Dorothy Garlock

by This Loving Land

  An agonizing wall of pain jarred the stillness of the night, followed by convulsive laughter.

  Something inside Slater welled up and burst. Wild with fury and pain, he dropped his hand to his gun and put his heels to Estrella. The horse leaped around the boulder, through the narrow passageway and into the firelight.

  A naked Indian girl lay staked out, her arms above her head, her legs spread; her anguish and the marks of recent torment were obvious.

  Slater’s blazing eyes took in the scene in a second.

  “My God, Travis! Have you gone mad?” He swayed in the saddle.

  Travis smiled. The malevolent look on his face caused frenzied rage to explode in Slater’s head. He lifted his six-gun as another explosion in his head sent him tumbling off the horse and into oblivion.

  When he came to, his mind was a blur. He lay a few feet from the Indian girl, his feet bound and his hands tied behind him. The agonizing pain in his shoulder made him wish for pain-free oblivion. His head felt as if all the blood in his body was there, pulsing, throbbing, protesting.

  Three men sat beside the campfire. Travis, a young kid with a fuzz of a beard on his face, and Armando, the Mexican from his own ranch. It was he who had knocked him from the saddle and it was he who had ambushed him. The bastard must have heard him tell Jack or Bulldog where he was going and rode out and waited for him.

  Now Slater realized the gravity of his situation. They would never let him live. He would die without having made Summer his wife. And the ranch would go to the next living McLean, which would be Travis. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

  “How’d you like to be the ramrod at McLean’s Keep, Armando?” Travis was saying. “Soon as this bastard is dead, the ranch will come to me. You know what that’ll make me? The largest landholder in the state of Texas. My old man had it fixed so I won’t get the Rockin’ S for another year, but I can take the Keep any time I want to. We can just ride in and take over. The soldiers are over east. Jesse’s with them. You can forget about that son-of-a-bitch. The first time I set eyes on him, I’m going to gun him down. He’s been a fly in my craw long enough. Mama’ll just have to find herself another boy!” He threw back his head and laughed. “What we ought to do is ride down and get Bushy Red and the boys . . . they ought to be in on this. There’s quite a few men at the Keep. If we kill off the stubborn ones, the rest will fall in line as soon as they see who has hold of the handle. There’s two split-tails at the ranch. A black-headed one that thinks she’s so nice her shit don’t stink.” The men snickered. “And a red-headed bitch I got a score to settle with. Men,” Travis announced proudly, “we’ll have us some nice women to diddle with.”

  Slater squirmed, his guts tied in knots. Travis was insane, there was no doubt about it. And here he lay, trussed up like a hog about to be roasted!

  Travis had seen the movement as Slater writhed in anguish. Taking a stick, he flipped a glowing coal from the campfire into one palm of the hands tied behind Slater’s back. Slater felt the pain shoot through him, smelled the burning of his own flesh, but he clamped his teeth shut and not a sound escaped his lips. The only movement he made was the jerking of his body as he cast the coal from his hand.

  Travis came to stand over him and Slater looked up at him with hate-filled eyes. The pleasant, boyish grin was still on his face as he drew his foot back and kicked Slater in the ribs. The breath went out of him, and he was barely aware when the other booted foot reached over and nosed its way between his bound arms. Shoving him over to the fire with his other foot, Travis held the bound hands over the flames.

  The sound that was torn from Slater’s lips was like something he had never heard. He wasn’t even aware that it was his own voice. The searing, burning flesh on his hands was the only thing in the world. He heard only a few words before he fainted. They came from the boy.

  “Mr. McLean . . . don’t!”

  He could hear Travis’s voice as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  “Got to be a man, Lonnie. There’s no room in my outfit for a chicken-livered boy. Get the horses, Armando, and try and catch that black of Slater’s. Can’t have him going back to the Keep before we get there. It’ll take us two or three days to get Bushy Red and the men.”

  Slater faded away again, but when he came back he knew he had but a few minutes to live. Armando having failed to trap Estrella, held the other horses. Travis walked over and poured the remains of the coffee on the fire. It sizzled, flickered and went out.

