by Jeanne Rose
The smell of frying meat awakened Ben and then Javier. They got up, yawned, and started packing up their bedrolls.
"Where's the Apache?" Ben asked, running a hand through his tousled sandy hair.
Sam shrugged. "Don't know. Around here somewhere." He never could figure out where or when the Indian slept, but the man didn't make his bed near the campfire.
"Prints still headed south?" Sam asked when the tracker put in an appearance in time for mess call.
The man grunted. "They ride for Mexico. Now there's more, maybe nineteen or twenty mounted men."
"More?" Javier raised a dark brow.
They'd all been discouraged when they'd gotten some miles from Chaco's place and realized they were up against more than a dozen men, probably Mexican bandits. Not that Ben or Javier had expressed any more of a desire to turn back than Sam.
"Was a fight over that way." The Apache gestured to the plains beyond the dry river bed. "Saw some rifle shells, blood, a flat place where somebody fell. The Mexicans maybe killed a man and took two others."
"Took them?" said Sam. "Captives?"
The Apache's expression didn't change. "There's prints from two more horses now...and a steer."
"Dios," Javier muttered. "I can understand the steer. I can even understand someone wanting to steal Louisa. But captives? What are these men about?"
Sam sure as hell didn't know. He dumped the dregs of his coffee out on the ground. "Well, we'd better get going. Those bandits are still traveling fast."
Faster than he'd thought they would. That had also been discouraging.
Sam was tacking up El Tigre when Ben yelled that riders had appeared on the horizon. Quickly moving with the direction of the mustang's usual evasive prancing, Sam swung himself into his light-weight, army-issue McClellan saddle and slid his Springfield carbine out of its saddle boot. The Apache and Ben and Javier were also mounted, weapons drawn.
But the riders were coming from the east, not the south, and there were only four of them. They slowed upon sighting Sam and his men, finally coming to a complete halt. They didn't look like bandits.
Taking a chance, Sam raised his Springfield above his head with both hands, indicating he wanted peace. "Don't shoot," he told Javier and Ben.
One of the strangers also raised his rifle aloft, then the whole party rode closer -- a weathered older man with a big mustache, a Mexican cowboy and a red-headed Anglo. The leader of the group was most arresting, probably in his mid-thirties, powerfully-built with wide shoulders, a strong profile, an unflinching stare and short, straight black hair. He sat his horse and rode so easily, Sam would swear he was Indian.
The leader locked gazes with him. "What are you doing here?"
"Tracking some bandits," Sam answered. "Have a problem with that?"
"You're on Ryerson land -- my ranch."
"Just crossing through." Which no one should have an objection to.
Ryerson stared at Javier and Ben, then frowned when he got to the Apache.
Sam explained, "He's my tracker." And the Indian was wearing the red headband of a friendly. "We've been following this band down from Santa Fe. Seen anything of them? There's more than a dozen."
"More like twenty," muttered the older man with the mustache.
"So you have seen them," said Sam.
Ryerson stirred in his saddle. "They shot and killed one of my ranch hands yesterday. Took off with two others. We're of a mind to do some searching ourselves." He asked Sam, "You a soldier?"
"Was." Which wasn't hard to figure out, considering the gold stripe down the legs of the blue pants Sam wore with his tan cotton shirt. And, of course, there was the McClellan. "You?"
"Used to be," Ryerson conceded.
"Stationed where?"
"Any place the Confederate Army sent me."
A Reb. Sam hoped the man didn't harbor any strong resentments toward the Union Army or they could end up in a gun battle anyway. Even after twenty years, hostility still simmered between North and South.
Ryerson quirked a brow, drawling, "The war over for you?"
"I never participated. I was too young." And he thought it best not to mention his father and uncles.
"What's your handle?"
"Cap...uh, Sam Strong."
Ryerson asked, "Why're you after these bandits?"
"They kidnapped my woman."
He glanced quickly at Javier and Ben, both of whom made no objection. They'd never had an outright discussion of Louisa's status, but, before the party had left New Mexico Territory, Chaco had said they accepted Sam's claim on her.
