Somewhere in the camp, he heard an old woman screaming, knew she begged for mercy as the braves raped her. Mercy. His grandson had said his mother begged for mercy, not for herself but for her young son, for her unborn child. The three gringos had laughed, raped her while the child watched. Then they had left the little family for dead.
The scent of smoke came to his nostrils as the warriors finished their killing, fired everything they did not want. Scarlet flames leaped above the ragged tents. An occasional shot still echoed as a warrior found a wounded white man, finished him off. All around him, Indians yelled triumphantly, dancing around the prone bodies, wrapping themselves in the strange clothes they had found. A brave dashed by in a leather vest, another had a woman’s plaid shawl about his shoulders.
The Kickapoo chief strode over, dragging a frail old white woman. “What shall I do with this one? She will not live to carry back to camp.”
Cougar peered at her. Blood ran from her mouth, and a scarlet froth bubbled up when she breathed. The Kickapoo was right, the scrawny old hag was almost dead already.
“Well, Ndolkah?”
Cougar hardened his heart, thinking of his own family. He had lost everyone but the boy. “Kill her; she’s worthless.”
As he spoke, a light kindled in the woman’s pale blue eyes; she reached out a shaking hand. “Ndolkah, skii” ni nzhqq,” she whispered in Apache.
I love you. How did she know those words? There was something strangely familiar about the old woman. He knelt, took her in his arms. “What is it, white woman? Why do you reach out to me?”
Once. she might have been a beauty, maybe forty years ago or more when the gray hair had been golden as a palomino’s mane, before the pale blue eyes had turned rheumy. Her reaching hand caught his necklace, clenched it in her palm with a smile of triumph. “Ndolkah.”
He stared at her, recognizing her. Had he aged so much himself? Life is, after all, only the total of a man’s experiences, or what he remembers of them—the battles he has fought, the tiswin he has drunk, the women he has loved.
In a man’s mind he can lie to himself, be forever younger than he is. But here was his own mortality staring back at him, her teeth gapped, her face wrinkled with the years that had passed.
He took her hand in his, nodded and swallowed hard, indicating that he recognized her, remembered that raid. Had it been fifty years or only forty? He closed his eyes. With the dust and smoke swirling around him, with the smell of gunpowder, he was once again running after the woman—and she was young, running ahead of him to escape capture, her long, blond hair flying out behind her. . . .
It had been a long time since he had put a necklace of cougar claws and teeth around the neck of a beautiful white girl and said, Skii ni” nzhgg. I love you.
“. . . Cougar,” the old crone gasped again, bringing him back to the present. He was an old warrior now, as she was old, and he hated her for destroying his memory of the young, proud beauty she had been almost half a century ago.
He grasped the dying woman’s shoulders. “Was there a child?” he demanded in broken English. “I have to know! Was there a child?” Somewhere a grown son might carry his bloodline, a young grandson might be searching for him. It magnified in importance because Sun Shield was all the family he had.
She gasped something in her foreign tongue, reached again for his necklace. Blood flowed from her lips and her hand was a wrinkled, dirty claw. She was trying to tell him something about the necklace, but he couldn’t understand.
“I should have stolen you that day,” he said softly. “I always regretted that I didn’t.”
The old woman smiled. Her eyes told him that she regretted it, too. “A daughter,” she gasped in English. “Cougar. . .”
“The necklace. What happened to the necklace? Did you say there was a child?” He grasped her bony shoulders, shaking her, demanding she tell what he wanted to know. “Answer, old woman!” He shook her limp form. “Tell me!”
The Kickapoo chief strode over, frowned. “Can’t you see she is dead? And such an old crone would be worthless anyway. Take her hair. We are ready to leave.”
Cougar ran his hand through her hair, remembering when the gray strands were golden silk. “The Apache care little for scalps.” He stood, turned away. “Besides, who would want the hair of an ugly old woman? Let us ride out!”
Around him dust and smoke still swirled, the scent of blood and fire hung heavy on the dawn air. He hurt deep inside as if wounded. Whatever she knew had died with her.