  “I’m going to let you kill ’em, Lonnie. It’s got to be done. You been holding back, boy. It’s time you jumped in and got your feet wet. First time’s a little scary, but after that, there ain’t no more to it than crookin’ your finger.” Travis mounted his horse, and the spirited animal danced around in circles. The voice came from farther away when he spoke again. “Shoot ’em, Lonnie. Shoot ’em and come on.”

  The boy came to stand over him, and Slater looked squarely into his eyes, determined the boy would remember that stare until his dying day. The boy had a pleading look on his face and his lips trembled. Slater continued to stare.

  “Are you going to kill him . . . or look him to death?” Travis taunted.

  The boy made a movement with his mouth, then put the gun down beside Slater’s head and fired into the ground. He raised up slowly, his eyes begging. Slater’s body had jumped at the sound of the explosion and lay still.

  “Now the girl.”

  “I think she’s already dead, Mr. McLean. She ain’t moved . . . or nothin’.”

  “Well, shoot her and make sure.”

  The sound of the second shot rebounded between the boulders. Lonnie hurried to his horse. Travis’s voice continued, laughing, teasing.

  “Now, don’t you go and get sick. You done it, boy. I’ll make a man of you yet.”

  In spite of the searing pain, Slater felt such relief that weak tears filled his eyes. He was alive! He would see Summer again! He didn’t know if the boy had killed the girl, but guessed that if she was dead Travis had killed her with his torture. He lay still, not daring to move lest they come back. After a while, he began to shake, his teeth chattered so that at first he wasn’t sure if they were making the noise he heard. Luckily, he was lying on his right side and not on his wounded shoulder. He tried to edge closer to the warm ashes of the fire, seeking some relief from the cold that penetrated his bones and the scorched flesh of his hands. The effort was too much. He sank into a black pit where it seemed demons, howling with glee, played on his body with torches and pitchforks.

  When Slater opened his eyes, he was staring into a campfire. His brain was too numbed to know or care where he was. Fog drifted before his eyes and his body felt suspended in a vacuum. He felt no pain and moved his arms, thinking he might be dead. At the end of each of his arms was a bundle of cloth, and he stupidly wondered where his hands were. He was covered and he was not cold. Curious now, his eyes searched. Three Indians sat cross-legged beside the fire. One of them came to him, knelt down.

  “Tall Man. It is I, Bermaga.”

  Slater’s mind cleared for a moment. “The girl,” he croaked.

  “My sister. She will live.”

  Slater closed his eyes in relief, opened them again. The Apache was still there.

  “How?” It was one word, but it was enough.

  “We see horse. Know it is horse of Tall Man. We follow.”

  “Thank God!”

  Slater knew they had given him a pain-killing drug. Apaches were masters at living off the land, knowing the effects of the leaves and the berries, the roots and the dried pods on the bushes. With supreme effort, he forced himself to stay awake.

  “Bad white men come to take woman who helped you.” Slater thanked God, again, for his knowledge of the Apache language. “You must go. Tell men to keep watch for Mexican who betrayed us. They will know of whom you speak. Take my horse and go swiftly. Two days before they come.”

  Bermaga nodded gravely, and turned to speak
rapidly to the other warriors. They got swiftly to their feet and began scurrying around. It was all too much for Slater to understand. He sank back and let the darkness envelop him.

  Thirteen

  Summer stood on the porch and waited for the approaching buggy to reach the yard. She didn’t smile. She would rather Ellen had come to visit at another time. Slater had been gone three days longer than he’d said he would be, and the acute fear that something had happened to him had her nerves strung almost to the breaking point.

  The drovers who escorted the buggy swung off toward the corrals, and the handsome animal pulling the buggy came on to halt beside the rail that protected Summer’s flower beds. An older man, with iron-gray hair, tied the reins to a post before going back to help Ellen down.

  “Thank you, Tom. You’ve been ever so nice to drive me. Hello, Summer. Are you surprised to see me? I couldn’t stand that ranch another day. Jesse has gone trekking off with the army and Travis is heaven knows where. He’d rather be out in the line shacks with the drovers than at home with his mother.” Her trilling laughter was soft, feminine. “So I decided to call on you, the next-dearest person to me in the whole world.”

