“Yes, you would, and that’s what I’m going to do,” Wesley stated vehemently.
His eyes twinkling, Zach innocently asked, “What? Get yourself killed first thing?”
“No! Go anyway!” Wesley was not amused in the least. “I’m going out there and find them, that’s what I’m going to do! I heard Woman Killer giving directions to the new hideout to Lobo—I’m certain I can find it.”
“And s’pose you did find ’em,” Zach countered. “Are you going to gun down Perrago? Why, you can’t even use a gun right now.”
Frustration crossed Wesley Stone’s homely features and he clenched his jaw, the muscles taut. “I know that. But I can go talk to them! Maybe Perrago’s the kind of man you can talk to with money. I don’t have any, but you’d pay to get Betsy back! I’ve heard you say so!”
Of course Zach had thought of this possibility, and several other options, only to find himself caught in a mire of conflicting desires. One was to hire a bunch of tough men to go out, surround Perrago’s band and shoot it out with them; the other was simply to go offer Vic Perrago money. He sighed deeply, the lines of fatigue and weariness on his own face beginning to show. “I know, Wes. And I really think that’s what it’s going to come to. That scheme of Lanie’s—” Zach’s face was troubled, and he bit his lip nervously. “It’s just too tricky. I never did like complicated situations. You lawyers like ’em—put as many complications as you can up before somebody. But I always like to go straight through. That was the way it was in the war,” he said. “The fancy generals marched around, trying this and that and the other till we didn’t know which way we were facing. But men like Grant—they’d see a flag and drive us forward! No turning, no backing off, no lying down! Just go take it! That’s what I always liked about Grant. Heard someone say one time that he looked like a man that had lowered his head and was about to run it through a solid oak door!” He smiled faintly, saying, “I guess I’m kinda like that, Wes.”
Stone had listened quietly to Zach and now thought over what the older man had said. Finally he admitted, “You’re right about lawyers. We do like complicated things. But I agree with you on this: that stunt of Lanie’s is dangerous.” He turned to Zach and asked earnestly, “If I go out there and talk to Perrago, how much would you be willing to pay?”
“Everything I’ve got,” Zach declared, “but that wouldn’t suit him. He’d want more. So what we’d have to do is ask his price and make a counter offer, and sooner or later he’d get reasonable.” The more he thought of it the more he liked it. “You know, Wes, I wouldn’t be opposed if you’d go out there and talk to Perrago.”
“I could find him, I think. I’m not much of a plainsman, but the directions sounded simple enough. I believe I could get to it,” Wesley said speculatively.
Zach Winslow thought it over carefully for a while. Finally he said reluctantly, “No, Wes, I guess not. If you had just a little more experience, I’d say to give it a try. I wish now I’d just told Lobo to go out and deal with Perrago. But I wasn’t thinking clearly, I was so mad!” Stiffly Zach shifted in the wheelchair, grunting a little. “Anyway, if we tried it now, we might mess up whatever Lobo’s got going. So we better just dig in and wait.”
Wesley leaned back in the chair and said meekly, “All right, Mr. Winslow.”
Zach was surprised that the young man had given up so easily. He was a stubborn man, a trait Zach secretly admired, and which he thought would give him more of a problem with the young lawyer. But he merely said, “Thanks, son. I know how hard it is for you. That’s a costly loyalty you have, willing to risk your life for my girls. But this time it just wouldn’t work.”
The next morning, however, when Tom pushed Zach into the dining hall for breakfast, Zach was handed a note by the manager of the hotel. “Mr. Stone asked me to give you this, Mr. Winslow,” he said.
Zach opened the note and stared at it.
“What does it say, Dad?” Tom asked curiously.
Looking up into the boy’s clear eyes he answered calmly, “Stone has gone out to find your sister. He’s going to negotiate her return.” But inside, Zach was furiously berating himself. I should have known it! By the horns of the devil himself, I should have known this was what he was going to do! he thought with rising fury at his own blindness. When Wes gave up like that, I knew that wasn’t like him at all! Now what am I going to do? Four of them out there, dancing to Vic Perrago’s music. Blast this leg!
