Double Mountain Crossing by Chris Scott Wilson Page B

Just remember honey, my way’s the hard way. All you got to do is lay on your back and open your legs. You don’t even have to smile.”
    â€œYou think I like it?” she snapped.
    â€œOne time I didn’t think so, sugar, but now I ain’t so Goddam sure. Last night you seemed ready enough to jump in bed with him.”
    Her eyes flashed. “Why d’you think that was? You were going crazy with liquor and sure enough one of us had to keep an eye on him. That left only me.”
    Alison scowled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He still talking in his sleep and having them nightmares?”
    â€œYes. He’s pretty cagey, but I got the feeling when winter breaks he’ll be riding back to the mountains. He’s got a score to settle.”
    â€œWell, if he does, I’ll be right behind him.”
    Anne Marie glanced up. “You find out about this Double Mountain ?”
    â€œYep. Even got me a map.”
    â€œWell if you go after him, I’m coming too,” she said defiantly.
    â€œHell, no you ain’t,” he spat, obstinate. “You’d make more noise up in them mountains than a wagonload of turkeys going to market. Sound travels mighty far in them canyons.”
    She knew he was right. The closest she’d been to wild country was the view out of a Concord stagecoach. But she still didn’t like the idea of him going after all that gold on his own. She had the feeling if he found it she would never see him again. That terrified her. With that much money he wouldn’t ever need her again.
    His voice broke into her thoughts. “Honey, you’re a real pretty woman. If there are Indians up there, especially Kiowas…” He shook his head and winced. “I’ve seen what they can do to a white woman and it don’t make good listenin’. I seen one, one time, her head shaved bare and her nose cut right off her face. She’d tried to escape and they’d sliced the hamstrings behind her knees. Couldn’t hardly shuffle along. She was that ugly by then, none of the braves wanted to use her so all she did was carry firewood all day long, with an old squaw walking behind beatin’ her with a stick.” It was a lie he’d heard in a saloon someplace, but he knew Anne Marie set great store by her looks and nothing would induce her to risk losing them.
    â€œI didn’t think of the Indians,” she shuddered, ashen faced, her fingers winding in her long black curls as though to reassure herself they were still there.
    â€œThere you are,” Shuck smiled, laying a hand on her cheek. “That’s what I’m here for, to think of all these little things for you. You got to keep pretty.”
    She could feel his rancid breath, reeking of cigar smoke and whiskey as it washed over her. That look she knew so well was coming into his eyes, and she knew what was coming next.
    â€œAs I said,” he continued as he unbuckled his gun belt and took off his jacket, “if we have to pick his money away from him slow and easy, it’s going to be a real long winter.”
    And it was.

CHAPTER 7

    The heavy norther that had punished the hammered joints of the wooden buildings ceased its moaning and faded. The snow-heavy clouds that had remained a constant threat disappeared from the sky, allowing the pale sun to shine through and pick at the snow crusted ground. It was still bitter at night and the frost undid most of the sun’s work, but as the days passed the land drained and the melted slush grew steadily shallower. It would soon be first grass and the ranchers tidied their barns and readied their branding irons. Eyes crow-footed, gaze resting on the distant skyline, unconsciously their gloved hands fashioned loops, then recoiled hand-woven lariats, ready for rounding up the winter’s scattered cattle.
    In the hotel room overlooking the street Morgan contemplated his dwindling bank account. Out of