A single sharp whistle brought Griffin to his side. Jake followed the tracks for another mile on foot before he climbed into the saddle. They hadn’t changed direction. They were heading southwest, for Mexico. But why? They weren’t pushing cattle ahead of them, and there were no ranches and precious few towns in their path from which to steal.
He spent what was left of the day following tracks, keeping a good pace without tiring Griffin too much. By sunset, all he had to show for it was a mouth full of dust. He rode another hour in the failing light, searching for a spot to bed down. He could sleep in the dirt, but Griffin needed water and grass. Jake carried some grain in his packs but not enough to feed the big horse every night. He’d about given up when he spotted a short line of scrub trees in the distance, a sure sign of water. The creek wasn’t big, but it would be enough.
Griffin didn’t stop walking until he had his nose in the water. Jake loosened the cinch and removed the saddle and heavy packs before following suit upstream from his mount. He drank deeply and filled his cooking pot before splashing the cool water over his face and neck to remove some of the grime.
Immediate needs seen to, he scouted the area, looking for evidence that he wouldn’t be alone tonight. When he returned twenty minutes later with an armload of limbs and branches for the fire, he was satisfied no humans were within a mile of this spot. Any four-legged intruders he could keep away with a fire.
He scratched out a small impression in the dirt and arranged wood by feel. Until the moon rose, the fire would be the only light he had. Years of experience guided his hands and flames chewed at the branches in a short time. Jake fed small pieces to the growing fire until he was satisfied it would hold. He used the wood sparingly. The fire had to burn all night and he didn’t want to have to stumble around in the dark gathering more fuel. Besides, a larger fire would attract more than the four-legged variety of predator.
Jake set the pot of water on one side of the fire, close to the flames. While it heated, he dug out several pieces of venison jerky and broke them up into a battered tin cup. When the water boiled, he filled the cup and put it aside. Then he added a handful of coffee grounds to the pot and set it on the ground to steep. While he waited for his meager dinner to soak and soften, he studied the landscape. Nothing moved except for Griffin. It was so quiet, he could hear the big animal ripping up the sprigs of early grass near the water.
When the jerky was soft enough to chew, Jake ate. There wasn’t anything fancy about it, but it was filling. Tomorrow he’d have to watch for a rabbit while he rode. He washed down the soup with coffee, then refilled his cup and leaned back against his saddle to sip the strong brew.
This was the toughest time for most men who’d chosen the life of a Ranger. It was dark and quiet, and no one knew or cared if you were alive. Normally, it didn’t bother him, but tonight Jake was restless. Memories of Rachel filled his mind, of her body beneath his, her long legs opening for him, her soft hands roaming across his chest. Her skin was so pale against his. It had been years since he’d wished he were someone other than who he was, but Rachel made him want to be different.
Not true, he growled in the silence of his mind. Jake shifted on his bedroll, trying to get comfortable. He wasn’t ashamed of his parents or his heritage. He didn’t want to be different. He wanted to be accepted. Then, he could marry Rachel and start that family she wanted. He wanted.
He tossed out the cold coffee. “Wishing for the impossible won’t make it happen,” he muttered. He couldn’t change himself and he damn sure couldn’t change the way people thought of him. He moved the coffee away from the flames to cool. He would reheat what was left of it in the morning.
Jake added two more pieces of wood to the fire. He hated the dark. He’d long since given up trying to conquer that demon from his childhood and accepted that he needed light. He took one last look around the area, walking slowly with his revolver drawn. The night sky sparkled with stars. No clouds marred the inky beauty. He looked east and was glad to see a half moon peeking over the horizon. In an hour, it would illuminate the land. He could sleep without having to feed the fire.
Settling Griffin nearby, he wrapped a blanket around himself and laid his head on his saddle. For just an instant, he wished Rachel were beside him. Cursing his foolish wanting, he turned away from the fire and slept.