  “It was nice of you to make that long, hot ride to see me, Ellen. Won’t you come in?” Summer tried to put enthusiasm into her welcome.

  “Yes, it was a long, dusty ride,” Ellen said, taking off her hat, “but knowing you’d be at the end of it made it worthwhile.”

  Summer took her hat and small bag and opened the door leading into her bedroom. Sadie had screeched when she saw who was coming. She grabbed Mary and went out to the bunkhouse to wait for Jack, who was sending men out to look for Slater.

  “I’ve come to take you home with me. Please, don’t say no! I thought of it just last night. I thought: If I don’t go over to the Keep and bring you home with me, the summer will be gone. Time passes so quickly. Seems only a week ago I drove over to see your mother.” She patted her high-piled hair in place and dabbed daintily at the moisture on her face with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  “Let me get you a cool drink, Ellen. Or would you rather have a glass of cold buttermilk?”

  “Buttermilk sounds marvelous, dear, but don’t fuss. I’m just so happy to be here with you. We can have a nice chat. Where is that little brother of yours?”

  “He spends most of his time with Jack and Pud when Slater isn’t here. He’s learned a lot this summer. For the first time in his life, I’m not afraid to take my eyes off him.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Ellen’s lips smiled sweetly, but her eyes didn’t match her lips. They were busy taking in everything about Summer, from the top of her shiny black hair to the soles of her high-laced shoes. The girl had changed, matured, become a woman in every sense of the word. Lord, she was in love! She couldn’t have fallen in love with Slater! Travis had said she was friendly with him and seemed to welcome his visit. And he’d also said he was sure he could win her. Well, if the little fool had fallen for Slater, she was in for a bad jolt. Ellen was immeasurably glad she had tucked the letter into her bag at the last moment.

  Summer returned with the buttermilk.

  “It’s freshly churned, Ellen, and should be cool.”

  “Thank you, dear. Come and sit with me. You seem to be worried. Is anything wrong? Have you found the ranch too isolated for you? Some women can’t take the loneliness, you know. Slater’s mother couldn’t.”

  “Oh, no, it isn’t that. I love it here. It’s just . . . I’m worried, Ellen!” she blurted out suddenly. “Slater went out along the boundary line six days ago. He had an idea the outlaws the soldiers are looking for are using the hills as a hideout. He was going to look for sign and meet the army men back here. It was something he wanted to do before we went to Hamilton to be married. He’s three days overdue, Ellen. I just know something has happened to him.” Tears sprang to her eyes and her lips trembled uncontrollably.

  For once, Ellen was speechless. She didn’t allow a flicker of expression to cross her face. All she could think of was that this was something she hadn’t counted on. Her sharp mind clicked into gear.

  “Slater’s able to take care of himself, dear. Don’t worry. He’s come through some rough scrapes.” She said the words, but her thoughts were: I hope to hell the bastard is dead! If he is, the ranch will come to Travis, and I’ll not show her the letter. If he’s not dead, I’ll tell her . . .

  “Bulldog had already gone to town to see about a preacher.” Her lips quivered. “Slater would have been here if he could. We planned to leave yesterday. Jack sent men to look for him and would have gone himself, but Slater told him not to leave the ranch no matter what happened.” Summer wrung her hands in the handkerchief she was holding and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Ellen, I just know he’s hurt . . . he couldn’t be . . . dead! I’d just not be able to bear it if anything happened to him.”

  Ellen leaned forward and clasped Summer’s hands.

  “Did it occur to you, dear, that Slater might have gotten cold feet about getting married? It isn’t unusual for a man. Summer was shaking her head vigorously, but Ellen continued. “The McLean men are like that. My dear Scott loved to play around . . . I kept a loose rein on him, knowing that he’d always come back to me. And Sam. Oh, that Sam! He always had a woman. Libby couldn’t understand that. It was one of the reasons . . . well, we won’t go into that. I’m telling you this to make you understand that Slater might just have decided to stay in the hills and think about it—think about how tied he will be if he marries.”

