Free Dare to Dream by Debbie Vaughan Page A

Charlie his medicine. Charlie was good, but as shaman, White Buffalo knew more than anybody. What knowledge he hadn’t learned on his own, the sacred Fathers had shared with him. What knowledge he hadn’t garnered on his own, the Fathers shared with him.
    Will watched for yellow hair. If this Donna’s hair was uncovered and the color resembled Meg’s, he’d be able to spot her easy enough from the road. Trouble was, if she had been hurt, she might wander off into the woods, fall down a gulley, or slide down the mountainside. Two days and nights in the wilderness, wearing no more clothes than Meghan had when he found her, didn’t bode well. The cold, damp air turned to freezing cold at night, ice making the few pathways all the more treacherous.
    He adjusted his thinking, and his gaze sought more than fair hair. He scanned for signs of scavengers, fresh-chewed bones, drag marks, and bits of cloth clinging to twigs. When they broke from the cover of the evergreens, he searched overhead for vultures but found nothing amiss. As the sun lowered in the sky, he kept an eye out for a likely campsite. The scenery changed from year to year and season to season. A clearing he had used before might now well be filled with six-foot saplings.
    He caught the rancid odor before he rounded the bend. A shift in the wind brought the smell of rotted meat. At the first growl, he drew his Winchester. He dropped anchor but didn’t tie Bess. She’d do fine as long as she had her head. The draft mule had killed a mountain lion a few years back. A wolf or two wouldn’t be near as much trouble as a cat, assuming their hunger made them stupid enough to attack.
    A pack of five feasted on a kill, theirs or one they stole. With them writhing all over the carcass, Will couldn’t tell what their meal had been in life.
    “Here now! Get!” The wolves froze but didn’t move off, so Will shouted again. “Get on with ya’ you pack of fleabags! Get!”
    Three moved off, but two stood their ground. Good enough. He didn’t need to waste a shot. With three out of the way, he saw the antlers of an elk. He backed away, leaving them to their feed, and returned to the wagon.
    “Well, Bess, we need to move on a ways. I don’t hanker to camp downwind tonight.”
    Dusk closed around them while Will set up camp. The small clearing promised enough forage and browse for the mule and a spot big enough to build a fire. The wagon, empty except for some pelts, would make a dandy bed. He unhitched the mule with no thought of tethering her. Bess was a good girl. Besides, he planned to use her feed sack for a pillow. She’d likely be chewing his hair before morning.
    Rifle in hand, he walked deepening circles around the camp but saw no signs a human passed that way. He relieved himself, returned to the fire, gave Bess her evening oats, and set about cooking his meal of beans, bacon, and some of Charlie’s hard-as-hell biscuits. Charlie might be a good cook when it came to most things, but he didn’t bake worth shit. Well, he made fair cornbread. He could churn and can as good as any woman. Will offered Bess the rest of his biscuit. Seemed even she had trouble chewing it.
    He spread his bedroll in the wagon and climbed in. After shooing the mule back from the oat sack, he tied the grain bag securely and propped his head on it. He’d stay warm tonight with all the extra blankets Charlie sent along. Not that the old goat believed a word Meghan said or wrote. Will knew the blankets were to humor him. Charlie thought she was hiding something. Each of his outlandish notions seemed worse than the one before. His latest put her in the family way. What if she was? Why should that rile Charlie so? Hadn’t he taken him in when he was a babe, with no more than White Buffalo’s say so? Charlie was the only father Will remembered.
    Little Eagle, Will’s true father, had been White Buffalo’s son. They hailed from farther east than Colorado, Texas territory. Little Eagle