by Neil Hunter
Jude stood a few yards off. The empty eyes moved to Elizabeth as she climbed to her feet, held on her for a moment, then returned to Brand.
“Brother, I can see you are a man who doesn’t trust easy.” Jude’s voice was rich and deep. The kind of voice that would have sounded good coming from a pulpit every Sunday in church.
“It’s why I’ve stayed alive so long,” Brand said.
Jude smiled, showing his large teeth. There was something in the way he smiled so easily that didn’t settle too well with Brand. He was wary of the man and Jude’s having turned up at such a convenient moment. Was there more to Jude’s presence than just being a Good Samaritan? Brand wanted to know just how long Jude had been around. And why. They were questions only Jude himself would answer by his future actions.
Jude had already switched his attention to Elizabeth.
“I see you have found your guide, sister,” he said. He made no attempt to conceal the way his gaze roved freely over her body.
“And you, Mr. Jude, seem to be offering more than spiritual comfort,” Elizabeth answered dryly.
He laughed, the sound booming out amongst the rocks. He touched the barrel of the massive Sharps. “We live among savages in a sinful world, sister. My way is the way of The Lord, and I do my best to follow his word. Those who sin must perish. I am but a tool of The Almighty, striking down those who walk the path of evil.”
“I thought the Bible also said to forgive those who sin against you?”
“We each find our own meaning in the words, sister.”
“Before we break into the psalms,” Brand said, “I’d like to move on.”
He turned and went after the horses, bringing them back to where Elizabeth stood. She mounted up without another word to Jude.
“Brother, I would ride with you a distance,” Jude said.
Brand jammed his rifle in the scabbard, turning to face Preacher Jude. “We’ve a long way to go, Jude, and I don’t intend wasting time. I’m grateful for what you did, but I reckon I can manage.”
“There is a hardness in you, brother. My thoughts are for the woman. Two guns would be better than one.” Jude indicated the dead Apaches. “Those bucks are from Nante’s band. He finds out they’re dead he’s going to want a reckoning.”
“Nante? He’s around here?” Brand asked as he eased into the saddle.
Jude nodded. “Surely so.”
“Then we’ll take our chances,’ Brand said. He saw the momentary gleam of anger that nickered in Jude’s pale eyes.
“Thou art a stubborn man,” Jude said tightly. “But I’ll not force myself on you. Go on your way and may The Lord watch over you. I shall pray for you.”
“Don’t waste your time on my part,” Brand said, and led out, with Elizabeth following close. He could feel Jude’s eyes on him as they rode deeper into the canyon. He felt certain it would not be the last they saw of Preacher Jude. He was as certain of that as he was of the fact that if he could find the Apache called Nante, then he and Elizabeth would have safe passage throughout the San Andres. Safe from the Apaches that was. Somehow he didn’t think it would extend to include Preacher Jude.
Chapter Six
By late afternoon they had cleared the canyon and were already on the high slopes, where the earlier rocky landscape was now relieved by pinon and juniper. The air was crystal clear and they could see for miles. In all that vast spread of mountain terrain nothing moved. They might have been the last people alive in the world, had it not been for the fact they were far from being alone. Brand knew they were being watched. Even though he had not seen anyone himself, he knew that hostile eyes were following them every step of the way. That they had not been attacked again was a good sign. It told Brand that Nante knew he was here, and the old Apache was biding his time. He would show himself when he was ready, choosing the moment to suit himself.
Brand made camp early. He noticed the questioning look in Elizabeth’s eyes when he called a halt. It was still a good hour from sunset. She must have realized he had a reason, but wasn’t prepared to tell her why, so she remained silent.
He had stopped near a small pool fed from a small spring. There was grass for the horses and trees for shelter. Brand built a small cook fire near a jutting overhang, noticing the sign around the area that told him the Apaches used this as a camp themselves. He filled the coffee pot and put it on to boil.
“Do you want to eat?” Elizabeth asked.
Brand nodded. She busied herself beside the pool preparing food. Brand went to the fire and sat back waiting for Nante to come.
When he did show Brand almost missed him. The old Apache stepped out from a shadowed stand of juniper and walked straight into the camp. Nante was easily sixty years old, yet he moved with a light step that would have been the envy of a young buck. His black., bright eyes were alert and quick. The brown, lined face was age old, yet there was something in the expression that told of Nante’s will to survive. Old he might have been, but out of those long years had come much learning. The mounting decades had not dulled his senses.
Brand stayed where he was as Nante approached. As the Apache neared the fire Brand indicated he sit. As the old warrior squatted across from him Brand filled a mug with hot coffee and passed it to him. Nante took the mug, sniffing the coffee. A flicker of a smile creased his brown face.
“When we last spoke you gave me coffee,” Nante reminded him, then drank deeply. “I remember.”
“That was a long time ago, Brand.” “Much has happened since then.” Nante held out the mug and Brand refilled it. “Then you rode for the Army. Now you ride with a woman.” Nante glanced across at Elizabeth. She was busy with the food. “She is your woman, Brand?”
“No.”
“But still you will take her to your blanket?” Nante was showing his teeth in a knowing smile.
