The moon was bright, the air cool, but a cold, clammy sweat ran down Ned Knutson’s spine. The big, raw-boned man doggedly hung on to the saddle horn and cussed himself for being four kinds of a fool. Pure determination had kept him in the saddle for the past few hours. He was shot and losing blood, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He knew that come morning, those following would find him and Tavi.
Tavi was Ned’s beautiful young daughter, who resembled her mother in looks and temperament. Unfortunately, her mother—who had been his world—had died several years ago. Tavi had been only eleven at the time, and Ned, not knowing what else to do, had sent her to town to boarding school. But when she was fifteen, she had made the decision to come back home and had stayed with her father ever since, helping him run the farm. She was a strong, spirited young woman, but not unwise, and there had been many times in the past few years when he had relied on her good judgment in his business affairs. Now, here he was, relying on her again, but this time it was for their lives. Silently, she led them through the night. In the moonlight, he could see her riding out in front of him and her long auburn hair blowing in the breeze. In his mind, he could envision the look of determination that would be in her green eyes.
Initially, Ned Knutson hadn’t realized he had been shot. He thought he and Tavi had managed to get away from their attackers unscathed. Then the pain had hit him. When Tavi had seen how her father was slumped and hanging on to his saddle, she knew he was in trouble. She had grabbed the reins of his horse and led her father’s animal due northwest all night. In the moments that he had been able to talk, they had decided to try to find the cattlemen they had talked with the day before. If they could find the men and the herd those men had been driving, Tavi would have at least a prayer of a chance. If not, Ned was determined that he would spare her what those hunting them would do if they caught them.