Carolyn Davidson by Runaway Page B

Will was on him. Certainly it made sense to have this confrontation with him on top, he decided. Surprise was his advantage, and yet there was a lack of hostility in this short battle. With barely a struggle, the man lay beneath Will, his eyes glittering in the faint glow from the campfire.
    “I’ll be damned. You’re the half-breed!” Will’s gun barrel was poised mere inches from the man’s head, and nudged closer with each word Will spoke. “Answer me, Indian.”
    He was well built, probably able to well defend himself if he so chose, Will decided, and yet there was about him an air of submission.
    “My gun’s with my horse.” Except for lifting his hands in a show of surrender, the dark-skinned man lay quiet and acquiescent beneath his captor.
    “Are you alone?” Will asked in the same almost silent tones. He looked toward the fire, where Cassie lay bundled against the rock wall. He doubted she could see him in the darkness, but he surely didn’t want her frightened by their visitor.
    The other man nodded his head. “I rode your trail. I come alone.”
    “Well, you’ve caught up with us now. Reckon you’d better speak your piece.” Lifting himself from the ground, Will dragged his captive up with one fist buried in the man’s shirt. His other hand shoved his gun back into its holster, then moved to rest against his thigh as Will relaxed his stance.
    The Indian’s gaze was open as he extended his hand in greeting. “They call me Many Fingers.”
    With a measure of surprise, Will accepted the gesture and completed the solemn handshake.
    Common courtesy kept him from asking the obvious question, but his eyes scanned the Indian’s hand as it parted company with his own.
    “Not that hand, the other.” Holding up his left hand, he allowed Will’s scrutiny, spreading his fingers wide, the smaller appendage on the outside of his hand noticeable.
    “Well, I’ll be…” Will shook his head. “I’ve never seen the like of that before. Does it give you a better grip?”
    Many Fingers shook his head. “No. My mother fought the rest of the women so I could keep it, but it ain’t much good to me.”
    Will eyed him, in a quandary as he considered Cassie’s reaction should he bring the visitor back to the campfire.
    “Why are you followin’ us?”
    “Thought maybe I could talk you into letting me ride with you,” the Indian replied.
    Will’s brow rose in surprise. “What on earth for? Where’s your home? Got any family? Why didn’t you stay on at the horse dealer’s place?”
    Many Fingers shook his head. “A half-breed’s word doesn’t mean much. The big man set to wondering if I was part of the problem with your woman.” His shrug was slight. “Guess I don’t belong anywhere, to tell the truth. My mother was a half-breed, born from a white man who never stuck around to pay her any mind. My father died before I was born, with a white man’s sickness.”
    “Where you from?” Will asked.
    “A settlement in the Territory. There’s nothin’ there for me.” He waited, watching closely as Will considered the words he spoke. “I’m good at workin’ with horses. And I read and write pretty well. Ma sent me to the white man’s school when I was young.”
    Will’s tension eased, his doubts held in abeyance as he made a decision. Perhaps another rider would add to their safekeeping. He’d leave it up to Cassie.
    “Want some coffee?” He waved his hand in the direction of the camp.
    The Indian nodded, glancing at Cassie’s small form curled near the fire. “Will she want to shoot me?”
    Will shook his head. “Doubt it. She’s not much on blood and guts.”
    “I tried to step in, but things happened too fast back there.” His footsteps silent as he walked next to Will, Many Fingers spoke in an undertone.
    But it was enough to rouse Cassie from her near slumber. She sat erect, the blanket draped over her shoulders, peering through the darkness. “Will? Who’s that with