Paxton Pride (51 page)

“What do you want?”

Ted was as adept at reading the sign in a man's voice as he was the markings on a trail. This one sounded surly and dangerous, yet tired as well. Vance Paxton stepped out of the cabin and watched as the half-breed approached. Ted studied his friend's appearance, for he had indeed changed. His haunted eyes and scruffily-bearded face gave mute testimony of the past two and a half months, the raging incriminations and grief that had waged war within him and turned his very being into a battlefield.

“Well?” Vance asked.

Ted stopped a few feet from him. “I smelled the beans. Figured my friend Vance Paxton would not refuse his red brother a meal.”

Vance's features lost none of their sternness, yet he stepped aside. Ted walked past him and filled a tin plate with beans, poured himself a cup of coffee and quickly glanced around before rejoining Vance outside.

“Didn't plan on anybody riding up this way.”

“They won't be,” Ted assured him. “I just followed a hunch. Woke up early and knew you were up here.” He squatted down and began to eat, grimacing at the first bite, then looking up at Vance with a wry grin. “
Amigo
, you cook worse than me.”

“No one's asking you to stay and eat.”

“You and your pa are sure alike. Even to the point of saying one thing and meaning something else.” He put down the plate of beans and sipped the coffee.

“Don't ride me, Morning Sky,” Vance said with a threatening note.

“All right.” He drank silently, feeling the calm in the clearing, liking the sound of the wind soughing in the cedars. “If you won't ask, I'll tell you. Your Pa's fine and Karen is still there.”

“I know,” Vance retorted curtly. “Word has a way of traveling.”

“She's changed, Vance.”

“Sure, if you mean keeping company up in the hills with a goddam Injun.”

Ted set down the tin cup. “I was teaching her,” he said carefully. “Teaching her sign. Same as before, when you were there.”

“I'll bet she's picked up a lot from you—and all the rest of those drifters they tell me she's taken in.”

Ted's face clouded with anger of his own. “Everyone feeds drifters. You know that. I don't know who you've talked to, but an echo never rings as true as the voice that spoke it, never repeats the whole message. You're-believing only what you want to hear.”

“Why shouldn't I?” Vance countered, his voice filled with bitter vehemence. “She got Maruja killed. She killed my son. She ran when a real woman would have stood and shot back. So why not believe the rest? Word is she's taken up with any drifter who finds the door, and when there's none of them around to suit her, she runs with Vance Paxton's Injun friend. Who knows? Maybe she'll be having a little red whelp before lo.…”

Ted launched himself from the ground, his hard shoulders ploughing deep into the larger man's abdomen. Vance grunted and went over backward as Ted rolled with the momentum, ending up on his feet. A second later Vance sprang up and Ted leaped again, both moccasined feet striking Vance squarely in the chest, slamming him back against the cabin with enough force to knock gear from the wall inside and send it crashing to the floor. The entire shack shuddered as if dealt a mortal blow.

Vance staggered forward, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain and Ted, realizing the danger of ever letting the larger man catch his breath, waded in, delivering three brutal punches that Vance managed to shake off before returning one of his own. Ted reeled away from the blow but Vance pursued him furiously, digging hard, short blows into the stomach, ribs and wind, finally landing one that hurled the stocky Indian to the ground. Ted rolled over on his back as Vance charged again. Using an Indian fighting trick, he thrust one leg between Vance's ankles and with the other flipped him over to one side and into a woodpile. Vance cursed as he slammed into the split logs and cord-wood avalanched down about his shoulders and head. Both men staggered to their feet, Vance inadvertently clutching a solid length of cedar in his fist. Ted straightened indignantly. “Hey, no clubs!” he shouted.

Vance glanced around and noticed the piece of wood for the first time. Caught by surprise, he dropped the log. “Oh, sorry.…” A rush of air, then something hard exploded against his head.

He came to, groaning. His lips felt puffy and his head throbbed wildly. Ted sat near him, wetting a bandana which he placed on Vance's scalp. “Wha … you … hit me … with?” Vance managed, his voice thick and muffled.

“Tree limb,” Ted said matter-of-factly. “Never trust a goddam Injun.”

Vance sat upright, wincing with the effort. “You don't have to grin like that, you know. Isn't funny.” He leaned back groggily against the shack as Ted sat up and disappeared inside, came back out with a cup of coffee. “You carry me over here?”

