Renegades (6 page)

The scream of the mountain lion came again, followed by another cry. Frank stiffened in the saddle as he realized that the terrified shriek had come from a human throat. A woman's throat.

“I know you don't like it, boy, but let's go!” Frank said as he sent Stormy galloping along the canyon.

The trail went around a bend up ahead. Frank drew his Winchester from the saddle sheath as Stormy rounded the turn at top speed. The gunfighter's eyes took in the scene before him instantly. About fifty yards ahead of him, a huge, tawny mountain lion crouched atop a rock outcropping that loomed over the trail. The big cat's tail swished back and forth rapidly as it poised to leap on its prey. The only thing holding back the mountain lion was its indecision as it tried to choose between two victims.

A black horse danced around skittishly, trying to pull free from where its reins were caught in some brush. That was the only thing that kept it from bolting in terror. A few yards away lay a young woman in a riding outfit: boots, split skirt, a leather vest over a blousy white shirt, and a hat with its neck strap tight under her chin. She had pushed herself into a half-sitting position and was staring in horror at the mountain lion. Frank knew that she must have been riding along the trail when the big cat leaped to the top of the rocks and screamed. That had caused her mount to shy and rear up, throwing her. Then the horse had tried to run but had gotten snagged in the brush alongside the trail. Frank knew it as well as if he had seen it happen.

Just as he knew that within a second or two at most, the mountain lion would spring.

He yanked Stormy to a halt and brought the rifle to his shoulder in one smooth motion. His aches and pains were all forgotten as muscles and nerves trained by long years of danger galvanized into action. The big cat leaped from the top of the rocks like a tawny lightning bolt. Frank tracked it with the barrel of the Winchester and squeezed the trigger, knowing he had time for only one shot.

The rifle kicked hard against his shoulder as it blasted. The mountain lion jerked and yowled and twisted in midair as the bullet caught it. Falling short of the young woman, the cat rolled and flailed with its paws as its blood pumped out onto the dirt of the trail.

“Get away from there!” Frank shouted at the woman, not knowing if she understood English but knowing that one of those slashing paws might still reach her. If it did, the claws would rip vicious wounds in her flesh. Thankfully, she was able to overcome the fear that had nearly paralyzed her a moment earlier. She scrambled to her feet and ran away from the wounded mountain lion.

Frank levered another round into the Winchester's chamber, lifted the rifle again, drew a bead, and fired a second shot. This one struck the big cat in the head, bored through its brain, and put the animal out of its misery. The mountain lion stretched out, quivered and trembled for a moment, and then lay still.

Frank lowered the rifle but didn't replace it in the saddle sheath. He heeled Stormy into a walk that carried them toward the young woman. She stood beside the trail with her hands pressed to her mouth, her gaze jerking back and forth between Frank and the dead mountain lion.

He reined Stormy to a halt again and asked, “Are you all right, Señorita?” He imagined he looked a little frightening, too, a gun-wielding gringo with streaks of dried blood on his face.

She gave him a shaky nod.
“S-si, señor.”
she said. She was around twenty years old, Frank thought, and definitely lovely with long black hair, dark eyes, and smooth olive skin.

As pretty as she was, though, he had other things to worry about at the moment. He turned and studied the hillside, making sure that the big cat didn't have a mate somewhere close by ready to avenge him. When he didn't see any sign of another mountain lion, he finally slid the Winchester back in its scabbard.

“What's your name?” he asked.
“Su nombre?
”

“I speak English, Señor,” she said. “My name is Carmen Maria Luisa Almanzar.”

That came as a surprise to Frank, although not much of one. He hadn't known that Don Felipe had a daughter, but there was no reason for him to have thought that the man had no children. Almanzar could have a dozen kids for all Frank knew.

She stepped closer to him, lifting a hand. “You are hurt, Señor.”

Frank started to tell her that he'd had a run-in with the Black Scorpion, but then he stopped before the words could come out of his mouth. Running across Señorita Almanzar might be a lucky break for him. For the moment, he would play his cards close to the vest.

“Yes, I was attacked,” he said, “but I'll be all right.”

“Who assaulted you, Señor? Bandits?”

Frank shook his head. “I don't know. I never got a look at them. I assume they intended to rob me. They creased my head with a bullet....” He pointed to the bloody knot on his head, which Carmen Almanzar had already seen. “I was knocked unconscious. When I came to, whoever shot me was gone.”

“Perhaps your . . . wolf . . . frightened them away.”

