He looked up at her wistfully a long moment. Tell him I wish him luck.”
Silver nodded and put her heels to the startled thoroughbred. Its long legs spread out and it took off at a ground-eating gallop.
Cherokee had taken off after Jake Dallinger in a rush, but then slowed his horse as he checked the scout’s tracks in the moonlight and realized Dallinger was riding east at a more leisurely pace. Perhaps he knew a shortcut somewhere up ahead or, thinking he had plenty of time, didn’t want to tire his horse.
At the Four Mile House, the stage stop four miles east of Denver, Cherokee stopped and inquired. Yes, a big, bearded man had stopped for whiskey and food less than an hour ago. Cherokee felt chilled and the whiskey looked so good, he could almost taste it. But he turned his back with determination and mounted his horse.
After that, Cherokee proceeded along the trail with caution. It was one thing to have Jake Dallinger in broad daylight on a flat plain up ahead of him, it was quite another to be riding through brush along the creek in the dark, with a shrewd, trail-wise scout ahead of him. Jake was smart enough to ambush him if the scout should realize he was being trailed.
For reassurance, Cherokee felt the butt of his pistol and wished he had a saddle gun. A man armed with a pistol was at a distinct disadvantage if he came up against an hombre armed with a rifle, and one of the things Doc had said was that Jake was carrying a Sharps rifle.
The moonlight threw grotesque shadows along the trail. Cherokee listened intently to the noises of the cold night, the Indian ways of his grandmother coming back to him with a rush. Somewhere in the stunted trees along the river, an u-gu-gu, an owl, hooted and the hair rose up on the back of Cherokee’s neck. In almost all the tribes, an owl hooting at night foretold death. The question was: whose?
It didn’t matter; he couldn’t turn back. He had sworn vengeance for the murder of his two old partners, and given Iron Knife his word that he would do whatever he could to help the Cheyenne should he ever have the chance. This was the chance and Cherokee always kept his word.
Silver. She would have found out sooner or later that he was no longer blind, but if it had been later, maybe by then he would have convinced her that what he felt was love, not pity. When he had met her, he had thought her only a pretty white whore, but now she was a lady to him—a great lady. And he had come to know that all white women were not whores any more than all Indians were red devils.” His grandmother’s bitterness at his father had poisoned her thinking, and in turn, she had poisoned her grandson’s.
He kept alert as he rode, expecting that Jake was a cunning coyote who might figure on being followed and be lying in wait. Well, Cherokee knew a little about ambush. Not for nothing had his grandmother called him Tsu-no-yv-gi, Rattler. How many times had he seen a big diamondback strike with deadly speed and accuracy?
Cherokee thought he heard a sound behind him, and glanced over his shoulder. Somewhere on the other side of the horizon, a giant fire roared. He could see its faint orange glow in the distance. What could be burning? Could that be Denver? For a long moment, he was tempted to turn around and go back, remembering that when a blaze began, without much fire protection, sometimes whole streets burned. But if Silver was in any danger, Todd Shaw would look out for her, and little Keso was a tough street kid who had been looking after himself long before Cherokee ever came on the scene.
The sound must have been only u-no-le, the wind, stirring dead leaves behind him. Up ahead was a bend in the trail that passed through a little grove of cottonwood and willow—the perfect place for a trap. Cherokee reined in and considered a long moment. The blood of warriors ran in his veins and the Indian lore of a hundred generations of hunters and trappers now stood him in good stead. As a boy, he and his grandmother had hidden out and evaded the white soldiers many times when the bluecoats had come to drag them away to far-off Indian Territory where they did not want to go. If he was going to ambush a man who trailed him, that shadowy grove was the spot he would choose.
Jake Dallinger crouched in the shadows of the willows, listening. He heard the horse rein in and stamp its feet. It wasn’t an Indian—no, that mount had iron shoes. He heard the clink of a horseshoe against a pebble.
So he was being followed. Somehow he had known it. Jake reached up and touched the bald scar in his hair. Many years ago when he had been a wagon train scout in Texas, a Comanche war party had tried to scalp him alive. But Jake had survived that time and he had learned well. No Indian knew any more tricks than he did about living off the land and surviving in rough, hostile country.
