Diablo

by Georgina Gentry

  Hurd swore under his breath. “Idiots likely to skip the obvious. Let’s take a ride up there and look around.”

  One of his men mumbled, “Mr. Kruger, those hills are pretty steep, and there’s snow and ice farther up. It’s nearin’ late afternoon now. It’ll be at least dusk by the time we get into the foothills. We might get caught up there in the dark.”

  “So what?” Hurd snapped. “We can’t miss a single hiding place.”

  He heard more complaining behind him about being hungry and the horses needing water.

  The Lazy C cowhand said, “I need to get back to my own ranch.”

  “Then go and be damned,” Hurd slapped his quirt against his saddle. “The rest of us will look around through the hills.”

  They started off, his men grousing under their breaths, the horses snorting and lathered. Everyone needed rest and food and water, but Hurd decided they’d just have to manage without. He didn’t give a damn if they got caught up on treacherous steep trails after the sun set. Any danger was worth it if he could save his beloved.

  “Boss,” Joe cleared his throat, “you know there’re some steep turns and loose gravel trails up there. We oughta wait and start tomorrow.”

  “No!” Hurd snapped and stared stonily ahead as they rode.

  Joe tried again. “We get caught up in those hills, some of these tired horses might lose their footing and it can be a steep drop—a killer. Besides, everyone says those hills are haunted by Injuns white men murdered.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Hurd kept riding. “Any man who doesn’t want to go with me can draw his pay and get off my ranch before sundown.”

  More muttering. Jobs were hard to find right now.

  “All right,” Hurd turned in his saddle and looked behind him. “So we’re agreed?”

  The men nodded in hostile silence and followed him.

  Diablo, keeping his watch from a big boulder, noticed the snakelike line of riders heading toward the hills. He jumped down and strode over to the girl, who had just crawled out of the cave, yawning. “Change of plans: I’ve got to hide you.”

  “Why?” She yawned again.

  “Never mind.” He was already leading the horses deep into the cave and scattering his campfire.

  “But—”

  “No time to explain,” he said and grabbed her, whirled her around, tied her hands behind her with a rawhide thong. Then he took off his bandana and said, “Open your mouth.”

  “Why—” She didn’t get to finish because he stuffed the handkerchief into her open mouth. She struggled to spit it out, but she couldn’t.

  Now he picked her up and carried her into the cave. She was only too aware of his hand on her, and she remembered she wore no drawers. She was naked under his oversized shirt.

  He lay her down on a blanket in the cave, and she struggled.

  “Be quiet!” he ordered. “Wolf will keep you company.”

  He ordered the dog to stay with her, turned and left.

  How dare he? She struggled to untie her hands or spit out the bandana, but it was no use. There must be someone coming.

  Outside, Diablo quickly brushed out all the tracks and piled brush against the cave opening so it was invisible. Then he took Hurd’s prize rifle and climbed back up on his boulder. It would be dark soon, and in his black clothing, they might not see him. He hunkered down and waited for the riders.

  They came single file up the trail like ants. Diablo made sure the Winchester was fully loaded; then he sat and waited.

  They were close enough now that he could see the leaders. He gritted his teeth in anger as he recognized Kruger in the lead on his sorrel horse, followed by the weasel-like Joe on a white one and a bunch of cowhands. Kruger hadn’t changed much in fifteen years except he was heavier and had more lines in his beefy face.

  Diablo could easily pick the front-runners off with his rifle. It was tempting, but he had waited too long for his vengeance and he didn’t intend to let his torturers off so easily as a quick, clean death.

  The men were almost to the campsite now, riding slowly, and by the expressions on some of the faces, they were none too happy to be here. It would be dark soon, and these hills were steep and dangerous to ride at night if you were unfamiliar with the terrain.

