Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family)

by Georgina Gentry

  “Never thought I’d be grateful to see buffalo hunters,” he smirked, sticking the “quirley” between his lips, searching his pocket for matches. “How many are there holed up here?”

  Cayenne shook her hair back and looked at Bat, who smiled slowly at her.

  “Twenty-eight all together, and one woman.” Bat said, but he was looking at her. “Missus Olds is here with her husband and six of the men over in Rath’s store. She’ll be happy to hear another woman has arrived.”

  “What building is this?” Cayenne sighed with relief and exhaustion, looking around.

  “Hanrahan’s Saloon,” Bat said. “There’s nine of us holed up here, including my friend Billy Dixon. All the others are in Myers’s store.”

  Maverick lit the match with his thumbnail. “The saloon, huh? Maybe we’re in luck after all. When this is over, I want a good drink of bourbon and branch.”

  Cayenne looked up. Bat Masterson’s eyes studied her in frank admiration.

  Maverick frowned. “You can quit looking her over, Masterson,” he said as he smoked. “The lady’s with me.

  “Is she?” Bat smiled at her and Cayenne thought he had the brightest gray-blue eyes, the most charming smile she’d seen anywhere. “I didn’t hear her say so.”

  “She rode in with me, didn’t she?”

  Cayenne was both annoyed and angry. “My stars, Maverick! If you want to fight, there’s a thousand Indians out there!” She gestured toward the savages ringing the place outside. The Indians gradually retreated out of range, leaving their dead behind.

  “Get ready,” Maverick warned. “They’ll come back in, try to take out their dead. We can pick off a lot of them then.”

  He was a natural born leader, she thought as the other men hastened to obey him. Sure enough, the Comanche charged again, and when they did, the hunters laid down a withering fire that cut the charge to pieces.

  One of the hunters handed Maverick a rifle. “If we could just pick off a chief, a war leader, they might give it up all together,” Maverick said. “That’s what happened back in ’64 during the Great Outbreak. When I killed Little Buffalo, the Comanche and Kiowa decided the battle was bad medicine, quit, and went back across the Red River. But I’m a helluva lot better with a handgun.”

  A smallish man studied him with interest. “I heared about that Outbreak. So you’re that half-breed, huh? Heard no one but Trace Durango could outshoot you. Except that preacher over in west Texas. I saw him handle a rifle once. My God, what an eye! He could hit a nail head at fifty yards!”

  Maverick smoked his cigarette. “He can’t be that good. Nobody shoots that good!”

  She started to tell him that, yes, Papa was that good a shot . . . up until a few months ago. . . . But what difference did it male anyhow?

  Bat now looked visibly impressed on finding out who Maverick was. “Me and my friend, Wyatt Earp, sat down at a poker table one time with a gunslinger that was every bit as good as you’re supposed to be, Durango.

  “Who’s Wyatt Earp?”

  “He’s with the law in Wichita. Wants to be a big marshal or sheriff.”

  Dixon laughed. “I tole old Wyatt that was a good way to get killed.”

  Bat snorted in disgust. “I’d say huntin’ buffalo is a good way to get killed right now, Billy. As I said, Maverick, that stranger was as good with a pistol as I hear you are.

  “Oh? ” Maverick smoked, looking him over curiously. “Only one as good as me, the man who taught me to shoot, Trace Durango.”

  Bat shook his head and pulled at his chin, considering. “Nope, that wasn’t his name. I remember he had eyes as expressionless as a rattlesnake. I think he could shoot a little old lady without any qualms; that kind of cold-blooded killer. He was the best and fastest I ever saw. Slade, yeah, that was the name.” He thought about it. “Bill Slade.”

  Cayenne took a shuddering breath and splashed a little more water on her face from the barrel. She didn’t want to think about the man with the cold, expressionless eyes who waited even now at her father’s ranch. Could he outshoot Maverick? She didn’t want to think about it. “How long you all been holed up here, anyway?”

