Mountain Rose by Norah Hess

she was way off in what she was thinking. If he had really been doing what she guessed, it would take him all night.
    Ignoring Ruthie's remark, he took the lantern from her and she bent over to pick up a paper-wrapped package and a small leather bag. "I hope we find the poor woman in the stables and not out in the rain somewhere," she said, following the path the lantern lit as Chase walked ahead.
    "I just hope that we find her," Chase said, then swore as he slid in a patch of mud.
    Drunken laughter from the post drifted on the damp air as he pushed open the sagging door of the slant-roofed shed. When he and Ruthie had slipped inside, he held the lantern high, moving it slowly to search out the corners. Other than the horses in the small, smelly room, they saw nothing else. There was not a sound save that of grinding teeth on hay and the occasional stamp of a hoof.
    "Well," Chase said, disappointment in his voice, "She's not in here. Do you want to stay here where it's dry while I go poke around in the woods?"
    "No, I'll go with you. I don't like it much in here."
    Halfway to the door Chase stopped suddenly, grabbing Ruthie's arm, holding her still beside him. He held the lantern to shoulder height and pointed upward. As Ruthie looked up, a sifting of chaff settled on her face. She looked at Chase and nodded.
    "Let's go," Chase said, and led the way up the ladder. At first they saw nothing but piles of hay in the loft, then Chase caught sight of a moccasined foot. "There she is," he said and went forward.
    Ruthie gasped and Chase swore when they looked down on the Tillamook woman. The rope was still around her neck, and Roscoe had snubbed it tight to the roof's supporting post. It held her head at an awkward angle, causing her battered face to scrape against the post's rough bark.
    "Oh, you poor soul." Ruthie went down on her knees beside the woman. When Chase would have knelt to cut her free of the rope, deep-seated fear flared in her blackened eyes.
    "He won't hurt you," Ruthie soothed the woman in her native tongue, "he's here to help you." She picked up the paper-wrapped package she had laid beside her and, unfolding it, revealed a thick beef sandwich. "Give me your knife, Chase, so I can cut this damn rope."
    The sharp blade slashed through the tightly drawn knot, and with a sigh of relief the woman straightened into an upright position. Ruthie held the meat and bread out to her. "Eat this, then I'll treat your poor face."
    It was clear the woman didn't understand Ruthie's tongue, but the fact that she was female and had the same dusky skin as her own, calmed the woman a bit. She still kept a wary eye on Chase, however, and every time he moved, she cringed.
    "Chase," Ruthie said, "why don't you go stand back out of sight? Understandably, she's scared to death of white men."
    Chase nodded and moved away. From his leaning stance in a dark corner he watched the Indian woman's teeth tear into the food Ruthie had brought her. It was a safe bet that she hadn't eaten since Roscoe abducted her.
    Why was it, he asked himself, that such evil lived in some men? Were they born that way, or had life done it to them? He supposed the harsh life on the Western frontier could turn a weak-charactered man mean.
    Half an hour had passed by the time the Tillamook woman finished eating and Ruthie had done what she could for her cuts and bruises. "What now, Chase?" Ruthie asked, sitting back on her heels. "Should we take her back across the river while we have the chance?"
    "It would be awfully risky to do that," Chase answered. "By now her people will have missed her and will be combin' the woods and river. If they should find her with us, they'd kill us before we could open our mouths to explain why we have her."
    "I know you're right, but it seems sinful to leave her with that man."
    "I understand your feelins', Ruthie, but there's a whole lot of people who will be in danger if this isn't handled carefully. It's very important that when the