"Well, it appears as if we've both got good reasons for going after these men," said Ryerson. "And eight is a hell of a lot better odds than four against twenty. Maybe we should join up."
"Not a bad idea."
Ryerson took a look at the ground, studied the prints. "There's no time to waste. Let's go."
The eight riders swung into motion, the Apache in front. Ryerson rode abreast with Sam, who surreptitiously eyed the other man, hoping he hadn't made a mistake. From Ryerson's subtle return inspection, he assumed the rancher was thinking the same thing. They were strangers, after all.
By the time they'd come in sight of a mountain range some miles south and stopped for a short rest, however, everyone knew each other's names. Sam realized he could be wrong, but he thought Monte Ryerson and his crew were honest men who were what they claimed to be. Their bearing, actions and weapons didn't smack of gunmen or thieves.
And the more time he observed Ryerson, spent time in his company, the more Sam felt certain he had a lot of Indian blood.
Because of that, Sam felt some discomfort discussing military tactics of the Apache campaign, a subject that came up with Ryerson's probing and one that Sam had managed to forget about over his concern for Louisa. But who knew what tribe Ryerson was related to. And various groups of Indians had been fighting each other long before the white man came.
The rancher was a very intelligent man, mentioning political events and territorial problems he'd read about in newspapers. Sharp-eyed, he noticed the case of heliograph equipment on the pack mule. Though he hadn't been sure how he'd use it, Sam explained what it was – tripods with sighting rods that could adjust mirrors to flash in Morse code.
"Morse code?" said Ryerson. "That'd work real well in mountainous areas. I'm familiar with it, taught myself to read it, if that's any help."
It was. "Might be safer to split up when we get the chance then."
Ryerson nodded. "On the other side of the Rio Grande. The fastest way through that range up ahead is a chain of narrow canyons – each one snakes right into the next. The bandits are following an old Comanche trail."
Comanches. Which brought Louisa to mind once again. Envisioning her, Sam suddenly noted the bear claw Ryerson wore strung on a cord around his neck. The way the claw was mounted, small feathers and beads on either side, reminded him of Louisa's necklace. She said it had belonged to her father. Was Monte Ryerson also part Comanche?
But Sam wasn't sure how to ask about such a thing. And before he got the chance to try, they were mounted and riding hard down the trail again, spurred on by the promise of a spring-fed arroyo where they could rest this afternoon, replenish their water supplies, maybe even set up camp early and stay the night.
Not that the latter particularly appealed to Sam. Not when he was so worried about Louisa, he just about counted every minute and every hour of every single day.
The Sierra Madre, Mexico
LOUISA HAD NEARLY GIVEN UP counting the passing days as the bandits carried her farther into Mexico. The Rio Grande was at low ebb this time of year and they'd been able to cross the great river at a point where the shallow water roiled among gravel bars.
Afterward, they'd picked up the Comanche trail again, following it through the hills on the other side of the river, then across a high desert plateau barren except for cactus, creosote bushes and other sturdy plants that needed little moisture to grow
. At least the band seemed to know where to find water themselves, stopping at springs or tinajas, deep holes which held rainwater.
One night a storm had come up, Louisa using the distraction of slashing rain and lightning to try an escape on horseback, hoping she was headed back for Texas. But Tezco had caught her, wrestled with her, returned her to camp covered with mud. She'd had to dress in some of Tezco's clothing until they could wash the others and let them dry.
Tezco had shouted at her for the first time after that escapade, then seemed to grimly withdraw into himself. But Louisa would swear that his personality had been changing in subtle ways since they'd first set foot in his home country. He still shadowed her, watched her, but spoke little. Kept separated from the other captives most of the time, she felt starved for conversation and turned to introspection, inner dialogue, to keep herself alert.
Usually not one to brood, tired of daydreaming about revenge on Sam, Louisa found herself reviewing her entire life – the shame of being the child of a madam, the difficulties she'd had fitting into proper lady schools, the problems she'd always faced as a half-breed.