  Bat looked over at the other hunters. “I don’t know; lost track of time because it seems like forever. Two, three days, maybe. I think this all started in the middle

  I of the night on June 26. The Injuns caught the Shadler brothers outside the walls, asleep in their wagon, and killed them. Then young Tyler got shot through the lungs and died. We’ve killed dozens of Injuns; can’t really know since they keep carrying off their dead. But so far, it’s a Mexican standoff. They run all our horses off and surround us so we can’t escape, but the range of our guns and the fact we got plenty of powder is holding them at bay.”

  Billy Dixon ran his hand through his tangled locks and looked at Bat with evident admiration. “If I got to fight, this is sure the best bunch to be with. Bat, you’re a chunk of steel, and anything that strikes you is gonna draw fire!”

  Bat Masterson flushed modestly and looked at Cayenne. “The only fire that takes my fancy is this lady’s hair.”

  Cayenne looked from one hunter to the other and back at Maverick, who glowered at her. “You’re quite a ladies’ man, aren’t you, Mr. Masterson?”

  “I meant it, ma’am.”

  “Back off, Masterson.” Maverick’s voice had an edge as hard as his gray eyes.

  Cayenne said hastily, “Now, boys, let’s not fuss and make trouble. Looks like you all are gonna get all the trouble you can handle from outside.”

  Masterson picked up the sixteen-pound Sharps. “You wouldn’t be any trouble, miss.”

  Maverick snorted and blew smoke. “I haven’t had anything but trouble since I met this little firebrand Rebel.”

  “You damned Yankee!” Cayenne turned and flounced off.

  She met Mrs. Olds later during a lull. Her husband, William, ran one of two stores and she had been operating a little cafe in the back of the store for the hungry hunters.

  “Glad to see another woman,” she said heartily, hugging Cayenne. “Appears we may be here awhile, at least until they overrun us or get tired and ride out.”

  Cayenne shivered at her implication. “I guess there’s too many; we can’t possibly shoot them all.”

  The woman nodded grimly. “Near a thousand as we make out, and did you see that Quanah Parker’s leading the pack?”

  Curiously, Cayenne went to a rifle hole and stared out. “I’ve heard of him.” She could see him now, proudly sitting a big gray pacer on a small rise a safe distance from the fight with his sub-chiefs. The gray-eyed half-breed was a head taller and bigger than the other Comanches. She thought how much he resembled Maverick, speculating a long moment on the quirks of Fate. One half-breed had chosen to follow his Indian heritage onto the warpath. The other hated his tribe, wanting to turn his back on it forever and live like a white man.

  Cayenne helped Mrs. Olds prepare food for the men. The day stretched into long hot hours as the Indians sat their ponies just outside the range of the big guns like buzzards waiting for a wounded animal to die.

  “By damn!” Maverick swore as he carried his plate of beef, hot peppers, and tortillas back over to stare out at the silent sentinels. “They’re just sitting out there waiting, knowing we can’t hold out forever!”

  Bat nodded, his mouth full. “We sure ain’t going any place, and the chances a cavalry patrol might be out and in the area are pretty slim. Although, as word gets out to stray parties of hunters that the Injuns are on the warpath, they might try to make it into here. Safety in numbers, you know.”

  Billy said, “I figure the Injuns is gettin’tired, maybe plannin’ one last big rush in the morning to try to overrun us”.

  Maverick took a bite of the hot chili beans. “If we could just kill one of them major chiefs, they might lose heart and go away.”

  After dark, some of the men slept while others kept the vigil around the perimeters of the walls. Cayenne was afraid
of the sudden silence, the darkness closing in as the sun set all orange and gold. She hugged herself as she came over to the isolated spot where Maverick leaned against the wall, watching out a gun port.

  “It’s awfully quiet,” she said, sitting down on the dirt floor next to him.

  Maverick shrugged, tipping his hat back. “Indians have to rest and eat, too.”

  She watched the strong outline of his profile in the growing dust. “You think they’ll hit us full force in the morning?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he answered a little too easily, and his hand went up to stroke the jagged white scar.

  Cayenne looked around. There was no one close by and the nearest man was over behind some barrels asleep. Once in a while, she could hear his gentle snoring. Bat had gone down to the other end of the building to check things out.

