Diablo

by Georgina Gentry

  He looked her over. “You’re pretty in blue.”

  “I feel guilty. You know, I’m supposed to wear black mourning for a year.”

  “That can’t be helped,” he said, looking around. “It looks like they’ve pulled out every can in the kitchen and every book on the shelves. If there was any money, do you reckon they found it?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t reckon it matters now, but I don’t think there is any. I don’t have much alternative except to marry Hurd.”

  The disfigured man scowled. “I told you, he isn’t going to live long enough to bed you.”

  “We’ll see. You have no idea how much power and wealth Hurd Kruger has in this county, and he’ll bring it all to bear against you for daring to kidnap me.”

  “Then I might as well enjoy you to the fullest,” the gunfighter said, and he didn’t smile. “What is the old saying, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’? In Texas we say, ‘might as well get hung for stealin’ a sheep as a goat’.”

  “You’re no gentleman,” she scolded.

  “Neither is your intended.”

  “That’s not true. Hurd is a wonderful, caring man. He’ll make a fine husband.”

  “You didn’t say that with much enthusiasm.” He led her out to the horse.

  “That’s not true. I—I’m looking forward to being Mrs. Hurd Kruger.”

  He took her handful of clothes and stuffed them in his saddlebags, then pulled out his bandana.

  “Let me take one last look,” she pleaded.

  “Sure.” His voice softened.

  She took a long, long look around at the home of her childhood. She had never lived anyplace else. “My dad came here when mother died in childbirth.”

  “He never remarried?”

  She shook her head. “I always felt so guilty and tried hard to make it up to him.”

  “You love this country?”

  “Not really. It’s too cold for me, but I loved ranching. I always hoped Dad would move farther south, but he wasn’t a very good businessman, I’m afraid. Only Hurd’s help kept us afloat.”

  There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he knew she would never believe him. “Let’s go.”

  He tied the bandana over her eyes and mounted up. Then he lifted her up before him. “Come on, Wolf.”

  The dog came running at his whistle, and Diablo headed back along the twisting trail that led to his hideout up in the foothills. What he would do next was uncertain, but he meant for it to lead to Joe and Kruger’s deaths.

  Chapter 11

  Kruger was in a frenzy over Sunny’s disappearance over the next several days. “How dare anyone kidnap her? It’s spittin’ in my face, that’s what it is!”

  He wired the governor and rode over to the fort to talk to the commander there. The sheriff at Krugerville deputized extra deputies, and every member of the Stock Growers Association and all their cowboys soon knew of the kidnapping. As the days passed, Kruger had reward posters on every tree and fence post in the county, offering a big reward in gold for information leading to her safe return.

  He called Joe into the ranch house again and made him go over every detail about what had happened. “Tell me again: was there more than one kidnapper?”

  Joe backed away, as if fearing he might be beaten again. “I—I’m not sure, boss. If there was, some of them were hiding because I only remember one. I’d swear he was riding your black horse, and that part-wolf dog of yours was with him.”

  “What?” That sent Kruger into a rage of gritting his teeth and slamming his fist against the wall. “The gall of him! I’ll take his hide off slowly, an inch at a time. Takes my woman, my horse, and my dog? it’s a deliberate insult, that’s what! Can you remember anything about what he looked like?”

  Joe tried to remember, his weasel face screwing up in thought.

  Kruger wanted to hit him, beat him. “If you hadn’t been drunk, you might have saved her.”

  Joe threw his hands up before his face. “Now, boss, he came out of nowhere, all dressed in black. I still ain’t sure it wasn’t some kind of devil.”

  “What’d he look like?” Kruger sucked his teeth and tried to imagine the scene.

  “I’m not sure. His face was in shadow, but I think he was dark.”

  “Injun? Mexican?”

  Joe tried to remember, shook his head. “Not sure. Wait, I do remember he was ugly, ugly as a monster.” That puzzled Kruger. He chewed his lip. “Ugly? That could be a thousand men.”

