“I’ll defend whoever I please, mister,” Wade snarled. “I’m not the one who was bringing harm to the girl. You were!”
“I suggest you let go of her, too,” Sandy was telling the other man. “And I strongly suggest you don’t pull that gun you’re restin’ your hand on. Me and Wade there have taken on a lot worse than you, mister, believe me.”
“What’s going on here!” A man wearing a badge approached then.
“That Indian is makin’ trouble, sheriff,” an outsider shouted.
“Get that redskin out of here,” someone else shouted.
Jennifer felt sorry for Wade Morrow, embarrassed for him. But he seemed unaffected by the remarks. She wondered if he had heard them so often throughout his life that he was hardened by them. He could pretend they didn’t bother him, but surely they did. She admired his strength, not just physically, but surely emotionally. He was a man in total control of himself.
“This man wasn’t making trouble at all,” she spoke up to the sheriff. “He was only trying to help me against these men here, who I don’t even know, who were trying to drag me off with them.”
“We’ve been paid to take this lady back to St. Louis,” the smaller man spoke up. “You know us, Sheriff. I’m Johnny Collins, and that there is Fred Russell.” He indicated the bigger man, who was just then getting to his feet, still rubbing his wrist. “We work for Don Bensen over at the hardware store. He’s good friends with this girl’s uncle, John Andrews. Andrews has been looking for her for weeks.”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” The sheriff waved him off. “All of you come over to my office so we can straighten this out.” He pulled a gun, pointing it at Wade. “You, mister, hand over your gun and knife. You’ll sit in a cell until this is settled.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bill Strong spoke up. “Mr. Morrow here is a prominent businessman. I’m from New Orleans—come here to meet with him on business. You’ve got no call to lock him up. All he did a moment ago was defend himself. That man there held a knife on him.”
“Mister, around here no Indian goes up against a white man, whether it’s self-defense or not. Breeds can’t be trusted, and until this is settled, I’ll feel better if he’s behind bars where he can’t turn on anybody.”
“Why, I never—”
“It’s all right, Mr. Strong. I’m sorry for the interruption,” Wade told the man.
“Well, I can vouch for Wade myself,” Sandy spoke up. “I’ve known him and his family for years. He’s a fine, fair-minded young man, with more education than most folks in this town. It ain’t necessary to lock him up.”
Wade handed over his gun and knife. “No sense arguing with the man, Sandy. I didn’t come here to make trouble.” He glanced at the young woman, wondering if her name was Jennifer Andrews or Charlotte Eyre. Had she been traveling under a fake name? If so, she must have been pretty determined to get away from her uncle. He wondered why.
Jennifer in turn fought tears of embarrassment for being the cause of so much trouble. Her cheeks reddened at the stares of outsiders, and she felt devastated that it was because of her that poor Wade Morrow was being hauled off to jail. She wanted to argue with the sheriff about it, but at the moment she was so humiliated and ashamed that she was afraid if she opened her mouth she would burst into childlike tears, which would betray her efforts at proving how grown up she was.
Johnny Collins took her arm again, and she jerked it away. “Don’t you touch me,” she barked. “I am perfectly capable of walking to the sheriff’s office on my own!” Oh, how the tears wanted to come. She clamped her mouth shut again, swallowing back a lump in her throat. She picked up her bags and walked briskly behind the others, holding her chin high, watching the dancing fringes of Wade Morrow’s buckskins as he took big strides on long legs toward the jail. She thought him a man of amazing patience and tolerance to be putting up with such treatment.
Bill Strong and Sandy Carter walked beside her as they crossed the street, people shouting obscenities at Wade. “We’ll go along with you, ma’am, help however we can,” Sandy was telling her.
Jennifer only nodded, grateful for their help, glad they knew Wade Morrow and could vouch for him. They crowded into the small front office of the jail, and the sheriff waved his gun at Wade, indicating that he should proceed into a back room where the cells were, acting nervous and afraid of the big Indian.
“He should be allowed to stay out here and have his say,” Sandy spoke up.