“What’s the matter, Dad?” Tom asked. He had always been sensitive to his father’s moods and knew that despite Zach’s calm words, there was a seething anger inside his father.
Zach took a deep breath. He had learned long ago that if you can’t whip a situation, you may just have to sit and wait. And now that was all he could do. “It’s—nothing, Tom. We just have to sit and wait. It’s hard, but we’ll just have to grit our teeth and do it.”
****
“How much farther is it, Lobo?” Angela asked. The two were riding along and the sun was halfway down the sky. “It’ll be dark by the time we get back, even if we started back right now.”
“You were never afraid of the dark, Angela,” he teased. “Or anything else, that I ever found out.”
They had ridden steadily, stopping only at noon for an hour’s rest from the hot sun. They had eaten a lunch that Angela had had foresight to bring, and then they had forged on without lingering. All afternoon the two had kept their horses at a steady pace. Lobo said nothing to her about their destination; he knew he had to deceive Angela, and he knew also that she was a hard woman to deceive.
To conceal his motives he kept up a light conversation for most of the afternoon, but she had finally asked about their destination. He pointed and said, “About four or five miles down that trail and we’re there.”
She looked in the direction of his gesture and saw a low line of hills, broken by a high outcropping of stone. It was a huge trunk of molten, rough stone, at least as big as a house, and it made a natural landmark among the smoothly rolling hills. “I’ve been by here before,” she told Lobo. “Everybody sees that stone and remembers it.”
“Yeah, that’s why I chose it, so my man could find it,” Lobo said lightly. He had worked all of this out with Woman Killer.
“That big rock will be our checkpoint,” Lobo had told Woman Killer. “There’s a place at the base of it, a sort of a crevice, that I found one time out there wandering around. You can’t see it. You can walk right by it, but it’s carved out of the rock and covered by a scrub growth. I put a glass jar in there, and that’s how we’ll pass messages. When I want you to do something, I’ll put a note in there.”
It was Woman Killer’s job to watch this secret place. They rode up to the rock, seeing no one, but Lobo knew that somewhere out there the Indian was watching carefully, and that as soon as they left, the message would be immediately taken to Zach Winslow.
Pulling up to the rock, he dismounted, saying, “This is it.”
Angela swung off her horse and they tied the reins to a sapling, and he led her around the base of the rock to the eastern side. He looked at her and said, “I wouldn’t have let anyone else come but you, Angela. I don’t trust Vic Perrago any farther than I could throw him.”
Her eyes were very dark as she met his gaze. “He doesn’t trust you either, Lobo. You know that.”
“I know Vic,” Lobo nodded. “He never trusted anybody in his life.”
Lobo suddenly turned and bent down. “Here it is,” he told her. With his back to Angela, he slipped his hand in the tiny cave, scratching around in the crevice to get the jar.
Now he turned to her, holding the jar, and said casually, “Well, we got something here.” He pulled out the piece of paper and studied it carefully, even though he knew Woman Killer had printed it last night.
Angela was watching him closely, and he handed her the message. She read it quickly: Your man says that the train you want will be leaving within three days. He won’t say which train
it is until you send a letter from his daughter, proving she’s still alive.
Angela looked up and handed the note back. “So we have to go back and get a letter from the girl.”
“That’s right. Means another long ride tomorrow. Maybe you won’t have to make it, though.”
“I don’t mind, Lobo,” she said.
Lobo studied her for a moment, wondering what was on her mind. He had never understood Angela Montoya, and she was still a puzzle to him. He admired her strength and clean beauty, but as for her inner qualities, he had never gotten past the barriers she had erected—in that sense she was still a stranger.
Pushing it out of his mind, he pulled a stub of a pencil and a small piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. Bending down, he laid the paper on a rock, scribbled something, stuck it back into the jar, and started to place it in the crevice.
“Let me see what you’ve written,” Angela said lightly.
He looked up at her quickly with humor in his eye. “Don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust any man,” she answered evenly. “You should know that.”