Frank glanced around and saw Dog sniffing at the carcass of the mountain lion. “Get away from there,” he called, and Dog obediently abandoned the body to come trotting over to Frank. Carmen shrank back a little at the big cur's approach.

“You don't have to worry about him,” Frank told her. “He's a dog, and he's friendly when I tell him to be.”

“Sí, señor.
I will take your word for it.” She paused and then went on. “Who are you, Señor? What are you doing on Almanzar land?” She caught her breath and lifted a hand to her mouth. “Oh! That's sounds rude, and so ungrateful. I would not be alive now if you had not killed that . . . that awful beast.”

Frank smiled. “You're welcome as you can be, Señorita Almanzar. I'm just glad I came along in time to help. As for me, my name is Frank Morgan.”

There was no recognition in Carmen's lustrous dark eyes. It was nice for a change, Frank thought, to run into somebody who
hadn't
heard of him.

“I'm just drifting,” he went on. “I never stay in one place for too long, and I was looking for a nice warm place to spend the winter.” That wasn't exactly a lie. He was a drifter, hence the nickname, and he had come to south Texas hoping to find a good spot to hunker down until the next spring.

“But Señor, you are in Mexico,” Carmen protested.

“A warm, friendly country, from everything I've heard,” Frank said with a grin.

“Not that friendly. Not now. Not for gringos . . . or anyone else.”

Carmen's face was solemn, even grim, as she spoke. Frank wondered if the reason she felt that way had anything to do with the Black Scorpion.

He lightly touched the swollen lump on the side of his head and said, “I reckon I'm beginning to see what you mean. You have a bandit problem down here, don't you?”

“Bandits . . . and others,” she said enigmatically. Before he could question her any further, she went on. “You must come with me to my father's hacienda. His rancho is the biggest one in this part of Mexico, and once he hears how you saved my life, he will welcome you, Señor Morgan. To be honest, he has little use for gringos, but in your case I am sure he will make an exception.”

“I could use a place to rest up for a spell,” Frank said with a grateful nod. “I twisted my ankle, too, so I'm a mite hobbled right now.”

“Let me get my horse, and I will take you to the hacienda.” She went over to the black mare, which had settled down some once the big cat was dead. The horse still seemed fairly nervous, though. It took Carmen a moment to free the reins from the brush. She spoke softly, calmingly, in Spanish to the mare as she did so.

“What about the mountain lion?” Frank asked. “You want me to throw a rope on it and haul it in, so you can have the hide?”

A shudder went through Carmen as she settled down in the saddle. “Not at all. If my brother killed a cat like that, he would want to mount the head as a trophy. A barbaric custom, if you ask me.”

They rode side by side along the canyon, Carmen indicating the way they should go. Frank said, “If I'm not being too forward, what were you doing, out riding around by yourself like that?”

She sniffed and gave a defiant little toss of her head that made her long black hair swirl around her shoulders. “This is my father's rancho,” she said. “I ride where and when I please.”

So she was more than a little spoiled, Frank thought. Probably the apple of her daddy's eye and used to getting her own way. A girl as pretty as her couldn't hardly help but be spoiled, because there would always be some man around, falling all over himself to do whatever she wanted. Frank was old enough to be immune to such feminine charms, however.

Well, maybe not completely immune, he corrected himself as he thought about Roanne Williamson.

They came to a better-traveled trail that led through the foothills. From a high spot on the trail Frank looked to the northeast and saw rangeland stretching into the distance toward the Rio Grande. Here along the edge of the mountains the pastures were fairly lush with grass, or at least they would be during the spring and summer, he judged. The advancing season had made the vegetation die down a bit. Farther out on the flat, the land was drier and it would take more acres to support a cow. Or did they measure land in hectares on this side of the border? Frank couldn't remember, and he knew it didn't really matter what they called it. The Almanzar ranch appeared to be a good spread, better probably than the Rocking T across the border.

“My father's hacienda is only a few miles away,” Carmen was saying when Frank noticed dust rising from the trail a few hundred yards ahead of them. He reined in, causing Carmen to do likewise.

“Somebody's coming,” he said with a nod toward the spiral of dust.

Carmen took a deep breath and paled. “Is it more than one rider?” she asked tautly.

“I don't think so,” Frank replied, “but I can't be sure about that just yet.”

Carmen reached for her saddlebag, opened it, and drew out a small pistol. She handled it like she was used to the weapon.

“You reckon it might be bandits?” Frank asked.

“Perhaps.”

