Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family)
Page 33
Hours passed as the four of them rode north. The May sun seemed to cook Amethyst even through her clothes, and she wondered if the back of her neck was sunburned. Finally, she didn’t think or care about anything except getting out of the position she was in.
Once they stopped, gave her a bite to eat, let her relieve herself in the bushes, and then tied her back on the horse even though she begged for mercy. She didn’t care if they raped or killed her anymore, she just didn’t want to be tied like a sack of potatoes across Heartaches’ saddle horn. The trio had only laughed at her pleas, and only the Paso Fino’s unusual gait kept her from being bruised black.
Once when they stopped to eat, Petty looked at her again, reached for a dip of snuff. “Ringo, you think we’re far enough away so’s we might take a minute out to enjoy this gal?”
Amethyst stiffened with fear, tried to look haughty. “You will be sorry if you touch me!”
“Ain’t she a feisty one, though!” The big Yankee scratched himself. “Reb, I’ll play you a hand of cards to see who gets her first tonight.”
Petty swore. “You damned Yankee. You think I don’t remember how the Kid taught you to cheat at cards? Anyone who’d cheat at cards would steal the butter off a sick nigger’s buscuit!”
Big ’Un put his hand on the hilt of the bayonet in his belt. “You take that back, you poor white trash!”
“Well, ain’t it the truth? You seen what his cheatin’ got him. You wanta see what it’d get you?” Petty pulled out the butcher knife.
Ringo stepped in between them. “I swear I’m damned tired of this constant wrangling. You know what? I think you’re both a pair of cowards! I don’t think I could melt either of you and pour you on the other!”
The two men circled each other like fighting dogs while Amethyst watched. As long as they were concentrating on their hate for each other and the third one was trying to keep them from fighting, maybe they’d forget about her.
Ringo reached into his saddlebags, got out a flask of whiskey, his hand shaking as he tipped it back, took a gulp. “We go no time for this,” he scolded the others. “When we get up to our camp, then you two can fuss. I wanta be able to hightail it across the border if anything goes wrong.”
Petty smiled at Amethyst, snuff dripping down his chin, turning his dirty beard dark. “Ringo, you ain’t gonna make us give her back, are you?”
She tried not to show fear as she listened.
Ringo rolled a cigarette with a shaking hand, spilled a lot of tobacco. “Haven’t decided yet. Mostly I want that payroll and that Texan’s hide.”
Big ’Un stuck his face close to hers, grinned. “I figure we can trick him out of the money, kill him, and keep the girl, too. Woman’s mighty handy around a camp, washin’ and cookin’.”
Petty laughed and slapped his thigh. “That ain’t what I had in mind! But sure, she can do them things, too. We can keep her ’til we get tired of her, then trade her off to the Comanchero. Pedro got the Kid the horse, I imagine he’d have a customer for a pretty girl, too.”
Amethyst was determined not to let them know how frightened she was. She didn’t understand what they’d said about a payroll, or most of the rest of their talk. What she did understand was that she was to become their slave, and that she might be traded off to the dreaded Comanchero, those mixed-breed renegades who’d do anything for money. Worse than that, these men obviously intended to ambush and kill Bandit if he tried to rescue her. She stopped worrying about her own safety, began to think of what she could do to help him.
Ringo took another drink. “I think I remember a few peons’ huts up there ahead where we can get some hot food, find a messenger. I’m gonna untie her, make her sit up in her saddle like she was just riding along with us so as not to arouse suspicion.”
At that point, Amethyst was so sore and bruised, she felt grateful for the smallest favor.
After Ringo took the ropes off her wrists, she rubbed her arms to bring the circulation back, swung up on her horse. She had lost the jaunty riding hat much earlier and now there was nothing to protect her fair skin from the merciless sun. Her fine lilac riding dress was soiled, dust clung to her perspiring skin, and she felt hungry. All they had offered her was a little beef jerky and some stale hardtack.
The three hombres remounted.
“Now, lady,” Ringo said, “you’re gonna ride along quietly from here on.”
“What if I don’t?”
