“What happened when you went to jail?”
“I’ve apologized for my actions towards you, sir, and I hope that you will not bear ill will towards me because of it. I thought your men were hunting me because of the bits of goods I’ve stolen, but obviously it was a misunderstanding all around. Now, please, if you’ll unhand me—”
“You’ll answer the man’s questions. And he goes by captain, not ranger.” Ryder’s voice was hard and his eyes didn’t waver from Lucius’s face.
Lucius gave a nervous laugh. “Of course, of course. Captain, I don’t really remember much from that night. Too much to drink, I suppose. And it was because of that I made the slip-up in the first place and my ruse was exposed.”
“And your partner?”
“The sheriff wasn’t strong enough to hold both of us. Much to my misfortune, my colleague got away faster than I, so I was stuck.”
“You spent the night in the jail cell?” Trevor asked, testing the man’s story. He knew the truth would finally come out.
“It wasn’t a pleasant evening, I’ll admit. But, like I said, I don’t live that life anymore.”
“You just steal,” Cade said with disgust.
“How can you call it stealing when it was already stolen?” he pleaded.
“You filthy lowlife—” Trevor lunged towards the gambler but Lorenzo caught him, holding him back. “Tell me,” Trevor growled. “Tell me what happened between you and that sheriff.”
Lucius’s face had gone pale. “He-he arrested me. That’s all. I was caught.”
“But not for long, were you?”
“Who are you?” Lucius demanded, his face going from pale to a dark red. “Who are you to make accusations of me?”
“I’m the little boy that witnessed you kill my father in cold blood, all because you didn’t want to spend a night in jail for cheating at cards.”
The man was shaking with anger. “We were alone in that jail. There is no way you know what happened, or didn’t happen, there. We were alone!”
“I was only ten. I hid under the desk. Do you remember the sheriff reaching under the desk as he was dying? Do you remember? Answer me!”
Lucius looked around at the rest of the men. “You can’t trust this man. He’s obviously got me confused with someone else. He’s delusional!”
The other men stared back at him with just as much malice as Trevor.
He turned back to face Trevor. “You’re a fool. Your father shot himself. If he had only let me go, I never would have hurt him. He was a fool, same as you.”
“You bastard!” Trevor lunged for him again and Lorenzo could barely restrain him.
“How? How have you been able to track me after all this time? I’ve been all over the states before coming here.”
“The man who shot my father had a very distinctive scar over his eye, one that most people recognized when I described it.” Logan pulled the man’s hair off of his forehead and a deep jagged line ran over his eye, dropping down so low that even his eyelid was partially scarred.
“Well, lawman, what are you going to do with me now? So I killed your father. You have no real proof other than your word against mine. There was no one else around. You’re just as much of a fool as he was.”
“Seems to me you’re the bigger fool,” Ryder said, shaking his head. “You just confessed to killing this man’s father in front of three Texas Rangers. You will get your due justice for the crime.”
Lucius’s face went deathly pale. “It was twenty years ago. I’m a changed man. Please... you must believe me...”
“Get him out of my sight.” Trevor growled, “Before I kill him with my bare hands.”
Logan nodded and began to walk the man out, his hand still clutching the slender arm tightly.
“Wait!” Trevor said suddenly, turning back and walking straight up to Lucius. “Where is Serena? What did you do with her?”
Lucius laughed, exposing teeth yellowed by tobacco and coffee. “Didn’t you read the note? Damn, you really are a fool. It’s like the note said. She’s with the Comanche now. Whether she’s dead or alive—I don’t know.” He laughed again before Trevor slammed his fist into his face, and this time he did knock him unconscious.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I can’t take any further risks. I need to get to her and free her from the Comanche as quickly as possible.”
“You know they may have more hostages than just Serena, right?”
Trevor ran his hands through his hair and stared at the ground from where he sat on his cot, Logan and Ryder both seated in the chairs, watching him closely. “This is going to be far more complicated than you think.”
When Trevor lifted his head, his face was passive, but anger burned in his eyes. “Every single minute of the day I wonder what is happening to her. And that I could save her. I have the power to save her.”
“Against over four hundred warriors? Trevor, I know you think things through with everything you do. But this sounds like the plans of a madman.”
“Or a man in love.” Ryder shrugged. “Basically the same thing as a mad man. A man in love loses all logic. It changes him. Which is why I will never let a woman sink her claws into me.”
“Serena isn’t just like any other woman, Ryder. You don’t know her like I do. And I’m not in love with her. I hold myself personally responsible for her being kidnapped. It sits on my shoulders. How can I face her family ever again?”
Logan sighed heavily. “You need to do what your gut is telling you is the right move. You haven’t led us wrong in the past. And if you feel this is right, then go. Ryder and I can continue the charge from here.”
Trevor nodded. “If I travel alone, I can cover ground much faster. And I might be able to creep up on them and help her escape without having an entire army with me.” He closed his eyes tightly. “If I make it in enough time.”
Then, as if shaking off, he opened his eyes and refocused on the men he trusted the most. “And keep an eye on our prisoner. I don’t want him slipping free again. He will face his punishment.”