Already passionate and rambunctious, she'd flaunted her differences and had become an out-and-out rebel, made her own niche in life. When that way of life was threatened with destruction by outside powers – the disapproval of her mother and society – she'd defied everyone. After Sam had rejected her, she'd become more embittered, twice as rebellious, tried to count coup on the lord of destruction, death itself.
No wonder Ma and Frances had been so concerned, had hinted she had a death wish. Maybe her challenging, belligerent attitude had even driven Sam away and attracted Tezco, brought about her abduction and imprisonment.
For now Louisa felt truly caged, though surrounded by the wild, wide-open spaces and towering mountains of the Sierra Madre.
Today, when the bandits stopped to spend the night in a desolate canyon, she sat on a rock and watched the sun slide behind a barren, rugged western peak. The horses chewed on tough desert grasses, whatever they could find, while the men set up camp and finished digging a waterhole in a muddy spot of the dry riverbed that meandered through the canyon. Louisa would be helping build fires and working at other tasks if Tezco would allow it.
But he rarely tolerated the other men speaking to her, much less approaching her. That was to be his prerogative and his only. Happy he was somewhere else at the moment and that her hands were untied, she soon rose to take a leisurely stroll, heading for the river. Mesquite trees and other heavy brush lined its banks but she found an open spot and made her way through to look down on the now deserted waterhole.
The recent rain must have caused a flash flood, since dead branches, pebbles and other debris lay strewn near the rocky edges of the dry water course. In the center, green grass and weeds were trying to sprout in the sandy soil. Thinking Defiant would appreciate a treat, Louisa jumped off the bank and knelt to pluck some stalks. She paid little attention to her surroundings until she heard a subtle noise.
She glanced up...meeting the golden gaze of a huge spotted cat which had come to the waterhole to drink.
Only a few yards away, the jaguar stared, its powerful muscles tensed, its tail twitching. Knowing eye contact could be taken as a threat to the wild creature, Louisa remained still, continued kneeling, slid her gaze to the ground. Not that she wasn't more awed than afraid. El tigre, as the Spanish called the jaguar, was a magnificent big cat with a fierce and fearless heart, but like most predators had no reason to attack a human unless cornered.
Smiling for the first time since being dragged from her home, she listened to the soft lapping of its tongue against the water.
Crack, crack, crack...
Bullets suddenly whined past, one careening off the edge of a rock. With a snarl, the jaguar jumped straight up in the air, a blossom of red blooming across its chest. The big cat tried to run, even as more bullets ripped through its flesh.
"No!" Louisa screamed, rising.
The animal made several desperate leaps, then wobbled, twitched and rolled to the ground in a bloody heap.
Rifle in hand, Tezco and another man hurdled down the bank. "You should have stayed down!" he yelled at Louisa. "We could have shot you!"
Stiff with grief and fury, she couldn't speak. But when Tezco approached her, she stepped back and finally found her voice. "Stay away!"
He frowned, his amber eyes cool. For moment, they reminded her of the jaguar, but she knew they reflected an intelligence that was far more lethal than that of the spotted predator.
"How could you kill such a beautiful creature?" she raged. "You can't stand seeing anything living free and wild. You'd rather it was caged or dead." She patted her chest, offered her own heart as a target. "Why don't you shoot me? Go ahead!"
Tezco's frown deepened. "Querida..."
"Don't call me darling! I'm not your darling, never will be! And I'm going to be free again...or else I'll be dead!"
But she wouldn't cry. She refused to weep in front of Tezco or any of his followers. Bolting away, she scrambled up the river bank and ran as fast as she could toward the camp. Her legs pumped, her heart pounded, the wind whistled past her ears. The pain in her lungs felt good as she fought for her breath. She ran right past some startled men tethering a horse, past the cluster of captives at the edge of camp, only stopped when she had to, finally falling to her hands and knees, panting. For a couple of minutes, she could do nothing but let her heart slow, try to catch her breath.
"What is wrong, Señorita?"
Recognizing Roberto's voice, she looked up. The captive had managed to haul himself to his feet and follow her. A soft-spoken man, he was recovering from his gunshot wound thanks to her and had gone out of his way to show his gratefulness.