He rubbed his unshaven jaw. “Then you can ride tied across your horse like you have all day. Suit yourself. It don’t make no never-mind to us.”
“All right. I won’t try to get away,” she said quickly.
Petty grinned, spat his lip of snuff out. “Now that’s more like it. Ringo, I see someone up ahead, a man or a kid and maybe a bunch of goats.”
“Let’s take a look.”
They started riding, and Amethyst’s mind flew to all the possibilities as she ran her tongue over her chapped lips. Maybe she could alert the herder, get him to go for help.
But as they drew closer, she realized it was only a small boy on a ragged burro, herding goats. Ringo leaned close to her as they rode toward the herd. “Behave yourself,” he growled. “You arouse any suspicion that might send the kid runnin’ for the Federales and we’ll kill him!”
Her mouth dropped open in horror. “You’d kill a little boy?”
“We done it before, leastwise I think we killed him.” Big ’Un cut off a chew of tobacco with his bayonet.
“’Course that kid was Apache so I don’t guess he really counts.”
She stared at him in shock as they rode toward the little herder. “Why would you do such a terrible thing?”
Petty pulled at his beard. “Aw, the whelp and the Injun buck was objectin’ to us samplin’ the woman. Injuns is gettin’ awful uppity. We offered him money for her; he shoulda took it.”
Amethyst’s heart beat faster, imagining that terrible scene, but she knew better than to say anything. As they rode up to the little herder, the only sound was the echo of the horses’ hooves and the tinkle of the bell on the lead goat.
The boy was only eight or ten, with very big eyes in a small face.
“Hey, niño,” Ringo called, “who’s over at your place?” He nodded toward the adobe huts.
“My mother and little sister, señor.” The child took off his sombrero respectfully, bowed before Amethyst. “Buenas tardes, great lady.”
Amethyst nodded, tried to keep her face regal, calm. Was there any way she could slip a message to the child?”
Ringo said, “Your Papa. Where’s your Papa?”
The boy turned, pointed. “Gone to Remolino,” he said in Spanish. “The Indians have brought in more of the tejanos’ stolen livestock. He helps corral them.”
Ringo nodded, satisfaction evident in his unshaven face. “Sí, bueno. Do you read?”
The child shook his head. “No, Señor, but if you need something read to you, at Remolino, Señor Muñoz will read a letter for you for several pesos–”
“Never mind,” Ringo snapped. “I’ll pay you well to carry a message to a big, blond tejano south of here.” He turned to Amethyst. “What was the name of that ranch ma’am?”
The warning glitter of his eyes contrasted with the polite tone of his voice.
She wasn’t going to tell him. Then she realized the child was looking curiously from her to the man. “Falcon’s Lair,” she blurted out, determined to protect the little boy. “You know the great Falcon’s Lair ranch?”
“Ah, sí!” A great light broke on the boy’s face. “Who does not know the brand, señorita?” He made the gesture of a bird with outstretched wings.
“Hey,” Petty said, “don’t that sound like the birthmark—?”
“Never mind, Petty,” Big ’Un said. “Let’s talk about what’s really important here—money.”
“Look who’s givin’ orders!” The Southerner’s hand went to the big knife in his belt. “I ain’t no field nigger for you to boss arou
nd!”
Ringo gave them both glaring looks that caused them to subside before he turned and smiled warmly at the child. “We need to get a message to the tejano at Falcon’s Lair,” he said in Spanish. “Niño, if I write it, and pay you, would you take it for me?”
The child’s eyes lit up at seeing the pesos in Ringo’s palm. “I’ll ask my mother, señor, but I’m certain she will say sí.”
“Then go ask her, boy,” Ringo said. “And while you’re at it, see if she’d like to fix us a bit of food.”
The little boy turned his burro, urging it back to the hut. Dust flew from its furry back as he whacked it with a stick.
Amethyst glared at Ringo. “Don’t you dare hurt those people! I can’t believe men can be so rotten.”
