CHAPTER
17

Trace caught up with Adam and rushed on past. He recognized the trail Wolf was on and knew where he was going so he could run flat-out.

This time he’d keep going. He thought he knew who was out there and why Wolf had broken off the chase before. And Trace hadn’t been able to keep up the pursuit before with the women and children left defenseless behind him.

The growling ended, and Wolf was back, wagging his tail. Trace ran on. “Dumb dog.”

Yet if Trace was right about things, the dog was smart to end the chase.

It was almost pure dark in the woods, and Trace knew he couldn’t follow his prey if they got off the trail. But it was such a narrow trail. The woods on both sides were near to impenetrable. He also thought the one he pursued had probably calmed Wolf down to make him turn back. Suddenly he ran head on into a man, and the two of them went flying to the ground.

Trace recognized him the minute he quit tumbling and his head cleared. “Tavibo?”

“Yes, Guardian, it is me,” said Tavibo, a Paiute Indian who had befriended Trace shortly after Adam had come.

“Don’t call me that. My name’s Trace and you know it. Why are you upsetting Wolf? Why didn’t you just come to the door?” Trace heard someone coming. “That’s Adam. No need to worry. He’s a good man.”

Tavibo caught Trace’s arm and dragged him off the trail.

Trace could have called out, but he wanted to hear what Tavibo had to say and he wasn’t a man to stick around when he didn’t want to. So he let Tavibo lead him about twenty paces off the trail before they stopped. He heard Adam run past, and Tavibo stood in utter silence until they were out of earshot.

“I tossed your fearsome wolf a hunk of venison, patted him on the head, and sent him back to you.”

“He is fearsome when he needs to be. When he came back so calm, both times, I decided whoever was out there wasn’t too dangerous.”

“Not to him, I’m not. Not to you. But trust me, Guardian, I can be dangerous.”

“Don’t call me—”

“I have great worry about that wagon train that burned,” Tavibo said, cutting him off.

“You worry that the Paiutes will be blamed?” A cold wind wasn’t enough to explain the chill of dread that raced up Trace’s spine.

“Yes. My people are peaceful and have done nothing to deserve soldiers.”

The trees swayed so thick, even with their leaves shed, Trace couldn’t see a single star.

“I’m working on finding the men who attacked the wagon train,” Trace said. “I’ve been to a few settlements on the west side of Tahoe, but I haven’t spoken of the attack. I’d know the stolen horses and cattle if I saw them. But I don’t want to warn the outlaws so I’m not just yelling questions at everyone I see. They left their slaughter behind not knowing they left witnesses. I saw what they did. They used arrows similar to what the Paiute use. They left behind a hatchet carved with Paiute symbols. I know they are hoping someone will blame you and not search for the true killers. But I wasn’t fooled. And what these outlaws don’t know is that there were four survivors.”

“I saw you traveling home with two women and two children.”

“One of the women was close enough to hear voices, one unusually high-pitched, and see a face. She says it was done by white men.”

Trace heard Adam heading back down the trail.

“I go. I do not want to see more white men.”

“No, wait, you should meet him, and you should feel free to come to the ranch.” Trace looked in the direction Adam walked. “We could—” He looked back. Tavibo was gone, slipped away into the night.

Trace walked back to the trail and whistled. No sense making an armed man nervous. Adam came back from where he’d passed Trace on the trail. Adam was a good tracker, but in the dark he’d never seen Trace turn off.

“What’s going on?” Adam asked.

“I found out who Wolf went after. It’s a Paiute named Tavibo.”

“I’ve heard you talk of him, but he’s never wanted to meet me.”

“He fights shy of white folks, and Native folks too if they’re not of his tribe. I have known him since about the time you hired on, Adam. I’ve done some trading with his village. He told me he saw the wagon massacre site and wanted to make sure I knew it wasn’t his people who did that.”

“The varmints who done it wanted Paiutes to be blamed?”

“Yep.” That was one of the reasons Trace had immediately suspected the same men who’d killed his pa. They’d done the same.

They headed down the mountainside together, single file because the trail they followed was so narrow that branches brushed at their shoulders and tore at their pants.

“I knew those killers had left false signs. But others might read it different. Tavibo doesn’t want the cavalry to decide they need to force Native people out of the area.”

Adam said, “You sure enough run like the wind, Trace.”

“I learned to be fast and how to run a long time.”

“We need to clean up a little at the bunkhouse,” Adam said. “But that’s all we’ll do for the night. We got a good day in and helped the women settle in a bit more to the new cabin.”

“The women! We’d better hustle back. They might be scared. I’m gonna run to cut their worryin’ time short.”

“You’d best do that. Deb sure does seem to enjoy fretting over you.” Adam chuckled.

Trace was glad for an excuse to run away from the teasing. He took off like a bullet, charging down the hill. “Utah, we’re back!” Trace hollered. Another man with a handy gun, and Trace didn’t want to startle anyone with a twitchy trigger finger.