  “Don’t lie to me, Maverick.” She leaned up against him without thinking, seeking the comfort of his shoulder. “We’ve come a long way together. I’m beginning to know you like the back of my hand, know when you’re lying to me.”

  “By damn, you sound like a wife!” He gave a forced laugh, obviously determined to keep her off the subject. His big arm slipped around her and she pressed her face against his shirt, thinking what a haven of protection and strength his arms had become for her. She didn’t speak for a few minutes, looking through the gun port at the rose and purple sunset.

  “Maverick, this might be our last night, our last sunset together.”

  He hesitated, watching the sunset himself, and he didn’t speak until the dusk turned into darkness. “And if it is?”

  She sighed, leaning against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. “Everyone ought to know when he’s going to die so he can set things right, say the things he always meant to say to people and almost never does.”

  Maverick laughed again, but it was a forced laugh. “Don’t count us out yet, baby. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Something’s gotta happen at dawn; this can’t go on forever!”

  She could feel the cold steel of his pistol in her side. “You won’t let them take me if we’re overrun?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment, and his hand came down to tilt her her small face up. “You know the answer to that. I’ve seen what they can do to a white woman when they’re mad.” He kissed her gently, as if she were a fragile porcelain doll.

  She clung to him. “I’m afraid, Maverick! So afraid!”

  “Naw! Rebels aren’t afraid! Stubborn and wrongheaded, maybe, but not afraid.” His voice was joking, full of forced lightness. “Now what would old Jeff Davis think of you if he heard that?”

  “I’ll bet even your old Sam Houston would have been scared right now!”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Old Sam Houston would have charged hell with a water bucket! ” Maverick stroked her hair. “Besides, old Sam got along fine with Indians. If we’d followed his lead, we might not have had all these troubles with the tribes.”

  “It’s going to be a very long night,” she swallowed hard. “Maverick, can I-can I stay here with you so I won’t have to be alone?”

  She felt him nod, grunting as he pulled her closer. “I’ve been alone most of my life, and now that I’ve finally found you. . . . it isn’t fair,” he said bitterly against her hair. “It just isn’t fair!”

  “Papa says life’s not fair but God’ll even things up someday; see to it that people get what they deserve.”

  He hesitated and she felt him stiffen. “Sometimes maybe God needs a little help to get justice done.”

  He stood diametrically opposed to what she believed in, this bitter loner, and yet . . .

  She slipped her arms around his neck and he kissed her deeply. “Oh, Maverick, I—I think I love you! I’m sorry things have come to this.”

  He didn’t answer and she sighed. He didn’t care about her at all. She must sound like a fool. His big body trembled ever so slightly. In wonder, she reached up to touch his rugged face. Were those tears there? “Maverick,” she whispered. “Oh, Maverick!”

  He clung to her in the dark like a frightened child, and without thinking, she opened her shirt, letting him press his face against the comfort of her naked breasts.

  “Cayenne, I want you one last time,” he whispered, his breath warm against her nipples. Her body wanted him, too, but even in the darkened adobe building, there was no way they could undress completely and make love.

  She felt her body moisten itself, eager for him to fill her as his hand stroked down her breasts to her waist. She touched his maleness, felt it throb strongly as she unbuttoned his pants and reached to caress him.

  His fingers fumbled with the buttons of her pants, and then his hand reached inside to touch her, to stroke her. They lay down on a pile of burlap bags behind a stack of crates. She moved so that she lay with her head in his lap, spreading her thighs so his fingers could tease and stroke her wet, velvet softness. When his fingers slipped deep inside to caress her depths, she gasped and arched against him. And then she turned her head to take his pulsating manhood between her lips.

  “Cayenne, you—you don’t need to do that, baby.” But he didn’t push her away as her tongue tasted the seed of him, tilting her head so that he could thrust deeply between her lips. He made a sighing sound of pleasure, and his fingers reached again to stroke her depths while his other hand cupped her breasts, caressed her nipples.

  She was wet and ready for entry. Cayenne felt her body arching eagerly up against his probing hand. She relaxed her throat so she could take his thrusting deeper, wanting to taste the very essence of the man.