“Maybe.”
“You will take her.,” the Apache decided. He emptied his mug. “Why are you here. Brand?”
“I have come looking for Lobo.”
Nante considered for a moment. “To kill him?”
“If I have to.”
“Who sends you to do this thing?”
“The people I work for in Washington. And the Army.”
“Do they expect you to capture him?”
“They have left it to me to decide what to do.”
“Then kill him. Brand, or he will kill you. Hear my words. There is no profit talking to a mad dog.”
“As always, Nante, you speak with wisdom.”
Nante made an angry gesture. “Lobo! That one is bad. Brand. Evil spirits entered his body at birth and turned him against both races. Yet his mother, Tensi, was a good woman. His father, though a white, was a man of courage and honor. Yet Lobo hates us all. With every breath he hates. Because he walks between two worlds he is bitter, and his bitterness has poisoned him.”
“Your people cannot find him?” Brand asked.
“In the old days we would have. We are too few now, Brand. Our time is short and we will have to surrender soon, or we will all be dead. Even now there is talk that Mangas, Cochise, even Geronimo, are thinking this way.” Nante sighed, and for a fleeting moment he looked his years. “We are fighting to stay alive, Brand. A war we cannot win. Lobo is a crazy wolf at our heels, and we dare not weaken ourselves by sending warriors to search for him.”
“Today three of your warriors died. If I had known you were here it might not have happened.”
“I learned of your presence too late,” Nante said. He looked through the flames of the fire at Brand. “You will not be harmed by The People. Nor the woman.”
“Nante, she is Lobo’s sister. She will lead me to him.”
“Take care, Brand. Lobo is as deadly as the snake. Corner him and he will fight with the cunning of a wolf. Do not trust him.”
“And what will you do, Nante, my friend?”
“We go south. To Mexico. There we can rest. Talk of the future.” Nante stood up. “I wish you good
hunting, Brand.”
“And you, Nante.”
The Apache turned and left the camp as swiftly as he had arrived. He slipped into the shadows of the trees and was gone within a heartbeat. Brand stared after him. He felt a deep regret when he recalled Nante’s words. Soon there would be little left of the Apache nation. If their pride prevented them from surrendering and they fought on, they would finally be wiped out, and as far as Brand was concerned that would be a damned shame.
“You know him?”
Brand glanced up and saw Elizabeth was standing beside him.
“Yeah, Nante and me, we’ve been fighting each other for years.”
“You didn’t act like enemies.”
He smiled. “We’ve reached an understanding.”
“What were you talking about?” she asked, kneeling by the fire to cook the food she had been preparing. He sensed the underlying suspicion in her voice.
“I asked him if he’d seen a white man in the area. He said we are the first whites to come up here for months. You sure this is the territory your husband covered?”
Elizabeth’s face darkened with annoyance. “Yes, Mr. Brand, I am!”
She bent over the food and stayed silent.
Brand helped himself to more coffee. He studied the curve of her back as she concentrated on cooking their meal. She was getting touchy. He could expect more of that. The closer they got to Lobo the jumpier she was liable to become. She must have realized that whoever brought her into the mountains was going to ask questions about her make-believe husband. There would also come the time when all the pretence had to stop. Sooner or later she was going to have to reveal just why she was up here. What then? As long as Brand could locate Lobo’s hideout, he wasn’t going to worry too much about that moment. Even so he realized he was going to need to be careful. If Elizabeth got wind he knew who she was, and why he was with her, he might never get anywhere near Lobo.
They ate a silent meal that night.
Elizabeth had withdrawn into herself. She would only speak out of necessity, then only using words sparingly. The moment they had finished the meal and cleaned up, she went directly to her blanket and lay down. Brand took a turn around the campsite, checked the horses, then turned in himself.
He lay in his blanket, his mind refusing to relax. He found he was thinking about the man calling himself Preacher Jude. There was more to Jude than simply a fancy for Elizabeth. Did he know who she really was? If he did there could be an easy explanation for Jude’s presence. There were a number of rewards out for Lobo and they totaled up to a tidy sum. New Mexico Territory itself was offering 10,000 dollars. A large cattle-combine had put in 8,000 and a group of civic-minded businessmen had added 5,000. A southwest stage line, that had suffered greatly at Lobo’s hand through burned-out way stations, to stock being run off or slaughtered and employees killed, had put in another 7,000. Though the totals varied there was full agreement on one point. The money would be paid on production of Lobo — dead or alive. Preferably dead! Maybe the money was at the back of Preacher Jude’s concern over Elizabeth. The reason he was wandering around the San Andres. Brand had no proof— but he always went with his gut feeling. It wasn’t going to do any harm to keep a watch out for Preacher Jude. One thing he was sure of — Brand was going to see Jude again — and that time wasn’t far off.
He pulled his blanket over him. He found himself looking across to where Elizabeth lay. Damned if Nante hadn’t been right. He did want her. That was something else he was going to have to be patient about. Brand turned the other way, pushing the thoughts of Elizabeth to the dark recesses of his mind.
