over his shoulder, made sure of his balance, and climbed back up the cliff face.
Diablo snorted and flared his nostrils, snuffling at André with frank disapproval. Sim quieted the horse, lifted André onto his back and secured the unwelcome burden with rope from the saddlebags. André was as limp as a sack of grain.
Darkness made for a treacherous descent, but Sim’s keen vision picked out the easiest path. Firelight marked his destination for the last quarter mile. When they arrived, Tally ran up to Diablo and stopped to stare at her brother’s pale face. She murmured French words in a voice broken with horror.
Sim fought the urge to dump André on his head and end his troublemaking ways for good. “Your brother’s still alive, and at least he ain’t bleeding,” he said as he untied the ropes. Tally helped Sim ease André to the ground, cradling the injured man’s head in her hands. She’d made a bed of blankets and laid out scraps of cloth to bind any wounds, but Sim was pretty sure that the worst of André’s injuries were inside, where she couldn’t reach them.
Tal cut away her brother’s shredded clothes, covered him with blankets and continued to speak to him in her melodious French, alternately scolding and pleading. The scolding was all an act to hold the tears at bay, but it seemed to work.
Sim gathered sturdy sticks to make a splint for André’s arm, while Tally cleaned André’s cuts and bathed his face and hairline with warm water, revealing the huge raised bump and ugly gash where he’d hit his head in the fall. Tal sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.
“He could have bled to death,” Sim said awkwardly. “Head wounds are like that. He was lucky.”
“Lucky.” She shivered. “How did this happen?”
“Looks like he missed his footing,” Sim said, which wasn’t really a lie. “Easy to do up here.”
“Mon pauvre.” She rinsed the cloth in the can of hot water and dabbed at the wound. “You never saw the mules?”
“The rain washed away their tracks. They must have escaped when André fell. Could be on the other side of the mountains by now, if a panther didn’t get them.”
“No sign of Elijah?”
“He probably never picked up your brother’s trail.”
“He may even be back at the ranch by now.” She brushed at the damp tangles of André’s hair. “The important thing is that we saved André. He’ll explain what happened when he…” She bit hard on her lower lip. “You don’t have to tell me. Men who hit their heads and don’t wake up—”
She was still fighting tears, and Sim couldn’t bear it.
“Some recover,” he said.
“Some,” she echoed. She bent to kiss André’s brow. “There isn’t much more I can do for him here, but the Brysons must have a wagon we can borrow to carry him home.”
“You should leave him with them until you can get a doctor.”
“No. I want him home, where I—” She shook her head. “It will take days to a get a doctor, no matter where we are.” She rose and searched her saddlebags. Coins jingled in a small leather pouch. She picked out three silver dollars and offered them on her open palm. “You’ve more than earned your fee, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll pay you the same again if you’ll ride to Tombstone and send a doctor to Cold Creek.”
Sim stared at the coins with sudden and overwhelming distaste. “What about getting your brother home?”
“It’s less than forty miles from the mouth of Castillo Canyon. I can manage with a wagon.”
Anger tightened Sim’s chest until he could barely breathe. “Why should I bother to earn the money when I could take it from you right now?”
She closed her fist around the coins. “You could have done so at any time, Mr. Kavanagh.”
“Don’t call me that.” Sim got up and stalked out of the firelight, turned on his heel and faced her again. “No one ever calls me mister.”
“What do you want to be called?”
“Sim. Just Sim.”
“I usually go by Tally at home.”
“When you’re not a boy.”
She nodded, staring into the fire. “I was christened Chantal.”
Sim felt the anger evaporate as quickly as it had come. “Simeon,” he muttered.
“It’s a nice name.”
“There’s nothing nice about me. But I’ll ride to Tombstone, and you don’t need to pay me a cent.”
“I thought you needed the money.”
“I’ll take two dollars.”
Solemnly she passed him the coins, and he shoved them in his pocket. “Now you get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’ll watch.”
“No more arguments? You permit me to trust you after all?”
He pointed toward her bedroll. “Sleep. I’ll ride for Tombstone soon’s we get a wagon from the Brysons and you’re on your way home.”
She smiled at him warmly, and he was afraid she was about to say something stupid and sentimental. But she went to her blankets and lay down on her side, gazing at her brother’s expressionless face.
Sim sank to his heels by the fire and waited her out. Eventually the long day took its toll, and Tally slept. He tested the air for the scent of two-or four-legged intruders. Nothing stirred. He tossed pebbles into the fire until it burned down to ashes, considering how best to proceed with his plan.
The map was gone, and there was no telling how close André had been to his goal when he met with his “accident.” Sim wasn’t likely to find the treasure with a random search of every arroyo, mining camp and settlement in the Chiricahuas. But it was a sure bet that the thief would be looking for it. Sim had to stay in the area if he wanted to catch his prey.
There was only one other way to learn the contents of the map, and that was to wait and see if André recovered enough to talk.
Either possibility presented the same challenge. Sim had to find a legitimate excuse to remain in the Valley, close to Cold Creek. And he had an idea how to manage it, even though it would make his life a thousand times more complicated. Even though he would have to keep lying to Tally for as long as it took.
The problem was that he liked her. Hell and damnation, he liked and respected a female who hadn’t enough sense to see him for what he was.
Esperanza knew. She’d seen into his deepest soul. Without her…
A wolf’s howl echoed among the pinnacles. Tally woke with a start.
“Sim?”
“Here.”
She rubbed her eyes and tossed her blankets aside.