He slowly unscrewed the jar cap, saying, “I thought you did, once.” He handed her the paper. “At least I thought you had some kind of feeling for me.”
Angela took the paper, her dark eyes fixed on his face. “You were the one who rode away, Lobo.” She looked down at the note, which said merely: Be here tomorrow for the letter. It was unsigned.
Wordlessly she handed it back to him, and he put it back in the jar, capped it, and replaced it in the small hiding place.
Straightening up he said, “Well, long ride home.”
“Let’s walk for a minute. I get stiff from so much riding,” which wasn’t the truth; she just wanted to talk to Lobo.
There was no landscape to admire, nothing but the rolling country, broken in places by far-off low-lying hills. The sky was clear. The sun glared down on them like a malevolent eye, bathing them in a heat so intense it was almost like a physical blow.
They walked around the rock and meandered out to a group of nearby cottonwoods that marked a creek bed. But when they got there the creek was dry. The unmistakable rattle of a snake startled Angela and she turned quickly, brushing against Lobo.
“Big one,” Lobo said, nodding at the huge diamondback that lay coiled in the middle of the dry, cracked creek bed. They stood still; the snake finally was convinced that he was not being attacked. Languidly he uncoiled and went slithering soundlessly off into the brush.
They stood close together and Angela looked up into Lobo’s face. “I’ll be glad when the sun goes down. It’ll be cooler then.”
Abruptly he asked, “How are you, Angela?”
In the old times she had gotten accustomed to his coded questions, and she had learned how to read them. He’s really asking me, she thought, why I’m wasting my time out here with this worthless bunch of outlaws. I wish I had an answer to give him.
She pushed her hat off so it hung down her back by the leather thong around her neck. Her hair had been carelessly stuffed up into the hat, and now it fell down around her shoulders like a black cascade. Lobo stared at the silky veil. He always liked my hair, she thought. She said with a streak of whimsy, “So you still like my hair. Sometimes I think that’s all you did like about me.”
Lobo was taken aback by her shrewdness, and embarrassed by her frank honesty. He looked at the ground and muttered, “Well, sure, Angela. I mean, yes, I always liked your hair. But I liked other things about you, too.”
“I remember,” she said with emphasis.
The simplicity of her words brought heat to his face, for they brought back memories of intimacy that Lobo had never forgotten.
She saw his discomfort and was amused by it momentarily. Then she sobered and asked, “Why did you leave, Lobo?”
“I don’t know,” Lobo shrugged. “Never had a good answer to that question. Wasn’t your fault, though,” he added quickly. “I’m just fiddle-footed. Still don’t know what to do with myself.”
“So,” Angela said matter-of-factly, “I guess that is my answer to your question: How am I?” She reached up and pushed her hair away from her face with an impatient gesture. To Lobo, Angela seemed restless, angry, hopeless, and defiant—all at the same time. “I don’t know what I’m doing out here. Every day I think I’ll leave. But the next day I’m still here.” She turned to stare out across the glaring plains. “Six months ago I went off to Little Rock. Stayed for two weeks.”
Lobo waited for her to finish, but she did not. She turned and he could not help admiring the smooth lines of her rounded body, revealed clearly by the thin white shirt that she wore. “Why’d you come back?” he prodded her.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I was bored.”
She turned back toward the horses and Lobo followed. Lobo couldn’t see the strange light that came into her eyes and the enigmatic smile on her lips. Without warning she turned. They were close together and without preamble she reached up, put her arms around him, and drew his head down to meet hers. Startled, Lobo met her lips and without thinking clasped her tightly in his arms. She fell against him, holding him fiercely. Immediately Lobo felt the stirrings of old memories of the times he’d had with this woman, the softness of her lips, the firmness of her body against his. Angela had always been able to awaken his desires in this way, to bring out the hunger in him.
He clasped even closer. Abruptly she pulled back, both hands against his chest, and looked at him defiantly. “I wanted you to remember what you threw away,” she said coldly. Then without another word she turned and went straight to the horses. Swinging up in the saddle, she prompted the mare and was a hundred yards away by the time Lobo got mounted and turned his horse around.