Ringo’s hands trembled as he leaned on his saddle horn. “Rotten? It was your boyfriend that stole our payroll and that fancy horse!” He got out a stub of a pencil, tore a clear scrap of paper from the old “wanted” poster in his bedroll, and scribbled laboriously.
“How’s this?” he said finally, reading aloud. “Texan, we got your woman. We’ll trade her for the payroll.”
“Think he’ll come?” Big ’Un said.
Ringo looked from him to the girl. “Didn’t you see the way he looked at her when they was standin’ under the trees? He’ll come.” He read the rest of the note, including the directions as to how to get to their river camp, and ended with a warning to come alone, not to bring help or they’d kill Amethyst.
Petty scratched his privates. “Suppose he don’t believe we got her?”
Ringo thought about that a minute, chewing on the stub of pencil. “We could send a lock of her hair.”
“Hell—”Big ’Un spat a spray of tobacco juice—“lots of women got black hair.”
Ringo studied Amethyst, his gaze sweeping over her. “I know! Here, gal, give me that ring!”
“I will not!”
He glanced over at the adobe hovel. The little boy rode toward them, whacking his donkey with a stick. “You gonna create a scene in front of him?”
She had no doubt they’d kill the child and everyone else at that poor mud hut. Very slowly, she pulled the amethyst ring off and laid it in Ringo’s palm.
The child rode up. “Mamá say, sí, we need the money, and si, she just roasted a goat and made fresh tortillas.”
Ringo dismounted, put the note, the ring, and a handful of pesos in the child’s brown hand. “Ride south to that ranch the señorita mentioned. If you get lost, anyone should be able to point it out to you. There, you’ll find a big, blond tejano with pale blue eyes. He rides an overo pinto stallion with eyes as blue as his own. Give the pistolero this note and ring, and he’ll give you more pesos.”
Was there any way she could slip Bandit a warning? Not with the three of them watching. So Amethyst sat her horse helplessly as the child rode away at a stiff trot, whacking the stubborn little burro.
Ringo grinned at her. “Now, let’s get some food.”
The barbecued cabrito was delicious as were the fresh, hot tortillas, chili peppers, and beans. Amethyst had not realized she was so hungry. She even tucked some crisp tortillas away in her handkerchief in case it would be a long time before she ate again.
Ringo signaled the fat Mexican woman. “Cerveza,” he said. “Beer. You got beer?”
Amethyst was careful to make no suspicious moves while the trio drank the dark, strong beer. She only smiled at the curious toddlers reaching out to touch her fine dress. From her comments, the woman evidently thought this fine lady was riding to Remolino to buy some of the stolen Texas livestock, and had brought three vaqueros along to herd them back for her.
Amethyst didn’t tell her otherwise. She had no doubt the three desperadoes would kill this little family if she said anything to alarm the woman.
Then the chance was lost forever as the foursome mounted up again, rode on north. The hours passed slowly, yet they kept to a relentless pace. Amethyst’s mind stayed busy, thinking of ways to escape, to thwart her captors. Maybe she could set them against each other, get them vying for her favors. The big one and the little one seemed to hate each other anyhow. On the other hand, if all three planned to rape her when they finally camped that night, that idea wouldn’t work. What in God’s name was she going to do? In desperation, she began to pray to the Virgin of Guadalupe for a miracle.
Old Cougar sat cross-legged, staring into the fire before his wickiup. It was the pale time just before dawn, but he had slept little. Last night he had had a troubling dream. His old comrade, Chief Mangas Coloradas, who had been slain by the pony soldiers years ago, had appeared to him in a vision. What had it meant? He had sat here for hours, staring into the fire, trying to understand the meaning.
In the dream, Mangas had held up three fingers, said the word ‘mangoheute.’ The word meant nothing to Cougar. He did not know from what language it came or what it meant. Three fingers. Yes, the dead chief had held up three fingers. What was the significance of the number three?
What is lost will be found, Mangas had whispered. Or was it only the slightest breeze rustling the leaves of the mesquite? Then, riding out of the shadows behind the specter, came four riders moving side by side. Suddenly a gray horse galloped toward him while thunder rolled and echoed. . . .
