense of hostility and hatred. They were seen as parasitesa”by terror and force living off the sweated brows and calloused hands of honest workers.

But the young man who removed his stained hat, who squinted his eyes against the harshness of the midday sun, cared little about any of those names. He paid no heed to the expressions of hatred. The words of contempt. He had been raised in the hidden camp, had known no other life, no other familya”if one could call the band of rough, cursing, hard-riding, desperate men a family.

He had been sent to the rise by his father to survey the valley below. It was not unusual for a close eye to be kept on the valley floor. A sentry was always posted to be sure there was no chance of discovery. He took his s.h.i.+ft like every other man in the outfit. But stilla”there was something different about the order this time. He had yet to sort it through, but he had this strange gut-feelinga.

He could see McDuff, already posted on the shelf of rock that overlooked the entire areaa”hills, streams, valley, and connecting valleys. There was only one way into the camp. If anyone was on the trail that paralleled the small creek below, McDuff would spot them. So why did his father feel this added vigilance was needed? Had his pa reason to think they had been followed? Or was his pa simply using this as an excuse to get him away from the camp for a while? But why? What could his pa be planning that he didn't want discovered?

The young man fanned his bronzed face slightly to get some coolness on his sweating brow. The day was unusually warm for fall. Indian Summer, they called it. Indian Summer that could get as hot as any mid-July day. He stepped back into the shade of a large pine before increasing the action of the Stetson. Even a small movement could be detected in an otherwise motionless setting.

As his eyes traveled over the slope before him, they took in everythinga”the flit of a bird, the stirring of tall gra.s.ses as some cautious, small creature moved about seeking food, the rollicking bounding of an energetic squirrel. He even saw the s.h.i.+ft of hand from McDuff on his ledge perch as he brushed away a pestering fly. McDuff could be careless. His rifle was lying in plain sight on the ledge. Not that anyone from below could see the Winchester, but what if the s.h.i.+fting of the afternoon sun should reflect off the barrel? McDuff needed to be more cautious. The young man frowned as he thought about the danger carelessness could bring to the entire group. He wouldn't refer the matter to his paa”that might cause an unnecessary fuss. He'd speak to McDuff himself when they were both back in camp.

After another thorough study of the valley, he was content that they had no cause to be concerned about unwanted visitors.

Guests were not welcomed at the camp of the band. Not even those of similar stripe. Years of living on the edge had proved that no man was to be trusted. They had learned to guard their own backs even from those of their own company. And one never left a trail that was too easy to follow, or rode without checking frequently over a shoulder.

He moved slowly from the shadows and replaced the stained Stetson. His steps were lithe, deliberate, and smooth. His body fit and muscular. He intended to keep it that way. He abhorred the wasting away of manhood, of body and mind that he observed in those with whom he shared the simple log buildings of the small camp. He attributed their slovenliness, their softness, and their paunchy bellies to their lives of boozing and idleness. Except for the frequent night excursions that supplied the needs of the group, they did little but lounge around and take their occasional watch. He had no intention of becoming like them. Secretly he admired the strong bodies and straight backs of the braves in the local Indian tribea”but he knew better than to express that thought to his pa.

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