Bleeding Texas (15 page)

Bo and Scratch hauled their horses around and galloped toward the chuck wagon. Bo was already worried sick about Riley, Cooper, and his other nephews besides Lee, and now fear lanced into him as he thought that Lauralee might be in danger. He wished she had gone on back to Bear Creek a few days earlier like he wanted.

Wishing was a waste of time, though. He had known that for more than forty years.

The dust was a lot thinner around the campsite. Bo could see the bedrolls scattered around, all of them empty now, as well as the chuck wagon and the rope corral where Alonzo Hammersmith's team of mules and the extra horses of the remuda were kept.

Some of those horses were down, probably shot deliberately by the attackers. That would make it more difficult for Bo and his relatives to go after the rustlers.

This new attack was designed to slow down pursuit, too. Whoever was in charge of the gang was crafty and cunning. He had held some of his force in reserve to strike the trail drivers' camp after the main thrust to steal the cattle had been made.

Now instead of going after the herd, Bo, Scratch, and Lee were rushing back to help those at the campsite fight off this new attack. Bo figured some of the others were doing the same thing.

The campfire was still burning. By its garish light, Bo spotted several figures crouched behind the chuck wagon, returning the fire of raiders farther out in the darkness. He hoped one of those defenders was Lauralee, but when he searched for the bright flash of her blond curls, he didn't see it.

A shotgun boomed, sending out twin tongues of flame a foot long from its muzzles. That would be Alonzo Hammersmith. Pistols roared and rifles cracked. Somebody was stretched out under the wagon, shooting at the rustlers.

As Bo reined in, Lee jumped off the horse and landed running. Bo and Scratch weren't far behind him.

Hammersmith's white spade beard jutted out belligerently as he waved them to the cover of the wagon. The three men fired on the run. Scratch's pair of Remingtons kept up a deadly tattoo as he triggered each revolver in turn.

They darted behind the wagon and were safe for the moment, or at least safer. The chuck wagon was constructed of thick, sturdy boards that would stop most bullets.

“If those bastards shoot up my foodstuffs, I'll skin 'em and nail their hides to the wall!” Hammersmith bellowed.

Bo ignored that and asked, “Where's Lauralee?”

To his great relief, he heard her call from under the wagon, “I'm here!”

When he looked down, she stuck her head out and grinned at him. Her hat hung behind her neck by its chin strap, and she had a rifle in her hands. As she worked the repeater's lever, she went on, “Are you all right, Bo?”

“I'm fine,” he assured her. “How about you?”

“Don't worry about me. I think I've winged a couple of the sons of bitches.”

Bo was glad to hear that but even gladder to know that she hadn't been hit so far.

The fight wasn't over yet, though.

The rustlers were still out there, hammering the chuck wagon and the rest of the camp with bullets.

Lauralee squirmed back around to start shooting again. Lee knelt at the rear corner of the wagon and opened up with his Winchester, which he had just reloaded. Hammersmith stood behind him and fired over his head with the shotgun. Lee winced from the scattergun's deafening roar.

“Try not shootin' that thing so close to a fella's ears, why don't you?” he called to Hammersmith.

“Try shootin' and not bellyachin' so dang much!” the old cook responded. “Your ears'll stop ringin' in a week or so!”

Bo and Scratch used the driver's box and the wagon tongue for scanty cover as they blazed away at the rustlers. All they had to aim at were muzzle flashes, so Bo couldn't tell if they were doing any good or not. It seemed to him the rustlers were shooting just as much as they had been to start with.

Then a swift rataplan of hoofbeats welled up, and more riders rushed to the defense of the camp. Bo heard Riley shouting his name and called to his brother, “Over here!”

Half a dozen men rode up, leaped out of their saddles, and started throwing lead at the attackers. That was enough to turn the tide. Bo saw fewer and fewer muzzle flashes from the enemy position.

“They're pulling back!” he said.

Not all of the rustlers fled, however. For long minutes, the shooting back and forth continued.

The knowledge that he and his companions were doing exactly what the rustlers wanted them to do gnawed at Bo. With every minute that went by, the stolen herd was getting farther away. But he and the others couldn't go after it as long as they were pinned down here defending the camp.