Utah swung the door open.

“There’s no danger. It was a Paiute man I call friend. I’ll tell you about it later. Adam’s just behind me, headed for the bunkhouse to pack up for the night. I’ll be out as soon as I talk with Deb and Gwen.”

Utah gave one hard nod of his head and swept past Trace without a word, holstering his gun as he walked away.

Deb faced him, wide-eyed. Gwen sat in her rocking chair in front of the fire. They both had their guns out and ready but were setting them aside as he came in.

“It was an Indian, an old friend of mine. He doesn’t trust the whites, but he tolerates me on rare occasions. He’s worried about that massacre being blamed on his people.”

Both women nodded and visibly relaxed. “I’m gonna be gone a long while tomorrow, maybe even overnight, and maybe more than one night. So don’t fret about me if I don’t get home for a while.”

“Where are you going?” Deb seemed overly curious. Trace wondered if that was the way of newspaper reporters.

“Today I went along the west side of Lake Tahoe, following the trail the killers took, but tomorrow I’m going up the east side. I’ll stop in those settlements and in Carson City. I need to find any wagon trains still traveling and warn them, ask if anyone’s seen those stolen horses and cattle. If there aren’t any more trains, there still might be late travelers. I can tell the sheriff to put them on alert. Then I’ll ride on around the north end of the lake and down the west side. There were a few settlements I missed today.”

“And you think that might take days?” Deb asked. There was a funny note to her voice that Trace didn’t recognize. Almost like she’d miss him. Well, if that wasn’t what her tone meant, he decided he’d just believe it anyway, because he’d miss her, too.

“I want others watching for the outlaws, and I want to make sure folks know the danger that’s out there. However long it takes, I’m going to stick with it until I make these low-down rats sorry they came back out of their hole.”

Deb took a few long strides and grabbed his arm. “Came back out? You mean you think you know who they are? You mean they’ve done this before?”

“I know they’ve done this before. All the signs I read say they’re the men who killed my pa.”

“They’ve been killing all this time? Didn’t you say your pa died ten years ago?”

“Yep. And no, they didn’t keep killing. The attacks broke off, and I started to believe the men who’d done ’em were all dead.”

“What made you believe that?” Deb asked.

Trace decided she needed to know the truth. If he was going to think of a future with her, she’d best know everything . . . or most everything. “I believed it because I found another burned-out wagon train in the spring after my pa was killed. I recognized it as being attacked by the same men. And after that, I guarded that trail in secret, watching for them to strike again. And when they did—” he gathered all his strength and shoved the words out, and they came laced with all his anger and pain and grief—“I personally killed everyone I could draw a bead on.”

Trace saw the horror on her face, the revulsion. Now she could do nothing but despise him. He’d ruined his chances with her almost before he’d gotten one. But they couldn’t build a future on lies. He turned to leave.

“Trace, wait!” No doubt the reason she called out was to tell him he was as bad as those men who’d killed the folks on her wagon train. He couldn’t bear to hear the words leave her mouth. He ignored her and left the cabin, slamming the door behind him. The picture he’d been forming of his future turned to ashes.

He headed for the barn, anywhere there was no one to talk to. He could never face her again. He’d live in his cave again. He’d hunt his food and cook over an open fire. He’d give care of the ranch to Adam and tell him to send a message next spring when Deb was finally gone.

He had to figure out a way to never go back.

“Trace Riley, you get back here!”

Deb charged out the door, swinging it shut hard behind her. It was a good thing the house was sturdy because she might’ve knocked it down.

Trace looked over his shoulder without stopping. She saw . . . it looked like . . . fear.

He kept striding away as if he planned to continue his escape.

She lifted her skirts, ran, and plowed right into him. They went tumbling.

He must not’ve run after all.

Landing hard on top of him, she rolled on over and slid along the snowy ground on her back, then her belly, finally slamming against a snowdrift, which was frozen hard.

Trace crawled to her side on his hands and knees. “Are you all right, Deb? Speak to me.”

He shook her by the shoulders. That made her aware a bit. She lay still, her eyes closed, stunned. “I’m fine.” Not strictly the truth. “Just . . . the w-wind knocked out . . . of me. Give me a moment to catch my breath.”

He didn’t give her a moment. “I walked out, Deb, because I didn’t want to hear what you must be thinking, not after I confessed my evil. But I was a coward to walk out. I’ll give you your say. Then I’ll leave and stay far away. The men can eat your food and bring you supplies and firewood. I’ll stay away from you. I deserve to be cast out.”

She heard such despair and such loneliness. Gathering her wits, she rested a hand on his forearm. “Trace, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I have to. I’m not fit company for you, Gwen, and the children. There were no more trains the fall my pa was killed, but the next spring I finally found my way back to that trail and came upon another burned-out wagon train. Those men had struck again. Instead of following the trail to a town, I picked a lookout and waited. When the next train came, I was ready. I slipped through the woods, finding men waiting to dry-gulch the travelers. I killed any man I could find. Where your train spent the night, and mine, that’s the only stopping place for miles. Those men had plans to kill the pioneers in their sleep.”

