Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (36 page)

“I will trap your cursed spirit forever!” the boy vowed through clenched teeth, hanging onto the loop like a small badger finally sinking its sharp teeth into its tormentor. The Comanche tried to cry out but the boy’s rawhide thong cut off his words, along with his breath, as Eagle’s Flight throttled him.

His uncle struggled, trying to get his fingers under the thongs, terror widening his eyes so that the whites showed around the dark pupils as he fought the boy.

Eagle’s Flight laughed deep in his throat. A Comanche feared death by choking or hanging as no other because it would leave a man’s spirit trapped in his dead body forever. It was what Eagle’s Flight wanted. Even if it cost him his life, the half-breed boy would have his vengeance for the agony they had inflicted on his mother.

Finally, the man gasped and died. Now the boy suddenly came to his senses, realizing he must get away! “I—I did it for you, Mother,” he sobbed. “Oh, Mother! Mother . . .”

He went over, knelt by her still body, dipped his fingers in the cooling pool of blood she lay in, and touched the tips to his forehead. Then he put his hand on her thin form. “I swear by all that’s in me, I won’t rest until I kill them all, including that cursed white man who abandoned you, Mother! Yes, someday I’ll find him, too, and I’ll kill him slowest of all, as only one raised by the Comanche knows how! Nothing will stand in the way of this sacred vow; not money, not love, not even the loss of my own life will stop me from extracting the blood they owe me!”

He gathered up his knife and crept out of the tepee into the darkness, tears blinding his gray eyes that were so like hers.
He must live to fight another day, he thought, knowing what
would
happen when the drunken braves found the dead warrior
. He wished he could bury his mother with dignity before he fled but there was no way to accomplish this. And after all, Annie Laurie McBride was past all pain, past caring now.

He almost made it to the horse herd without running across another brave. But another of his uncles stood there in the darkness between him and the herd, swaying drunkenly on his feet as he urinated. Moving silent as a spirit of death, Eagle’s Flight looped the rawhide over the man’s head before the drunken brave knew what had happened.

“This is for Annie,” he whispered fiercely as he pulled both ends tight. The Comanche was strong and he fought for his life, but the boy’s anger gave him strength beyond his years. The man managed to make only one small cry, but it was enough. He squatted and watched his oldest uncle, Pine da poi, Whip Owner, look up from the circle of braves who laughed and shouted, passing a bottle of the white man’s whiskey around.

Swaying drunkenly on his feet, Whip Owner grasped his cruel quirt with one hand, the hilt of his knife in the other as he walked out toward the pony herd to investigate. The other braves around the fire yelled coarse comments about going out to answer the call of nature, and they went back to singing and dancing around the drums that pounded out a rhythmic beat, drowning out everything as they shouted.

But the anger of the boy made him move prematurely in the brush, springing out from his crouch, and Whip Owner caught him across the face with the cruel quirt, leaving a trail of stinging fire. “You white whelp!” he snarled. “I should have killed you long ago but I kept thinking I could turn you into a Comanche warrior!”

“Never!” the boy shouted, and he dove in recklessly. Pine da poi pulled his knife. Moonlight reflected on its blade through the trees as he brought his arm back, but Eagle’s Flight grabbed a stick and swung it hard, knocking the blade from the other’s hand. They both reached for it in a silent struggle while the drunken warriors beat their drums and sang loudly over in the clearing, oblivious to the life-and-death battle being waged in the shadows of the trees.

His uncle smiled triumphantly as his big hand closed over the knife hilt. The boy threw up his hand to ward off the deadly blow and the blade glanced off, cutting a crooked slash to the bone across his left cheek.

His face felt on fire! Pine da poi laughed and staggered toward him drunkenly. “You have felt a wolf’s sharp fangs,” he said. “Now I finish the kill!”

But the boy tripped him and the man fell, struggling to get to his feet.

Those precious seconds had meant the difference between life and death to him, Maverick remembered now, listening to the drums outside, looking down at the fiery-haired girl nestled in the protection of his shoulder. He had wanted to stop to kill his uncle that night, count coup, but he could not spare the time as he fled for his life.

For weeks, the Comanche boy had starved and hung around the outskirts of white settlements, afraid to approach anyone, afraid they would not give him time to explain before they raised the alarm and shot him down.