“Look out!” Riley yelled as brightly blazing torches suddenly flew through the air. Some of the rustlers had crawled close enough to light the torches and fling them at the camp. A couple of the burning brands landed on top of the chuck wagon and immediately set its canvas cover on fire.

“My wagon!” Alonzo Hammersmith howled. The air seemed to sizzle with the curses that spewed from his mouth.

“Lauralee, get out from under there!” Bo called to her. He bent down and held out a hand to her as she crawled clear of the wagon. He clasped her hand and pulled her upright. She stumbled and fell against him, but he caught her and managed to stay on his feet.

“Bo,” she said. The burning wagon behind her cast a nightmarish halo around her mass of blond hair and struck red highlights from it.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I . . . I think so. What about you?”

“So far,” he said.

Then the crackle of flames made him look around.

The dry summer had left a lot of the grass around the campsite dead, and now it was on fire, blazing up like tinder. Smoke stung the eyes and made it hard to see. Bo knew they had to get out of here or risk being caught in the conflagration.

A while back he and Scratch had come too blasted close to burning up in a wildfire in northern Texas. Bo didn't want to have to go through that again.

He should have known that the rustlers weren't through yet. Scratch shouted a warning.

“Here they come!”

Mounted now, the attackers charged through the camp, firing right and left as they leaned forward over the necks of their horses. Lee had to throw himself desperately to one side to avoid being trampled. Bo swung around with Lauralee in his arms and dived out of the way, taking her with him.

He rolled and came up with his gun in his hand. For a split second, he found himself looking up into the face of one of the rustlers, a man with craggy, rough-hewn features and a mustache.

Flame geysered from the muzzle of the revolver in the man's hand. Bo heard the bullet whip past his ear. He triggered a shot of his own, but the rustler kept riding and Bo figured he had missed.

Then the riders were gone, galloping off into the darkness. There was a chance they might come back, but Bo didn't think that was very likely.

They had done what they set out to do. They had stolen the herd and crippled the crew.

“Clear out!” Scratch bellowed. “Grab whatever you can and get clear of the fire!”

Men snatched up bedrolls and saddles and stumbled away from the flames. Other men helped wounded companions. The horses, panicked by the smoke and flames, had already broken free of the rope corral and scattered, so at least they escaped the blaze.

“My wagon!” Alonzo Hammersmith wailed. He started toward the chuck wagon, which was a mass of flames by now.

Scratch grabbed the cook's suspenders and hauled him back.

“You gotta let it go, old-timer!” Scratch said. “Nothin' you can do about it now!”

“I'll kill those—”

Hammersmith's threat dissolved into another river of lurid profanity.

For the next quarter-hour, everyone who was still on their feet was busy trying to salvage as much as they could from the fire. Several of the younger Creels grabbed blankets and starting beating out the flames. Gradually, they brought the blaze under control, but not before a wide swath of prairie had been scorched.

Bo and Lauralee looked for men who had been hurt. They found three dead rustlers, and then Bo stopped short at the sight of another huddled shape on the ground.

“Oh no,” he said, his voice hollow.

“Who is it?” Lauralee asked.

Bo dropped to a knee next to the fallen man. He rolled the body onto its back, revealing a young face in the glare from the still-burning chuck wagon.

“My nephew Tim,” he said. “One of Hank's boys.”

Tim Creel had a large, dark stain on the front of his shirt where he'd caught a bullet. Bo checked for a pulse, knowing he wouldn't find one. He didn't.

A short time later they found Cooper sitting with his back propped against a rock. At first Bo feared that his brother was dead, too, but then Cooper opened his eyes and lifted his head.

“Bo,” he said in a weak voice.

Bo knelt beside him and asked, “How bad are you hit?”

“They knocked my . . . leg out from under me. Don't reckon . . . the bone's broke . . . but I lost a heap of blood.”

Bo squeezed his shoulder and said, “We'll take care of you, Coop, don't worry.”

“What about . . . Davy . . . and Jason . . . and Lee?”

“All of them were all right the last time I saw them.”

Bo took out his Barlow knife, used it to cut a strip of cloth off Cooper's shirt, and tied it tightly around his brother's leg above the wound. That would slow down the bleeding.