“You said you killed every one of them you could draw a bead on. But what you really did was guard the passage along that trail. You watched for the outlaws, and when you found them waiting to attack another train, you stopped them.”

“I was full of anger and vengeance. ‘Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.’ Well, I hadn’t given any thought to that verse, though I read the Bible through the first winter. And I might not have stopped even if I had understood it. I wanted the men who killed my pa to suffer, to die for their crimes. I’m a top marksman, Deb. I aimed to kill.”

“Help me up.”

Trace’s hands were like velvet iron, the strength, the gentleness as he helped her sit upright. Then after a few moments, he lifted her to her feet. He held on until he was sure her knees wouldn’t wobble, then stepped respectfully back.

“Now, Trace Riley—”

“You’ve called me by my first and last name two times. It don’t seem like a good sign.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I can understand the anger you carried around, but I can’t judge as evil a man who protected innocent people from killers.”

Trace shrugged one shoulder. “I reckon I enjoyed it too much.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “And when the attacks broke off, did you go around killing other people and enjoy that?”

Trace’s dark brows slammed down. “Of course not.”

“And why is that? Why do you say, ‘of course not’?”

“I’m not a cold-blooded killer, Deb.”

“I thought you just said you were.”

Trace glared, then finally dropped his eyes to the ground, and kicked at the snow. “Don’t make light of what I did. I found a Bible in one of the burned-out wagon trains—most of the books came from there, or I found them tossed alongside the trail when folks were lightening their loads. Lately I’ve bought a few. But that Bible survived the fire when my pa was killed.”

“That explains its battered cover.”

“Yep, I figured maybe God had spared it just to give me a chance to read His Word. I could only read mighty slow at first, but I kept getting faster. I had four other books, so I spent the first winter reading them all through before spring came. I’ve read it through every winter since, and I’d catch a little more each time until I thought I started understanding all of it, which I see now is so foolish. I finally felt like ‘vengeance is mine’ was written with me in mind, or for men like me, but I was so angry and didn’t let it stop me.”

“And if you had understood those words, Trace? Would you have left the wagon trains unguarded? Is that what you think God would have wanted you to do?”

That was met with a long stretch of silence. “When I finally got to a town I heard rumors that the trail was haunted. That a ghost they’d named The Guardian stood watch over it. I didn’t tell anyone it was me.”

Finally, because she was getting purely cold, Deb said, “I don’t hate you for what you did, Trace. If hate drove you and you feel it was an awful sin, then pray for forgiveness. Ask God to forgive you and learn to forgive yourself. And do it knowing that I hold no sin against you. That’s not really what I came out here for.”

“It’s not?” Trace found his hat where it’d fallen off his head, put it back on, put his hand on her back and urged her back toward the cabin.

“No, I came out because I am going with you tomorrow. You need me. I’d hoped after today you’d know that. You’d realize that—”

“All right, you can come.”

Deb stopped and whirled around to face him. “All right?” She was as stunned now as she’d been after the fall.

“Yes, after today I saw you were right. It made me wary not knowing who the men around me were. I wished you were there to tell me if you recognized voices. I would appreciate it if you’d come. I plan to ride straight to Carson City. Dismal is on south of us, and those men wouldn’t have gone there, not without me knowing. The trail goes too close to my place. And besides they were headed north. You can help me talk to the sheriff. You can describe the man you saw and the voices you heard—it’d be better coming straight from the witness and not passed through me.”

Deb stood speechless. She’d expected to have the fight of her life over this. And she hadn’t intended to take no for an answer. Although she’d have to steal a horse from Trace, and she didn’t know how to saddle one, and she’d have to get past Utah and Adam. Still, she’d planned to go.

This sort of added to having her breath knocked out. “Well, umm . . . good. I’m glad we agree.”

“Gwen will be all right, won’t she?” A furrow formed between Trace’s brows. “She’ll have to care for the children and feed the men on her own. You both work mighty hard to get a meal on for us.”

It was all Deb could do not to throw her arms around his neck. Honestly, he was just the sweetest man. Then she remembered his confession about killing and thought maybe sweet wasn’t the exact right term.

“Gwen will be fine.”

“We’ll have to stay out overnight. I think we can get to Carson City and find rooms there. If we make good time, do our searching there, and move on past it we’ll have to find some proper place for you to sleep.”

“What time do we leave?”

“Before sunup. I’ll knock on your door to wake you, then go saddle the horses while you dress. I’ve got food for the saddlebags.”

“I’ll bring along some more.”

Nodding, Trace said, “That’ll be fine, but we should be able to eat in Carson City so we don’t need too much.”

Deb determined she would be up and ready long before Trace. She wasn’t going to do a single thing that slowed him down.