The war party mounted up. Cougar didn’t look back as they drove the captured mules out ahead of them, toward the Rio Grande. Behind them, the camp burned, throwing a telltale tower of smoke into a sky that was as blue as the woman’s eyes.
Ringo leaned against the cantina bar at the stage station, gulped the mescal from the smudged glass. “Another one, comprende?” he shouted over the music and laughter, motioning with a shaky hand.
Big ’Un frowned, scratched himself under the old blue Union jacket. “Christ! Ringo, you already had five!”
“I swear! Who elected you my mother?” Ringo snapped. He reached for a sack of tobacco, but his hands shook so badly, he had difficulty rolling a cigarette. A gunfighter, he thought as he lit the smoke, to think I used to call myself a gunfighter. With these hands, I can hardly get a drink to my lips without spilling it.
Pettigrew pulled out his gold watch. “Nagnab it, Ringo,” he drawled, stroking his tangled beard, “we gonna stay here all night and drink?”
Ringo didn’t answer. Running his tongue over his cracked lips, he was already tasting the next drink in his imagination. A Mexican girl, beautiful and full breasted, brought his mescal, smiled at him invitingly. He grabbed the glass and gulped the liquor down, waiting for the pleasing warmth to move down his throat to his belly. The girl didn’t interest him. It was his secret that it had been at least a year since he’d been able to perform with a woman. Liquor had done that to him. But drink meant more to him than women.
Big ‘Un spat tobacco juice on the floor, whittled a stick with his bayonet. “Did you ever see a nicer pair?” He nudged Ringo. “Now there’s something worth stayin’ a little longer for.”
Ringo grunted, signaled through the smoky light for another drink.
“Damn Yankee!” Pettigrew put the watch back in his faded Confederate jacket that would no longer button over his paunch. “You think that girl would be interested in a big grizzly bear like you?”
“Better’n sawed-off runt, you Rebel pore white trash!” Big ’Un paused with the bayonet aimed at Pettigrew.
Automatically, Ringo moved between them. “I swear! Will you two never stop? The war’s over! I’ll bet if I did let you two fight, I couldn’t melt you and pour you over each other!”
“That’s what you think! ” Pettigrew bristled like a small feisty dog. He put one grimy hand on the big, rusty butcher knife in his belt.
“Any time, Reb, any time!” Big ’Un glowered at the smaller man.
“Stop it, you two. We need to get some information if we’re gonna find that sonovabitch that stole the payroll.” Ringo signaled the girl again and gestured. The three of them moved to a scarred table in a shadowy corner of the cantina. When the girl brought the drinks, Ringo gestured her to the fourth seat.
“Ah señorita, we would like you to join us,” he said in border Spanish, giving her his best smile. Once, a long time ago, women had thought him handsome. Now he was acutely aware that his hair had grayed, that he could not service this girl if he tried.
The señorita sat down, poured herself a drink, leaned over so that her big breasts showed above her low-cut blouse. “It is not often we have americanos here.”
The Reb and the Yank leaned forward like two eager stallions, but Ringo frowned at them, turned his attention back to the girl. “And when was the last time an americano came through here?”
“Who wants to know?”
He reached into his vest, took from it a coup
le of American silver dollars, and stuffed them down between her full breasts, enjoying the way she flinched from the cold metal. His fingers lingered on her for a moment, and he remembered what it was like to top a woman.
“We are trying to find an old friend.” He smiled at her suggestively, reaching a hand under the table and putting it on her knee.
She smiled, sipped her drink. But under the table, he felt her spread her thighs so he could stroke her there.
“Nagnab it, ask her,” Petty whined.
“Shut up, Reb.” Big ’Un spat a spray of tobacco juice on the sawdust floor. “Give him a chance.”
Ringo heaved a deep sigh and gritted his teeth. He’d had a bellyful of these two half-wits. When they finally recovered the payroll, he intended to figure out a way to cheat them out of their share. Then he hoped they did kill each other.
He worked his hand along the woman’s warm, tender flesh, squeezed her thigh very close to where it joined her body. She wasn’t wearing underclothes. “As I said, señorita, we look for an amigo, a tall, blond americano on an overo pinto stud.”