  He held his breath and watched them ride closer. There were too many of them. He couldn’t get them all if they spotted him, but he’d get the first two and that was all that mattered to him. Now they were riding almost below his boulder. If anyone had glanced up, they might have seen him, but no one looked up—every eye was staring around at the trees or the trail ahead. As he watched, the line of riders rode slowly past him and snaked through the hills going away. He watched them go until they had disappeared into the dusk of the night, and then he sighed and climbed down. They would not get out of these hills before dark, and then some of them might not make it down at all.

  He pulled the brush away from the mouth of the cave and went inside. Wolf wagged his tail. The girl twisted and seemed to be cursing at him, but of course, her words were muffled. He picked her up and took her outside, sat her down by the fire. Then he led the horses out and staked them under some trees to graze.

  She seemed to be screaming at him behind the gag. He stopped and took it out. “Be quiet, can’t you?”

  “How dare you?” she seethed. “What was that all about?”

  “Your bridegroom just led a search party through here, but he’s gone now.”

  “What?” She tried to get to her feet and run up the path, but Diablo reached out and grabbed her. She started to scream, but he clapped his hand over her mouth and they struggled until she bit his fingers.

  “Damn,” he muttered, “you’re worse than a coyote bitch.”

  “They were here, and you didn’t shoot at them? Why not?”

  He shrugged as he untied her. “He isn’t going to die that easily.”

  “You’re a cruel, hard killer.” She glared at him.

  “I am that.” He nodded. “Now let’s cook some beef and eat.”

  “Where’d you get beef ?”

  He grinned at her. “Courtesy of your bridegroom.”

  “They string up rustlers in these parts,” she said.

  He frowned. “I know that better than you.”

  Darkness fell over the foothills like a shroud while she went about cooking the steaks and frying some potatoes.

  In the distance, she thought she heard a long, terrified shriek. “What was that?”

  “Sounds like someone missed a turn in the trail,” he said and reached for the coffee. “This is a deadly place to be in the darkness if you don’t know the trail.”

  “White people seldom come up into the foothills,” she said. “There’s an old superstition that it’s haunted by Indian ghosts.”

  He nodded as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I can believe that. Kruger’s riders who do manage the trails won’t be home until morning, and they’ll be so weary and scared, it may take a while to get over it.”

  She started to say something, then decided against it.

  They ate in the dim glow of the fire, and then he leaned back against the rocks, staring into the flames while the dog gobbled the leftovers.

  “I’m not used to having anyone to share my fire with,” he said, patting the dog. “You cook good.” He almost seemed to smile at her, and she took a long look at him. He would have been a handsome man if it were not for the scars on his face.

  “Who did that to you?” she asked impulsively.

  Now he scowled, and the spell was broken. “I told you, Kruger and his boys. That wasn’t the worse thing.”

  “I don’t believe you. Hurd wouldn’t do that.”

  “He’s been slaughterin’ farmers and nesters for the last few days; what’s one half-breed kid to a mean bastard like that?”

  She didn’t answer, and he stuck an unlit cigarillo in his mouth, petted the dog, and stared at her.

  He was a strange man, she thought
, almost warm and vulnerable at times, at others, a taciturn and deadly killer.

  She was abruptly aware that she wore only his black shirt and nothing underneath. “I—I think I’ll put on that dress you got out of my house.”

  “Let me get it out of my saddlebags.”

  “I can get it.”

  “No,” he stood up. “I’ll get it.”

  She watched him walk over to where his saddle lay inside the cave. Was there something in those saddlebags he didn’t want her to see?

  He tossed the pink dress to her.

  “I feel dirty,” she said as she caught it, “I’d like to take a bath.”

  “It’s turning pretty cold, but there’s soap and a towel over by the stream if you want it.”

  She walked over to the stream and hesitated, pulled off his black shirt, dipped a toe into the water. He was right: it was cold.

