Vince raised his hands, unwilling to even touch it. ‘‘No, thanks.’’ He backed away. ‘‘That treasure has caused me enough trouble. I promised myself that as soon as I found you, I was heading home. The map is all yours.’’

Wes opened his mouth to argue, but Vince cut him off. ‘‘Someone out there is still willing to kill for that map. If you’re wise, you’ll forget it, too. I’ve got a wife and kids waiting for me. I’ll count my blessings if I get out of this treasure hunt with only a limp.’’

‘‘But your grandfather-’’

‘‘He died eaten up with a fever to find it. The fever cost him his son’s life and almost mine. I told myself when I was floating down the Red River that night with my own blood coloring the water, that if I lived, I’d never touch that damn map again.’’

‘‘If I find something, I’ll mail you half,’’ Wes offered.

‘‘No, thanks. I want no part of it.’’ Vince turned and began unsaddling his horse as Wes put the map away. ‘‘I’ll bed down at your fire tonight, then I’m heading home tomorrow. I’ve been following you for three weeks. Wanted to let you know I was alive.’’

Wes moved the pot near the fire to warm the brew, then sat down close to the flames to read the letter Vince had brought him from Adam.

Vince talked as he unloaded. ‘‘By the way, I found out you’re not engaged to the Montago girl anymore. She wouldn’t even see me. ’Course, her sister had plenty to say.’’ Vince glanced at Allie as if the pieces he’d heard about Wes’s activities were starting to fit together. But Vince wasn’t the kind of man to ask or repeat gossip, no matter how interesting it might have been.

‘‘Angela Montago wasn’t interested in a rancher without cattle,’’ Wes answered as he examined the letter. ‘‘I didn’t have time to tell her about the map and how I might have enough money soon to buy at least a starter herd. All she saw was a no-good ranch with only a dugout to live in.’’

‘‘Picky woman.’’ Vince laughed as he poured himself a cup of coffee. ‘‘No matter how beautiful a lady is, if she doesn’t have time to listen to a man’s dreams, she starts uglying up.’’ The letter drew his interest as he relaxed with his cup in hand.

Scribbled on the side of the envelope in Adam’s scratching was a note saying, ‘‘Thought you needed to see this as soon as possible.’’

Wes unfolded the letter inside. The handwriting was worse than Adam’s. Some words were large, some small, as if the author of the note was just learning to write or forgetting how.

‘‘What’s it say?’’ Vince never was long on patience.

Wes read: ‘‘Girl, born 1847, captured 1852. Name: Allyce Catlin. Called Allie. Parents and siblings died in attack. Only known relative: grandmother, Victoria Catlin. She was part of the original Austin colony. Last known address: near Brady, Texas.’’ Wes took a deep breath. ‘‘It’s signed Sheriff Maxwell Hardy, retired.’’

‘‘You think that could be your Allie’s kin?’’

Wes didn’t want to sound hopeful. ‘‘Could be, but we’ve been down a few dead ends already. At least this comes from a sheriff. The dates sound about right, and the name fits.’’

Vince leaned back and studied his friend closely. ‘‘Come morning, I’m heading north to home. Do you go to Brady or Goliad?’’

Wes looked at Allie. She was doing her best to pretend to be asleep, but he had no doubt she heard every word they’d been saying. ‘‘Brady,’’ he finally whispered. ‘‘We’ll head to Brady and hope this Sheriff Hardy is right. It’s on my way anyway.’’

Vince lowered his hat over his eyes. ‘‘We’ve both got a long ride tomorrow.’’

Wes returned to the tree and sat down beside Allie. ‘‘A long day.’’ He leaned back and closed his eyes, smiling as she spread the blankets over them both.

Hours later, Wes rolled awake just before dawn. The air hung still with new birth and the fire burned low in dying warmth. He glanced around, sensing something was missing even before he could reason what.

Vince slept soundly on the other side of the fire. Two horses moved by the water’s edge. Two horses! The bay was missing.

Allie was gone.

ELEVEN

ALLIE SLID FROM HER HORSE AND HELD THE REINSwith one hand and her skirt with the other as she crossed the shallow stream. The bay protested as they splashed through the cold water, but Allie didn’t slow her march. She doubted Wes would follow her long. He’d probably be glad she was gone so that he could get on with his search for the Goliad treasure. She only slowed him down. He’d helped her along the way, and now she kept him from doing what he wanted to do.