Again, he was struck by the feeling that in Carmen's opinion, there were worse things than bandits on the loose in these parts. She didn't volunteer an explanation, though, and he didn't press her on the matter. He might learn more just by keeping his eyes and ears open.

Anyway, he was pretty sure now that only one rider was kicking up that dust, and Frank was confident in his ability to handle one man, whoever he was.

The man came in sight, riding swiftly toward them on a big gray. Carmen relaxed and heaved a sigh of relief. “I know that horse,” she said. “That is my brother riding it.”

Frank had been ready to draw the Winchester from the saddle boot. He took his hand away from the rifle. Surely he wouldn't have anything to fear from Carmen's brother, especially once he heard how Frank had saved the young woman from the mountain lion.

Carmen lifted a hand over her head and began to wave as the rider came closer. “Antonio! Antonio!” she called.

The young man wore a fine suit of brown cloth decorated with embroidered gold threads. His flat-crowned hat was a darker brown. The tight trousers were tucked into high-topped boots, and strapped onto the boots were spurs with the big rowels that Mexican horsemen usually preferred. His saddle and the gray's harness were worked with silver trappings. He was a fine young grandee, Frank thought, the very picture of a wealthy
hacendado
's son.

“Carmen!” he called as he came closer, and then suddenly his dark, handsome face contorted with anger as he looked over at Frank. He jabbed those spurs into the gray's flanks and sent the horse leaping forward. At the same time his hand flashed toward the butt of the revolver holstered on his hip.

“Antonio!” Carmen cried as she desperately spurred her own mount forward, getting between Frank and her brother. “No!”

Instinct had made Frank reach for his own gun. The Colt had come out of the holster in less than the blink of an eye. It was already up and leveled, but Frank held off on the trigger as the girl got in the way.

She twisted in the saddle and looked wide-eyed at him. “
Por favor
,
Señor Morgan!”
she pleaded. “Do not kill my brother!”

“Carmen!” Antonio Almanzar shouted. “Get back! Get away from the bandit!”

Antonio hadn't drawn his gun. Carmen's action had startled him and kept him from completing the hook-and-draw he had started. Frank lowered his Colt slightly and called, “Take it easy, Señor. I'm not a bandit.”

Antonio glared at him. “You are a gringo!” the young man practically spat, as if that was enough of a condemnation by itself. “You must be down here to rob us. Look at you! You have your gun out like a common killer!”

“You went for your iron first, son,” Frank said tautly as anger welled up in him. He kept it under control as he holstered the Colt. “There. That ought to make you feel better.”

Antonio would have responded hotly, but before he could speak, Carmen said, “Antonio, Señor Morgan saved my life. And this is the way you greet him?”

Antonio frowned at her. “Saved your life?” he repeated.

“Yes, my horse had thrown me, and a mountain lion sprang at me.” A touch of awe could be heard in Carmen's voice as she went on. “Señor Morgan shot the beast out of the air, even as it leaped. Never have I seen such a shot.”

“That is ... incredible,” Antonio muttered. He still didn't look pleased to see Frank, but at least he wasn't reaching for his gun. He said, “I thank you for saving my sister's life, Señor. My foolish sister,” he added, “who should not have been out riding alone.”

“Foolish, am I?” Carmen flared.

Antonio jerked his head in a nod. “Indeed. When our father realized that you were gone, he sent me to look for you. You defy his wishes all too often, Carmen.”

She did that head-tossing thing again, Frank saw. “My life is my own, to lead as I see fit!”

Frank knew her brother saw that differently, and he would have been willing to bet that her father did, too. Carmen was more outspoken, more defiant, than most young Mexican women. Again, it went back to her beauty, he supposed. That and the fact that her father's wealth had no doubt shielded her from many of the harsh realities of life.

With a surly glare, Antonio turned his horse. “Come,” he snapped. “I will accompany you back to the hacienda.”

“What about Señor Morgan?” Carmen said.

Antonio looked over his shoulder at Frank, still with no friendliness. “It seems my family owes you a debt,” he said. “Come with us so that we can repay you.”

Frank had no interest in being repaid, but he did want to see the Almanzar hacienda and meet Don Felipe. So he nodded and said simply,
“Gracias.”

The three of them rode on, with Antonio looking a little askance at Dog as the big cur trotted along with them. After a few minutes, he said, “That is an ugly brute.”

“Yep, that he is,” Frank agreed. “But he's the best dog I ever ran into.”