Her face brightened; then she frowned. “Ah him! Si, he was supposed to meet me in this cantina but never showed up. Some other girl he found prettier, no doubt.”
“Then the hombre was a fool! You must be the prettiest girl in all Mexico.”
She colored with pleasure in the dim light, and laughed. “My uncle in Remolino says so! He thinks I should come there. He promises to introduce me to a captain of the Federales.”
Ringo smiled, his fingers stroking the moistness between her thighs. He watched her gasp and, through her thin blouse, saw her nipples swell with hardness. “Tell me more about that hombre,” he said.
She shrugged. “Not much to tell, señor. He was here for one night only.”
“Christ!” Big ’Un grumbled. “He’s got a real head start on us then.”
Petty took out his watch. “We ain’t got all night, Ringo. See what else she knows.”
“Shut up!” Ringo snapped, “Now, señorita, which way did our friend go?”
She looked at each man, raised an eyebrow. “Why do you seek this man?”
Ringo said, “He’s a friend, that’s all.”
He saw the greed in her dark eyes. “I think I don’t remember more.”
“Could you remember for a little more money?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged and her blouse slipped off her shoulder. Her thighs gripped his stroking hand. “Señor, why don’t we go out to the shadows of the creek and talk?”
The thought chilled him. She’d laugh at his attempts to satisfy her. But by the way he stroked her, looked into her eyes, how could she know that all he hungered for was another drink?
He leaned closer, smiled. “I thought you’d never ask! Slip out ahead of us, and we’ll meet you there.”
But she frowned, shook her head. “Not those two”—she pouted—“just you. I like pistoleros.”
He gave the other two the slightest shake of his head to silence their protests. “Go on, Angel, I’ll be there in a minute.”
She stood up, shook her skirt down. With a wink, she turned, threaded her way through the noisy, smoky cantina, went out the door.
“Christ!” Big ’Un spat. “You gonna cut us out?”
“Yeah, Ringo, we don’t get none?” Petty drawled.
“Naw, I ain’t gonna cut you out!” Cold sweat broke out on Ringo’s furrowed face. He wiped his brow with a shaky hand. More than anything, he dreaded these two watching his futile performance. “Let’s go. We’ll get the information from her, and you two can have a little fun, too.”
Big ’Un guffawed as the trio stood up. “Like with that Apache squaw, right?”
“She was a good one,” Petty agreed, his hand on the hilt of the rusty butcher knife. “It’s always so much fun when they fight you!”
Ringo drained his glass, savoring the taste. God, he’d like another one, but he could scarcely stand now. “Okay, let’s go.”
How in the hell was he gonna do this? “You two walk far back in the shadows so she won’t see you.”
The creek bank was darkly shadowed, the moon throwing little slivers of silver light on the water. The girl lounged against a tree. “Ah Señor Gunfighter.” She came into his arms and he kissed her, pulling her to him with fake passion as if he were still a virile stallion of a man. Over her shoulder, he saw his partners crouching in the mesquite.
“Pretty one,” he murmured, slipping his tongue between her lips, running his hand down the front of her blouse to cup her big breast. “Now tell me about my friend.”
“Not yet.” She laughed. “You will make love to me, give me more money, no?”
You bitch, he thought savagely. I ought to rape you with my pistol barrel. But he smiled, nibbled her ear. “Maybe I should take you with me, Angel. Have you seen Mexico City? San Antone? Now tell me what I need to know.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. It was amazing how even the sliest puta could be flattered into foolishness.
“All right, señor. The tejano was headed south when he left here, in the direction of Monterrey. There’s many big ranches in that area. Perhaps he seeks a job at one of them.”
That was all he needed to know. For a split second, he wondered whether he could ride off without the pair of idiots in the shadows, then shook his head. No, he’d seen that Texan shoot. It would take all three of them to get him, and even then they’d need a little luck.
He kissed her again, motioned to the pair hovering in the shadows like a pair of coyotes. “I don’t suppose you’d want to make my friends happy, too?”
“Those two filthy pigs?” She spat in disgust. “Not unless they pay many, many americano dollars.”
