Vengeance Trail (25 page)

At times, they whiled away the hours, sitting under the shade of the lean-to, talking, watching the river’s flow, listening
to the sounds of songbirds that flew down to the river to drink and splash at its edges.

“My arm is useless,” he would sometimes tell her.

“That don’t mean a thing to me, Pete Winter,” she would say.

“What good is a one-armed man?” he would say when he was feeling especially blue.

“Pete Winter,” she would tell him. “I don’t care if you don’t have any arms, that is not what makes you a man, not in my book.
And that is not why I have come to feel about you the way I do. Now, if you do not hush such talk,
I’ll
throw you in the river myself!” And then he would apologize to her for his blue mood and they would go for a walk along the
river holding hands and he would feel much better.

They were sitting around the fire when Billy approached after having had a long and chatty conversation with Sister McKnight.

“Sister is curious about the redness of your hair, Miss Swensen. She wants to know how you came by it. I tried my best to
explain to her that some white folks has got red hair, but it’s a hard thing for her to understand—especially since Indians
only have
black hair. She said she surely would admire having red hair like yours. She’s much impressed.”

“Tell Sister that all the women in my family have red hair, Billy. Tell her that if she would like, I’ll cut her a lock of
it.” Billy smiled broadly, turned and spoke to Sister. She held out her hand.

“Seems you have made a friend for life, Miss Swensen. She’d admire the gift.”

“You mean right this moment?”

“I believe so—Indians have a way of taking everything to mean right now.” He handed her a knife with a bone handle.

“It don’t have to be much,” he said. “Be careful of that blade little sister, it’s as sharp as a nagging woman’s tongue.”

Katie found a good strand in the back of her head, something she figured would not show so much, but yet be enough to satisfy
Sister McKnight.

She handed the hair to Billy who in turn handed it to Sister. Sister seemed pleased and so did Billy. He jumped and clicked
his heels.

“Waugh, I don’t know if anyone can stand it or not, but the last time me and Sister was up to Mobeetie, I swapped me a pair
of Mexican spurs for a fiddle!” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“I’d say it’s time for a jamboree. I ain’t never played anything but my Jew’s harp, but I’m willing to give that old fiddle
a saw and see what comes out. Katie and Sister can bang pans, and Pete, you can stomp your feet!”

Billy went to the wagon and dug around beneath the blankets and supplies and pulled out a black leather case. He produced
a scarred fiddle and a bow with several strands of hair hanging from it.

“I don’t suppose you know much except chasing down bad men,” shouted Billy. “But maybe you could get them gals up and dancin’
while I play us a tune.”

Pete felt a flush of embarrassment.

“Naw, Billy, I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Well now son, these gals is goin’ to be mighty disappointed unless you can figure out how to play with one good arm and let
me do the dancin’. We can’t have us a dance without music!”

“Come on, Pete,” urged Katie, reaching for him. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy—let’s just you and me and Sister step
to the music.”

With a degree of reluctance he gave in to their call. Billy put the bow to the fiddle and scraped once down and once back.

“Lord almighty!” he yeowed. “That sounds like someone skinnin’ cats—give me a minute to figger this dang thing out.” Billy
worked the bow back and forth across the strings, twisted the tuning pegs a little and then, magically, he began a lively
reel.

“That’s a darn miracle!” shouted Pete.

“I was only fibbing,” grinned Billy, “when I said I never played one of these. I used to play in a professional band that
even had a tuba in it. Now come on and let’s get to dancin’.”

Pete and Katie and Sister McKnight hopped and danced in a circle around the fire. Katie, holding hands with Pete and Sister,
demonstrated a few steps they could do. And, at one point, Billy got so caught up in the fun, he laid the fiddle down and
joined them, singing out a tune in a rich deep voice that surprised them all.

“I was a singer, too,” he laughed.

Once started, Billy was reluctant to let them rest.
They wore a path dancing around the fire. Even Pete had to admit that it seemed great fun. For the first time since he had
been shot, he had forgotten about his wound. Dancing in the firelight, Katie holding his hand, Billy and Sister’s laughter,
Peter Winter realized how happy he was to be with them, to be with Katie. He knew that he loved her and would do anything
to preserve that love.