“I will take your word for it, Señor.” Antonio lifted a hand and gestured vaguely toward Frank's head. “What happened to you?”

“Señor Morgan was shot by bandits, or perhaps by someone else,” Carmen said before Frank could answer.

“
Es
verdad?
”

Frank shrugged. “It's just a graze. I'm lucky it wasn't a whole lot worse.”

“Sí,”
Antonio said. “Lucky.”

Frank wondered what in blazes the young man meant by that. Antonio must have reasons to dislike all gringos, or at least he thought he did.

A short time later they came within sight of the Almanzar hacienda. It was a sprawling, two-story structure of whitewashed adobe with a red tile roof. Frank could tell that it was built Spanish-style, around an open central plaza. Nearby were several large barns and corrals, along with a long bunkhouse made of logs and other adobe outbuildings. Like the Rocking T, there was an air of prosperity and success about the place. If anything, the Almanzar hacienda was even more impressive than Cecil Tolliver's spread.

Frank asked himself why a man who owned a place like this would send gunmen across the border to attack a Texas rancher. That idea made no sense to him. From the looks of the Almanzar hacienda, Don Felipe would have plenty to do just keeping it running smoothly.

Of course, Tolliver had mentioned a feud, Frank recalled. Old grudges didn't always have to make sense in order to cause trouble.

The hacienda was cupped in a shallow bowl on the side of a hill. A creek ran down from above, at one point sparkling in a short waterfall before winding its way past the house and the barns and then running on out toward the flats, where it disappeared. Pine trees grew on the hill and around the house. It was as pretty a spot as Frank had seen in quite a while. Damn near a paradise, in fact.

Sometimes serpents lurked in paradises, he thought, recalling the story of the Garden of Eden. He wondered whether any snakes waited for him here.

Frank, Carmen, and Antonio rode down the slope toward the big house. A man stepped out of the log bunkhouse, looked up and saw them coming, and began ringing a bell that hung beside the door on a post. The pealing of the bell had a strident sound to it, as if it were not so much an announcement of Carmen's return as a warning about something.

About
him,
Frank thought with a quirk of his mouth.

A good-sized group of men had assembled in response to the bell by the time Frank and his two companions reached the hacienda. All of them except one were typical vaqueros. They all carried pistols, and each man had his hand close to the butt of his gun.

The lone exception carried no weapon that Frank could see. He was tall, broad-shouldered, wore high boots, tight trousers, and a white shirt. A crimson bandanna was tied around his throat. His dark hair was long and a fierce mustache drooped over his mouth. His darkly tanned face resembled a hatchet. Frank had no doubt the man was Don Felipe Almanzar, and even though he was an aristocrat, there was Indian blood somewhere in his lineage. The high, sharply planed cheekbones were proof enough of that.

He stalked forward as the three riders reined in. “Carmen!” he said. “Where were you?”

The young woman's defiance and haughty attitude slipped somewhat in the face of that harsh demand. But then she recovered and said with a lift of her chin, “I went for a ride. You should know by now that is my habit, Papa.”

“I know your habit is to take foolish chances with your own life and the lives of those I send to look for you, including your own brother. You know it is no longer safe for a young woman to ride alone in these hills!”

Now that they were closer, Frank could see that Don Felipe's face was lined and weathered. From a distance, the man's vitality made him seem younger than he really was. Even up close, he was still an impressive figure. Frank could see how such a man could carve an empire out of the wilderness in northern Mexico.

“It was not my wish to endanger anyone,” Carmen began. “I did not think that—”

“You can stop when you say that you did not think,” her father cut in.

Carmen flushed but didn't say anything else.

Frank's gaze played quickly over the group of vaqueros. He didn't see any
norteamericanos
among them. Tolliver had insisted that the gunmen who had jumped him and Ben had been sent by Almanzar, but based on what he saw here, and on Antonio's attitude toward gringos, Frank thought it was unlikely any such men worked for Almanzar. So the identity of those raiders remained one more question without an answer, at least for the time being.

Almanzar turned his dark eyes toward Frank. “Who is this injured gringo?”

Even though the query hadn't been addressed directly to him, Frank answered. “My name is Frank Morgan, Don Felipe. My apologies for trespassing on your land. I did not mean to cause trouble.”

Almanzar grunted. “It looks as if trouble has found you despite your intentions, Señor Morgan. What happened to you?”

Frank stuck with the story he had told Carmen and Antonio. “I was bushwhacked. A shot grazed me, knocked me out.”

“Whoever attacked you did not cut your throat or steal your horse?”

