She Fed Starving Apache Chief’s Son—3 Days Later, 500 Warriors Surrounded Her Ranch With Sacred Gold скачать в хорошем качестве

She Fed Starving Apache Chief’s Son—3 Days Later, 500 Warriors Surrounded Her Ranch With Sacred Gold

The Colorado wind howled like a banshee across the frozen peaks, carrying with it the promise of death for any soul caught unprepared in its merciless embrace. Elena Morrison pressed her face against the frost-covered window of her small ranch house, watching the snow fall in thick, blinding sheets that turned the world into a white void. The blizzard had been raging for eighteen hours now, and she knew from bitter experience that storms like this could last for days in the high country. Her calloused hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, the warmth seeping through her fingers as she surveyed what she could see of her modest spread. The barn was barely visible through the swirling snow, a dark shadow against the endless white. Inside, her twelve head of cattle huddled together for warmth, along with her two horses and the handful of chickens that provided her with eggs. It wasn't much, but it was hers, carved out of the wilderness through five years of backbreaking labor after her husband David had been killed in a mining accident. The isolation had never bothered her before. Elena had grown up in these mountains, the daughter of a fur trapper who had taught her to read the weather, track game, and survive in conditions that would kill most people within hours. She knew how to preserve meat, mend harnesses, and shoot straight enough to put food on the table or defend herself from the occasional bear or mountain lion that wandered too close to her property. But tonight, as the storm raged with unprecedented fury, she felt the weight of her solitude pressing down like the heavy snow accumulating on her roof. The sound that broke through the wind's howling was so faint at first that she almost dismissed it as her imagination. But there it was again, a rhythmic thumping against her front door that was definitely not caused by the storm. Elena set down her coffee and moved toward the sound, her hand instinctively reaching for the rifle that hung above the fireplace. In this country, unexpected visitors during a blizzard usually meant trouble of one kind or another. The knocking came again, weaker this time, and Elena realized that whoever was out there was fighting for their life against the storm. She grabbed a heavy wool coat and pulled it on over her flannel shirt, then unbolted the door and threw it open against the driving wind. What she saw made her gasp in shock and immediately spring into action. A young man collapsed across her threshold, his dark hair crusted with ice and his lips blue with cold. He wore traditional Apache clothing that offered little protection against a high-altitude blizzard, and his moccasins were so packed with snow that she wondered how he had managed to walk at all. But it was his face that stopped her cold, the strong features and proud bearing that remained evident even in his semiconscious state. This was no ordinary traveler caught by the storm. Elena didn't hesitate. She grabbed the stranger under his arms and dragged him inside, kicking the door shut behind them and immediately beginning the process that might save his life. His skin was gray with cold, and when she pressed her ear to his chest, his heartbeat was dangerously slow and irregular. Hypothermia had already begun its deadly work, and she had perhaps minutes to reverse the process before it became irreversible. Working with the efficiency born of frontier necessity, Elena stripped away his frozen clothing and wrapped him in every blanket she owned. She built up the fire until it roared in the stone fireplace, then heated water and began the careful process of warming his extremities. She had seen frostbite before, had even treated her own toes after a particularly brutal winter hunt, and she knew that rushing the warming process could cause more damage than the cold itself. As feeling returned to his hands and feet, the young man began to stir, his eyelids fluttering as consciousness slowly returned. Elena continued her ministrations, rubbing his limbs to restore circulation while keeping careful watch on his breathing and pulse. When his eyes finally opened fully, she found herself looking into the darkest, most intelligent gaze she had ever encountered.