  Joe struggled, his face furrowed. “No, I—I mean like one side of his face had been caught in a meat grinder or a forest fire.”

  Hurd lit a cigar but didn’t offer Joe one. “If he’s that ugly, seems like we’d remember if we ever saw him in the county before.”

  “He looked like something out of my worst nightmare,” Joe said. “There’s something familiar about him, but I’m not sure what it was.”

  “Looks like if he was that bad, you’d remember,” Kruger snapped.

  Joe seemed to be struggling as he played with the brim of his Stetson. “It’s—it’s almost there, but I can’t quite get a hold of it.”

  “Oh, hell,” Kruger shoved him, “you’re an idiot! Go out and help the boys. I want a reward poster on every tree in every surrounding county and town within fifty miles.”

  Joe sighed. “Boss, we already got them in Krugerville and over in Wildfire. That’s all the towns there are for quite a few miles, unless we put them up in Buffalo and that’s a farmers’ town.”

  “You heard me!” Kruger roared. “It has to be a ransom thing, knowin’ I’ve got money to save her.”

  “But he ain’t tried to get a message to us,” Joe answered as he started for the door. “What else could it be?”

  “Revenge?” Kruger muttered to himself and motioned Joe to leave before he lost his temper and beat the cowboy senseless. “No, that don’t make no sense. Swen didn’t have an enemy in the county—even those damned nesters liked him.”

  He leaned against the fireplace and smoked his cigar. Maybe it wasn’t revenge against Swen; maybe someone was trying to get even with Hurd because Sunny was only a few days away from being his bride. Because of his power and money, he had a lot of enemies. Well, important men always do.

  Would any of the farmers have the sheer gall to snatch the girl to get even with Hurd? He didn’t think any of them had the courage for that, yet on the other hand . . . his gaze went to the mantel, where he had placed the old running iron that an intruder had left on his bed. Yes, there was a message there, but what was it? His mind went to Smitty and Wilson left hanging where he could find them. If it was a farmer or small rancher, why hadn’t they just shot his cowboys instead of going to so much trouble?

  A memory tried to come to his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. He’d done so much violence to different people over the years, defending his empire against all this poor riffraff, that there were a lot of people who wanted him dead. Yet though the intruder had entered his bedroom and could have killed him, he had instead left a running iron, a trademark of the rustler, on the foot of Hurd’s bed. It didn’t make any sense.

  He poured himself a whiskey and sat down in his rocker. Whiskey. He had done some of his most foolish deeds with a few drinks under his belt, so he didn’t drink much anymore, not in a long time. Swen didn’t drink at all, not since that night....

  He tried to remember why Swen had stopped drinking, but he couldn’t reach that far back for the memory. He remembered the whiskey haze and some violent horseplay that had happened on a night long ago, but his mind had glossed it over and he wasn’t sure what it was. He thought they had hung a couple of rustlers, but then he’d done that a number of times. Oh, hell, what did it matter?

  He gulped the drink and went outside into the warm spring morning. The woman he loved more than life itself, for whom he would sacrifice anything, even his beloved ranching empire, was missing, and who knew what was happening to her? She might already be dead or wor
se yet . . . he tried to block the thought of the shy beauty being used for some owl-hoot’s pleasure from his mind. She’d probably kill herself before she’d submit to that shame.

  He slapped his quirt against his leg as he walked to the barn, imagining slamming it against the kidnapper’s bare back until it was a raw, bloody mess. No, he’d come up with a slower, more painful torture for the bastard. If a reward was asked for, he’d pay it all right, but then he’d set a trap for the upstart. No man could take something that belonged to Hurd Kruger and not suffer the consequences.

  His whole remuda of cowboys now squatted before the barn or leaned against the hitching post.

  “Mount up, boys. We’re gonna do a sweep of every bit of land for miles around where Miss Sorrenson was taken.”

  “We already done that once, boss,” Kit objected.

  Kruger hit him full force with the quirt in his hand, knocking him against the barn. “Goddamn it! We’ll do it again and again until we find some clue!”