"I heard the shots," he explained, his expression concerned.
She rose, her knees shaky. "They killed a jaguar."
"El tigre?" He looked thoughtful. "Ah, well, it could bother the horses."
Louisa didn't think so. "It didn't seem to be starving. And there are plenty of rabbits around here, even deer." Not to mention that the campfires would keep wild creatures at bay. "It was a beautiful animal."
"Yes, they are beautiful," Roberto agreed then, his expression registering sympathy for her obvious grief. "I am sorry you feel badly."
Another captive approached – Roberto's friend, Shorty. "Did I hear you say they killed a jaguar? Damn, I thought those shots meant we was being rescued, what with all the talk about flashing mirrors and such."
Rescue. Louisa's pulse suddenly picked up. "What about flashing mirrors?"
Roberto explained, "I heard Tezco and another man say they had seen flashes of light on the mountainsides today, as if someone were signaling with mirrors."
"I hope it's the Texas Rangers," Shorty said.
"Or anyone who wants to free us," added Roberto. "Though they should be careful. The bandits are on the lookout. Tezco is talking about climbing the mountainsides to find these men."
The death of the jaguar pushed aside, if not forgotten, Louisa gazed up at the surrounding peaks. Was there someone out there, someone who wanted to free them?
If it was Chaco and Adolpho...even Sam...she prayed they'd brought a lot of help or else would be smart enough to hide until they got the chance to sneak up on the camp.
Rescue. She fingered the small packet she'd carefully carried inside her trouser pocket since Texas. If push came to shove, she might even get the chance to wage war from the inside out.
The mere thought of being free sent adrenaline zinging through her veins, made her heart want to fly with the wind.
GAZING THROUGH HIS army-issue monocular, Sam caught sight of Louisa and felt his heart speed up. From this distance up on the mountainside, he couldn't make out every feature but he recognized her walk, her bearing, and that she seemed to be unhurt. Thank God! He adjusted the small telescope more carefully, watching, wishing he could gallop his horse down into the canyon and take he
r in his arms.
But he would have to contain his excitement, be careful and patient, take one thing at a time. First, he had to communicate with Ryerson, make plans. Since it was now dusk, they'd couldn't use the mirrors, would have to wait until dawn.
Sam was glad the man had joined up with them for other reasons than knowledge of the Morse code. The rancher had been serving as tracker since they'd entered Mexico. Complaining about demons with snakes growing out of their heads and evil lurking in the west, the Apache had started acting strangely as soon as they'd crossed the Rio Grande. Sam had been only half surprised when the Indian hadn't shown up for breakfast one morning.
But they hadn't needed a tracker to follow the bandits' trail today. They'd caught sight of the party around noon, exchanged signals from opposite sides of a pass and stayed close ever since.
Before the light died completely, Sam took one last look through the monocular, disappointed that he could no longer spot Louisa. She was so invitingly close. And in spite of knowing that he should wait, be careful, he felt tempted to sneak down into the canyon this very night. Perhaps he could even get a chance to steal back the woman he loved.
As soon as Ben and Javier appeared, he had made his plans. "I'm going down to check on the lay of the camp. I'll keep to the brush beside the river bed."
Ben nodded in agreement. "We'll back you up."
Danger for himself was one thing; danger for others another. "You need to stay up here, keep me covered if I come running."
"And what if they catch you?" asked Javier.
"Then find Monte Ryerson and figure out where and when to best set up an ambush. I'll keep Louisa safe when the bullets start flying."
He couldn't tell whether the young men were pleased with the idea but since they'd agreed to follow his orders, they made no objection.
Sam took El Tigre down a narrow arroyo cut into the mountainside and left the horse in a sheltered area near the river bed. Then he faded into the brush, skulking along, finally falling to his belly when he got close enough to hear the rise and fall of voices from the camp. When he thought he also heard a soft shuffle behind him, he swung his head around nervously, then decided he must be imagining things. If someone were on his tail, he wouldn't be able to see them anyway. The waning moon had risen but its pale light barely relieved the evening's blackness.