Ted shook his head “no.” “Drug you,” he said, handing Vance the steaming cup. “Too damn heavy to carry.”

Vance clutched the cup, almost dropped it. “Feels like you drug me across every rock, stone and root you could find.”

“Serves you right for carrying on that way.”

Vance noted the bluish bruise coloring the Indian's jaw-line. “Looks like I landed one, anyway.” He took a sip from the cup, grimacing as the hot, bitter liquid stung his lips. Ted walked over to his Appaloosa and led the animal to a nearby spring seeping from the rocks and forming a shallow pool, a tank of water not more than three feet in diameter and a few inches deep. Vance drained the contents of his cup and rested his head back, gathering his strength then rising shakily to his feet. He took the bandana from his head and tremulously stepped away from the shack. Moving carefully, he tested each muscle and bone, checking for damage. Nothing major seemed to be wrong. He felt stiff and sore … and better than he had in days. For he had borne not only the anguish of his own grief but also a heavy load of self-recrimination for the fell accusations with which he'd lashed out at Karen. The words were cruelly unjust and he knew it even as they spilled from his mouth. A frightened girl confronted with a killer: what else could he have expected? Karen's protected upbringing had never prepared her for such a situation and he should have known it—did, in fact, recognize the fact when he brought her west He had wronged her and was too stubborn to admit his error, compounded by listening to idle rumors and vicious slander propounded by lesser men; poisonous spewings he knew in his heart to be false.
I
was wrong. Too damn proud to accept the fact. I've missed her since I rode off, and was just too bull-headed to admit it. You're a fool, Paxton. Loved her, still do and always will. What are you doing here in the hills, riding the high lonesome and knowing in your heart, all along, where you should be?
He remembered the moment, how long ago, when he stood at the edge of a meadow and watched the sun pick out Karen's retreating figure as she fled from the heady passion each had discovered.
Fled.… I did the same thing. I ran … when I should have stood and stayed
.

“
Amigo
, do you travel with me?”

Vance dipped the bandana into the clear cold water and pressed it to the back of his head. “No. Not yet.” Ted's eyes narrowed. “Soon,” he added. “I need a little time to figure out the words.”

Ted shook his head in dismay. “The white man. He must have words for everything. Not so the Comanche. I choose my woman. I bring my horses to her father's camp. Aieee. I steal her away at night, braving the wrath of her father and brothers. All to prove what I feel. What good are words? What can they tell her that my courage, my horses, my wedding lodge, all I have dared and done cannot say?”

“All you have spoken is true, my friend. But the Comanche way is not our way. I have no wickiup, no lodge but the one in which she waits. And I have wronged her, and myself. I killed two men in El Paso, Ted. They'd been drinking and came looking for trouble, but I was itching for them to try, hoping they'd go for those guns, just so I could.…” He paused, pensive and brooding, going over the fight in his mind, smelling again the acrid smell of gunsmoke and seeing the men sink to the ground, hearing the final, ringing shot as the one called Jory fired into the floor, the trigger pulled by a dead man's finger. “The law didn't say so, but I was guilty as hell. I didn't have to push them. So there are a couple of things need sorting out, words within me that need saying. I know this is so. And I must find them.”

“Shall I tell her you are here?”

“Tell Karen … tell her I will start down before sunrise.”

“It is good.” Ted rose, untied his horse and led him to the edge of the clearing. Vance followed, held the animal, stroking the Appaloosa's nose as the Indian mounted.

“Ted?”

“Yes?”

“I didn't ask. How is she?”

Ted smiled warmly, the gesture softening his enigmatic facade. “You might not know her, my friend. She has changed in many ways. She has become … a woman to ride the river with.”