The clear night gave way to a cloudy morning. Signs of rain were everywhere. Jake warmed the leftover coffee while he groomed and saddled Griffin. The horse proved as cantankerous as the weather, shying away from the bit and holding his breath when Jake tried to tighten the cinch.
“I know how you feel, boy, but I’m going to win this battle, so you may as well give in gracefully.” With his gear finally loaded, Jake sat on his heels to drink his morning coffee. He took a sip and winced. It was even worse than usual. Taking a deep breath, he gulped it down in three swallows and rose to rinse out the pot. Breakfast would be in the saddle today. He didn’t dare linger around the fire. Rain would wash away the tracks he was following, leaving him exactly nowhere.
It took only a minute to pack away the cup and pot, and kick dirt over the fire. He stuffed some of the smaller pieces of wood in a saddlebag. Wood was scarce out here, and at least what he had was dry. He left the rest stacked where it was. If another man happened along this lonely stretch of nowhere, he could make use of it.
Jake had only been in the saddle an hour when the rain started, a cold mist that coated his face and snuck down his collar. He stepped up the pace, trying to stay ahead of the downpour he knew was coming.
Rain fell all afternoon. Even wearing his oilcloth slicker, Jake was soaked through and shivering by the time he decided to stop for the night.
The next morning dawned gray and overcast, but the rain had stopped. He climbed into the saddle and spent another day in fruitless searching. That wasted day was followed by another.
On his fourth day out, the rain returned, soaking him to the skin before he could pull on his slicker. Cursing every step of the way, Jake stayed with the tracks when they changed direction, heading west toward the river. By noon, he had to stop. There was no longer anything to follow. All he’d gotten for his trouble was wet and cold. He’d finish this day out, but at sunrise, he was heading for the nearest settlement and a hot bath. Turning Griffin, he started searching for shelter.
Jake was so intent on finding a place to get out of the rain, he nearly missed seeing where the tracks came out of the water. He only recognized one. The other riders must have crossed the river.
A hundred yards down, three more horses joined the group, all carrying riders by the look of the prints set deep into the mud. A mile farther and they’d picked up their pace. Jake held Griffin to a ground-eating trot. It wasn’t comfortable for him, but it was easier on the horse. When he saw the dark area ahead, he figured his eyes were playing tricks. The tracks continued, straight into a hole in the ground.
He turned away at the last moment, staying hidden in a fold of land. The cave wasn’t big, at least not from where he was standing. He didn’t see anyone on guard, but smoke came from the rocks above, a tiny wisp of white thicker than the misty rain that washed it away.
They’d chosen well. It was hard to spot and had a small, easily guarded entrance. He had no way of knowing how much space was inside, but at least six men and seven horses had gone in. The cave was the first high spot after a quarter mile of flat, desolate land. The only way to approach it without being seen was to ride several miles south, cross the open space and double back through the rocks behind the cave.
It took Jake almost an hour to get back. He settled Griffin out of sight in a small wash, and spent the rest of the limited daylight scouting the area. Even when he stood right above the cave opening, he couldn’t see anyone on guard. Maybe he’d imagined the smoke. He was still telling himself that when two men came out to relieve themselves. They stood in the cave entrance, out of the rain, smoking foul smelling cigars just below where Jake lay, str
etched out along the rim.
Though their Spanish was peppered with phrases he wasn’t familiar with, he understood enough to know he was in the right place, but the man he was after wasn’t here. They were waiting for El Capitan and his second in command to join them before they made their next strike. Then they would lead the stolen cattle across the Rio Grande River into Mexico and go home to enjoy their wives’ cooking and sleep with their lovers.
They rattled on for half an hour, planning how they would spend their pay. By the time they went inside, Jake was so cold and wet he had trouble climbing through the rocks, but he didn’t care. Soon, he would face the man he’d been after for years, the man he’d vowed to kill before quitting the Rangers for good.