“Nope. I reckon something must have spooked them.”

Almanzar nodded slowly. “My apologies to you, Señor. I admit that I care little for your kind. You are a Texan, are you not?”

“That's right,” Frank said, “although I've traveled around a lot over the years.”

“I have no trust or affection for Texans,” Almanzar said curtly, “but I would not have a stranger come to harm on my land. Please accept the hospitality of my house.”

Carmen said, “You have reason to feel grateful to Señor Morgan, Papa. He saved me from a mountain lion.”

Almanzar's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Come inside, Señor Morgan. I would hear of this encounter with the lion of the mountains.”

Some of the vaqueros had drifted off when it became obvious there wasn't going to be any trouble, but several had stayed behind. They stepped forward now to take charge of the horses as Frank, Carmen, and Antonio dismounted. Stormy blew air through his nostrils and bared his teeth as one of the men reached for his reins. The vaquero drew back.

“It's all right, Stormy,” Frank said as he patted the big Appaloosa's shoulder. “You can go with this hombre. He'll take care of you.”

Stormy looked dubious about that, but he allowed the vaquero to take the reins and lead him toward one of the barns.

“Go with Stormy, Dog,” Frank said to the cur. “These are friends, you hear?”

Dog padded after Stormy, his tongue lolling from his mouth, his eyes watching the vaqueros suspiciously.

“A one-man horse and a one-man dog,” Almanzar said. “And impressive animals they are. My respect for you grows, Señor.”

He ushered Frank toward a wrought-iron gate in the outer wall of the house. Carmen and Antonio followed. Frank carried his hat and limped on his injured ankle.

Once they entered a cool, shadowy interior of the house, a
mozo
appeared to take the hat. Frank gave it to the servant, who hung it carefully on a peg set in the adobe wall.

It was chilly inside the house. At Almanzar's command, the
mozo
hurried to light a fire in the big fireplace on the other side of the room. For a moment, as Frank looked around, he almost thought he was back at the Rocking T. This parlor had the same sort of fireplace, the same heavy, overstuffed furniture. There were no mounted animal heads, however, and instead of a cavalry saber, a pair of thin-bladed rapiers hung on the wall.

“Do you require medical attention, Señor Morgan?” Don Felipe asked. “I can have one of the Indian women tend to your wound.”

Frank shook his head. “Perhaps later. There's really not much that can be done for it, other than washing off some of this dried blood.”

“You might be surprised. There are compresses and other such things.... These Indians can sometimes work wonders with their cures and remedies.”

“I know. I'm all right for now, though.”

“What about your leg? I notice that you limp rather badly.”

Frank shrugged. “The ankle's just twisted. I'm not going to be running any races any time soon, but I think it'll be all right.”

Almanzar shrugged. “As you wish. Can I offer you a glass of brandy?”

“Actually, right now a cup of coffee sounds mighty good. And maybe something to eat.” Ever since Frank's head had settled down, his stomach had been reminding him incessantly of how long it had been since he'd had any real food.

“Of course.” In rapid Spanish, Almanzar issued orders to his majordomo, and the old man scurried out of the room to carry them out.

Almanzar gestured for Frank to have a seat on a cowhide-covered divan and said, “Now, about this mountain lion . . .”

“The cat frightened my horse, Papa,” Carmen began, “and I was thrown off—”

Almanzar held up a hand to stop her. “Please allow our guest to tell the story, Carmencita.”

She subsided with a pout on her lips. Whether she was angry at being interrupted or at being called by the diminutive, as if she were a child, Frank couldn't tell.

“Your daughter has the straight of it, Señor,” Frank said. “I was riding along after I came to from being knocked out, and I heard the mountain lion scream ahead of me. I might have tried to avoid it, but then the señorita screamed, too, and I knew I had to go lend a hand.”

“Carmen claims this man shot the lion out of the air,” Antonio put in, sounding like he thought such a thing was utterly impossible.

“He did!” Carmen said.

“It was a lucky shot, I reckon,” Frank said. “I didn't have time for anything else. That big cat had to choose between going after the señorita or the horse, and he'd made up his mind.”

“You are obviously a man who has much skill with guns,” Don Felipe said. “I am in your debt, Señor. I owe you for my daughter's life.”

Before Frank could respond, Antonio said, “This man Morgan should be a good shot, Papa. I recognize his name now. He is the infamous gringo gunfighter known as The Drifter, and I would not be surprised if he had been sent here by Cecil Tolliver to assassinate you!”