He folded another piece of cloth into a pad and pressed it to the bullet hole in Cooper's thigh.

“Hold this here,” he told Lauralee. “Press down hard on it.”

“I've dealt with bullet wounds before,” she said as she moved to do what he told her. Her face was pale in the firelight, but composed. Bo knew she wouldn't lose her nerve.

For the next several hours, that was how things went: tending to the wounded, salvaging what could be salvaged, assessing the damage. Bo ached to get started after the rustlers, but he knew that taking care of his family came first.

By the time the gray light of dawn stole over the ruined campsite, the extent of their predicament was apparent. Tim Creel was the only one who had been killed, but three of his cousins were badly wounded, along with his uncle Cooper. The chuck wagon was a pile of ashes, with only the iron tires from its wheels and some of its metal fittings remaining intact. The remuda was scattered to hell and gone, although a few of the saddled horses had remained nearby, including Bo and Scratch's mounts.

Riley looked around, took his hat off, and wearily scrubbed a hand over his face.

“What are we gonna do now?” he muttered.

Bo stood nearby with Scratch and Lauralee. He said, “We need to see if we can round up some of those horses that ran off. Tim's body has to be taken back home, and the wounded need medical attention, too. The closest town is Victoria. The ones going back will head there first.”

“The ones going back,” Riley repeated. “Not everybody is?”

“Scratch and I are going after those rustlers,” Bo said. He hadn't asked his friend about that, but on the other hand, he didn't have to. He knew Scratch would be just as eager as he was to get after the killers.

“I'm comin' along with you, Uncle Bo,” Lee declared.

“So am I,” Davy said. He had a bullet burn across his cheek but was otherwise unharmed. His brother Jason nodded grimly.

Several more of the Creels spoke up and said they were going with Bo and Scratch, too.

Riley said, “One way or another, we've got to get that herd back. Count me in.”

Bo looked into his brother's eyes and nodded. Whatever came next, they would fight that battle together.

Lauralee opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the sound of hoofbeats drifted to them through the early morning air that stunk with the smell of ashes.

Somebody was coming, and Bo didn't even want to think about what fresh trouble this might be.

Lee had never been more surprised in his life than when Samantha Fontaine appeared in the dawn light spreading over the Texas landscape, riding a white horse and leading a paint. He couldn't stop himself from exclaiming, “Samantha!”

She reined in, threw herself down from the saddle, and ran toward him.

“Lee!” she cried. “Lee, you're alive!”

“Darn right I am,” he said as she ran up to him. He put his arms around her and crushed her tightly to him, drawing strength from the warm feel of her body in his embrace.

“What the hell!”

That angry bellow came from his uncle Riley.

Lee realized belatedly that he was standing there in the middle of his uncles, brothers, and cousins while he hugged one of the hated Fontaines.

But he didn't really give a damn anymore. He realized that, too. He was tired of having to skulk around and hide his feelings for Samantha.

“That's the Fontaine girl,” Riley went on. “Damn it, Lee, let go of her!”

Lee stepped back and turned toward his uncles, but as he did so he slid his arm around Samantha's shoulders and kept her close beside him.

“Take it easy, Uncle Riley,” he said. “I can explain—”

“Explain what you're doin' carryin' on like that with Ned Fontaine's daughter?” Riley snorted disgustedly. “I don't think so!”

Bo looked surprised by Samantha's arrival at the ruined camp, but not angry and upset about it like Riley. He said, “What are you doing here, Miss Fontaine?”

“She probably came to see if her pa's hired guns wiped us out,” Riley said before Samantha could reply.

“My father didn't have anything to do with me being here,” Samantha said, “or with . . . what happened.”

She looked around at the burned ground, the destroyed chuck wagon, and the grim, blanket-covered shapes lying to the side. Lee saw horror and despair in her eyes as she went on, “I swear, he doesn't know a thing about it.”

“He didn't hire the rustlers who attacked us last night?” Bo asked.

“No.” Samantha drew in a deep breath as if she were gathering her courage to perform an unpleasant task. “But my brother Nick did.”

“What!” Riley roared. “I knew it. I knew the Fontaines were behind this!”