He made his way back to Griffin and led him away from the area until he found a small overhang that couldn’t be seen from the cave where they’d both be out of the rain. Jake stripped gear from the horse and poured out some grain for him. Everything was wet, including the wood he’d carried all day. Swearing over his rotten luck, he made a tiny fire, feeding bits of damp wood into it slowly so it didn’t smoke. He set the pot out in the downpour to fill. When the wood had burned down a little, he laid a piece of rabbit left over from the previous night directly onto the coals. Then he searched through his packs for something dry to wear.
The night air against his naked skin made him shiver, but he was grateful for the rain. It would keep the rustlers under cover for the night and hide any evidence of his fire. While the meat cooked, he fashioned a water pouch from his slicker and filled it with rainwater for Griffin. Once the horse was satisfied, Jake shook it out and laid it wet side down near the fire and settled onto it, careful to keep his muddy boots hanging off the edge. Getting dirty was inevitable out here, but he drew the line at sleeping in it.
He ate half of the rabbit while it was hot, saving the rest for the next day. He had a feeling there wouldn’t be time to hunt anything but thieves tomorrow.
When the fire burned itself out, he dragged the slicker and bedroll closer to Griffin. The big animal would alert him if anyone wandered close. Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, he leaned back against his saddle and closed his eyes, trying to ignore how dark it was.
Immediately, his thoughts turned to Rachel and what she might have done to fill her day. Had she gone back to the little schoolhouse? Or had she spent the day reading to Nathan, or spinning yarn from the mound of wool she’d gathered? He smiled a little. He’d like to see her work that spinning wheel. It would probably make a man feel right at home, watching her turn a pile of wool into yarn.
“Stop it,” he grumbled into the darkness, startling Griffin. “Easy, boy. Settle down.” Jake calmed the horse while his mind raged on. He’d never see her spinning yarn because he couldn’t go back. He had nothing to offer a woman who thought one night of heaven should be followed by happily ever after.
Jake yanked his blanket closer and flopped onto his side, willing himself to sleep.
Dreams rose from the shadows, images of Rachel, her golden hair free, walking down the street of Lucinda. No one else is there. She looks frightened. There, in the distance, someone is coming. It’s a man dressed in black, with long blond hair and shiny gold buttons on his fancy shirt. Jake’s fingers tighten on his gun as he raises it. He knows this man. He wants to kill him. He tries to warn Rachel, but he can’t make a sound. She runs toward the stranger. He yells at her to get away, he has to shoot, but it comes out as a croak. The man grabs her by her long hair and pulls her in front of him just as Jake squeezes the trigger and Rachel crumples to the dirt.
Jake bolted awake to a crack of thunder. He shot her. He shot Rachel. He killed the woman he loved. He dragged air into his lungs. It was only a nightmare, born of worry and his own damned heart.
Jake dropped back to his bedroll, breathing hard. He loved her. There, he’d admitted it, for all the good it did. He still wouldn’t marry her, but he knew he had to find a way to take care of her. He owed her that. He chose to ignore the part of him that whispered he owed it to himself, as well.
He spent the remainder of the night watching the storm as it marched across the sky, lightning slamming to earth in regular counterpoint to the beating rain. Twice in the night, he slipped back to his post over the cave, looking for some indication that the man he hunted had arrived, but the rain made it pointless. Sometime around dawn the storm passed on, leaving a cold, soggy mess behind.
Jake had everything packed before the last rumble of thunder rolled through the rocks. Griffin snorted and sidestepped when Jake approached, less than happy about being saddled so early, but he settled down quickly. It was almost as if the horse knew there was trouble nearby.
When everything was tied on, Jake left Griffin where he was. “One of us may as well stay dry this morning.” The big animal tossed his head, close enough to a nod of agreement that Jake smiled. He poured out some more grain and led the horse to a puddle of water at the edge of the overhang. “Drink some of that if you’re thirsty,” he instructed.
They’d been together so long, it didn’t occur to Jake that most folks would consider it odd that he talked to his horse. It was just what he did. He took one last look around to be sure nothing had been forgotten, then settled his hat lower on his brow and headed out into the morning.
