Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (35 page)

“Sorry, Blue Eyes, old boy, we’ve got to find a better place to rest a little, in case that bastard returns. I know you’re tired, but at least we ate.”

He kicked the stud into a trot, headed north. Across the barren ground ahead of him, he saw a scorpion scurry and he shivered a little. The desert crawled with scorpions, snakes, and big, black tarantula spiders.

Every bone in his body ached in protest as he rode north and the hours passed. It seemed as if he had been in the saddle forever. Taking a deep breath, he changed positions slightly, ran his hand along the back of his throbbing neck. The sweet scent of mesquite blossoms just beginning to open hung on the air. To occupy his mind, he remembered fluffy white biscuits spread with great globs of country butter and mesquite jelly. He wondered if the outlaws had fed Amethyst when they’d camped. Or if the innocent girl had been their dessert.

That thought kept him riding long after his body was so tired he reeled in the saddle and the horse stumbled from its own weariness.

“Got to keep going,” he mumbled. “They’ll hurt her.” But his head nodded again, and he knew he had to rest and let the stallion graze. They couldn’t keep up this relentless pace and be ready for action when they finally tracked down the outlaws.

Reluctantly, he dismounted. Bandit staked the horse out to munch the sparse vegetation, sat down against a rock. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of hot coffee in this desert chill. But he feared to make a fire, not wanting to alert either Indians or the outlaws. The scent of smoke could carry a long way on a breeze.

Cold and hunched up in his blanket, he leaned his head back against the rock, staring at the sky as his horse grazed. Somewhere up ahead, Amethyst might be staring up at those same stars. Had they hurt her? Was she afraid? What was happening to her at this very minute?

If they’d harmed her in any way, he’d extract vengeance that would make his mysterious Apache ancestor proud. Bandit clutched the cougar-tooth necklace for reassurance. Tomorrow was Saturday. He faced an all-day ride to reach the meeting place on the San Rodrigo River not too many miles from the town of Remolino.

When he reached the rendezvous, about dusk tomorrow, he knew his chances of getting out alive with the girl weren’t good. They’d try to take the money and keep her, too.

He checked to make sure his pistol and saddle gun were loaded, ready. Then he lay back down and waited, looking up at the diamond dust of stars, back at the little amethyst ring gleaming in his hand.

Tomorrow night, he intended to kill three animals. And if they had hurt his beloved, he’d do such terrible things to them, they would beg for the mercy of death before he killed them.

Friday evening. Ringo actually shook from needing a drink by the time the riders stopped to camp for the night.

I have to admire her, he thought, leaning back on his elbows by the fire, watching Amethyst cook. She looks scared and tired, but there’s still a spark of defiance in her violet eyes.

Ringo drank, keeping his eyes on her. She must not have much experience with cooking because the bacon tasted a little burnt. Still, hungry and weary as he was, he was glad to get the food.

Petty gobbled his beans, wiped his dirty beard on his sleeve. “And now let’s have the gal for dessert!”

Big ’Un looked over at Ringo. “Ringo?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, enjoying the fear in her eyes. He’d seen too much laughter and scorn in women’s faces when they looked at him lately. “Hell, Petty, ain’t you tired like me?”

Petty leered. “Not that tired.”

If he let them rape her, they’d expect him to join in and then they’d know what he’d been hiding all this time. Besides, there was something fragile, soft about the girl. It almost made him feel protective as he’d once felt about Mona Dulaney before the redhead had scorned him. Ringo shook his head, yawned. “We need some sleep since we got to ride all day tomorrow. Let’s wait ’til tomorrow night.”

“But Ringo—”

“You dirty Reb.” Big ’Un spat into the fire. “You heard Ringo. Wait’ll we’re safe in camp tomorrow night.”

“Nagnab it! I was looking forward to this,” Petty grumbled, running his fingers through his tangled beard.

“Then you can just start looking forward to tomorrow night,” Ringo said. His secret was safe until then. He’d make a decision about the girl’s fate tomorrow night.

Colonel Ranald Mackenzie’s eyes blinked open and he stared at the stars through a small tear in his tent.
What was it that had awakened him?

“Sir?” Murphy’s familiar face peered through the flap. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you asked me to wake you when the scouts reported in.”

That had been the sound that woke him, galloping horses. Was it still Friday night?
“All right, Sergeant, I’ll be right out.”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Mackenzie sat up in his blankets, stretched. His heart beating with excitement, he reached for his boots. The scouts might be bringing the information he had been waiting for.

Briskly he walked across the sleeping camp to the big fire, looked over the three weary scouts who squatted there drinking coffee. They straightened up.