It was the middle of the night when Trevor took off on horseback. He traveled as quickly as possible while trying to keep a cautious eye out for and Indians. He was going to get Serena back.
The sun was barely beginning to creep over the horizon when Trevor could make out the Comanche camp in the distance. He slowed his horse and dug into one of his saddlebags, pulling forth a white flag that he rapidly fastened to the end of his shotgun.
He rode his horse at a slow walk towards their camp, well aware there could be sentries located anywhere. He was a good distance from the camp still when he heard the pounding of hooves and a warrior rode up on each side of him. He made sure to wave his gun, signaling his white flag of peace, but it didn’t stop them from running their horses into his, then yanking his gun from him and pulling his saddlebags off.
The paint on their faces masked their expressions. One wore dark black paint to cover his eyes all the way to his temples, and the other had a mix of red, black, and yellow streaks across his face. But he could read body language, and they weren’t happy to see him.
As they entered camp, several squaws stopped what they were doing to look at him with disdain and hatred. But he also noted hundreds upon hundreds of horses tied to a line, with several of them loaded down with the loot they had gathered from Victoria.
Slowly, they passed through the tribe, and where conversations had been occurring, they died off in silence as they rode past, and then whispered and hushed voices buzzed behind him after he had passed through.
The entire time his eyes searched for Serena. And the further they moved into camp, the more his heart dropped and his hope faded. He had already seen a small group of hostages and had made note of the easiest way to get to them. But Serena wasn’t with them. Which left him only one conclusion. They had killed her.
Suddenly, they stopped and one of the warriors pulled Trevor from his horse and onto the ground. He d
idn’t resist, even though he wanted to strike out at the warrior. He squared his shoulders and stood tall, determined to show them that he was not a coward. Comanche killed cowards.
The warrior that had pulled him from the horse nudged him in the back and he began to walk forward. As they neared an area with several small fires and squaws working on cooking or tanning animal hides, something drew his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly so he could see better and he nearly cried out in rage.
Serena was displayed prominently in the area of many small fires, but she wasn’t working at one like the squaws. Instead she was tied to posts, her body covered in blood, her usually shiny hair dull, and bruises everywhere. But she was still alive. Though she was limp, he saw her trying to shift against the pain of the ropes that cut into her flesh.
The warrior had been walking alongside him and pushed his face in the opposite direction. Obviously they did not want her to be seen. He had never felt such anger in his life. Not even when his father had been murdered had he felt this rage. She belonged to him and didn’t deserve to have these men lusting after her beautiful body that was displayed for all to see.
Finally, the warrior stopped, and Trevor stopped with him, keeping his hands behind his back as though relaxed, but his body was tensed and coiled tightly to fight. They had stopped in front of one of the fires where a large warrior sat. There was a beautiful squaw next to him, but her face was marred by what looked like claw marks. Trevor fought the urge to smile. He knew it had been Serena who had caused such damage.
“You are a foolish man. You ride into our camp waving your white flag. Do you think we honor such rules of the white man?”
“Yes,” Trevor replied. “I believe you value some of the rules of the white man because they are pure and just, and that is something that is very important to you”
The Indian took a draw on his pipe then handed it over to another warrior who sat with him, and on it went around the circle until it returned to him. There was a deep silence as he waited for the pipe to make its way back. Once he held it again, he addressed Trevor.
“We do not negotiate. So did you just come here to die?”
“I came here to offer a trade.”
His eyebrows lifted as he drew on the pipe then handed it over once again. “From the way you look and what little you have in your saddle bags, you don’t have anything to trade.”
“I’ve come to trade my life for the woman you have tied over there. If you set her free, I will do whatever is your bidding.”
The warrior looked at him, then glanced over at Serena, then back to Trevor and began to laugh so hard, tears began to form at the corners of his eyes. The other tribe members had also joined in the laughter, and Trevor had struggled to maintain a calm face. He wanted to kill them all.
“That one is not available for trade. But I would consider it for one of the others,” he finally said after he had gotten control of himself. He had returned to the hard, fearsome warrior.
“Why isn’t she available for trade?” Trevor asked. “She looks to be in bad shape and needs tending. I will take her off your hands and you will have no other bothers from me or her.”
The warrior stood slowly, unfolding his large body. “She is not for trade. If you want her, you must go by our rules.”
Trevor stood firm. “Very well. What are your ‘rules’?”
Another warrior, nearly as big as the one he’d been talking to stood and turned to face Trevor.
There was darkness and hate and... evil in the man’s eyes. “We will fight to the death,” this new warrior said. “If I win, we keep the woman and you die. If you win you will kill me.”
“And get to take the girl,” Trevor added with conviction.
“Maybe,” the first warrior spoke. “It depends on if you please me in your fighting skills. If you entertain me, I may let the girl go with you.”
“That isn’t much incentive,” Trevor said through clenched teeth.
The large warrior shrugged. “It’s either that, or you just simply die. It is your decision to make.”
