LITMIR.BIZ

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before, back on the plantation, his father would send the foreman and a hunting party of the slaves out to chase down anything that threatened the well-being of the livestock or the fields. Chris had lived his entire life as the spoiled son of the plantation owner, “preparing” to someday be the future master. He’d learned to do the books, barter the cotton, tobacco and peanuts, and see to a host of other responsibilities, but never did he have to get his hands dirty or risk any physical harm. That’s what the slaves had been for, until his father died and Chris gave them their freedom.

      He would never again benefit off the labor of another man held in bondage. Nana Ruth and Jebediah had accepted their freedom but refused to leave him. Instead, they traveled west with him, not that the end result had turned out well for them.

      As he bent down to inspect the prints, Comet shied behind him. Chris cocked an ear and noticed the silence was...too silent. In the six years he’d lived in Alta California, he’d learned to read the signs of the woods, and he knew that either his presence—or something else’s—was making the inhabitants of the area uncomfortable. He lifted his rifle and looked around closely.

      Suddenly something heavy splashed into the creek. A few hundred feet to his right a young Indian boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, rode into sight on a golden mare. With a fierce determination written across his face, the boy stopped his horse in the icy water and aimed a rifle at Chris. Indecision cost Chris valuable seconds while his mind fought the idea of shooting a boy, even in self-defense.

      The decision was made for him when the boy fired. Chris ducked instinctively. It seemed as if time stood still, and he wondered if he were truly ready to meet his maker. His thoughts flew to Nana Ruth as the ground came up to meet his face. How would she survive on the ranch alone?

      Just as his body tensed to take the bullet, he heard another sound, as if the tree above him were crashing down. Something large fell from above and knocked the boy off his horse, submerging him in the flowing creek. Chris was on his feet and in the water, his gun ready, before his mind could process what he had seen.

      As he stepped closer, his gut twisted at the sight of blood turning the water red as it flowed with the current. Neither the boy nor the cougar came up for air. The mare, prancing close by, neighed in distress but didn’t run off.

      Chris kept a careful eye on the cat, its orange eyes unblinking as he moved closer to the boy. Just under the surface, the boy thrashed but the big cat, almost as long as Chris was tall, pinned him down. Chris quickly shoved the cat to the side with his boot while aiming his rifle, should it regain consciousness and come at him. He plunged his arm into the frigid water and pulled the boy away as fast as he could while still keeping watch on the cougar. It was then that he noticed the bullet hole in the chest of the magnificent feline. Awed and humbled at the true shot, he looked down at the boy, who gasped and started to cough.

      What was the child doing out in the woods alone? Chris hadn’t heard of any native people living close by. Even the men from the Hacienda Ruiz rarely came anywhere close to his ranch. Had the boy gotten lost or had something happened to the rest of his party? Had they been hunting the cat?

      He looked down at the boy and prayed that this young hero hadn’t sacrificed his own life for Chris. With each minute that passed while the boy still didn’t open his eyes, Chris’s unease grew. He needed to get the boy out of the cold. Nana Ruth would know what to do.

      He whistled for Comet, but the mare came over instead. Noting the saddle was of the finest leather, he hesitated before mounting up. Something about the horse was familiar, but now was not the time to figure it out. The stirrups were way too short, but he didn’t have time or a hand free to adjust them with the boy in his arms. They needed to get home as soon as possible. The sun still shone in the January sky, but the trees shaded most of the ride, and the wind cut like a knife through his wet clothes. As Chris lifted the boy with him onto the horse, he was surprised to discover that he weighed even less than expected. Maybe ninety pounds at best, an even hundred with the waterlogged serape.

      It took less than an hour to get back to the cabin, Chris carrying the boy on the mare with Comet following close behind. As soon as the cabin came into view, Chris started yelling. Nana might be slow moving, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing. She’d appreciate the advance warning that they had a guest. Especially since no one had come by in over four months.

      “Nana Ruth!” His second shout brought Nana to the door of their wooden cabin just as he rode up.

      “Land sakes, child, what’s all the hollerin’ about?” Nana Ruth paused only a second at the threshold, her work-worn hands resting on her ample hips. Her big brown eyes widened, and her ebony skin bunched into a thousand wrinkles crisscrossing her forehead as she hustled out into the yard as fast as her arthritic knees would allow.

      “I need your help here, Nana Ruth.”

      “Now, just what have we here?” She leaned closer as Chris dismounted with the unconscious boy in his arms.

      “I don’t know, but I think we’d better find out. Can you get the door?” Readjusting his hold, he headed toward the cabin. The horses would have to see to themselves for a while.

      The interior of the cabin was darker than outside, even with the windows he had built into the walls. He passed Nana’s bed next to the hearth and nodded to his larger bed. “Nana, could you turn down the bedding?”

      “But Master Chris, it’s not right for you to be out of your bed on account o’ no stranger. You can stretch her out on my bed.” She stooped with effort to ready her own bed, but he shook his head.

      “You won’t be able to see to his wounds or take care of him on your small bed, and you’d have to bend down all the time. No, Nana, the boy will rest in my bed until we can find out where he came from and how to return him there.”

      “If that there’s a boy, he’s about the prettiest boy I ever seen, Master Chris. And I still say you ought not be putting her in your bed.”

      Her words stopped Chris in his tracks. Of course the child was a boy. True, even with dirt and blood on his face, he could be considered “pretty.” But this couldn’t be a girl. Preposterous! Not even an Indian girl would be out riding all on her own in the middle of the wilderness. It was true that some of the haciendas enjoyed relative safety because of their numbers and the way the hacienda señors or dons led their communities like feudal lords, but it was still dangerous in the wilderness. Chris himself had discovered his greatest enemy wasn’t the wildlife or even the harsh weather of the higher altitudes but the lawless men who sacked and plundered and then melted back into the forest.

      And then there was the shot that killed the cat. No girl could have made that shot. No, their guest had to be a boy, and he hoped to get some answers from the boy if the Good Lord willed the child’s eyes open again.

      “Nana. Help me peel this serape off first so we don’t soak the bedding.”

      “Poor child, out in that cold all wet.” Nana Ruth’s gnarled fingers fought with the sombrero before it fell away. “I think she’s got a knock on the noggin, Master Chris. There’s a lump back here. Now looky here...” Nana Ruth’s hands came away with hairpins. A braid cascaded down and swung like a pendulum. It wasn’t the first Indian boy Chris had seen who had long hair worn in a single braid.

      But he’d never seen a boy pin his braid into a bun.

      Misgiving settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

      Nana Ruth slid the thick fabric of the serape over the child’s torso and head before Chris adjusted his grip to let the garment fall to the floor.

      “Could you put some toweling down on the bed?”

      She did his bidding even as she murmured, “We got to get this child warm soon. Look how dark her lips are.”

      It might already be too late. The boy was too still. As still as Jeb had been when Chris had finally run off their attackers and carried Jeb back to the cabin the day of the ambush... But he’d do everything he could to keep that

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