Could it be some hombre who wanted to join him to ride out and kill Injuns? Jake shook his head, and spat. This bastard was being too cautious—he’d galloped when Jake galloped, walked his horse when Jake walked his to keep from being heard. Gawd Almighty! Who the hell could it be?
Whoever it was, Jake would be waiting for him when he came riding through this grove. It would be a purdee pleasure to gun the bastard down.
Jake laid the barrel of the old Sharps across a log, aiming at that open spot on the trail. He wanted a cigar, but he didn’t dare light one. If his opponent was trail-smart, he’d smell the smoke scent and know there was a man waiting in the shadows. Instead Jake stuck a cheap stogie between his yellow teeth and chewed on it.
He heard the horse just around the bend snort at the scent of his own gelding tied back behind him in the trees. But Jake had been cautious enough to tie a rag around his mount’s muzzle so it couldn’t whinny and alert the other rider.
Whoever was out there was a suspicious sonovabitch. He must be reined in just out of sight around the bend. If he proceeded ahead, there was a clear spot in the brush right in Jake’s line of fire. If and when the rider came through there, Jake could knock him right out of his saddle. He wished the moon would come out from behind the clouds again so he could see better.
And then the approaching horse began walking again, his hooves hitting an occasional rock in the trail. Suspicious sonovabitch, but not suspicious and careful enough, Jake thought with a grin and cocked his rifle. Gawd Almighty! It was as dark as the inside of a cow, Jake thought with annoyance. He really liked to get a man silhouetted against the starlight; made it a hellova lot easier. It was an old Injun trick. That was why Indian war parties stayed off hills and rises after dark; they knew they made good targets against the faint light.
Jake chewed his cigar, watched the open patch in the undergrowth, and listened to the horse’s hooves moving toward him at a walk. The man in the saddle probably had his hand on his pistol, but it weren’t gonna do him not one dad-blamed bit of good, he’d never get a chance to draw down on Jake ’cause Jake didn’t aim to give him a chance at a fair draw. Fair play didn’t make for a long life in this country. You took a man out any way you could.
Behind him, a twig snapped. Jake looked around and a cottontail scampered past. If he weren’t waiting to ambush a man, he’d have enjoyed blowing that rabbit apart just to watch it die, but he didn’t have time for that now. Jake had bigger game in mind.
He refocused his attention on the sound of the horse walking around the bend of the trail. This was gonna be easier than taking a sugar tit away from a baby. The rider would never know what hit him when that big fifty-caliber shell blew a hole in him big enough to put a fist through.
The red, shadowy clouds began to drift away from the moon as the horse rounded the bend and the light threw the horse’s shadow across the trail. Blood on the moon. Jake remembered the old superstition as he squinted one eye and reached to squeeze the trigger. Blood on the moon. Someone’s gonna die tonight.
That was shore as hell right! The horse rounded the bend and crossed the clear space in the brush, walking past him on the trail. For a split second, he stared in stunned disbelief at the riderless horse, its reins tied to the saddle horn as it continued on past him. Too late he remembered the snapped twig, the disturbed rabbit hopping out of the undergrowth. He’d been outsmarted! Jake tried to whirl around
, but now he felt the cold steel of a pistol against the back of his head.
Hold it right there, you murdering bastard, or I’ll forget I don’t shoot men in the back!”
Cherokee cocked his pistol and then took a couple of steps back. All right, you dumb bastard, lift those hands slow and lift them high! I thought you had more savvy than that, Jake. That’s an old Indian trick. Figured you knew that one.”
Jake cursed as he turned around, his hands high. Gawd Almighty! I didn’t know I was up against an Injun!” He paused, his eyes wide as he stared. Who the hell are you and what do you want? If it’s money, you’ve picked the wrong man—”
Oh, I got the right man.” Cherokee looked at the big whip on Jake’s belt, the silver handle gleaming in the moonlight. Remember two old men you killed for a little gold up in Mosquito Gulch?”