“Indians don’t get any say around here. I’ll decide what’s to be done with him.” The sheriff waved at Wade again to go into the back room, and a moment later Jennifer heard the slam of an iron door. “You just sit tight while I get this settled,” the sheriff was saying. The man came back out, throwing some keys on his desk. “Ma’am, you sit down there,” he told Jennifer, indicating the only other chair.
“I prefer to stand,” Jennifer answered.
The sheriff sighed, glancing at Sandy and Bill Strong. “I’m Sheriff North for those of you who don’t know.” He looked at the two men who had grabbed Jennifer. “Finish your story, Johnny. It better be good.”
“It’s like I said, Sheriff. We were hired to take the girl back to St. Louis. Her uncle is a prominent businessman there—raised her like his own. The ungrateful child ran off on him and he wants her back where she’ll be safe. Her uncle finally figured out she might be traveling under the name Charlotte Eyre, because somebody by that name boarded a steamboat at St. Louis, with a ticket for Texas. She’d been reading some book by an author with that name or something like that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. This is no place for a lady who doesn’t know anything about the area. And she sure as hell shouldn’t be traveling alone.”
“I have every right to travel alone if I choose,” Jennifer answered, finding her courage and her voice again. Anger and determination were winning out over tears. “I am Jennifer Andrews,” she told the sheriff firmly. “I ran away because I knew my uncle would never agree to what I am doing. But I am eighteen. I have my own money and a valid ticket to Fort Stockton, where I intend to be married. Here.” She opened her purse and dug out her letter from Sergeant Enders. “Here is the proof. I answered an ad from a Sergeant Enders for a wife, and he wrote back and sent me the money to come out here. It’s my duty to own up to my end of the bargain. I will not go back to St. Louis! For personal reasons I do not care to disclose, I have chosen not to live with my uncle any longer. I am old enough to make my own decisions, and no one has any right forcing me to go back to St. Louis.” She looked haughtily at Johnny Collins. “The author, by the way, is Charlotte Bronte, and the book is called Jane Eyre. But then you probably don’t even know how to read. I’ll bet that Indian man in there can read better than you can.”
In his cell, Wade Morrow smiled at the remark. He was glad he had defended the spunky young lady, even if it had landed him in jail.
In the outer room the sheriff looked over the letter and her ticket, as well as the birth certificate Jennifer had wisely taken from her aunt’s papers before leaving. The sheriff frowned. “You’re marrying some sergeant from Fort Stockton that you’ve never even met?”
Jennifer reddened again, secretly feeling some fear and apprehension at the thought herself, but she refused to show it. “Yes. His ad stated that I could refuse him, but I will have to pay back the money he sent if I do. If anyone has rights to me at the moment, Sergeant Enders has more rights than my uncle. Three hundred dollars is a lot of money for an army man.”
“Hmmm.” The sheriff studied the letter again, then looked at Jennifer shrewdly. “It certainly is, ma’am, more than you realize. I have to wonder where he got that much money. You ought to be aware that often the men who volunteer for service in west Texas are only doing it to duck the law back East. You better be mighty careful and mighty sure before you go marrying this Sergeant Enders. Now I don’t know what your problem is with your uncle, but it must be a plenty big one for you to be taking the chance on tra
veling alone in country like this just to get away from the man.”
“She ought to go back,” Fred Russell spoke up, still rubbing his wrist, “and that Indian in there ought to be run out of town.”
“I’ll get to that,” the sheriff answered. He studied the letter and birth certificate a little longer, then handed everything back to Jennifer. “Well, Miss Andrews, everything looks in order. You’re right about having the right to go where you please. If you’re foolish enough to ride into Indian country to marry a man you don’t even know, we’ve no right to stop you.”
“Fine,” she answered, grabbing back her papers. “Thank you, Sheriff North. Now what about that man in the cell? All he did was help me, and what he did to Mr. Russell here was done in self-defense. If he was the horrible, murdering savage you seem to think he is capable of being, he would have used that knife on Mr. Russell.” She turned her eyes to the big man who had hurt her arm. “And he would have had every right as far as I’m concerned.”
