Written on the Wind

Dorchester Publishing ISBN: 0-8439-5621-6

ovement caught Matt's eye. Slipping to the ground, he peered into the heavy brush forty feet away. Four-legged or two-legged animal? He tied the horses and crept toward a stand of trees on the far side of the clearing.

Then he heard running footsteps. Two-legged. Picking his way into the brush, he knelt beside moccasin prints he’d been following all day. Frozen in place, he listened.

Trooper whinnied. He leaped up and ran toward the horses. The kid must have distracted him with noise, then circled back. As he broke into the open, Matt saw the Indian. He’d already untied the mare, the rope looped in her mouth Comanche fashion. He grasped a hunk of mane and began to swing himself atop the horse.

“No you don’t, you little varmint!”

The boy glanced Matt’s way and lost his momentum. Dropping the rope, he fled, but Matt, right on his heels, dove forward, arms outstretched, and clasped moccasin-covered legs. His forearms plowed in the soil as they slid headlong on rocky dirt.

“Oof!” the boy grunted as Matt’s weight pinned him to the ground.

But not for long.

Boneless as a snake, he writhed around to face Matt. Black hair covered his face, but his hands were busy as hell. Clawing the air, he found Matt’s throat. Fingernails raked his skin. He grabbed the Indian’s hand and pressed both to the ground above the boy’s head.

“I won’t hurt you if you’ll be still!”

A waste of breath. The boy kicked his knees against Matt’s butt and again twisted between his legs.

“Stop it!” he bellowed. Why bother? Fat chance the kid understood him. Far superior in height, Matt slithered backward, forcing his captive’s flailing legs flat to the ground. “Damn you,” he gritted between labored breaths. “Cut it out!”

Suddenly, the youth obeyed. Head turned to the side as he sucked in much-needed air, his chest heaved. For such a little squirt, he’d been as hard to subdue as a bobcat. He panted like one, too, no doubt gaining a second wind, for in the next instant he resumed writhing.

“Stop it!” Matt emphasized his order by lifting the boy’s coat-covered wrists and slamming them hard into the ground.

It worked. He stilled. The much-too-large coat he wore lay open, skewed off one shoulder.

Matt stared at the kid’s chest, eyes wide in disbelief. Firm breasts rounded beneath a buckskin tunic.

“You’re a girl!”