Johnny Montana saw the distant glow of firelight, heard the sounds of fiddle music and laughter. He rode the blaze-faced mare
up on a slight rise of land until he could more clearly see the camp fire and the people dancing around it.

It was too dark to make out who the celebrants were, but he could see the fire’s light reflected in the river that ran between
him and the campers.

He dismounted and squatted on his heels watching and listening to them. And then he recognized a woman’s voice, a woman’s
laugh and his heart quickened. It was Katie’s voice. Her voice carried well across the water, across the night. That it was
her voice, he could not be mistaken.

He cursed silently. There was only one man she could be having fun dancing with—the Texas Ranger!

His urge was to go over and shoot up the camp, to take back what was his. But as smooth as the river flowed, he could not
bring himself to cross it, not at night he couldn’t. The old fear of drowning, the dreams he had about it, left him fearful
of doing such a thing. He would wait until daylight, and then search for a safe place to cross, take the camp by surprise
at first light. The plan eased his mind.

“Go ahead little woman. Go ahead and have your
fun to night. Tomorrow, I’ll come and get you and you won’t be so happy and your Ranger won’t be so happy neither.”

Pete finally waved a hand in the air at Billy who was sawing a lively jig on the fiddle that sounded like demons were trying
to escape the strings.

“I have to stop,” he said with exhausted laughter. “I’m plum wore out, Billy! This dancing business is a whole lot more work
than it looks.”

Billy grinned, but finished the tune with a nice flourish and held the little instrument high in the air.

“You are a plum toe tapper, Pete,” he said, bowing at the waist. “My, but you have worked both Miss Katie and Sister into
a glisten, look how rosy their cheeks glow.”

Katie leaned against Pete, her arm around his waist.

“You were terrific,” she said and kissed him. He flushed embarrassed at the public display, but Sister and Billy clapped their
hands and hooted.

When Billy saw the young man’s deep blush, he said, “I guess it
is
getting late. Me and Sister ought to be bedding down. Come morning, we head into Mormon Springs and drop you two off. You
can catch the stage line out of there for just about anyplace you’d care to go.”

The announcement brought with it a certain sad finality.

Katie had especially grown fond of Billy and Sister, but more, she had cherished these last few days of them all being together
like children at play. Her and Pete, Billy and Sister. It was like an adventure of the heart, and one that she knew now was
ending.

She had nearly, in those few happy hours, forgotten about what lay ahead. Even though Pete had promised her that he would
not let anything happen to her, she knew that she would not be able to live if it meant being on the run from the law.

Billy and Sister bid them good night and headed for their wagon. Pete took her hand and they walked to their lean-to and sat
upon the bedrolls.

“I had fun to night,” he said, wiping his brow with his kerchief. “I had a heck of a lot of fun.”

“So did I, Pete. It was as if….”

“What?”

“It was as if it was never going to end, and now it has.”

“I think I know what you mean, Katie. It sort of has a bad feel to it to know that we’ll be parting company with Billy and
Sister, they’ve been like angels to us.”

“It’s more than just that, Pete. It feels like the end is coming near.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to explain it exactly,” she said, feeling the press of his hand in hers.

“You’re worried about what happens when Billy drops us off in Mormon Springs tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Maybe so. But, I am worried about beyond that as well.”

“Don’t. I have already told you that we’ll just ride away, make a life for ourselves somewhere. No one will ever have to know.
People disappear in this country all the time.”

“Pete, I have this feeling, this sense of dread about the future. I don’t know how to describe it to you,
but I feel that if I could have anything in the world, it would be to not let go of to night, to not have tomorrow come.”

She felt the shiver of something other than the night air pass through her.

“Pete?”

“Yes, Katie.”

“I want to ask you for something.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“I want you to make love with me to night….”

“Katie—”

“Just say you will, Pete. Tell me you will let this night be ours to keep, no matter what happens tomorrow or the day after
that.”