“She’s right there, Sheriff,” Sandy spoke up. “Any man gets a knife rammed up against his throat has the right to use it on the man who threatened him. Russell here is lucky he’s alive. I should say he’s lucky it was Wade Morrow he picked on and not some other Comanche, or his guts would be layin’ in the street right now. Fact is, if it was me he’d pulled that knife on, the same might be true.”
The sheriff looked at Johnny Collins. “That true, Johnny? Fred here pulled a knife on Mr. Morrow?”
Johnny shoved his hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. “Only after Morrow threatened him.”
“With a weapon?”
“Well, no, but—”
The sheriff waved him off, looking irritated. He moved his eyes to Fred Russell. “That was a pretty stupid thing to do, Fred, Indian or no Indian. Any man would react to something like that.”
“That just shows you the kind of man Wade Morrow is,” Sandy put in. “Why don’t you let him out of that jail so he can settle his business with Mr. Strong here. That’s the only reason he’s in San Antonio anyway. Just let everybody be on their way. I’m headed for Austin, and Morrow will be heading back West soon—Strong here back to New Orleans and Miss Andrews to Fort Stockton. No real harm has been done. It’s all just a big misunderstandin’.”
Sheriff North took off his hat and rubbed at his forehead. “All right. Johnny, you and Fred get going, and I want no more trouble out of you. I see no reason to detain Miss Andrews and have no authority to force her to be sent back to St. Louis. Her reasons for leaving are her business, and this is Texas. A man or woman is free to do as he or she pleases here, so you two stay away from her. You can tell her uncle that she is safe and is heading for Fort Stockton to be married. If he wants to write her or wire her, he can contact her there.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Jennifer told him gratefully.
The sheriff turned to Sandy. “You accompany your Indian friend while he completes his business with Mr. Strong here. I’m giving you the job of seeing that Mr. Wade Morrow leaves San Antonio by tomorrow morning. Around here men like him cause trouble without even trying.”
“I’ll stick with him till mornin’,” Sandy answered, nodding.
“I’m sorry about all this, Mr. Strong,” the sheriff told the man. “If you haven’t lived around here, you don’t understand how folks feel about the Comanche—civilized or not.”
Strong only scowled with irritation while the sheriff went into the back room to release Wade Morrow. By the time Wade came out, Collins and Russell were gone. Jennifer blinked back tears as Wade came into the room and the sheriff handed over his knife and gun.
“These better not get used while you’re here,” the man told Wade. “No hard feelings, I hope. I did that for your own protection.”
Wade gave him a hard look, shoving the gun into its holster and the knife into a sheath on his weapons belt. “No hard feelings,” he answered, a note of sarcasm in his voice.
“I’d lay low while I’m in town. Any more women yell for help, let somebody else help them. A man in your position ought to understand that, especially when it’s a pretty young white woman that’s involved.”
Wade’s blue eyes drilled into the man for a moment. He turned, glancing at Jennifer for only a moment, obviously wary of saying a word to her. He looked over at Sandy. “Let’s get out of here. You still interested in a meal, Mr. Strong?”
“Of course I am. I’m not the horse’s ass some men are in this town. Let’s go, Mr. Morrow.”
The men filed out, and Jennifer hurried after, calling out to Wade Morrow. The man turned, his eyes darting around warily before resting on Jennifer, who he considered the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen.
Jennifer felt the crimson coming to her cheeks again, Morrow’s handsome, awesome presence making her suddenly nervous, and stirring feelings deep within her that she had never felt before. “I…thank you for stopping those men. And I’m sorry…for the trouble it caused you. It’s all my fault.”
“I knew the risk,” he answered. His eyes moved over her as though he secretly knew how she looked under her dress. He thought of telling her he was also going to Fort Stockton, but he supposed it would seem too forward, and she probably didn’t care anyway. “Good luck with your plans to marry. I’d be real careful about that, and I’d give thought to going back to St. Louis or staying right here. That’s dangerous country.”
Jennifer stiffened. “I’m going, and that’s that. I owe it to Sergeant Enders.”