“Oh, but what they had in mind was free,” he said, clasping his hand over her mouth. If he didn’t let his partners satisfy their lust, they’d bellyache about it all the way across Mexico.
The girl struggled and fought him as he stuffed a bandana in her mouth, twisted her arms behind her.
Petty and Big ’Un joined him.
“Enjoy her quick,” Ringo growled. “We got to get a move on!”
Big ’Un’s eyes widened with anticipation. “This is gonna be better than that squaw. Christ! Why is it better when they fight you?”
Ringo forced her to the ground, ripped away her clothes. “Hold her ankles, Petty.” He clasped her wrists together, forced them down to the ground above her head. The motion made her back arch, forcing her big breasts up.
“I got her,” Petty drawled. “But why does Big ’Un get to go first?”
“What difference does it make?” Ringo snapped. “It’s only a minute or two.”
“Less than that,” the Yankee crowed, straddling her slim body. He unbuttoned his pants, shoved into her while his two large hands cupped her breasts, squeezed so that the nipples stood up for his eager mouth.
The girl struggled but between Ringo and Petty, she couldn’t get away while Big ’Un rode her, sucking and chewing at her breasts.
Even the sight of him mounting the girl like a stallion didn’t cause Ringo’s manhood to harden. There was nothing left—nothing. Drink had taken its toll.
Petty licked his lips as they watched the Yankee hump between the girl’s thighs. “Ain’t she a purty one, though? Hurry up, Big ’Un, I get my turn next.”
Big ’Un drove into her hard, stiffened, lay still. “I want another turn.”
“Nagnab it, no fair!” Petty whined. “It ain’t fair, is it, Ringo?”
“I swear! You two got to fight over even this! Get up. Big ’Un. Give Petty a chance at her!”
The big man moved to hold her ankles while Ringo held her wrists down. Her dark eyes above the gag were angry. Petty licked his way across her breasts while she struggled.
“Christ!” Big ’Un said, “we ain’t got all night for you to mess around! Get done and get off!”
Petty finished, lay there a long moment. “Umm, as sweet and hot as st
icking it in sun-warmed honey!”
“Now I get another turn!” Big ’Un said.
“All right, you two, we ain’t got all night! Some of these vaqueros would take a knife to your cojones, make steers out of you for this,” Ringo warned them. “Let’s vamoose.”
Petty sat up, still hanging onto the fighting girl. “Hey, Ringo, ain’t you gonna take a turn?”
He could not face the ridicule of letting them know he was no longer capable.
Big ’Un scratched himself. “Hey, Ringo, didn’t you hear Petty?”
“Yeah, I heard him. All right, I’ll get a little and then we’ll get the hell out of here. You two go stand guard.”
Petty frowned as he handed over the struggling girl. “Hell, Ringo, I wanted to watch. We ain’t got to watch you do it for a long time.”
“I like my privacy,” Ringo lied, holding onto the struggling girl. “Now you two stand guard.”
Grumbling, the two moved away and Ringo looked down at the girl. “I’d love to do it to you, Angel,” he said through clenched teeth. In the moonlight, he saw the expression in the girl’s eyes change when he hesitated. Then disbelief, scorn came into her face. She knew . . . she knew.
“Damned puta!” he said, and clipped her across the jaw, He left her sprawled unconscious, smeared with male seed, her bare breasts gleaming in the moonlight like some pagan mating sacrifice.
He crept out of the mesquite. The scent of claret cup cactus came to his nose as he took a deep breath. The sound of rock crunching under his boots, the echoing howl of a coyote, laughter and guitar music, all drifted faintly on the still air.
“Christ!” Big ’Un spat a spray of tobacco juice. “You through already?”
Ringo laughed easily. “When the gun’s loaded, it don’t take a second to pull the trigger! Why do you think women like gunfighters, anyway? There’s some connection in their heads between a man’s tool and that long, hot, hard pistol barrel.”
Petty grinned admiringly. “Ringo, you’re sure some stud!”
He thought of the girl lying with her dress torn, her thighs spread. He should have ordered Big ’Un to cut her throat like he had that Apache squaw’s. “Let’s get the hell out of here! The Texan’s headed south.”
Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) Page 24
