by Tess LeSue
Tom groaned.
“He’s not White Wolf,” Emma said quickly, before Tom could get his temper up. “Trust me, I’ve met him, and Tom ain’t him.”
“You called him Slater,” Black Horse said with a shrug. “Tom Slater. Rides with Death. White Wolf. I’ll call him whatever he wants to be called.”
“Now, Black Horse, you listen to me—” Emma stopped dead as an idea hit her. “Oh . . .”
“No,” Tom said, reading her mind. “No. No. No.”
“Yes. It’s perfect! They wouldn’t dare cross the Plague of the West!”
“They’d dare to shoot him, though!”
“Not with us at your side. We’ve got enough weapons to stock an army! They’ll be so scared they’ll drop arms and run.”
He was nose pinching again. “You don’t know these men.”
“Everyone’s scared of Deathrider,” Black Horse said. “They’d be wary.” He turned to his friend, and they spoke for a while. “Spear Fisher thinks it’s a good idea too.”
“It’s not. It’s not a good idea at all. It’s the stupidest idea I ever heard.”
“Stupider than dressing you as a woman?”
“Much stupider. By far.”
“Let’s do a deal,” she said as she scraped the last dregs of dinner from the cook pot into his bowl. “I’ll go along while you take stock, and after you take stock, we’ll all put forward our plans. Then we’ll vote on the best one.”
“No.”
She ignored him and turned to the boys. “What do you two think? Are you happy with that?”
They had a brief conversation. “Yes,” Black Horse said.
“No,” Tom repeated. “No.”
“Sorry,” she said cheerfully, “but you’ve been outvoted.”
“Who said this was a democracy?”
“We the people. All three of us.” She grinned at him. “And it’s your turn to do the dishes.”
* * *
• • •
THE WOMAN WAS going to be the stone-cold death of him. Tom felt like the full force of a stampede had hit him: it didn’t matter how much he protested, she just went along like he hadn’t said anything at all. Words bounced off her like rain off a cow’s hide. They’d scouted Devil’s Hollow this morning and had seen the Georges immediately. Creeping along the lip of the ravine, Tom had neatly downed the two guards who were standing lookout, whacking them upside the back of the head before they even heard him coming. Sister Emma had shown herself to be strangely proficient at tying them up and gagging them. He filed the knowledge away, along with a whole bunch of other bits and pieces that had him seriously doubting her nunhood.
They’d lain on their bellies on the canyon wall above Hueco del Diablo, passing Tom’s telescope back and forth between them. The camp in the canyon below was small and shabby. There was a clump of women and a bunch of Indian children. The women were separated out by race—there were a handful of white women, a couple of black women and half a dozen Indian women—all dusty and thin and miserable looking. All of the children were Indian, except for Winnie. She was roped up to the white women, right at the back of the group; she looked small and heart-stoppingly vulnerable. Her nightgown was red with dust, and her hair was a bird’s nest of tangles. Tom felt his rage reach the boiling point. The bastards who’d kidnapped her were slouched against the rock wall, shooting the breeze with the traders. English George spat a long stream of tobacco juice onto the hard-packed dirt at his feet.
Tom’s instinct was to pick them off from here. But what if he missed? What if he got one down and the others used the captives as shields? It was a narrow channel through the rock. The bullets would ricochet. What if Winnie got hit? Not just Winnie. Hell, some of the little ones down there were barely hip high.
“Right. Everyone put your plans on the table,” Sister Emma demanded, once they’d wriggled away from the canyon edge and crept back to their horses.
“What table?” Black Horse asked.
“It’s just an expression. It means tell us what you think.”
“I think we should rescue the girl.”
Spear Fisher said something to Black Horse, who translated. “He also thinks we should rescue the girl. But he insists that we should rescue the others too.”
“That goes without saying.”
Tom tried to say calm. She had a habit of just taking over, like she was running things.
“The question is, Mr. Horse and Mr. Fisher, how are we to rescue them?”
The boys didn’t have the slightest clue. And to be honest, Tom wasn’t doing much better. Well, he did have one idea. But he was a measured man, and he wasn’t about to rush into it without thinking it through. The problem was, while he was busy thinking, she went and hijacked the whole show. Before he knew it, she had the boys convinced he should pass himself off as a certain Indian, and the three of them were voting for him to ride on down there pretending to be Deathrider.
“He can’t wear what he’s wearing now,” she kept arguing with Black Horse, as they hashed out the details without Tom’s agreement. “He doesn’t look the least bit like Deathrider in that. Don’t you have any buckskins?”
“My people don’t wear buckskins,” Black Horse told her.
“They must.”
“Why must they? Because you read it in a book? Not all Indians are the same. In my tribe, the men don’t wear anything at all at this time of year.”
“They don’t?”
Tom couldn’t believe it when she turned a calculating gaze on him. “Not on your life!” he snapped. “I am not going into Hueco del Diablo naked!”
“No, I suppose it’s not very practical.” She sounded regretful.