  As he led out his sorrel horse and mounted up, he saw the men scowl and exchange glances as Kit wiped the blood off his face. There was a muttering behind him.

  He turned in his saddle. “Any man don’t like it can draw his pay and quit.”

  Joe cleared his threat. “Boss, I know it’s important to you to get her back, but there ain’t no work being done around the ranch. We got calves that need brandin’, fences that need fixin’. Things will go downhill fast if we don’t keep workin’.”

  “You think I give a damn about that?” Kruger roared. “I built this spread up for her, and if she ain’t my wife, I don’t give a damn about the ranch. It can fall down for all I care.”

  “Boss,” Joe said gently, “I been riding for your brand for more than fifteen years, and this ain’t like you. You’re tired; we’re all tired.”

  Another cowboy chimed in, “Joe is right, boss. You’re riding us into the ground. We spent days chasing down all those nesters, and burning barns and cabins; now we’re spending hours in the saddle looking for Miss Sunny. A man can only take so much before he wears out.”

  “You!” Kruger pointed at him. “You’re fired. Joe, see he gets paid off. Now if the rest of you want to ride for the K Bar ranch, let’s get off our rumps and see if we can pick up a clue. There’s money to be made by any man with a keen eye and some guts.”

  With a collective sigh, the many cowboys of the K Bar outfit fell into line and rode out to search the prairie again.

  Back at the cave, Diablo sat before the fire, gazing out across the valley.

  “Are we just going to sit up here forever?” Sunny asked.

  Diablo shook his head. “Depends on your lover.”

  “He isn’t my lover; he’s my fiancé.”

  Diablo didn’t answer. In the distance, he could see a faint cloud of dust showing that a large group of horsemen were riding away from the Kruger ranch.

  “No doubt Hurd is already offering a huge reward for me,” she said.

  “No doubt.”

  She was exasperated. “So why don’t you work out a trade? You can be a rich man and hightail it back to Texas.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” She looked at the side of his face turned to her. He was a handsome man until he turned his head, and then she tried not to shudder.

  “If you were Indian or at least, a half-breed,” he said softly, “you would understand the value of patience when you’re after game. When the Sioux kill a man, they know how to torture him for days before he begs for the release of death.”

  “And that’s what you intend for Hurd?”

  He nodded and watched the distant cloud of dust.

  “You’ll have to get him away from all his cowboys first. He’s always got twenty or thirty men with him.”

  “Maybe as time goes on, some of them will quit, realizing they’re working for a madman.”

  She shook her blond hair back. “I think you’re the madman.”

  “No, everything I’m doing is carefully planned. I’ve had many years to think about this.”

  “I think that’s the reason you’re mad,” she argued. “No sane person goes through all this over an old grudge. A sane man would finally forget it.”

  He turned his damaged face toward her. “Every time I look at my reflection in a stream or a barroom mirror, every time a woman backs away from me in horror or a little kid sees me and runs screaming, I remember.”

  “Are you saying Hurd did that to you? He wouldn’t do that.”

  He didn’t answer. She got up and walked over into a spot of shade under some trees, and he watched her with mixed feelings. It was getting more difficult to sleep near her at night and listen to her soft breathing without wanting to reach for her, take her, make her submit to him.

  Even now as he watched her profile with the delicate ivory of her fair skin and the soft rise of her breasts in the lace bodice of the blue calico dress, he felt his desire rise. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her eyes, her cheeks, her full, moist mouth. Then he wanted to rip off her dress, caress those fine breasts, and plunge into her, conquer her.

  She would scream and struggle if he did, and that made him wince. For a moment, he imagined her coming willingly into his embrace, returning his kisses, touching his lips with the tip of her tongue, pulling his dark head down to kiss her throat with his warm breath against her soft skin, and finally, helping him undo the pearl buttons of her bodice.