“Don’t be formal, men,” he said, accepting a cup of steaming coffee from Murphy. “I take it you have information for me?” He kept his voice low. Although the men of the regiment knew something big was up, only Lieutenant Carter and Sergeant Murphy knew they were about to make an unofficial raid into Mexico.

The lead scout, Carl Van, nodded, then sipped his coffee, carefully keeping his handlebar mustache dry. “We been below the border, scoutin’ the situation like you told us. You got any other scouts out?”

Puzzled, Mackenzie savored the strong brew, shook his head. These three had volunteered because they were area ranchers who had been hard hit by the Indian raids, and because they knew the countryside down to the last arroyo and creek. “No, why?”

Van squatted back down by the fire. “We were in a cantina at a stage relay station early this evening when a big, blond Texan and a lean vaquero came in, askin’ nosy questions.”

Mackenzie frowned in irritation. “He isn’t one of ours. What kind of questions? Maybe he’s a spy for the Mexican government.”

“Askin’ about three gringos ridin’ with a girl.” He described what he’d seen and heard.

“He and the others sound like the four who took the Fort Concho payroll.” Mackenzie snorted with displeasure. “But blamed if I can see how the girl fits in.”

The rancher shrugged. “I thought for a moment that blond one recognized us as fellow Texans, was goin’ to speak to us. That would have got us killed for shore.”

“I just hope we aren’t about to have some innocent American civilians caught in the middle of this raid.” Mackenzie pulled at a muttonchop sideburn with his crippled hand. “There’s going to be enough trouble over it already.”

Van grinned. “Not if you win, sir. If you win, you’ll be a hero to the Texans. We’ve had a bellyful of those Injuns raiding across the border. My ranch alone has lost almost all its livestock.”

It was a hot night but still the steaming coffee tasted good. “You said you had information,” the colonel prompted.

“Oh, I almost forgot when we started talking about that Texan and those other gringos. We been watching the Indian camps like you said. This morning, most of the warriors rode out to the west.”

Mackenzie hardly dared believe their luck. “You’re telling me the warriors are gone? There’s no braves to defend the camps?”

Van shrugged. “None to speak of. I reckon they’ve ridden out on a raid or maybe a big hunting trip. After all, they’re on good terms with the Mexicans and they’re deep inside the border. They don’t expect any trouble.”

Mackenzie’s heart thrilled at the news. “If we can hit those camps hard with most of the warriors gone, we can take all the women and children hostage.”

The three scouts frowned. “Excuse me, sir, I thought this was just a raid. What are you gonna do with hostages?”

Mackenzie stared into the fire. “My orders are to take’em up to the reservation in Indian Territory. The government figures if we hold their women and children prisoner, the warriors will come in to live on the reservation peacefully enough.”

Van frowned. “But the three gringos and the girl, that blond Texan, how do they fit into all this?”

Mackenzie frowned. “I guess in a card game, you’d call him a wild card. I don’t know how he or the other whites fit in, but if they get in our way, God help them! There’s too much involved to let a wild card mess things up!”

He waved Murphy over to the fire. “Wake Carter. Tell him it’s time.” He looked up at the stars.
Friday night. This weekend, we’ll make history of some kind, with a tremendous victory or a devastating defeat.

Murphy snapped him a salute. “Then we should start waking the camp, sir?”

“Tell the troops we’re going on patrol, nothing else. By dawn, I want this troop mounted and ready to move south.”

Murphy tipped his cap back, smiled. “It’s gonna be a long weekend, sir.”

Mackenzie threw the dregs of his cup into the fire, listening to it hiss. “And a hot one, Sergeant. By tomorrow night, I want our horses wading across the Rio Grande.”

He dismissed the scouts, watched Murphy head for Lieutenant Carter’s tent. It was a long way to the river, and a lot of things could go wrong this weekend. His career, his men’s lives might all depend on his judgment.

Idly, he wondered about the big, blond Texan and the trio of gringos he’d been asking about. The four fit the description of the wanted outlaws. Maybe he could capture them, too, if they crossed his trail. They certainly deserved the hangman’s noose awaiting them at Fort Concho. But just how did the woman fit into all this?

He went to his tent and spent several hours studying his maps, conferring with officers and scouts. The camp was awake now, men running, horses snorting. Other companies rode in from other field camps to join them. Captain Bullis arrived with his group of Seminole Indian scouts. Mackenzie nodded with affection. The Kickapoo and their comrades were old enemies, so the Seminoles were happy to lend their tracking skills to the campaign.

By dawn, the troops were mounted. Four hundred men and a mule train of supplies. They would have to ride all day so that they could cross the Rio Grande under cover of darkness Saturday night. It was a big undertaking.