Cougar had awakened, sat up suddenly in his blankets, filled with apprehension. What did this omen mean? He was too disturbed to sleep again that night.
Now he sat staring into the fire before his wickiup, ignoring the camp beginning to awaken around him. The number four had always been of great significance among the plains tribes, he knew, but what was the magic of the number three? He wished he were back in his hills with his old friend, Cochise. Maybe that great chief could see the meaning of it all, explain it to Cougar’s satisfaction.
He frowned, reaching for the antique armor laying by the fire. His old bones ached badly this morning and somehow he felt the vision foretold a warning. He shrugged. No matter. He had lived a very long time, seen too much. He had not realized how old he was until he had held the old white woman in his arms, seen the age of her face.
What is lost will be found. He brightened. The woman. Si, that explained that measage.
He heard footsteps. “Grandfather, you sent for me?”
He looked up to see the boy striding toward him, his handsome face frowning.
Cougar nodded, his gray hair hanging loose about his bent shoulders in the Apache style. “Yes, I sent for you. You are angry because I did not let you ride out with the others this morning?”
The boy sat down cross-legged before the fire. “Most of the warriors in all the camps have ridden west on a hunt.”
Cougar shrugged. “That leaves the camp almost defenseless. Some of us would be needed were we to be attacked.”
Little Bear gave him an incredulous look. “You say that to dull my disappointment in not being allowed to go. Who would attack us deep in the friendly territory of the Mexicans?”
It was true. Cougar filled his pipe, still thinking of the vision. “It is a long way to the river that separates the two countries,” he agreed. “But who knows what strange things the pony soldiers will decide to do?”
“They won’t come here; it would be suicide to do so. You use that silly excuse to keep me from riding away with the men. I am fifteen years old.” The boy pouted. “Younger boys than me ride with the warriors.”
Cougar looked a long moment at his grandson, thinking how precious the boy was to him. Then he stared at the armor by the fire. It was time to pass on the leadership. “The next war party, you will ride with,” he promised. “And in a few years, you will be leading war parties against our enemies back in our own territory.”
“If I am never allowed to ride with them, how can I ever lead them?” Little Bear scoffed.
“I have felt for some time now that you should begin to think of taking our people back to our own hills to fight by Cochise’s side against the pony soldiers.”
The old man reached for the armor that he had worn so many times in battle against his enemies. “Somehow I know that I will never again see our beloved land. My heart tells me I will not leave this foreign soil.” He stared into the campfire. “But when I am gone, you will take your palomino colt and lead the Mescalero back to that place whites call New Mexico and Arizona. Mangas is gone and maybe even Cochise by now. But new leaders will arise and you will join them to fight to keep our land.”
The metal was cold in his hands as he stroked it. “My own grandfather found this, when he was a young man, by a spring in the desert. Those who know say the bones it contained were those of a Spanish warrior far, far from his land.”
Little Bear sighed enviously. “Everyone knows of your magic armor, Grandfather. It has protected you against many lances, many soldier’s bullets.”
The old man held it up significantly. “And now I pass it on to you, my grandson.”
For a long moment, the boy looked at him, almost unbelieving. Then a modest smile broke over his face. “Grandfather, the honor is too much.”
But Cougar put it in his hands. “Wear it well, my grandson. Do not disgrace it. Brave warriors have worn it into battle against their enemies and never been defeated, never retreated.”
The boy scrambled to his feet, clutching the old Spanish breastplate. Cougar stood up, too, pleased at the pleasure on the boy’s handsome face, the anticipation in his dark eyes. “Try it on,” he said.
Little Bear put on the armor, ran his hands up and down the scarred metal. “What do you think?”
The old man considered what he saw. In ten years or so, the boy’s muscular frame would fill out so that the breastplate would fit his powerful form as though made for him. Behind them, the sun glowed behind the horizon, throwing light to reveal the mesquite, the scraggy cactus. “I think in the future the pony soldiers, the white settlers will quake when someone says the wearer of this armor has been seen leading a war party through the area, mounted on his palomino stallion.”