Samantha shook her head and said, “No, it was all Nick's idea. My father didn't know about it, and neither did Danny and me. Pa and Danny, they still don't. But when I found out, I . . . I came after you. I thought maybe I could catch up . . . and warn you . . .”

Riley snorted again and shook his head.

“A likely story,” he said coldly. “I don't believe it for a second. And I'd still like to know why you're so damned cozy with this girl, Lee!”

With a faint smile, Bo said, “I reckon that ought to be pretty obvious, Riley.” To Samantha, he went on, “Maybe you'd better start at the beginning and tell us everything you know about this, Miss Fontaine.”

For the next ten minutes she did so, and Lee was astounded at hearing how she had trailed her brother and Trace Holland, then spied on Nick until she found out what he was planning.

“I didn't want anybody to get hurt,” Samantha concluded. She looked at Lee as she said that, and he knew she was talking mostly about him. “All I could think of to do was to come after you and try to warn you. But . . . I didn't get here in time. I'm sorry. I was camped a couple of miles back up the trail last night. If I had known how close you were . . .”

Her voice trailed off into a sigh.

Bo said, “If you were that close, you must have heard all the shooting during the night.”

“I did,” Samantha said with a nod. “I knew then that I was too late. I started to mount up and come on down here, but I . . . I was afraid.”

“You did the right thing,” Lee told her. “It wouldn't have done any good for you to come blunderin' into the middle of that ruckus. You would've just gotten yourself killed for no good reason.”

“Like poor Tim got killed?” Riley asked. His voice was still harsh with anger.

“I'm sorry . . .” Samantha moaned.

“You're not to blame for this, Miss Fontaine,” Bo said. “And no one holds it against you that you didn't want to get caught in the middle of a gun battle.”

“Speak for yourself,” Riley snapped. “I'm not sure I believe any of that wild story.”

Lauralee spoke up, saying, “I believe it. If Miss Fontaine isn't telling the truth, what reason would she have for following us like she did?”

“Maybe the old man sent her to spy on us.”

“That don't make any sense, Uncle Riley,” Lee said. “You heard her. Ned Fontaine don't even know what his boy Nick's been up to.”

Riley's glare made it clear that he still didn't accept Samantha's story, but for the moment he didn't say anything else.

Bo asked, “Did Nick say anything about why he sent those rustlers after us?”

“He didn't want you taking the herd to the coast and selling it. Something about the money you'd get for the cattle.” Samantha shook her head. “That's all I know.”

Bo rubbed his chin and frowned in thought. After a moment he said, “Nick must have something to do with Gilbert Ambrose calling in that note. I've suspected that all along, and what Samantha just told us makes that even more likely.”

“All this is a waste of time,” Riley said. “We've got to get after those rustlers, and our wounded need help. Let's figure out who's going on and who's headed back.”

“I'm going with you after the rustlers,” Lauralee said. “That's what I was about to say when Miss Fontaine rode up.”

Bo blew out an exasperated breath.

“After everything that's happened so far—” he began.

“You mean the stampede and the fight with the rustlers?” Lauralee broke in. “Seems to me like I handled myself all right both of those times. Actually came in pretty handy, to be honest.”

Scratch said, “She's got a point there, Bo.”

Bo frowned at his old friend and asked, “Whose side are you on?”

“The side of doin' what's right, as usual. Lauralee's got more grit than a lot of
hombres
I've known. Pretty good hand with a shootin' iron, too. I don't mind havin' her along.”

Several of the other men muttered their agreement with Scratch's position.

“Anyway,” Lauralee said, “you're going to have to split up because some of the men have to go back with the wounded. You'll be shorthanded when you go after those rustlers. You don't want to make the odds against you even worse, do you, Bo?”

“You're the stubbornest woman I ever met, you know that?”

She smiled and said, “I never claimed to be otherwise, now did I?”

“I'd like to come along, too,” Samantha said.

Lee was shaking his head before the last words were out of her mouth, but it was Riley who exclaimed, “Hell, no!”

“My brother is the one responsible for this,” Samantha said. “For all the damage and the men who were wounded and . . . and the poor boy who was killed. I can't atone for what my family has done, but if I can help even a little, it'll be a start—”

“Forget it,” Lee said. “It's too dangerous.”

