CHAPTER ONE
The air shimmered under a relentlessly harsh and beating sun as, from high above, they watched. Theirs was a view unrestricted by hills or clouds as they silently watched and waited, patiently, every so patiently. Beady eyes watched as small dust clouds, raised by the hooves of the tired horse plodding along the desolate landscape of the Arizona desert, hung suspended in the still hot air. They watched and waited for the horse to stumble and fall, spilling itâs rider, slumped and swaying, from the saddle. Once that happened they would swoop down from the sky and feed on the unresisting bodies that had so valiantly tried to cross the barren wasteland devoid of life and water. They were the large vultures that would feast on whatever pry that would fall victim to the unforgiving desert.
In the far distance through eyes almost swollen shut under the unrelenting sun the lone rider thought he saw smoke, but he couldnât be sure. The very air around him moved as if it were water, waving and making anything beyond a few feet blurred and indistinct. For more than an hour the rider would lift his weary head and peer into the distance, hoping against hope that is was more than a mirage, a something that wasnât really there. At long last, through squinting swollen eyes, he spied the outline of a roof. His mind slowed by the sun and heat, it took time for it to click in his mind. A roof. That meant a building and people, unless, he grimaced, it was a ghost town. His tongue lick his cracked and dried lips as his voice croaked in his urging of his exhausted mount.
Time passed as horse and rider moved slowly closer. Finally he was able to clearly see more than just a roof. It was a house, single and lonely, but still a house all alone just like him in the wasteland. Smoke curled from the chimney and he knew it meant life, people. Water was what he most craved, then food, but first water to slake his killing thirst. He smiled, his parched lips cracking. He tasted his own blood as he looked down at the water filled trough his horse had stopped at, itâs nose buried in the scum coated water and drinking deeply. No longer did he feel the movement under him. No longer did he hear the buzzards overhead as the quiet darkness took him under itâs cloak of blackness. He fell from the saddle and lay in a heap on the dusty ground.
Sara had been watching from the dirty glass window, one of the few still remaining in the house. She had, by her best recollection, just passed her eighteenth birthday and this was the first person besides her mother and father she had seen in over two years. She was, at present, alone and very much frightened. Her parents were out gathering what wood they could find to help supplement the buffalo chips that fueled their cook stove and fireplace. She knew they wouldnât return for several more hours owning to the distance that had to be traveled. Getting to town took even longer, almost an entire day it was so far distant. Now she was faced with a problem without anyone to help her. From over the only door she took down the trusty Winchester rifle, checked to make sure there was a shell in the chamber, as cautiously opened the door. Thumbing back the hammer she aimed the loaded rifle at the still form laying next to the trough and slowly moved closer.
The man lay still, his breathing slow and shallow. Sara made no sound as her bare feet moved her closer until she was able to touch him with the barrel. She nudged his quiet form and got no response save that of a small grunt. Still the man didnât move and she became bolder. Women in the desolate frontier had to be bold and daring in order to survive, and Sara had learned well the lessons taught her.
âHey, you, Mister. Git up,â she commanded in her most stern voice. She prodded him with the rifle barrel, but nothing happened. âI said move, you,â she said more harshly, but anyone around hearing her voice would laughed. Not because she was being so funny, but her voice was so soft and silky just like her honey blond hair that hung so gracefully down over her shoulders and part way down her back.
The stranger could have sworn he heard a womanâs voice, but knew it couldnât be true. The black fog began to lift and the brilliant sunlight blazed through his closed eyelids. He struggled and opened one eye only to see the vision of heaven looking down. It took several seconds before his mind registered the face of an angel gazing upon his filthy dust laden form. He saw hair of gold surrounded by the glowing halo caused by the sun behind her. His attempt at smiling brought pain in his lips as the again cracked and bled. His attempt to raise his head brought nothing more than sever dizziness and threatened to bring back the cloak of blackness he had just returned from. He coughed and spat out the blood from his lips, then again lay still in the dirt and dust.
Sara was frustrated and beginning to become angry. She pushed at him with the rifle forcing his body onto his back. The stranger made no move to resist. Now she started to look more closely at him. He was thin and ragged. While his clothes werenât exactly torn, they were none the less filthy, much in need of repair and washing. The broad brimmed hat he wore fell from his head and she saw his tousled hair, black and sweat shiny. Even through the two week old beard she could see he was young, not much older than she and it looked to be a handsome face. A red bandanna was around his tanned weather beaten neck, the sleeves of his shirt long. He looked thin, almost gaunt. His Leviâs were stained from who knew what and the chaps he wore to protect his legs were well worn. Finally she saw his boots, scuffed and well worn, almost to the point of the souls having holes, but not quite.
CHAPTER TWO
Dusty felt the coolness caressing his fevered brow. He slowly opened his eyes and again feasted on the heavenly beauty of the angle with the golden hair. A strange scent wafted to his nostrils, that of perfume. He wondered, did angels really use such wonderful scents? His mind began to clear as the coolness on his forehead began to bring him back to the real world. It wasnât an angel he was looking at, but a beautiful young woman as she held his head in her lap and sponged his head with a cool cloth. They were still on the ground next to the watering trough, but that didnât bother him at all, just as long as she kept soothing his brow.
âWelcome back, stranger,â Sara almost cooed. âFeelinâ better?â she asked.
âMuch,â he replied finding his lips not so cracked yet still sore. âIâm obliged to you, Maâam.â His voice still croaked the words, but it was soft and gentle. He was still mesmerized by her beauty and now her soft hands.
âI was beginninâ to wonder if you would ever come back from where ever you was,â she replied. âSeemed to me like you was done fer. Kinda glad to see you still alive and all.â Sara again moistened his lips and was pleased when he sucked the wet cloth, drawing out the moisture.
âLooks like Iâm beholden to ya. I donât know how I can repay your kindness, but Iâll find a way.â Dusty was very old fashioned and never let a debt go unpaid. âTomorrow you find some chores around that need doin and Iâll get right toâm.â
âHush, now,â Sara admonished. âYou ainât about to do no chores for a few days. Why, you just come through some of the most bad desert around and youâre still alive to tell about it. Hey, you ainât runninâ from the law is you?â
âNaw,â he chuckled. âI just got lost and went the wrong way. Wow, did I ever go the wrong way. Thought for sure I was a goner, me and my hoss there. Howâs old Dan doinâ, anyway?â
âDan, thatâs your horse? Heâs just fine. Got his fill of water and I gave him a double portion of oats. Sure hope my father donât whip me to hard for that. Oats is hard to come by around here and they cost a lot. Got to bring them from town and thatâs a two day trip.â
âLook, I ainât no saddle tramp. I got money and will gladly pay for the oats. Donât worry,â he quickly added seeing the look of concern crossing her lovely face. âI come by the money honest. Worked as a cow hand on a ranch âbout four days from here. Bar-X-Bar. Ever hear of it?â
A shudder of fear raced through Saraâs body at the name. Sure, she had heard of it and seen what the owner and men could and would do to whomever crossed them. They ruled most of the country for thousands of miles around and didnât take much to them that wouldnât give them what they wanted.
âYeah. Thatâs old man Jackson and his hired gunmen. Yeah, Iâve heard of them. So, you was one of them?â Her silky soft voice suddenly turned hard. She was about to shove his head onto the ground, but decided to wait for his response.
âI canât say I was. Sure, I worked there for âbout a month, but drew my pay and rode out. Didnât like the way the old man ran things or his people. Witnessed a few shootinâs that I think was wrong, but couldnât do nothinâ to stopâm. And before you ask, no, I never shot anybody while workinâ for him.â