The man looked down at the floor and fumbled with his hat.
“We’re real grateful, Mr. Tucker.” He raised his eyes to Moss again. “We, uh, we’d be glad to keep an eye on the place while you’re gone. Mrs. Webster could stay there and tend the house, and I reckon among all of us we can spare a few men to keep the chores done and all.”
“I appreciate that,” Moss replied. He paced again. “I guess we have to wait for that damned train. It’s faster than riding, but it’s gonna be a long damned six hours till it gets here.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Buck Donner looked over at the doorway of the Tucker cabin as Moses Tucker filled its frame. He looked away again, taking another drink of whiskey and leaning forward in the homemade wooden rocker, staring blankly at the fireplace and waiting for the physical pain that he was sure Moss Tucker would inflict upon him, and which he was equally sure he deserved.
“Becky’s stayin’ with Wanda over at her cabin,” he said in a distant voice.
Moss looked around the familiar room. Every part of it spoke of Amanda Tucker: every ruffled curtain, every vase, every neatly set piece of china in the heavy wooden cupboard. Buck remained turned away. Moss said nothing at first, but lumbered toward the bedroom, needing to see it—needing to see her clothes, to smell her perfume. He walked through the bedroom door and slammed it shut, and Buck Hanner put his face in his hands and cried like a small boy.
In the bedroom Moss shed quiet tears of his own. He’d already heard the news of the wire from Tucson. He had sent his own wire from Rock Springs before leaving, telling Buck to send someone down to Tucson to check out every whorehouse there. But none of them had turned up an Amanda Tucker. It seemed now that she had simply disappeared, and there was only one conclusion any of them could come to. Apache!
Moss sat down wearily on the bed, then stretched out on his back. It had been a long, grueling trip home; he’d stopped for nothing but a bite of jerky once in a while, other than sleeping no more than two or three hours at a time between rides that lasted sixteen to twenty hours. The man and the horses both were spent. His side ached, and his arm still ached. It was still bandaged, and still prone to fits of numbness.
He closed his eyes and rolled onto his stomach, and stared at the pillow beside him. He pictured her lying there the way she had looked that morning he’d made love to her twice in a row. He heard her light laughter as she teased him about being late and embarrassing her. He could feel the softness of her hair, smell her light perfume, taste the sweet, young lips, and he could see the slender thighs that opened for him and let him come inside to a place she would never willingly allow another man to enter. He remembered her telling him he shouldn’t go to Wyoming just for vengeance. She’d been right. He’d sworn that was not the real reason, but down deep inside he knew it was. Amanda had been right to warn him, but now she was the one who had suffered because of his own stupidity. Why did men do such stupid things? Why were they so prone to live by their temper and animal instincts? Yet she had not complained nor tried too hard to interfere with his decision. Because he was her husband—the man of the house—and she loved him.
He closed his eyes, groaning out a long breath of desire for his wife, whom he’d pictured lying there beside him, waiting for him to come, but who was now gone. The pain it brought in the pit of his soul seemed unbearable, and he realized how easy it would be right now to put a revolver to his head and pull the trigger. Amanda had been the only really good thing that had ever come into his worthless life, the only thing to give it purpose. Yet there was still Becky: his golden-haired little girl, the child he had decided to fiercely protect from any suffering the very moment he picked her up and held her in his arms. But he’d had Amanda then. He’d found a woman to be a mother to his child. How could a forty-three-year-old ex-outlaw and poorly-educated man raise a little girl alone? And how could he ever find a woman to replace Amanda? She was dead. He was sure of it. Yes, he would continue to look for her. But he had to face the fact that there was little hope of finding her alive.
The grief and his total exhaustion converged on him to force him into a much-needed but fitful sleep.
A few hours later Buck Donner walked hesitantly into the bedroom. He stood for a moment and stared down at Moses Tucker, hating himself for the agony the man must be suffering. He hated to wake Moss, but there was no choice. Soldiers had come. Besides, Moss hadn’t wanted to sleep too long. His intention was to rest a while, visit with Becky, and be off again in search of his wife. Donner bent down and nudged Moss’s shoulder. Moss stirred and moaned, and Buck nudged him once more.