He’d saved her from the cage, and she’d paid him back by taking him to his brother. They were even-if she didn’t count the bay she’d taken with her.

But horses weren’t all that valuable, she reminded herself. There were wild ones Wes could catch as a replacement.

And-if she didn’t count the saddle, she thought.

Saddles were several times more valuable than a horse. Wes would probably be mad about the saddle. But there was no way she could send it back. If she’d thought before she left, she would have ridden out bareback.

She felt like a fool. To take a horse was a small crime, but to take a saddle was a far greater wrong. She hadn’t been fair with him. He would have every right to call her an enemy from this day on. Her tribe and his would be at war. Only she didn’t have a tribe.

The horse shied away from the uneven ground beneath the water. With one hand, Allie held the reins tighter, pulling the animal along, while she tried desperately to hold up the hem of her skirt with the other. She knew she’d have to stay in the water for several hundred feet if she were to make her trail disappear. The possibility that Wes would follow made her trip through the water necessary.

Allie thought of the chance that Louis might still be around, but decided he would never have been able to keep up with the way they rode yesterday. If he’d gotten in sight, Wes would have seen him, for Wes was a soldier trained to watch his back.

She plodded forward, picking her path. The bay followed fitfully. Several yards into the water, she saw the problem. The shadows of bare branches moved like thin black snakes across the shallow edges of the stream. The river’s flow seemed to give them life.

Panic gripped Allie. The horse seemed to sense her terror. He jerked his head, pulling the reins free from her wet hand.

Allie jumped to recapture control of the leather, but the animal had tasted freedom. With a sudden bolt, he was away, running at full gallop toward the water’s edge.

Allie followed. Her boots seemed to weigh a ton. She splashed through the stream like a seasoned trooper. By the time she’d reached the bank, the horse had found his footing on land and was out of sight.

Holding her chin high, she refused to mourn the loss. The horse was not hers to begin with. She could make it to the caves on foot. She didn’t need anyone or anyone’s things. She had her own belongings.

Plopping down on the grass, Allie pulled off her wet boots and thought of all the treasures she’d hidden in her cave. Not treasures like Wes’s gold, but her treasures. A warm coat she’d made of rabbit pelts, a bed of the fine buffalo hide she’d taken from the tent when the raid started, leather dresses that would never wear out, and leggings to keep her warm in winter. She’d carved bowls last fall, after she’d gathered nuts like a squirrel, and she’d made baskets every spring when thin branches were limber.

She leaned back into the dry grass and thought of her cave. The cold and darkness seemed a small price to pay. In every other world, she had nothing. But in her world alone, she had all she needed. Allie closed her eyes and let the sun warm her. Somehow she’d find her cave once more. Somehow she’d get back home to her own private world. Then she’d stay alone, where no one would bother her.

She pulled the key taken from the McLains from her pocket. From now on she’d lock the world out. With her fingers clutching the key tightly, she relaxed in the warm dry grass.


Wes found her by the water, sound asleep. When she first came into sight, he couldn’t believe his luck. He’d thought it’d take him hours to locate her, if he ever did. But it wasn’t long past noon. Her efforts to cover her trail had been good, but not nearly good enough to evade a man who’d spent four years in a war, reading signs.

He crossed the water far enough upstream that she couldn’t hear him. Then he tied his horse, walked over to her, and sat down in the grass. For a long while, he studied her. She really was a pretty woman in a wild kind of way. Some men might find her quite attractive. She had hair that was made to be touched and eyes that looked all the way into her soul. Yes, once she was settled with her family she’d have no trouble finding a man.

Not him, of course. She wasn’t his ideal of beauty. He’d always admired women who emphasized their looks with makeup and padding. And tall. He liked a woman he could look directly in the eyes. But for a man who liked his women plain, simply dressed, and short, Allie would stand out as prime.

Wes smiled, realizing it didn’t really matter to him if his women had been hookers or fine ladies; he liked a lady who wore her beauty as if it were a canvas, fully colored and fully framed. He’d always been attracted to women who were realer than real. Who wore their hair higher or more brightly colored than nature intended. Whose lips were blood red and breasts were powdered white.

He watched Allie sleeping. She was truly plain, he thought. Brown hair, small built, thin. If she’d been a fish, he’d have thrown her back for a better catch. But something about her made her not all that hard to look at. He’d thought it was her eyes and the way he could read her every thought in them. But that couldn’t have been it, because her eyes were closed now and he was still looking.