Trevor breathed heavily through his nose to calm his rage. Fighting with anger wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He would only end up getting himself killed. Casually he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and faced the other Indian. “Do you supply the knife, or do I get to use my own?”
As soon as he had asked the question, his knife that he kept sheathed within his saddle was presented to him. The warrior was also handed a knife and, by the grin on his face, it was a knife he knew how to work well.
Both knives were close to a foot long with sharp edges that showed care and maintenance. The warrior’s knife had a gruesome sharp hook at the end of it, while Trevor’s knife had serrated edges on one side, perfect for skinning animals.
The warrior looked at Trevor’s knife and a cold smile touched his face and he looked back at Trevor, as if he were already dead.
Trevor returned the look in kind. “Now,” said the large warrior, “you will fight till death. Begin!”
Something was happening in camp. Serena could hear shouting, and the women hadn’t tortured her yet that morning. She tried to crack her eyes open, but they were so bruised and swollen she could barely see anything. Slowly her surroundings came into view and she saw a large group of people in a circle, watching something that was happening. There were shouts and cheers, and then groans and angry spats. Struggling, she lifted her head, trying to see more of what had attracted their attention.
The crowd parted briefly as two men fighting lunged at each other through the crowd. Serena’s heart jumped to her throat. It was Trevor! He had come. She had dreamed and fantasized about him coming to rescue her. And, now, as if stepping out of her dreams he was there. But why was he fighting a Comanche? Dear God, why was he fighting? None of them would let him live!
Tears seeped out from under her lashes. All of this was ultimately her fault. If she hadn’t been so determined to be a part of this movement against the Indians, she wouldn’t have dressed as a boy and snuck into Trevor’s camp. She had been so focused on what she thought the Comanche were like, instead of listening to those around her who actually knew what the Comanche were like.
And because of her attitude, her beliefs, her ignorance—Trevor was about to lose his life to these Comanche Indians that she had at one point so foolishly defended.
The warrior lunged at Trevor, swiping with his sharp knife, but Trevor dodged to the side. He hadn’t been quite fast enough, and the knife slashed at his shirt and left a red stain on his chest. Serena wanted to cry for him. He shouldn’t have to fight for her. He had no idea how these warriors fought.
Trevor continued dancing around the warrior, dodging each lash, and finally landed one of his own across the man’s arm. It was his knife arm and the cut was deep. Surely he can’t fight any further. His arm is wounded. He’s going to surrender. But much to Serena’s shock, the Indian grinned and tossed his knife to the opposite hand and swung it around easily.
Trevor was braced for another lunge from the man and stood light on his feet, nearly dancing in place as the warrior approached him. With a great roar, the warrior jumped high into the air and came down blade first. Again, Trevor moved, but not nearly fast enough. The blade swiped at his ribs and for a few seconds Trevor kneeled on the ground, his head lowered, his hand clasping his side as blood seeped through his fingers.
The warrior saw his chance to defeat his enemy. He charged at him quickly but Trevor had been ready for him. From his low position, he swiped out with the blade, cutting the man’s right leg so severely the white of his bone was visible. He let forth a horrific cry and, for a moment, Serena had to look away. She couldn’t stand seeing other people in so much pain, even when they had tortured her.
But she had to know what was going to happen to Trevor so she looked back. The Indian was back on his feet, hobbling on the one that Trevor had cut, and there was blood everywhere, gushing from
his wound. But he looked determined to finish the fight.
Trevor circled around him rapidly, and this time the man wasn’t able to keep up. His skin was already looking pale as the blood in his body pooled at his feet. “If you fight to the death, white man, at least do it with honor.” He growled.
Trevor stopped in front of him, out of harm’s way. “Why should I treat you with honor when you have dishonored my woman?” he demanded.
Serena wondered if she had heard him correctly. Had he truly just called her his woman? Her heart pounded madly in her chest.
“She is not your woman. She never will be. She is to be a chieftain’s wife. Our woman only beat her and stone her to prove that she is strong enough to hold the responsibility of being his wife. She will be tested every day.”
Serena’s head began to spin. She had known the beautiful woman she had scratched had indicated she would belong to someone soon. But she had no idea that the large warrior was a chieftain, let alone that they had such high expectations of her.
Infuriated by what the Indian had just said, Trevor lunged at him, but he had been anticipating such a move and lashed out at Trevor, his blade slicing at the top of Trevor’s shoulders as the Indian had shoved him hard with his injured arm.
Trevor’s body convulsed in pain, but he turned quickly, just in time to block another blow from the warrior. He used his height to his advantage and kicked outwards, striking the man in the most vulnerable spots. He fell to his knees and Trevor, with a sickened look on his face, sliced his blade across the man’s throat.
The warrior looked up at Trevor in almost an appreciative way. At least he hadn’t died bleeding out from a wound. He had died while fighting, the way of the Comanche. Breathing heavily, Trevor looked at the blood on his knife, then back to the large warrior who had watched the entire thing from his seated resting spot on the ground.
His face remained expressionless, emotionless. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. “You have defeated one of my great warriors. I congratulate you on your victory.”
Texas Heat Page 21