He lay for a time listening to the soft moan of the wind playing around the high peaks. Was Lobo up there listening to those very same winds? And Jude somewhere else on the mountain slopes? Matters were building to a head. And he was right in the centre of it all. Which he wasn’t surprised at in the slightest. He had the knack of walking into trouble. Did it without conscious thought. Fate had a perverse way of complicating the simplest of matters, as if a man didn’t have enough problems to handle without more being thrown into the pot.
He drifted off into a restless sleep, waking early. The sky was grey and overcast. The air held a damp chill and Brand had a feeling there was a storm due. He rolled out of his blanket. The fire was out. On his feet he glanced to where Elizabeth had laid her blanket. It was gone. So was her gear. He looked to where he had tethered the horses. His animal stood on its own. Elizabeth’s horse was gone.
Damn fool woman!
His anger rose unchecked. He snatched up his saddle and crossed to his waiting horse. He cursed himself for not paying her closer attention last night. She had acted odd from the moment Nante had shown himself. He had not expected her to do a damn fool thing like taking off on her own. He completed saddling up, gathered and stowed his gear, then hauled himself on board.
Elizabeth either didn’t realize the danger she might be putting herself in, or didn’t care. The reasons were unimportant. Placing herself in jeopardy could get her killed.
He had to find her.
Get to her before it was too late.
Chapter Seven
As full light broke over the jagged eastern peaks dark, rolling clouds swept in, bringing the threat of rain even closer. A gathering wind rattled through the junipers clinging to the steep slopes. Far to the north thunder rumbled heavily. Within the hour the first rain fell, and within minutes it had increased to a savage downpour. It drove down out of the heights, sweeping across the exposed slopes in glistening sheets. Every stream, every trickle of water was suddenly burdened by the extra volume of water. It coursed its way down the mountain slopes, tumbling and foaming as each small stream fed the next, growing larger and heavier. The streams burst their banks as they roared and tumbled to the flatlands below, where eventually they would empty themselves in the Rio Grande. Storms were infrequent in this part of the country — but when they occurred their fury and intensity was extreme.
The full force of the storm caught Elizabeth Henty on an open slope. Bending in the saddle she forced her horse on, shielding her face against the driving rain, her body chilled by the cold wind that accompanied the downpour. She admitted she had been foolish to walk out on Jason Brand. He would have seen the storm coming and would have been prepared. With his knowledge of the mountains they would have been able to find cover before the storm struck. She had made her choice, though, and now she was going to have to face matters on her own.
She felt the horse stumble. Elizabeth hauled in on the reins, pulling the animal’s head up. The horse refused to go any further. Sliding out of the saddle Elizabeth struggled to loosen her waterproof slicker from behind the saddle. Even when she had it free she had to fight against the tearing wind to pull it on. Pulling on the reins and talking to her frightened horse she finally got it to walk on, stumbling and slipping herself as she struggled up the water bound slopes, the reins cutting into her fingers. Checking her bearing she saw that the peaks still lay ahead of her — and she knew that meant she was travelling to the east.
Narrowing her eyes Elizabeth squinted at the harsh outline of the dark peaks. She experienced a feeling of foreboding. It was perhaps caused by the mood of the day. She hoped so. Yet she had to admit that she had no idea what lay ahead of her. Somewhere up there, in those endless peaks, was Lobo.
She shook her head in anger. She had to remember to call him by his given name — Matthew. But would he remember that? It was a long time since he’d had any contact with the world of his father. Perhaps the stories she had heard were true. That he had become like an animal. Wilder than any Apache. Was she risking her life for nothing? Would he even listen to her? Would he attack her? For all she knew he might not recognize her. Elizabeth’s mind whirled with confused and conflicting thoughts. Whatever the outcome, she had to try. It had been her father’s dying wish that she try to do something for Matthew. Despite all the terrible news that had reached them about Matthew her fathe
r had refused to lose faith in his son. Though ill and too weak to make the attempt himself he had begged Elizabeth to make the trip on his behalf. Though he was now dead and she was on her own, Elizabeth felt obliged to honor her promise, no matter what the cost to herself.
Yet now, as she struggled along the storm-ravaged mountain slope, she felt a moment of doubt. Was she doing the right thing? Why should she succeed where the Army and the Apaches had failed? Would being Matthew’s half-sister be enough to draw him away from his path to self-destruction?
Elizabeth felt alone and helpless., aware that perhaps she had set her hopes too high. She regretted leaving the camp., wishing she was back with Jason Brand. He was a hard and violent man, often abrupt with her. But while she had been under his protection she had felt secure. And he knew the country, could gauge the mood of the mountains. He was a man who could survive in this savage land. Yet she had turned her back on him, riding out on her own in a moment of insecurity, stranding herself in mountainous country that was both strange and alien to her.
Dragging her reluctant horse she struggled up the treacherous slope. The soft earth had turned to clinging mud that gripped her boots, pulling her back. She fell often, each time finding it harder to climb to her feet. She felt wet and cold and hungry. Leaving camp while Brand slept she had forfeited the chance of hot food and drink. She had a canteen of water and a little of the meat he had given her, but there was no chance of even stopping for that while the storm held.
