Chapter Fifteen
Spring 1899
Near Granite Creek, Montana
The skin on the back of Tanner Harding’s neck tingled. Something—or someone—watched him.
He slowly straightened from leaning against the fence but kept his eyes on the horses corralled behind the barricade of intertwined thick branches. He didn’t want to alert whatever rustled behind him that he was aware of its presence. He crossed his arms as if his sole purpose was admiring the wild mares he’d captured, but one hand slipped down to the handle of the knife he carried on his belt. Whether it be man or beast, Tanner didn’t intend it to succeed in attacking him.
A slight sound indicated the stalker had moved toward Tanner’s right, to the little grove of trees. A bear? It was too quiet and it didn’t smell. A cougar? A big cat would be up the tree waiting for a chance to pounce. A man? That seemed most likely.
He tensed his muscles, fixed in his thoughts where to strike, and sprang around in a single movement that most men couldn’t imitate. But then most men didn’t have Lakota blood mixed with white in their veins.
His right arm came up. The steel blade of his knife flashed as he confronted—
A boy? A little boy, with tousled blond hair and blue eyes as wide as moons, who shrank back as far as the tree trunk allowed.
“You gonna kill me?” he squeaked.
Tanner slid the knife back into its sheath as the tension drained from his body. “You’re too little to be any danger to me.”
The boy drew himself up to the fullest of his barely three feet. “I ain’t too little.” He crossed his arms and thumped them to his chest. “I’m five.”
“Uh-huh.” Tanner perched one foot on the nearby fallen tree and leaned over his leg. “You got a name?”
“Robbie.”
“Is there a last name goes with that, Robbie?”
“Robbie Collins.”
He knew the family. They lived down the valley a bit, scratching out a living on a farm. The mother had died a year or more ago, the father, a few months past. Who was in charge of this child and the other three children in the family? They weren’t doing much of a job for this youngster to be a few miles from home.
“What’s your name?” Robbie spoke with an amusing mix of bravado and innocence.
“Tanner Harding.”
Robbie nodded. “You live on that big ranch over there, don’cha?”
“Yup.”
“You gots some brothers.”
“Two. Johnny and Levi. They’re both younger than me.” Was the boy purposely trying to divert Tanner from finding out what he was doing here? “Won’t someone be worried about you?”
Robbie ignored the question and moseyed over to the barricade of tree branches. “Those your horses?”
“They are now.” Three of the mares for sure were descendants of his mother’s mare, which had been turned out to join the wild herd after her death. No one but his mother had been able to ride her. He meant to gentle them, breed them to a top-notch stud and start a herd that would have made his mother proud. He would be proud, too. Might even gain him a little respect from the white men in the area. At least he hoped so. Though it might be too much to hope they would at some point accept him as their equal.
“They’re wild horses, right?”
“I’m going to tame them.”
Robbie might only be five, but the look he gave Tanner overflowed with so much doubt that Tanner chuckled.
He dropped his booted foot to the ground. “We better get you home.”
Robbie’s shoulders sank. “Auntie Susanne is not going to be happy with me.”
“Oh?”
He hung his head. “I’m not supposed to go away without telling her.”
Tanner studied the boy. So Robbie had wandered off before. “Then why do you?”
Robbie shrugged. “Just ’cause,” he mumbled. He lifted his head and fixed Tanner with a desperate look. “’Cause things is different now.”
Tanner swung to the back of his horse and reached down to lift Robbie up. “Different how?”
“I’s got no mama or papa. Just Auntie Susanne.” Sorrow dripped from every word.
Tanner felt sorry for this motherless five-year-old boy. Tanner had been seven when Seena, his own ma, died. But his pa was still alive and strong as an ox. A suitable time after Tanner’s mother died, Big Sam Harding had married Maisie and provided the three boys with a loving stepmother.
But it wasn’t the same. Maisie was blonde and white and sweet as honey. Tanner’s ma was a full-blood Lakota Indian and more tough than sweet, though she loved deeply. She’d been injured escaping the Battle of the Little Bighorn and Big Sam had rescued her, nursed her to health, married her and built the ranch for her. After her death, Tanner had felt lost. A half-breed boy in a white world.
Turning the offspring of Ma’s mare into a fine herd was meant to correct the lost feeling that lingered to this day.
He took one more look at the mares. The fence was meant only to capture them. He needed solid corrals in which to train them. There were solid corrals back at the ranch, but Pa said he couldn’t bring in a bunch of wild horses.
“First thing we know, the wild stallions will be coming around stealing the mares back and taking our stock, too.” Pa was right, of course, but being right didn’t solve Tanner’s dilemma. He’d build a new set of corrals out here, but that would take time he didn’t care to spend when he could be training the horses. Somehow he hoped to find an easier solution.
But first he needed to deal with the boy before him.