Mackenzie swung up on his horse at the head of the column. He did not ride as well as the dashing Custer, he knew that, but he was better liked by his men. He rubbed his chin with his crippled right hand. Up to now, he had been the scourge of the Comanche. Now he was going after Kickapoo, Lipan and Mescalero.

He looked at his hand. Two fingers had been shot away in a Civil War battle. Mangoheute, the Comanche called him. Mangoheute. Three Fingers.

“Attention! Prepare to mount! Mount!”

Mackenzie watched the men swing up on their horses. It was said that the men of the Fourth Cavalry were always ready for a fight or a frolic. This weekend, it would be a fight.

Mackenzie turned his horse, cantered to join the three white scouts, the Seminoles riding ahead of the column. Now the four hundred soldiers rode in formation four abreast.

Mackenzie looked over his shoulder in the growing dawn, making his plans. Each troop rode horses of the same color. It wasn’t vanity. It enabled a commander to keep track of the field position of each troop during battle.

Captain McLaughlen’s I Company caught his attention. Yes, that was the troop he would use to lead the attack. He signaled the captain to fall in and ride beside him.

“Sir?”

“Captain, your troop is to lead the charge.”

The captain smiled with pleasure in the dawn light. “Thank you, sir. We’re honored!”

“I have faith in your men,” Mackenzie said, looking back at that troop. The matched gray horses, four abreast, cantered along smartly as the Fourth Cavalry headed for the Rio Grande.

Romeros rode hard all Friday night. Saturday morning dawned pink and pale as his weary, lathered horse stumbled down the rise toward the Falcon corral. A crowd of vaqueros had gathered, and both Don Enrique and Gomez Durango were there.

He smiled to himself as he waved to get their attention, galloped toward them.
Sí
, it would work out. He would be able to salvage something from this mess after all. He had a feeling that the outlaws, the Comancheros or the Indians would finish off the fake heir so he wouldn’t have to worry about Bandit coming back to confess anything.

He thought about the girl as he galloped into the corral. Ah, he had lusted for her so long, but by now, either the Indians had her or the Comancheros had sold her to be a slave in some faraway brothel. Never mind, there was still Mona. Once she married Gomez Durango and he died quickly and conveniently, she could marry Romeros and he would control that fortune. And there was always the possibility that old Don Enrique would see his foreman in a new light, what with the Texan gone and Romeros a hero.

He slid from the horse, staggering with exhaustion, and the men crowded in around him.

Don Enrique caught his arm, looked into his bruised, battered face. “What in God’s name happened to you?”

Romeros swayed as if he might faint, and Gomez Durango caught him. “I—the
bandidos
captured the señorita,” he gasped. “I tried to protect her!”

“What?” Her father’s three chins shook. “I knew something terrible had happened! When she disappeared yesterday without a trace, I just knew it!”

Señor Falcon demanded, “Tell us what happened!”

“The three of us, me, señorita Amethyst, and Tony were out riding in the western pastures. Señor Tony had not seen that part of the ranch. We were surrounded by Comancheros. Thet got the señorita and Tony.”

“Tony? They got Tony, too?” Falcon’s furrowed face mirrored his agony.

Romeros nodded. “After a fight, I managed to get away, came back for help!”

Old Falcon looked as if he couldn’t decide whether he thought his foreman was a hero or a villain. “You came back alone?”

Romeros shrugged, turned his palms up to show his helplessness. “What could I do, señor? We were badly outnumbered! I fought my way out to come back for help and am ready to lead the rescue attempt!”

The furor around him grew as men repeated his words to those farther back. He swayed on his feet so he would look more badly injured than he really was. “I—I will lead the rescue, hurt as I am!”

Señor Falcon caught him as he stumbled, helped lower him to the ground, looking at him with new respect. “Romeros, you are too hurt to ride with us. Give us directions. We will take all the vaqueros, go after them!”

Durango twisted his plump hands together. “My poor daughter! Señorita Monique and Señora Wentworth said they thought she was in the garden, picking a bouquet. Then they delayed telling me when they couldn’t find her, afraid to give me the bad news.”

Señor Falcon leaned over Romeros, held a canteen to his lips. “Which way did they go?”

Romeros pretended to be confused by his exhaustion, his injuries. Even if that pair were still alive, which was doubtful, he didn’t want to take a chance on this posse actually finding Amethyst and the Texan. With them gone, he didn’t have to worry about his villainy coming out, and that was a fact. He’d still have Mona, and Don Enrique was looking at him with new respect. He would send the posse on a wild-goose chase.

He waved vaguely off to the southwest, the way he knew the Comancheros occasionally rode because he had met with them to sell livestock he had stolen from local ranches. A posse would never find them. “Ride southwest. You will finally pick up the tracks of many horses.” He gasped as he gave more detailed directions.