Free Nightway by Janet Dailey Page A

only won because you deviated from the course of the race.”
    Someone stepped into Hawk’s side vision to stand beside the golden-haired girl clutching the woman’s hand. “He won fairly, Katheryn.” It was his father, speaking low, too, so those looking on couldn’t hear. “You can’t show favoritism for Chad in front of the others.”
    The blue ribbon and envelope of prize money were in her hand. Her smile was forced as she turned to the little girl beside her. “Here, Carol. You can give out the ribbon this time.”
    His father reached down and picked the girl up by the waist so she could reach Hawk to present him with his winnings. As he reached out a hand to take theribbon and envelope from her, Carol drew them back and sent a frowning look over her shoulder at his father.
    “But I wanted to give them to Chad,” she protested. “He should have won.”
    “Yes, he should have,” J. B. Faulkner agreed. “But Hawk gets the blue ribbon. You can give the red one to Chad.”
    With obvious reluctance, Carol gave Hawk the first prize. Carol’s defection came as no surprise to Hawk. The rare times that Chad came home from the private school he attended, and deigned to notice the daughter of the ranch foreman, she treated him like a god.
    Taking his prize, Hawk relaxed the pressure on the horse’s bit and kicked it into a trot toward the barns where the other cowboys and horses were milling. When he joined them to dismount and unsaddle his horse, conversation lagged. A few of them acknowledged his win, tossing out subdued comments.
    “Good job.”
    “Helluva ride, Hawk.”
    Hawk didn’t make a single response, hiding his disappointment behind a mask of stoic indifference.
    With the race over, everyone began drifting toward the lawn of the low, rambling main house where the barbeque was to be held. Hawk went, too, although his appetite was left behind. Keeping to the background, he joined the fringes of a group of ranch hands and their families and did nothing that would draw attention to himself. His gaze strayed often to his father’s first wife as she laughed and talked with those around her.
    Plates became emptied of food, were refilled, and emptied again before bellies became stuffed to the point they could hold no more. Then the adults sat around in groups, talking, drinking, and laughing whilethe children played rowdily—all except Hawk, who merely sat beneath the shade of a tree and watched them all.
    “Hawk?”
    He glanced sideways in the direction of the little girl’s voice that had called his name. She came running toward him to stop somewhat breathlessly in front of him. Her tightly coiled ringlets of gold were starting to droop, the ends brushing the white ruffles of her pinafore. She was pretty, like a little pink and gold doll, and Hawk smiled.
    “Are you really an Indian, Hawk?” Her hands went to her hips as she asked the question, tilting her head to one side.
    “Yes, part Indian,” he admitted.
    His answer widened her eyes, which shimmered with curiosity and a hint of fear. “Do you scalp people?” she murmured in faint alarm.
    His eyes laughed with mischief. “Only little girls with yellow hair,” Hawk teased and made a playful lunge toward her.
    She ran from him, shrieking, “Chad! Chad!” She catapulted herself into the older boy’s arms when he appeared. “He was going to scalp me!” she cried. “Don’t let him get me, Chad!”
    “It’s all right, honey,” the boy soothed and sent Hawk a glaring look. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
    Hawk watched silently as the tall boy turned and carried the girl away.
    Late that night, Hawk slipped out of the house while everyone was sleeping, saddled his horse, and rode north. A full moon lit the way, silvering the land with its bright light. Many times he spurred his horse, feeling the presence of ghosts that traveled in the darkness of night.
    Before dawn, he arrived safely at the hogan of his mother’s uncle. He spent three