He was half angry at the woman—but at the same time amused at her game. She did that on purpose, he thought, just to unnerve me! Nothing that woman ever does is accidental. She wanted to stir me up. I’ll have to watch her.
As he touched his spurs to his mount, he was oblivious to everything but their encounter and found that he could not dismiss the memories that had flowed over him when she pressed against him with her lips—the hungers and stirrings she had awakened within him.
****
“Seems late to have lights on,” Lobo commented. They had pulled up on the rise overlooking the cabin. It was after one A.M., and the windows were bright yellowed squares as the amber light shed itself on the ground outside. “Isn’t everyone usually in bed by this time?”
“C’mon, let’s go see,” Angela said, and spurred her horse forward.
When they were within two hundred yards of the house a voice called out, “Who’s there?”
“Angela! What’s going on, Bob?”
Pratt strode out of the darkness, his rifle in hand. “Caught a fella sneaking up around here,” he said. “We think he was with that bunch that cut down on us a while back when Honey got killed.”
A dread chill struck Lobo, and when they walked inside the cabin his fears were confirmed. Wesley Stone! Stone looked a mess—his face was bleeding and twisted with pain, blood streaming from one eyebrow, his hands tied behind his back. But he gave no sign that he recognized Lobo.
“Look what we caught, Angela!” Vic said, sounding like a child giving her a gift. He reached out and grabbed Wesley’s hair, jerking his head backward. “He’s a pretty stubborn one. Tougher’n he looks, I’ll give him that.”
A slight involuntary groan escaped Stone’s lips as Perrago gave his victim’s head another bone-cracking jerk. “Won’t talk a bit,” Vic said angrily, “except for some phoney story.”
“What’s the story?” Angela demanded.
Ogg spoke up. “I’m not so sure it’s a lie. He claims he works for Betsy’s father.”
“He does work for my father,” Betsy said. “I’ve told you that. Leave him alone!”
“He may work for Winslow, all right,” Perrago said, “but that don’t mean nothin’. He could’ve led
a whole bunch out here.” He appeared worried as he looked at Mateo Río. “Mateo, you go out and watch with Bob. Need two pair of sharp eyes out there.”
Río nodded. “That might not be a bad idea, Vic. We could get boxed in here real easy.” He sauntered out the door.
Angela stared dispassionately at Wesley’s battered face. “Tell me your story,” she commanded coolly.
Stone blinked his eyes and licked his cracked and dry lips. “I work for Zachary Winslow,” he croaked. His tongue moved across his lips again as he tried to speak.
Angela walked over, poured some water into a cup, and put it to Wesley’s lips. “Untie him, Lobo,” she ordered. Lobo quickly stepped forward and removed the knotted ropes holding Wesley to the chair.
A quick flush spread over Vic Perrago’s cheeks. “I’ll give the orders around here, Angela—”
“You’re a fool, Vic!” Angela snapped back. “The chance to make that money on her”—she nodded disdainfully at Betsy—”that you’ve been yelling about just walks in through the front door. And now you act like a stupid kid! What are you scared of, shadows or something?”
Her stinging derision turned his angry flush to a pasty gray, his hazel eyes to smoldering hatred. “That’s enough, Angela,” he snarled. “I know you’re tough, but I’m not putting up with that smart mouth of yours anymore.”
His malevolent gaze shifted to Lobo. “And you’re not taking over this bunch, either! Got that, Lobo?”
“Never intended to,” Lobo shrugged. He knew enough to keep quiet and let Angela handle it.
Stone rose unsteadily to his feet, rubbed his wrists, and downed the water left in the cup. “Here’s the way it is,” Wesley said to Angela. “Mr. Winslow is in Fort Smith. He’s willing to pay to get his daughter back. I am here to make the arrangements, and that’s all there is to it.”
“We’ve got too much at stake to be trying to do two things at once,” Angela said meaningfully to Vic, her hands on her hips.
Perrago’s eyes shifted to Lobo, then back to her. “What’d you find out?”
The Gallant Outlaw Page 23