  Behind her, Diablo moved so that he could see the bare outline of her naked body as she waded out into the creek and splashed water on herself. There was just enough starlight to silhouette her, and he marveled again at how beautiful and ivory her skin was. He had an urge to pick her up, naked and wet from the water, bring her back to the fire, lay her on a blanket, and make passionate love to her. If she belonged to him, he’d fight an army to keep her, do anything to gain her love.

  Of course she did not belong to him and never would. He sighed at the thought, then yelled, “Aren’t you gettin’ cold? You’d better come back to the fire.”

  She came back in a few minutes wearing the pink gingham dress and carrying her little shoes. “You’re right. The water’s cold.” She sat down by the fire.

  She still smelled faintly of lilacs. He looked at her. Her damp yellow hair hung in ringlets, and drops of water clung to the rise of her fine breasts in the low, pink bodice. She put her arms around herself and wiggled her toes. She had tiny feet.

  “Are you still cold?” he asked.

  Sunny studied him. He was wearing his pistol, and the rifle was leaned up against a log on the other side of the fire. If she could get close enough to him, she could grab that pistol. “I’m a bit cold.” She put on her shoes.

  “I can get you a blanket out of the cave.” He started to get up.

  “That’s okay.” She smiled again as she gestured him to keep his seat. She got up, moved closer to the fire, and then scooted over close to him. “I think this boulder breaks the wind.”

  She leaned against him, and he put his arm around her, pulled her closer. He sighed as if content, and she leaned back, liking the feel of his big arm around her shoulders. The dog settled down near them, and for a moment, all three enjoyed the crackle and warmth of the fire. “You’re not used to having anyone at all, are you?” she whispered.

  “No.” He looked down at her. “I reckon I could get used to it, though.” He snorted and looked away. “Who are we kidding? I’m a loner and always will be.”

  “That’s sad,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

  Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then she felt him kiss the top of her head very gently. “If things were different . . .” he whispered, but didn’t finish.

  His pistol was in the holster on his right side, and she was on his right side. She turned ever so slightly and looked up at him. If she could get his pistol, she could hold him at bay until she could mount up and escape. She was an old hand at riding bareback with nothing but a halter to guide the horse.

  He looked down into her eyes, and she let her lips part and her eyes close, knowing he would kiss her.

  He did, so gently and so slowly that she was surprised, and she leaned into him so he could kiss her deeper still. He held her so tightly she could feel the pistol pressing into her side. Now he kissed her face, her eyes, his lips caressing her. His mouth moved down her neck ever so gently until his lips were brushing the rise of her breasts.

  “Sunny,” he whispered, “Oh, Sunny . . . .”

  At that moment, she grabbed for the pistol. He seemed caught by surprise, and he cursed as they struggled for the Colt. “Why, you conniving little bitch!”

  They fought for the weapon, but he was stronger and she knew that any second, he would twist it from her grasp. She was determined that she was not going to let him take it. At that moment, the pistol went off, the sound like thunder in her ears. She smelled burning powder and felt him jerk as he fell backward, a wet, scarlet stain spreading across his side. His brown hand released the weapon very slowly, and he lay there on his back, looking up at her and gasping. “You bitch!” he breathed, “I should have known better than let my guard down.”

  She stood up, still holding the pistol, but shaking as she stumbled backward. “Oh, my God!”

  He lay there, trying to hold in his scarlet blood with his hands while it ran down his fingers. “Go ahead, finish me off—don’t leave me to die slow.”

  She tossed the gun away and knelt by him. “Honest, I didn’t mean to shoot you; I was only trying to escape.”

  “So now you can,” he coughed.

  Quickly, she assessed the damage. It looked like the bullet had gone clear through, but she couldn’t be sure it hadn’t hit a vital organ. He might die.

  She stood up, trying to decide what to do. He looked up at her, gasping and evidently in pain, but he didn’t beg for help or for mercy. He was proud, and his expression was one of disappointment at her betrayal. “I never trusted anyone before,” he gasped, “and you’re just like the others. . . .”