Their eyes held for a moment, and to her surprise she found herself wondering what it would be like to be married to a man like Wade Morrow—a handsome man, indeed, but also a man of courage and admirable patience and self-control. He would be kind to a frightened young woman; she felt it intuitively. She dropped her eyes, wondering if he could read her thoughts.
“Good-bye, Miss Andrews. I can’t be seen standing here talking to you, and it’s best for you if you in turn don’t give me the time of day. People around here have a word for white women who defend Indian men.”
She shot him a proud look. “I don’t worry about such things, Mr. Morrow. I don’t judge people on the same level as those around here might. You’re a fine man, and I appreciate what you did. I couldn’t let you leave without telling you, that’s all.” She twisted her gloves nervously. “Good-bye, Mr. Morrow. Good luck to you.”
He nodded, a sparkle of humor and appreciation coming into his eyes. “Good-bye, Miss Andrews.” He turned, and Jennifer watched him walk away, nodding to both Sandy and Bill Strong as all three men left. She returned to the sheriff’s office to pick up her bags, then headed up the street to find a room for the night.
Wade lay wide awake, looking up at the stars and thinking of a pretty young girl with reddish hair and green eyes. “She really going all the way to Fort Stockton?” he asked Sandy.
The old scout chuckled, taking a long drag on a pipe before answering. “Somehow I had a feelin’ you was thinkin’ about that perty young lady.” Since Wade could not get a room in town, Sandy had decided to camp out with him to talk about the old days and find out how his old friend, Lester Morrow, was doing. “That’s dangerous thinkin’, boy.”
“I gave up worrying about what’s dangerous a long time ago. For me, everything is dangerous, so I might as well live my life the way I want and let the chips fall where they may. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Sandy sighed deeply. “Yeah, she’s really going all the way. Me and Bill Strong had our eye on her most of the trip, wonderin’ about her, kind of watchin’ out for her without her knowin’ it. She’s a brave little gal, I’d say.”
“Scared inside though. Anybody can see that,” Wade answered. “My guess, though, is she’s more afraid of that uncle of hers than she is of traveling into Comanche country to marry a complete stranger. I’ve got a good idea why, and it makes my blood boil.”
“I guessed the same thing. That uncle is after her for more than just lookin’ after
a niece. Maybe he already abused her in some way. Whatever it is, she’s mighty determined to get away from him. Makes a man feel a natural need to kind of look after her.”
“That it does.”
“My advice is you stay out of it,” Sandy told him.
Wade kept his eye on one particularly bright star. It was a warm, calm Texas night. He liked sleeping under the stars, liked the wide open country. He wondered how much of that was due to the Indian in his blood. “Good advice,” he answered. “But not many people head on west from San Antonio, especially women. I figure after a few miles she’ll realize what desolate country she’s headed into. I can’t help thinking how that would surely terrify her, even though she’d never let it show.” He shifted in his bedroll. “I’m headed for Fort Stockton myself.”
“And you’re thinkin’ about hitchin’ a ride on the same coach,” Sandy finished for him.
“No. I don’t like riding in those contraptions. I just figured maybe I’d ride along beside it at a distance, keep my eyes open for trouble.”
“You ever been this much of a fool before?” Sandy asked him.
Wade grinned. “I don’t think so. But then no woman has weighed on my mind like that one. I admire her courage.”
“More than her courage.”
Wade laughed lightly. “I suppose. But men like me aren’t supposed to think such thoughts about white women, remember?”
“You said it, I didn’t. That’s not my personal opinion, mind you. You got a right to pursue any woman you please, far as I’m concerned. It’s just that I like you, and I don’t want to see trouble for you. Your pa would be tellin’ you the same. He loves you and doesn’t want to see you hurt.”
“I know. But the days are long over when he could keep me under his protection.” Wade sat up and rolled a cigarette. “At any rate, I’m not thinking forbidden thoughts, Sandy. I’m just thinking there ought to be someone along who might be able to help protect her if something went wrong. Long as I’m going in the same direction, where’s the harm? She’s getting married when she gets there anyway.”
Comanche Sunset Page 8