Ted Morning Sky paused at the foot of the ravine, gingerly fingered his discolored jaw. The club trick had been a lucky break. Otherwise, things might have gone differently. “Won't ever work again,” he sighed, guiding the Appaloosa out of the draw and along the arid shoulder of a broad hill. For well over an hour he picked his way across the loose shale, skirting precarious boulders, crossing treacherous gullies carved through solid rock by countless flash floods. The land was as harsh as any he'd seen and he hoped to achieve easier going before sunset. Once on the valley floor he could easily make his way back to the ranch, following the familiar trail by moonlight. Another hour saw him over the difficult part of the terrain. Twice he saw deer, but the
hacienda's
larder was well stocked and he passed up both opportunities, easy shots though they were. Near one outcropping, the Appaloosa's ears twitched erect. Ted slipped his rifle from the scabbard and cautiously edged around a huge boulder obstructing his view of the trail ahead. “Karen …!” Clad in jeans and work shirt, she sat forlornly in the saddle as her sorrel drank from a seep in the rocks. Her face brightened on recognizing Ted. The Indian could not have been more surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you,” she said ruefully. “And not doing a very good job of it, I'm afraid. I couldn't sleep and saw you leave early in the morning. I … I had a feeling, so I dressed and followed. I've never been this way and lost your trail.” She nudged the sorrel closer to him and her voice tightened with urgency. “Ted, you found him, didn't you? I just know you did. Take me to him. Please?”

“No.”

“But why?” she asked, panic tinging her voice. She looked at him closely. “Your face is bruised.”

“It is nothing. You should see
him.
” The half-breed grimaced. “There's nothing to look so frightened about. He is fine. Better, I think, than he has been in a long time.”

“Then why …?”

“He needs this night alone, and we must not disturb him. He is finding his way back home, on a path he must discover by himself. Come. We have little light left and we need to reach the valley.”

“But …”

“Come. Your man will be with you soon. He rides for the ranch before sunrise.”

Ted led the way out of the draw and Karen gave a last look in the direction from which he had come. Vance was up there somewhere and tomorrow he would be with her. “Hurry, darling,” she whispered to the wind. “Hurry.”

She had been thoroughly lost. The thought was frightening, for only by the sheerest luck had she been anywhere near the trail. “I would have found a way back,” she told herself in an attempt to bolster her confidence. Exhausted, she let herself drop into the rhythm of the horses' walk, lost again, but now in happy anticipation of the next day.

Karen was yanked abruptly back to reality by the whisper of metal on leather. They had stopped. Ahead of her, Ted sat erect in the saddle, listening intently, his rifle drawn and ready for action. Everything was still, and what had been peaceful now became pregnant with menace, the very silence an enemy. Karen's horse moved up beside the Appaloosa as Ted's eyes searched the slope to either side of the parched creek below. For the first time, Karen became aware of the temperature. The season had been so gentle, and in the valley of the Sabinal the air was cool and fresh over the rich grass. Here the pink granite walls reflected the spring sun, trapped the heat and returned tremulous, shimmering waves to the sky. Opposite them on the far bank of the empty watercourse, a cluster of freshly greened mesquite provided the only source of shade or cover. Ted, after a long searching look, started to cross the creekbed when a low-flying hawk dipped down to light on a branch, just as abruptly swooped upward to the sky. The Indian held his horse back, studied with apparent interest the southern bend of the creek while appearing to ignore the mesquite. He leaned close to Karen and spoke in a hushed and guarded voice. “Can you find your way back to the draw where I found you?”

“I think so.”

“From there, follow the trail as I have taught you. The way is dangerous, but you should be able to handle it, with care. The trail will take you to a line shack, and to Vance. Ride in suddenly. Do not sneak up on him. Call his name.”

Suddenly she was frightened. “Ted, what is it?

“I do not know. In my hurry to see you to the
hacienda
I have not been as watchful as I should. But I did not think.…” He paused as a hint of movement caught his eye. “Go now. I will stay here a few moments longer.”

“I can't just leave.…”

“Go,” Ted commanded emphatically, slapping the sorrel's rump as Karen turned the animal. The slap resounded between the walls of the draw and the gelding leaped forward sharply, scrambled for footing then bounded up the trail, Karen clinging expertly in the saddle until she rounded a hillock. A figure on horseback lunged from behind a boulder, slamming into the sorrel. Off balance and starting to fall, she tried to catch herself and failed as a dirty clawlike hand pushed her out of the saddle. Her single sharp, brief scream was broken as she fell onto the trail and her head slammed into the jagged stones. Darkness shrouded her senses. Three rapidly-fired gunshots sounded in quick succession from far away, and then a man was standing over her, his serape fluttering in the wind, outlined against the receding glare of the sky like some terrible and all too familiar … bird … of … prey.