“Boss? You gotta wake up.”
Moss moved slightly, trying to rouse from a deep sleep brought on by the shock and overexertion of the past several days. He reached over to the other side of the bed and pulled the pillow to him.
“Mandy?” he mumbled.
A pain shot through Buck Donner’s chest. He shook Moss harder.
“Boss, you gotta get up. There’s soldiers here.”
“What?” Moss turned onto his back and looked up at Buck, his face haggard and more aged.
“Soldiers. They found something.”
Moss bolted out of the bed and charged through the door into the main room, where an army captain stood in his blue uniform, holding a bundle of clothes. Moss froze in place, glancing down at the clothes.
“I’m Captain Fallows, Mr. Tucker,” the man said, almost apologetically. “My men and I—we’ve been searching also. We found these clothes. I wasn’t sure if they belonged to your wife. We continued our search, but to no avail. I’m afraid, Mr. Tucker, that we simply have to give it up, sir. There’s nothing more we can do.”
Moss rubbed a hand across his chest as though in pain. He stepped closer to the captain and reached out for the dress, which was in shreds. There was no doubt that it had been ripped off a woman’s body. He let it fall full length, and Buck Donner turned away, trembling with rage. It was Amanda’s.
“Where’d you find it?” Moss asked coldly.
The captain swallowed. “Down in Arizona, Mr. Tucker, in a remote canyon. There was a dead body next to it—a man’s body with an Apache tomahawk in his back.”
“Oh, God!” Buck moaned, running a hand through his hair.
Moss laid the dress across the back of a chair, noticing some blood stains on it.
“Where? I mean, exactly where?” he growled at the captain.
“Mr. Tucker, you can’t go there. It would be suicide.”
“I’m already dead, mister!” Moss barked. “So that part don’t matter! Now I want to know exactly where you found them things. I have to try. I have to at least try to find out what happened to her. I have to know for my own peace of mind!”
“But, Mr. Tucker, we’ve already searched and searched. You know how those renegades are. They melt right into the rocks. They’re—they’re like ghosts. There have been many times when we’ve sent hundreds of men in search of two or three Indians, and they come back empty-handed. And there have been other times when soldiers have ridden where they think it’s safe, only to suddenly discover they’re completely surrounded by Apache who seem to literally rise up out of the ground. It’s no use, Mr. Tucker.”
Moss lurched at the man, grabbing him by a lapel and jerking him forward.
“You tell me where you found that dress!” he roared, his eyes looking like those of a crazy man.
Captain Fallows stared at him in shock for a second, thinking how useless it was to search.
“All right, Mr. Tucker,” he replied calmly. “Let go of me, please.”
Moss released him and the captain straightened his jacket.
“I’m sorry,” Moss told him. “But I have to try, captain, even if it means I’ll get myself killed. Besides, I’ve had experience with the Apache. This stub of an arm is testimony to that.”
The captain looked at the arm and frowned. “Then you know the odds, Mr. Tucker.”
“Better than mo
st.”
The captain nodded. “All right. It was down past the Painted Desert, south of White Mountain but north of the Salado River.”
“Thank you,” Moss told him. “You go on back to wherever you’re stationed. I appreciate your efforts. But I have an edge.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“Them renegades would never show themselves to soldiers. But civilians like myself—that might draw them out, whether for friendly reasons or to kill us. But at least I’d have a chance to talk to some of them. If they show themselves to us, maybe I can at least find out for sure about my wife. If I don’t go down there and find out, I’ll always wonder. And that’s as bad or worse than knowin’ she’s dead. She could be a slave to some Apache buck, or they could have sold her to the Utes, or the Mexicans. God only knows. And to go on livin’ and not knowin’ would be to live in hell.”
The soldier sighed. “I understand, Mr. Tucker.” He put out his hand. “Good luck, sir.”
Moss shook the man’s hand and nodded. “Thanks. God knows I’ll need it.”