Jake’s mouth fell open and the cigar he’d had clenched between his teeth fell to the ground. I seen you somewhere before. Ain’t you that blind man an Injun kid was—”
You think I’m blind, you just try anything. I’d welcome a chance to shoot you down like a dog right here and now.” Cherokee hesitated. All this time he had planned to do just that. But now that he had the killer in his gun sights, he couldn’t do it. He’d thought he would take pleasure in it, but he knew now he’d only feel shame. Whatever the law did about it, if Cherokee took justice into his own hands, he wasn’t any better than the big man who stood before him with his hands in the air.
They’ll be looking for me,” Jake said. If I don’t show up in the next five minutes, I’ve got partners out there on the trail who’ll come back to deal with you.”
You damned liar! I know you’re alone and heading out to scout for the Third Volunteers!”
Jake frowned. What’s that to you? They’re Cheyenne and I can tell by lookin’ you’re not.”
Cherokee laughed. I owe a man a debt and I gave him my word. A real man always keeps his word, Jake. I got friends in that camp, so if you don’t get there, there may be enough of a delay for Iron Knife’s clan to escape.”
Iron Knife? Is that damned ’breed there? If I’d knowed that from the first—”
It doesn’t matter, you aren’t going out there to scout for the army.”
So what are you gonna do with me? If you think they’ll take a ’breed’s word against a white man’s back in Denver, you’re mistook.”
I ought to kill you right here myself and save the cost of a judge and jury.”
Jake laughed. I’ve shot men down like dogs before, but I’ll bet you haven’t. You don’t have the guts for it.”
Shut up or I’ll spill yours all over this ground!”
Very faintly in the darkness, Cherokee heard a horse coming down the trail he had just traveled. Who could that be? Friend or foe?
Jake turned his head. Someone’s coming.”
I heard it already.”
I forgot you was a ’breed,” Jake sneered. Got ears could hear a mouse step, I reckon.”
You cry out, you’re a dead man.”
I ain’t movin’ none,” the other assured him.
The hoofbeats grew louder, a long-legged horse moving at a fast gallop. Suppose it was another scout or some outlaw? Cherokee would be at a disadvantage, already holding one man at gunpoint. Cherokee considered knocking Jake across the head with the butt of his pistol so he could give full attention to the intruder. With Jake’s old Sharps rifle, Cherokee could take a man out of the saddle as he rounded the bend.
He turned his head slightly, his attention diverted by the approaching hoofbeats. He could—
Jake moved fast as a striking scorpion, his movement a blur as he grabbed up the rifle off the log and swung it hard. The butt caught Cherokee across the arm in a flash of stunning pain and his numb fingers dropped the pistol.
His arm felt on fire, but with his other hand, Cherokee grabbed the rifle by the barrel as Jake drew it back to swing again. His injured arm was too numb to use; it might even be broken. For a split second as they fought over the gun, he wondered why Jake didn’t pull the trigger, then realized Jake didn’t want to alert the oncoming rider either. Neither knew whether it was friend or foe.
His fingers didn’t seem to work, but still Cherokee braved the agony to try to use them, fighting to wrestle the rifle away from the big scout. In the struggle, the Sharps fired, the loud bloom so close to Cherokee’s ear that he heard nothing but ringing for a moment as they fought. Whoever was on the trail had been alerted now.
They were of equal strength, but Cherokee’s arm was at least badly sprained if not broken. They fought for the gun, crashing through the brush in the darkness like two great stags in a life-and-death battle.
Cherokee felt the sweat breaking out on his forehead as they struggled over the gun. You bastard! I should have killed you when I had the chance!”
Jake laughed, seeming to realize he was gradually wearing the injured man down. You was too much of a gentleman, ’breed! Never give the other fella an even break!”
They crashed backward through the brush, the dry branches of fallen trees cracking under their boots, the dead leaves whirling up around their legs. Then Cherokee tripped over a dead stump as they moved backward and he felt himself falling.
Jake jerked the rifle clear, and stood there looking down at him, grinning. His yellow teeth gleamed like a wolf’s in the moonlight. ’Breed, I’d really like to make this last, geld you maybe, or at least whip you blood raw, but I’ll have to finish you quick so’s I can deal with whoever that is on the trail.”