  Oh, God, what had she done? She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She stumbled backward, still staring in horror at the wounded man. She needed money. “Do you have any cash?”

  “You’re—you’re gonna rob me, too?”

  “Money!” she demanded; then she thought he might have some in his pockets. She knelt and felt through his shirt pockets, found a few coins.

  He grabbed her hand, but he was too weak to hang on to her. “I—I trusted you,” he gasped.

  She stumbled backward, horrified at his blood on her hand. “I’ll be back!” she promised and ran for Onyx.

  “Sure you will!” he muttered behind her.

  She didn’t have time to argue. She was a little afraid of the black stallion, but she knew he was the fastest horse and time mattered. She swung up on the big horse bareback and rode away into the night. The dog ran along beside her. She wasn’t sure where she was or which way to go. Then she noted that it was a clear night, and her father had taught her how to find directions by the stars.

  Should she try to find the riders who were even now on the backside of the hills? She shook her head. Even if she could find them, Hurd would show no mercy to her kidnapper, she was sure of it. Not that she blamed him for his righteous anger, but it seemed wrong to hang or shoot a wounded man.

  Out on the prairie, she reined in once to look around and get her bearings. She knew where she was now. Diablo lay helpless up by the cave and couldn’t chase her. All she had to do was ride to Hurd’s ranch, and she would be safe and Diablo would slowly bleed to death. She wouldn’t have to feel guilty about Hurd riding up to kill him. Well, that was all Diablo deserved. She hesitated a long moment, trying to make a decision. Diablo expected her to desert him, leave him to die because he trusted no one, but in a moment of weakness toward her, he had let her get close enough to grab his pistol.

  She had to get him some help. She didn’t dare ride into the town of Krugerville. Everyone there would recognize her. But the town of Wildfire was just a few miles to the east. She’d only been there once or twice so no one would know her, and she remembered the tiny town had a pharmacy.

  She turned east, the dog trailing along with her. It seemed like she rode for hours before the shadows of the dark buildings lay ahead of her, and she rode across the railroad tracks and down the main street. It must be late, but she had no way of knowing the time. She knew a train came through at midnight, but the railroad station and the whole town seemed to be asleep. The phar
macy was dark, but there was a light on in the living quarters above. She tied up her horse and threw gravel against the upstairs window. No response. Again she threw gravel. A man with tousled gray hair pushed up the window and leaned out. “What do you want?”

  “I need some medicine.”

  “I’m closed. Can’t you come back in the morning?”

  “No, I need it now.”

  “All right. I’ll be down.” Still fussing, he closed the window.

  In a moment, through the front window, she could see him coming down the stairs in his nightshirt, pulling up his pants as he came. He carried a lamp as he walked to the door and unlocked it. “Awful dark for a young lady to be out.”

  “Never mind that, I need some stuff.” She pushed past him and into the pharmacy. It smelled faintly of dust and strong medicines.

  He sighed and set the lamp on the counter. “What do you need?”

  “Some kind of medicine for wounds and some bandages.”

  “Oh?” He looked curious as he busied himself getting things off the shelves, but she didn’t explain.

  “You live around here?” he asked as he totaled up the purchases and ran his hand through his unkempt hair.

  “Um, yes,” she said. “How much do I owe you?”

  He handed her the sack and the bill.

  She ignored his curious stare as she paid him and took the sack. “Thank you very much.” She turned and left the store, mounted up, and rode out. In the distance, she heard the lonesome wail of a train whistle as the locomotive chugged toward Wildfire. It must be near midnight then, but she’d be lost in the depths of the night before the train came through town. She headed toward the foothills.

  The storekeeper had followed the mysterious girl in the pink dress to the door and locked it behind her, grumbling to himself. “Could have come in during business hours, but no, got to get me when I’m headed for bed. Homer Bledsoe, you’re an old softie.” He yawned and returned to get his lamp, stumbled up the stairs. “Wonder if she was from around here? Seemed familiar, somehow.”