  He must not get emotionally involved with his captive because she belonged to his most bitter enemy, and Diablo hated her for that—hated that she couldn’t see what a cruel, evil bastard the rancher was. Once he figured out how to lure Kruger to his doom without an army of cowboys accompanying him, he could take the girl and make her his in the most primitive sense of the word. He shook his head. No, rape was a loathsome crime; he knew that because . . . he didn’t want to remember. Instead, he imagined a willing Sunny, her dress half torn away, begging him to take her again and again and again. Then he would torture Kruger and finally lynch him, leaving his body to swing in the wind and rot as Kruger had done to Diablo’s friends.

  He came back to the present and scowled at the girl, “You might as well take a nap or find something to do. Today isn’t the day he’ll come for you.”

  “And what are you going to do?” she flared. “Just sit upon this hill and stare into the sky?”

  “I am going to read a book,” he said, and reached for the small tattered volume under his blanket.

  “You can read?” she snorted. “That’s unusual for a cowboy.”

  He got a faraway look in his eyes. “Someone in Texas taught me.”

  “A woman?”

  “A woman.” He nodded and smiled faintly.

  “Was she your lover?”

  “Why would you want to know that?” He thought of Cimarron Durango, Trace’s wife who had helped saved his life and shown him the only kindness he had ever known. “She was more like a mother. In fact, her husband, Trace Durango, offered to give me their last name.”

  “Don’t you have one of your own?”

  “Not that I know of.” He thought of his white mother raped by a Santee warrior during the uprising and then killing herself because of the disgrace. The white family had dumped him on the Sioux. Neither white nor brown had wanted him.

  So Diablo read, and Sunny fidgeted and made her plans. She didn’t exactly know what the gunfighter’s intentions were, but she was uneasy about the intensity of his dark gaze when she caught him staring at her. Yet the killer intrigued her with his dark skin and scarred back. He was as lithe as a panther, and she had seen the broad shoulders and the rippling muscles under his shirt. Maybe she could seduce him into letting her go, although she wasn’t sure what it took to interest a man and she knew Hurd would be in a rage if she gave herself to this cold-blooded killer to buy her freedom. Or perhaps Hurd need never know what it had cost her.

  Hurd hadn’t been able to resc
ue her so far, and maybe he couldn’t. She might either have to seduce Diablo with her innocent body or find a way to escape and make her way back to the K Bar ranch. She clenched her small fists and smiled, thinking of the punishment Hurd would mete out to this half-breed. Then she could sit on the front row at a public hanging while the state of Wyoming meted out justice. She wanted Diablo to see her grinning up at him before the hangman opened the trap and left him kicking and gasping at the end of a rope.

  It was almost dusk that warm spring night as Diablo finally put down his book. “I shot a rabbit this morning. We can roast that for supper.”

  “All right. You know this is Saturday.”

  He shrugged. “So what?”

  “If you hadn’t kidnapped me, I’d be walking down the aisle to marry Hurd right now.”

  “So I saved you.” He actually chuckled as he got up and went to pick up sticks for the fire.

  Saved you. In a couple of hours, had Diablo not stolen her, she would be giving her virginity to a man old enough to be her father. She made a small face at the thought of his dyed gray hair and potbelly, then felt guilty. If Dad had asked with his dying breath that she marry his friend, who was she to question it? Hadn’t she always been an obedient and dutiful daughter? So therefore, she would make an obedient and dutiful wife, just like Hurd wanted.

  Diablo came back with the firewood and began skinning the fat rabbit. “Princess, you want to start some coffee?”

  “Sure.” As she got a bucket of water from the stream, she thought about scalding him with the kettle once she got it boiling, then decided he was too smart for that. As she made coffee, Diablo put the skillet on the fire and put some cut-up potatoes in it to fry. He put the rabbit on a sharp stick and hung it over the flames. The sizzling scent made her mouth water, and even Wolf licked his chops and whined.

  Diablo laughed and petted the dog. “You’ll get a bite, too.”

  They ate in silence, and then she cleaned up the tin plates without being asked.

  “You’d make a good ranch wife,” he said in an admiring tone.