  Summer pulled her hands away. She was calm, suddenly.

  “It’s nothing like that, Ellen. You’re mistaken about Slater.”

  “I hope so, dear. Oh, how I hope so!”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Did you have a noon meal, Ellen?” Summer finally asked.

  “Well, no, but don’t bother. I don’t want to burden you when you have so much on your mind.”

  “It’s no bother and I’d rather be busy. We have freshbaked bread and meat. And we have strawberries.”

  “The strawberries sound delicious. Sam always had a gift for growing things.”

  “These are wild ones, but quite good.” Summer was suddenly irritated. “With cream and sugar, they can’t be beat.”

  Ellen sat at the kitchen table eating daintily.

  “Is the woman you brought from town still working for you?”

  “Sadie doesn’t work for me, Ellen. She’s my friend. I don’t know what I would have done without her these last few days.”

  “Of course, dear, I understand. This has been a dreadful time for you. And I also understand that any other time you would have picked your friends more carefully. You were alone in Hamilton, needed another woman, and she was handy. Travis told me about her. I didn’t really believe all he’d heard about her was true, so I asked Jesse. Jesse gets around and in his quiet way knows . . . everything. He assured me that what Travis said about the woman was true. He was terribly sorry for tbe scene he made when we were leaving that morning. He said what really made him angry was that Travis would speak so in front of me. Jesse is so protective, and gets so violent sometimes that he frightens me.” Ellen gave a little laugh and watched Summer closely.

  Summer looked away from her and out the window, her mind churning . . . Jesse said that about Sadie? Doubts about Ellen entered her mind and not for the first time. Slater had said . . . Oh, darling, how could I have doubted a word you told me? Summer sighed to herself. The wide violet eyes swung back to Ellen.

  She had paused with the spoon, holding it just outside her open mouth. Oh, Jesus! Ellen thought. Had she gone too far? The girl wasn’t in the mood for a rebuke. From the look on her face, she resented it, too.

  “I’m sorry, dear. I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have repeated gossip. I’m grateful the woman is here. I’m sure she’s taken a load of work off your shoulders.”

  “Yes, she has,” Summer said quietly. “I don’t
care what anyone says about her. She’s good and sweet and I’m proud she’s my friend.”

  Ellen lowered her eyes and let the expression on her face reflect the possibility that she had been wrong about Sadie.

  Summer heard John Austin calling her. She went to the door and out to the yard. He was racing toward the house.

  “Summer! Summer! That Indian’s comin’! He’s leading Slater’s horse. Luther has got a gun on him.” John Austin sped across the yard and down the track. He had talked of nothing but the Indian since he was here. Paying no attention to Summer’s call, he ran on until he reached the spotted pony, shouting, “Hello, Bermaga! Hello. What are you doin’ with Slater’s horse?”

  The thing that Summer had feared was turning into reality. She thought her heart would burst. Dread kept her rooted to the spot in the yard, but her eyes went from Slater’s horse to the Indian to Luther bringing up the rear, his gun in hand. She was scarcely aware when Jack, Sadie and Ellen joined her.

  “Caught this ’Pache ridin’ in, bold as ya please, Jack.” Luther spat in the dust. “Almost killed him when I saw Slater’s horse, but he kept on a jabberin’, a tryin’ to tell me somethin’. I don’t know ’nuff ’Pache to know what he was a sayin’. I got one word—woman— so I figured . . .”

  The Indian slid off the pony and came to within a few feet of Summer. When she had seen him last his face had been drawn, his eyes dull, his body weak. Now, he walked proudly, his head held high, his eyes sharp and piercing. He commenced speaking in an even tone. He would say a few words and stop.

  “What is he saying, Jack?”

  “I don’t know much Apache, Summer, but it’s something about Slater.” Jack said a few phrases in an Indian language. The Apache didn’t understand. He shook his head vigorously and frowned. He spoke again, more slowly.

  Summer thought she would scream. She shrugged off John Austin’s tugging hand. The boy’s eyes went from the Indian to Summer and then back to the Indian. He dashed away and came back with two sticks.