“Miss Parker's going along.”

“We haven't settled that yet,” Bo said.

“Yes, we have,” Lauralee said.

Riley said, “If your pa hadn't already passed out from gettin' shot, Lee, the idea of you being mixed up with a Fontaine probably would have done it. How long have the two of you been carryin' on?”

“There hasn't been any carryin' on,” Lee said. “Well, nothin' improper, anyway. Samantha and I have been . . . friends . . . for several months now.”

“Seems like more than friends to me,” Riley said contemptuously.

“That can be hashed out later,” Bo said. “Not that it's really anybody else's business.”

Lee felt grateful to his uncle for expressing that sentiment.

Bo went on, “Miss Fontaine, I believe what you've told us, and I don't think you came here to spy on us. But it's still not a good idea for you to come with us, any more than it is for Lauralee.”

He held up a hand to forestall the argument Lauralee opened her mouth to make.

“The important thing is, we don't have any more time to waste wrangling about this. This fella Palmer you told us about already has too big a lead with our herd. I think we can catch him before he gets to Rockport with the cattle, though . . . if we get started after him right away.”

Riley jerked his head in a curt nod and said, “Now you're talkin'. You women do whatever you want. But if you can't keep up, don't expect us to slow down for you.”

“You really think I can't keep up, Riley Creel?” Lauralee demanded.

“I won't hold you back,” Samantha promised.

Lee still thought it was a terrible idea . . . but now that his involvement with Samantha wasn't a secret anymore, he had to admit that he sort of liked the idea of being able to spend more time with her. He had already missed her a lot during the drive.

Surely he could come up with some way to keep her out of the line of fire when they caught up to the rustlers.

Bo shook his head and muttered something about a bad idea, but he didn't argue any more with the two women. Instead he began splitting up the group, picking the men who would be responsible for taking the wounded to Victoria and returning Tim's body to the Star C. He chose mostly the younger hands, the Creel grandsons with the exception of Lee, Jason, and Davy, for that task.

Predictably, the youngsters complained. They wanted to come along and hit back at the rustlers, wanted to help recover the herd and avenge Tim's death.

Bo overruled their arguments, though, and as trail boss, his word was law when it came to things like this.

Every minute of delay chafed at Lee, and he was sure the others felt the same way. Certain things had to be done before they could set out in pursuit of the killers, though. They had to round up as many horses as they could. Some of the young men heading back would have to ride double, but that couldn't be helped.

Alonzo Hammersmith was going with the group to Victoria. Bo told the old cook, “I'm counting on you to look after those youngsters, Mr. Hammersmith.”

“I'll get 'em there,” Hammersmith promised. “Shouldn't take more'n a day, day and a half. That's gonna be a hard ride for your brother, though, with a bullet hole in his leg. If we still had a damn wagon to put him in . . .”

“I know,” Bo said. “Cooper's tough, though. Keep the leg bandaged up good and tight. He'll make it.”

Hammersmith nodded.

By mid-morning, they had found enough horses for everyone in the group going after the rustlers to be well-mounted. The few supplies they'd been able to salvage had been split up. Both bunches were grim-faced as they separated, some of the riders going east toward Victoria, the others headed southwest toward the coast.

Lee rode alongside Samantha, who was now mounted on the white horse she called Sweetie Pie. She had given the paint to one of the other men. Without enough horses to be able to switch out fresh mounts, the chase was going to be hard on the animals. They had to make do with what they had, though.

Quietly, Samantha asked, “You do believe me, don't you, Lee? I swear I didn't know what Nick was planning until a couple of days ago.”

“Sure I believe you,” he told her without hesitation. “Never entered my mind to doubt you. You wouldn't think your own brother would do something like that.”

“No,” she said with a hollow note in her voice. “I never would have believed it if I hadn't heard it with my own ears. I mean . . . he's my brother.”

“Yeah,” Lee said. He tried not to sigh.

He didn't want to think about how she would feel when justice caught up to Nick.

Because the Creels weren't going to let him get away with what he had done.

Sooner or later there would be a reckoning, and Nick Fontaine was going to die.