“Deathrider isn’t Taaqtam. Why would he dress like us?” Black Horse squinted at Tom. “Just let him keep his white man clothes. Tom Slater dresses like that anyway.”
“I am Tom Slater,” Tom growled.
“I don’t know why you keep denying it,” Black Horse told Emma, “when he says straight out he’s White Wolf.”
“I didn’t say that at all,” Tom snapped. “I said I was Tom Slater. It’s entirely different.”
“But how will they know he’s White Wolf?” Sister Emma had clearly given up any attempt to convince the boys he wasn’t actually Deathrider. Which galled Tom no end.
“We will call him by his name,” Black Horse said with a shrug.
“Listen, you loco idiots,” he growled, “Irish George and English George are out hunting Deathrider right now. That’s why they’re here. And you want me to walk right up to them and say, ‘Hi, boys, here I am’? Are you insane?”
“Oh.” Emma deflated in front of his eyes. “I forgot about that.”
“And that is why you take the time to take stock.”
She pulled a face. “What do you propose, then?”
He rubbed his face. Hell. He hated his plan. But only for selfish reasons. And they weren’t reasons he could stand by. Not when Winnie was down there.
“Well?”
She sure hated not knowing things. He fixed her with a baleful look. “If you’d hold your horses and listen, I’ll tell you.”
“I’m listening, but you ain’t talking.”
“You don’t give him much chance,” Black Horse said mildly.
Ostentatiously, she pressed her lips together and didn’t say another word. She held a hand up behind her ear, to illustrate how hard she was listening. Tom had a hard time not cracking a smile at that. She had enough spirit for ten women. If only she’d use her spirit to help him, instead of getting in his way.
“I reckon the simplest thing to do is to go down there and buy them.”
Her mouth popped right open at that. “What?”
He shrugged. “They’re hardly going to argue with a sale.”
“But . . .”<
br />
“But what?”
“But . . .” She frowned at him so hard her eyebrows just about met in the middle of her forehead. “But that would cost a fortune! Wouldn’t it?” She looked at the boys. “What would a slave cost?”
“Depends on the slave,” Black Horse said with a shrug. “Fifty to one hundred dollars?”
“You haven’t thought this through,” she told him.
Tom shook his head. He had. He’d thought it through backward and forward and inside out. He was carrying a goddamn fortune on him; he’d just collected payment in San Francisco when he heard about the hunt and had gone tearing off to warn Deathrider. He didn’t have enough money to pay one hundred dollars for every single captive, but if some of them went for less, he should have enough. And he planned to do some fierce haggling. He wasn’t of a mind to give away more of his hard-earned cash than he absolutely had to.
“You’re going to buy them?” she echoed, as though she couldn’t quite believe it. Her tawny eyes were wide with astonishment.
“I don’t see the point in fighting if we don’t have to.”
“But that’s upward of two thousand dollars!”
It was. And he wasn’t happy about it. But what in hell was he going to spend it on anyway? He had more money than he knew what to do with. He didn’t have his own place or his own family or his own much of anything. He didn’t even run his own cows. He bought them in Mexico and ran them up to California and sold them on.
“You’d really spend that much to rescue those folks?” Her eyes had gone all shiny. They twinkled with green light and made his stomach flip.
“Does it get your vote?”
Silently, she nodded. For once, she didn’t seem to have anything to say.
22
“SHE’S A VIRGIN.”
That was about when Emma almost lost her composure. Tom sensed it and moved to stand in front of her, to block her from the ferrety little trader. It gave her a moment to regroup.
There were three separate traders, responsible for three different lots of “stock.” The whole setup turned Emma’s stomach. Her trigger finger had started itching the minute they rode into the canyon. The Georges were still slouching in the shade but barely looked their way. They’d never seen Tom before; they’d only met him as Doña Elvira, so his appearance in Hueco del Diablo didn’t startle them in the slightest. He was just another customer. Emma had Tom’s serape wrapped around her and her hat pulled low over her face, hoping they wouldn’t know her as the nun they’d seen back at de Gato.
Black Horse and Spear Fisher were perched on the canyon wall above, their rifles trained on the Georges. Emma doubted they were good shots, judging by the clumsy way they handled their weapons. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.
Tom and Emma had ridden in on a single horse. Even with the situation as grave as it was, Emma couldn’t help but enjoy pressing up close against him. She wrapped her arms around his body, noting the hardness under her hands. His shirt was sweaty, but she didn’t mind at all. Not one bit. He smelled like saddle leather and hot cotton.
“You leave the talking to me,” he warned.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Let’s hope not.”
She’d kept her promise so far, even though she’d had to watch the traders show off their “wares.” She’d even stayed silent when the ferrety trader had pulled Winnie from the pack. Emma had been worried that the girl would give them away, but Winnie didn’t even look up from her feet. Not once. Not when the trader turned her roughly this way and that, not when he rammed his fingers in her mouth to pull back her lips to show off her teeth, not even when he traced his fingers down her flat chest. The little girl stayed blank faced and staring at the ground. It killed Emma to see it.
“She’s a virgin,” the trader assured Tom.