  The hand that stroked her breasts came down to pull her face against his crotch, and he moaned slightly. “You’re drivin’ me loco, you little vixen! I—I can’t imagine not having you beside me forever!”

  She had a sudden vision of eagles, their mighty wings spread, their bodies locked together as they plummeted toward the earth. And in that moment, her body shuddered and convulsed, and tasting him was not enough; she had to have more of him. Greedily, she took him deep in the softness of her mouth. When he came, she clung to him. Cayenne would not stop, as he moaned and writhed against her mouth, until she had taken every virile drop he could offer.

  “Cayenne! Oh, Cayenne! Baby . . .” He pulled her up to kiss his seed from her lips. “I always wanted a woman to do that to me, never had the nerve to ask.”

  “I—I couldn’t stop myself, Maverick, dearest,” she whispered, and was finally content with the taste of him still on her lips as he kissed her again. If this were the very last time, she had wanted an indescribable ecstasy to remember, and that it had been.

  Cayenne dropped off into an exhausted sleep in his arms, not caring anymore what tomorrow would bring as long as she could have this night in his embrace. Funny, she had struggled and schemed to get back to Texas because of Slade and his men, and now she wasn’t going to be able to get there. Well, Papa was always praying for miracles, and that’s sure what they needed to get out of this one.

  Long before dawn, she helped Mrs. Olds fry up some bacon and make a big pan of biscuits.

  She took a platter around to all the men guarding the walls, along with a pot of fresh, strong coffee.

  Bat Masterson smiled at her as he accepted a plate. “If we get out of here, I think I’ve about had enough of buffalo hunting. There’s bound to be a better way to make a living. I figure there’s a future for me in Dodge City; maybe there’s a future for you there, too.”

  She laughed, pleased that he was interested enough to flirt. “It’ll be dawn soon, and there’s still a thousand Comanches, Cheyennes, and a handful of Kiowas out there. You’ll have to do something about them first.”

  He sipped his coffee and she thought how handsome he was. “Okay, Cayenne. But when this is over, think about what I said about going with me. I meant it.”

  “Sorry, I’ve got a man,” she said softly, and realized it was true. Things had changed so much in the few days since she’d left Wic
hita. What was she going to do about Maverick?

  My stars, Cayenne, she scolded herself as she went around handing out steaming tin cups of coffee, you’ve got to survive this morning before you worry about planning the rest of your life.

  She went last to Maverick and sat down beside him with a contented sigh. “I’m happy, Maverick, really happy. Would you ever consider living on the Lazy M?” Should she tell him about what the Comanche had done to Papa? No, he might consider a handicapped man too much of a burden. And he was such a loner, maybe he wouldn’t want a ready-made family of all her little sisters.

  Maverick sipped his coffee. “Cayenne, with what we’re facing this morning, I figure I should clean the slate, tell you something. . . . ”

  “Will it make me unhappy?” She looked at him and he looked away, as if unable to meet her eyes. “If it will, don’t tell me, Maverick. My God, if I may die in an hour, don’t tell me just to clear your conscience!”

  She felt crushed, betrayed. She felt sure he had started to tell her that there was another girl somewhere. Maybe he wanted to confess that he’d been too human to pass up a chance to make love to Cayenne but he didn’t want any kind of lasting relationship, any burdens. “No.” She put her hand over her ears. “Don’t tell me.”

  “Okay, then I won’t.” He sipped the coffee, running his finger thoughtfully down the knife scar on his cheek.

  Maybe he was married! Of course that was it. It was her own fault, she supposed. “I guess I threw myself at you, not realizing—”

  “No, it’s not that,” he hesitated, then said nothing as he drank the coffee and stared out at the pale rose glow of dawn on the eastern horizon.

  She peered out the gun port. Indian braves were coming from every direction now, resplendent in feathered headdresses, beads, and paint. They were going to make one final charge. Almost a mile away, she saw the majestic figure of the half-breed Comanche chief, Quanah Parker, gathered with his leaders to direct the coming battle.

  Maverick put his face close to hers, peered out, and cursed. “If I was only as good a shot with a rifle as I am with a pistol!”