He put his hand on a Bowie knife in his belt, its blade bleaming in the moonlight. I don’t know whether to cut your throat, crush your skull with the rifle butt, or garrote you with my whip.”
Like you did my partners?” Keep him talking, Cherokee thought. He might get some feeling back in his arm if he only had enough time.
Like I did your partners.” The scout tossed the empty rifle into the brush. That’s the easiest way.” He pulled the whip out of his belt. Injuns hate to die like this. They don’t want their souls trapped in their dead bodies. Wal, I think that’s the way you’re gonna get it!”
Cherokee lay looking up at him, his right hand still numb and almost useless. If the arm weren’t broken, it didn’t make much difference now. By the time he could get enough feeling back into it to fight, he’d be dead.
He lay there, the taste of fear in his mouth, listening to the horse moving nearer.
Jake looked over his shoulder and grinned. I’m gonna take care of that bastard. Then I’m riding out to help wipe out those damned Cheyenne. After that, I’m going back to town. I got me a plan to get rid of the Duchess, and then I’ll have it all. There’s gal there, a gal who used to be a beaut. I’ll bet she still is under those ugly clothes!”
Don’t you touch Silver!” He blurted it out without thinking.
Wal, now. So you know the little gal from the best whorehouse in Chicago? I put her there myself. Gal had quite a past, bet you didn’t know that!”
She’s a lady. No one could ever make her a whore, no matter what they did to her!” If he could just keep Jake talking, the feeling was gradually coming back into his arm. In the darkness, Cherokee moved his fingers, urging the blood to flow faster.
That right? Suppose I told you that she and Al killed and robbed a man?”
Reckon she had good reason.”
Jake paused, spreading the long lash out behind him. Enough of this jawin’! Get ready to die the same way your partners did, ’breed!”
Silver had ridden hard out from Denver and past the Four Mile House, Waanibe hanging on to her waist for dear life. Doubts assailed her as she rode through the night. Had she taken the wrong trail? Would she find Cherokee?
It was crisp and cool riding in the darkness and she shivered and wished she had a coat. At least Waanibe, in her many-pocketed flannel gown, seemed warm enough.
Somewhere up ahead, she heard a rifle shot echo and reecho in the darkness. Alarmed, she r
eined in.
Waanibe said, Silvery, I’m tired. Where are we going?”
Hush, honey,” she whispered, and put her finger to her lips. Her heart pounded like a war drum, so loud she thought whoever must be up there in that shadowy grove of trees must surely hear it. She walked the horse nearer, listening.
It sounded like two big animals fighting and crashing around through the underbrush. The moon came out again and she saw a riderless horse standing on the trail on the far side of the grove. Suddenly there was no sound at all; the silence seemed deafening.
And then she thought of nothing except the fact that it might be Cherokee, and if so, her love was in trouble. She slid off the horse and turned to the little girl. Wannie,” she whispered tersely, you stay here! If I’m not back in a couple of minutes, you turn this horse and ride back to that inn we passed, do you remember?”
The little girl nodded, looking tired and grumpy. I’ve been trying to give you a treasure, Silvery—”
Not now, honey. Stay here!” Her heart in her throat, Silver sneaked through the brush in the darkness, expecting that at any moment, she would die.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Silver slipped through the darkness. She heard a whip crack like a pistol shot and a cry of pain through gritted teeth. Cherokee! Throwing caution aside, she raced headlong through the underbrush. She saw him in the moonlight, and thinking of nothing else, she ran into his arms.
Silver! What in God’s name—”
Wal, Gawd Almighty, look who’s here!”
Only then did she realize Cherokee had a whip mark across his face. Turning slowly at the drawling voice, she saw the huge, grinning man with the whip. She had unwittingly run into a trap.
Cherokee put his arm around her protectively. Let her go, Dallinger. She’s got no part in this!”
Now why should I want to do that?” Jake leered at her, the moonlight gleaming on the handle of the big whip in his hand. Don’t know why I didn’t recognize you before, missy, just because you’ve disguised yourself a little. I’ll bet your body is just as nice as it was when I sold you to the Velvet Kitten.”
Quicksilver Passion Page 34