That was when she lost her composure, and when Tom stepped in front of her to give her a minute to regain it.
“She’s an obedient thing. A little thin, but as I said, still a virgin.”
Emma rested her palms on Tom’s back and bit her lips to keep silent. She wanted to shoot that man. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to reach for her gun.
“Virgins are rare in these parts,” the trader said in his dusty voice. “So she comes at a price.”
“What price?” Tom sounded calm as a still pond. Emma didn’t know how he did it. She knew he wasn’t calm at all; she could feel the muscles in his back bunching tight under her hands.
“One hundred and fifty dollars, and she’s a bargain at that.”
“Bargain my boot. She ain’t worth no hundred and fifty dollars.”
“You’re wrong about that, but I’ll tell you what, mister, I’m open to a trade.”
Emma froze. She had an instinct she wasn’t going to like what the trader said next.
“You got a busty woman there behind you. Busty women fetch high prices round here; not virgin high, mind you, but close.”
Emma felt the hostility coming off Tom in waves. She hoped the trader couldn’t feel it too.
“I’ll trade you your busty one for the girl here. I’ll only charge you a difference of twenty dollars.”
“This woman ain’t for sale,” Tom said tightly.
Damn straight, Emma thought. She was done with being bought and sold. She’d been done with it when she was the one doing the selling; she wasn’t about to have this filthy little nobody claim the right. Or even the possibility.
“All women are for sale,” the trader insisted.
Emma dug her fingers into Tom’s back.
“Not this woman.” His tone brooked no disagreement. “I’ll keep the woman and give you one hundred dollars for the girl.”
The trader gave a gritty laugh. “No deal. She’s worth one hundred and thirty minimum.”
Emma was painfully aware that their bartering had drawn the Georges’ interest. Well, Irish George’s interest. The man was too social by half. Emma could see he was just itching to join the conversation. If there was one thing that fat idiot liked it was the sound of his own voice.
“What if I buy the rest of them too?” Tom asked the ferret. “How much for the job lot?”
That sure shocked the hell out of the ferret. “You couldn’t afford it.” The trader cocked his head and then named an outrageous figure.
Irish George was creeping closer by the minute, drawn by the drama. He was gumming a plump cigar and looking far too perky for Emma’s liking.
“Hey.” One of the other traders had caught wind of what was going on. “If you want to be buying women, I got two fine black girls right here.”
The third trader got involved at that. “Your pair don’t hold a candle to my girls.”
Emma watched as Tom deftly turned the traders against one another. Well, he was a cow trader, she supposed. And my, but he certainly did have some bargaining skills. Somehow, he had the three idiots undercutting one another, and before any of them knew what was happening, he’d bought every slave in the place at a cut rate.
He’d make a damn fine madam, Emma thought admiringly.
“That’s some good deal you got there, my friend,” Irish George called over as Tom rounded up the captives. Tom gave him a well-calculated absent-minded wave.
Please don’t come over. Emma prayed their luck would hold and they could get out of here without the Georges getting suspicious. Luckily, Irish George had gone and pounced on the traders, jawing their ears off about how he too had once bought a bunch of slaves at cut price and then sold them on at enormous profit, all of which he’d spent on booze and whores in New Orleans. The traders didn’t look happy to be listening to his nonsense.
“Don’t so much as look twice at Winnie,” Tom hissed at her as he pulled her into the saddle behind him. “English George is watching us. You don’t want him t
hinking we’ve come specifically for her. He’s sharp. Too sharp.” Tom had tethered the captives’ ropes to his saddle so they could lead them. They were all on foot. “We’ll see to her once we’re safely away.”
Winnie. The poor baby. Emma kept her gaze fixed on the cotton between Tom’s shoulder blades so she wouldn’t look back at the girl.
“What do you need all these slaves for anyway?” one of the traders asked as they snaked by.
“Whores,” Emma blurted. It was the first thing to pop into her head. She felt Tom flinch. But the trader just grinned. It made perfect sense to him.
“Anytime you need to restock, you come on by, you hear?” His gaze slid over Emma. “And if you ever want to make that trade, you come to me first. I sure do like the busty ones.”
“I can’t believe you kept your mouth shut,” Tom said when they were well clear of the canyon. “I thought for sure you’d let him have it when he talked about your . . . body.”
“I gave you my word.”
He snorted. “You lie too much for me to trust your word.”
“No,” she disagreed, “I lie exactly the right amount. If I lied any less, you wouldn’t be able to trust me at all.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Only because you’re thinking about it wrong.”
Thank God for Tom Slater, she thought, pressing her cheek to his hot back. Thank God for his steadiness, thank God for his planning, thank God for his ingenuity, thank God for his money and thank God for his ability to argue with her in the most trying of situations. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.
Impulsively, she pressed a smacking great kiss on his cheek.
“What in hell was that for?”
He acted like he didn’t like it, but she could feel his heart skip under her palm.
“It was just a thank-you kiss. Now hurry up and get us somewhere safe so I can see to Winnie.”