He bent his head to her, kissed her gently. She returned his kiss. His hand stroked her hair. He whispered her name and she
touched his cheek. He smelled the soft fragrance of her hair, her fingers traced lightly along his neck. He kissed her again.

“Let’s not think of anything but to night,” he said.

“Yes, just to night. Just you and me, Pete. Nothing beyond to night.”

“I love you, Katie,” he whispered. “I think I loved you from the first time I saw you.”

He felt the softness of her, felt the smoothness of her bare skin beneath the blanket that covered them, felt the warmth of
her breathing against his neck.

“I love you too, Pete. I will love you forever, no matter what happens.”

Johnny Montana sat a long time watching the camp’s fire across the river. He watched as it grew dimmer and dimmer and then
fade to little more than an orange glow.

The music and laughter had long since died, but not his anger. He could only imagine what the night had wrought and what was
now going on between Katie and the Ranger. His anger burned hot within him. He had tried to ease it with a bottle of tequila
he had purchased back in Mormon Springs.

“Tomorrow,” he said, swallowing some of the fiery liquor.

Unknown to either the outlaw or the those on the other side of the river, several hundred yards upstream from where Johnny
Montana now sat squatting on his heels, another man waited in quiet observation of the reverie from the lighted camp.

Eli Stagg had made his way to a point far enough from the camp across the river so as not to be detected, and yet close enough
to study the situation.

Who those people were or what they were all about, did not matter all that much to him. He was tired and hungry and saddle
sore from another day-long ride into dark. Whoever they were, they had to have grub and maybe whiskey, guns and animals. All
of which would be easy larder for a man willing to take it.

The other thing they had across the river was women. It had been a fair long time since he had had a woman. The Yallar Rose
had been the last, but anymore, she didn’t count. Not in his book, she didn’t.

Come morning, he told himself, he’d have a shot at those pilgrims, probably lay right here and pick off the ones he wanted
with the Creedmore. Shoot the men, and rescue the women, he chuckled to himself.
Hell, why not!

The first light of day broke clear and clean above the encampment. The first to stir was Billy Bear Killer, with Sister McKnight
stirring right along behind him.

Billy shook his head to clear all the music and some of the sipping whiskey still left over from last night’s celebration.
Sister seemed as bright as a new penny.

Billy climbed out of the back of the wagon, lifted his suspenders up over his shoulders, pulled on his boots, grabbed the
coffee pot and walked down to the river’s edge. He whistled a fiddle tune he had been playing the night before—a favorite,
Sweetwater Creek.

He knelt by the water’s edge and splashed some of the river water onto his face before dipping the coffee pot to gather coffee
water.

Pete Winter was already half awake and sitting up when he heard the roar of a big bore rifle. He pushed up from the bedroll
and struggled to get his trousers on.

An instant later, the wail of Sister McKnight split the air.

Katie was now fully alert and gathering her shirt about her.

“What is happening, Pete?” she cried.

“I don’t know,” he said, pulling his trousers on and then scrambling from the lean-to.

Running toward the wagon, he spotted Billy lying face down at the river’s edge. Sister McKnight was just now reaching her
fallen husband.

“Get away!” shouted the lawman as he ran toward them. Too late! A second shot roared through the dawn and splattered mud all
over Sister’s dress.

From downstream, where he had finally found a suitable place to cross the river, Johnny Montana heard the shots as well.

“What the hell,” he muttered aloud.

For the life of him, he could not understand why anyone would be shooting in the camp. What ever it was, he told himself,
they were alerted now and he would have to make his approach with caution.

He rode the animal into the water, across a narrowing of shallows that lay in a sharp bend downstream from the camp. Cottonwoods
on the other side would conceal his approach.

A third party had also heard the roar of the buffalo gun—Henry Dollar. He pulled back on the reins of the dun and listened
until the first shot was followed by a second. Someone was doing some serious shooting! His instinct told him it was trouble.
He put spurs to the horse and ran it full out toward the sound of the gunfire.