“You’ll let me know if you find her? You can wire me at Fort Defiance.”
“Sure. I’ll let you know.”
“Good. Good-bye then, Mr. Tucker.”
Moss nodded again and the soldier went through the door. Moss turned to Buck, who had his hands braced against the fireplace mantle his head hanging down in remorse. Both men stood silent for a moment.
“Why don’t you shoot me or beat me—have me whipped or something?” Buck asked in a strained voice. “I deserve it. I’m the one who was supposed to be keepin’ an eye on her that day.”
Moss studied the man a moment and then walked closer to him, putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Buck, when I first heard I wanted to kill every last man I’d left behind to take care of her,” he said quietly. “But then I remembered five years ago, when Rand Barker got his hands on her. It was me that supposed to be watchin’ out for her then, Buck. Me! But one of Barker’s men fooled me and had a gun in her side before I could blink and realize what was happening. And I failed her, Buck. I failed her. How can I blame another man when I’ve made the same mistake myself? Besides, I should never have left her. She didn’t really want me to go, but I went anyway. I’ve got nobody to blame but me, Buck. Nobody else. And there’s no way in hell I’d believe you didn’t do your best.”
Hanner made a choking sound and threw his head back, fighting tears. “I, uh, just stayed at the house…a few extra minutes, Moss! Wanda was decorating a cake…to surprise Becky with for her birthday.”
Moss sighed. “You comin’ with, Buck?”
“If you want me.”
“I do. I’m goin’ to wash my face and change my shirt and go see Becky. And then I’m gonna head out.”
He lumbered back toward the bedroom.
“Moss?” Buck spoke up.
Moss turned. “Yeah?”
“I love that woman.”
Moss frowned, unsure how to react.
“Not like you think. I mean I love her, you know? Every last man jack out there loves her. And if you find her, you’d better keep treatin’ her good or you’re gonna have about twenty men tryin’ to take her away from you.”
Their eyes held, and then Moss grinned a little.
“I expect I’d better walk easy then, hadn’t I?”
Buck wiped at tears and smiled himself.
“I expect so, boss.” He swallowed and looked at the floor.
“You leavin’ somethin’ out, Buck?”
The young man bit his lip nervously. “Yeah,” he said in a near whisper. “I am. Your wife was—she was pregnant, Moss. She told me herself before—before she disappeared. Leastways she was pretty sure of it.”
Moss closed his eyes and looked as though someone had plunged a knife into his chest.
“My God!” he whispered. “She wanted that for so long!”
“I’m sorry, Moss. Goddamned sorry.”
Moss took a deep breath and opened his eyes.
“Go round up the men. Tell them to be ready to ride yet tonight. We need fresh horses and plenty of food and water. We’re ridin’ into Apache country, and we’re gonna find Amanda Tucker or die trying!”
Buck grinned a little. “Yes, sir! Ain’t one man out there who’ll not want to go along.”
Buck rushed out the door and Moss went back into the bedroom. He stared at the crucifix and the rosary beads she kept on the dresser. He reached out and touched the crucifix lightly.
“Don’t you fail her again,” he said in a choked voice. “She’s been faithful to you, a good servant. It’s not right you should fail her. And if I find her dead or worse than dead, I’ll curse you for the rest of my life!” He choked on a sob, gritting his teeth and grasping the crucifix tightly, then tossing it to the floor.
They rode in a long, silent string, their shirts stained dark with sweat, their thighs displaying revolvers, their rifles loaded and ready, all with one purpose in mind: to find Amanda Tucker. There were ten now: Darrell, Pappy, Johnny, Tom, Bullit, Buck, Dwight, Sooner, Lonnie, and Moss. Brad Doolittle had stayed behind at the ranch, and Slim Taggart had gone home to his wife and two children, after much objecting. It wasn’t that he didn’t long to go home. It was only that he, too, was fond of Amanda. His own wife was a former prostitute, but she was a good woman, and she and Amanda had become very good friends. Amanda had given Wilena Taggart a certain pride in herself that she had never had before. Moss knew Wilena would surely want Slim to stay, however; for he’d been gone long enough, and Moss felt Slim had done more than his share by leaving to go to Wyoming in the first place.