Jake smelled cooking bacon as he approached the cave, and his stomach growled, reminding him he’d skipped breakfast. With the rain gone, and the sun coloring the horizon, he saw a second column of smoke rising from a fissure in the rocks just before he stepped into it. He went around it, careful not to let his shadow cross the opening and give away his presence. Jake crawled the last few yards to settle on his stomach above the mouth of the cave and waited.
It wasn’t long before a rider came into view from the south. Jake’s heart began to beat in rhythm with the pounding hooves. He hunkered down farther, making sure he wasn’t silhouetted against the rising sun.
The rider approached steadily, staying in the center of the open ground, not bothering to hide himself. Jake stared hard, wanting to see his face. He slipped his pistol from his gun belt and took careful aim. Killing him would mean a gun battle with the rest of the lowlifes in the cave below him, but at least El Capitan would never leave another child fatherless.
Disappointment snaked through him when the rider’s hat fell back to reveal long oily black hair. El Capitan, or William Harrison as he was known in society, sported long blond hair, a family crest on his ring, and a heart as black as the devil’s. Jake forced his fingers to relax and release the trigger, cursing in the silence of his mind. He was close to losing the last of his objectivity on this assignment. He wasn’t stupid. That kind of single-minded obsession could make a man careless—and dead.
He tried reminding himself he was a Texas Ranger doing what he’d been sent to do, but it didn’t work. This man had never been just an assignment. Since the day Jake realized Harrison was the man who’d attacked his mother, killing the bastard had been his sole purpose in life. That he’d also murdered Rachel’s mother only made him more determined to succeed.
Once Harrison was dead, Jake no longer cared what happened to himself. What good was a half-breed who wasn’t strong enough to protect those he loved when they needed him most? Twenty years ago, the boy he’d been had sworn justice would be served, and that was all he could see. There was no future for him. That, even more than his heritage, kept him from giving in to his desire and taking Rachel as his wife.
Rachel. Jake pictured her, lying in the bed they’d shared. He could almost smell the lavender on her skin. With a silent curse, he forced his mind back to his work.
The new arrival hailed the two men sitting at the mouth of the cave, and one of the guards responded, using an odd mix of Spanish and English. Jake memorized the words. Knowing the code they used might come in handy. The rider jumped to the ground, greeting the men by name, slapping backs and trading insults with the casualness of those who never expect to get caug
ht.
When they got down to business, their conversation was brief. Harrison had been delayed. They were to carry on as planned and he would join them later. Jake clamped down on his disappointment. The men argued, firing questions and insults at each other until decisions were made. Their cargo would be left here; they would return this way in a week with the cattle. They would take everything across the river then. One of the men yelled instructions into the cave. With a whoop of glee, four more men poured out, saddled horses and all seven riders headed north at a gallop.
Jake didn’t follow. Even with the rain threatening to return, that many horses would be easy to track. He was more interested in what they’d left behind. He waited until all sound faded, then stayed hidden another fifteen minutes before picking his way down the hillside. He blended with the shadows at the entrance and stilled, listening.
The cold wind at his back was in stark contrast to the warmth coming from the cave. Jake opened his mouth and drank in the scents carried on the air, as he’d been taught by the old Apache warrior who’d treated him like a son, then stood by and allowed a boy to be buried alive. Horses and men, sweat and human waste, a smoky fire—all were there, fading with the passing minutes.
Silently he slipped into the cave, staying low and pausing just inside to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. The hole in the rocks overhead not only let out the smoke, but provided enough light to see by. Jake moved nothing but his eyes for several minutes, searching for movement, but spotted nothing except the smoke rising from their hastily extinguished fire.
Moving quietly, sticking to the walls, Jake went through the boxes, trunks, and garbage left behind. As he circled back to the entrance, a tiny noise came from behind. He whirled and leveled his pistol at the source of the sound. A young boy stared back at him from between two crates. Jake looked around but couldn’t see anyone else.
Texas Gold Page 14