Those who were left were the same shiftless, homeless men who had gone to Wyoming with Moss, and four of them—Darrell, Pappy, Johnny, and Lonnie—had been among the original men who had helped Moss search for Amanda five years earlier.
There was a strange and understanding silence among them. What Buck had said was true. They all loved her. And because of Amanda they all knew that at least once in a while they had a home at the Red “C”. For they were always welcome there when they passed through. There was always a meal and a kind word, and they all fantasized that someday they, too, would find a woman like Moss Tucker had found. And yet they knew it was unlikely they would ever have homes or families of their own. Perhaps it would still happen for a few of those who were still relatively young, but it was not likely for the older ones. They all knew, and Moss himself knew, that Moss Tucker was simply one of the lucky ones. Women like Amanda did not cross a man’s path every day, let alone pay attention to men such as they.
Their loneliness was something they would seldom admit to. All protested the idea of being tied to a woman’s apron. All gambled and drank and whored around, laughing and often breaking the law, pretending life was nothing but fighting for the next dollar and not caring where it came from, sleeping with easy women and calling the entire “big sky country” their home. There was a certain freedom they were after, yet in spite of the way they lived freedom seemed to elude them, and they secretly knew it was men like Moss—who had a woman like Amanda—that were truly free. For then they no longer had to pretend to be happy. And the fact remained that the law of nature demanded that a man should have a good woman at his side. For now, they all considered Amanda Tucker their woman in a private, special way. And to lose her would not be a loss just for Moss, but a loss to all of them. To lose Amanda would leave a vacancy in all of their lives that could probably never be filled again. For to look at her meant to hope for something better for themselves.
“Storm coming!” Darrell hollered from behind.
Moss studied the ugly dark clouds ahead, as he had been for at least the last hour.
“I see it!” he hollered back. “Keep goin’ till you feel the drops. The Little Colorado is up ahead a ways. We’ll camp there by the water.”
It sounded good to all of them. They could bathe, and Moss had promised that this time they w
ould sleep five hours instead of two or three. A half-hour later, as the sun’s light faded behind the ominous black cloud, their horses splashed through the Little Colorado, and some of them jumped off and literally fell into the cool wetness. Horses and men alike took long drinks. Then there was a loud crack of thunder, and they quickly prepared makeshift tents, four each in two tents and Moss and Buck in a third.
The thunder rumbled and lightning split the blackness of the sky while rain pelted the canvas over Moss and Buck’s heads. Buck stirred the fire, but they kept it low and near the entrance to the tent to avoid the smoke as much as possible. Moss sat quietly on his bedroll, staring at a trickle of water that began to flow inside and smoking a cigarette.
“We in Apache country yet?” Buck asked him.
“Have been for quite a ways,” Moss replied.
“Think there’s any out there?”
“They’re there—just waiting. From here on we’ve got to be damned alert. These are renegades, not the ordinary Apache. And ordinary is bad enough. But these men, they’re the ones that have fled the horrors of reservation life. They’re the ones who’ve lost families, had their women raped, their villages burned to the ground, their children butchered in front of their eyes. These are the ones full of hate and violence. So that makes them that much more dangerous. But they’re still honest men—brave and proud men—and if they’re treated with respect, it’s possible to reason with them.”
“You think she’d be capable of reasoning with them?”
Moss sighed. “Hard to say. She’s not one to ridicule anybody or speak bad to them. That could give her an edge. She always told me the Indian deserves to be loved as much as anybody else. We’re all God’s creatures.”
“God creates some real monsters sometimes.”
“He don’t create them. They become that way. Who knows what the reasons are. Sometimes they’re legitimate.”
Buck stirred the fire again.
“Moss, there’s something—something maybe I should tell you, to save her the trouble. I’m sure she’d be the type to think she should tell you.”
Lawless Love Page 44