Maverick smiled now, remembering. He had been a half-starved stray when the Triple D cowboys had cornered him in the Durango pasture. The hungry boy had killed a yearling steer, had cooked part of it, and was in the process of gobbling the meat ravenously when the roundup crew rode up, led by Trace Durango. That day the half-breed Comanche boy had closed the door on his past forever. Eagle’s Flight had chosen his own new name, Maverick, and became a cowhand on the giant ranching empire.

A few weeks later, the Great Outbreak of 1864 had come to a climax. Because of Maverick’s heroism, old Don Durango had adopted him as his second son, giving him his own last name. Trace, an expert with a pistol, had taught the growing boy to handle a gun almost as well as he did himself. But as the years passed, Maverick never forgot his vow of vengeance. He tracked down a third Comanche uncle and killed him. And during the Great Outbreak, he had finally come face to face with his most hated uncle, Pine da poi.

Maverick lay looking up at the interior of Wind Runner’s tepee, thinking with satisfaction of his uncle’s scalp hanging from Dust Devil’s bridle. The stallion had been Pine da poi’s own horse.

Maverick started as he heard a soft footstep outside. “Yes, who is it?” he asked softly in Comanche.

Little Fox entered. “Ah, yes, Pecos, isn’t it?”

Maverick nodded, motioning the warrior to a place by the fire. There was something sly and cunning in the insane eyes. The girl moved restlessly in her sleep, and without thinking, he reached out to stroke her as a woman does a frightened child, catching himself in time.

He looked at the other man. “You know that already,” he said curtly. “What is it you want?”

Little Fox looked over at the sleeping girl. “Do you not know what I want?”

Maverick felt the hair raise on the back of his neck as he pretended careless indifference. “You know the fire-haired one is a gift for my brother. If the great Quanah does not desire her, perhaps he might trade her away for a rifle or a good pony.”

Little Fox fingered the beaded necklace he wore. “White buffalo hunters raped and killed my little sister. And I live for nothing now but revenge.”

Maverick nodded in understanding. Had he not lived the same way for ten years, thinking of nothing, thirsting for nothing but vengeance? Would his quest finally drive him as insane as this warrior appeared to be? “So? What do you ask of Pecos?”

Little Fox laughed. “Pecos? I do not know who you really are, half-breed, but Quanah himself told me he is the last of his family, that both his father and brother are dead!”

Maverick tensed, ready to attack the other man if he gave a sudden alarm, but Little Fox only smiled and gestured him back down. “I’ll let the great chief deal with you as an imposter tomorrow when he rides in or maybe I could be persuaded to help you escape.”

Maverick felt sweat gather under his armpits, on his face. “What do you demand for helping us escape?”

The brave ran his tongue along his lip, looking with lustful eyes toward the sleeping girl. “Not
us,
you
.”

Maverick’s gaze followed the Indian’s hungry one, saw the way the warrior looked at the beauty snuggled down in the blanket. He didn’t have to ask. He knew by the man’s expression how he lusted after the flame-haired girl. Little Fox might help Maverick escape, but his words and expression made it clear what the price would be.
The girl
. Maverick took a deep breath, considering what to do next as he tried to appear disinterested.

What to do now.
His goal after all had been to track down Joe McBride, to kill him, and he had enough information now that he could find the Lazy M Ranch without the girl’s help. It would add to his revenge to be able to tell the rancher what had happened to Joe’s beloved daughter just before he killed McBride. Yes, it would be a fitting retribution; McBride’s darling Cayenne a slave of the Comanche, being raped and mistreated as Annie had been.
An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. . . .

Cayenne sighed and rolled over toward them in her sleep, exposing one of her beautiful breasts. Maverick had to grit his teeth to keep from slamming his fist in the Indian’s face at the way the crazed savage looked at her.
She’s mine, he thought,
she’s mine
!

He tried to remember that he should want to see her raped and hurt. But all he could think of was that he’d die before he’d let another man touch her.

Cayenne’s eyes flickered open. Maverick saw the sudden fear in them as she looked at Little Fox, then she saw Maverick and smiled gently.

Little Fox chuckled. “The woman trusts you, cares for you,” he said in Comanche.

Maverick nodded, realizing suddenly that it was true. “She is only a woman,” he said in Comanche, pretending indifference, “and my slave. I think I will take your offer—my life in exchange for the woman.” With his eyes, he tried to tell Cayenne what was happening, that she must trust him in this.

Little Fox stood up, running his hand over his swelling manhood. “I thought you would accept. So I’ve left your horses saddled in the big herd at the end of the canyon.”

Maverick stood up too. “Why would you saddle two horses?”

Little Fox’s gaze fastened on the frightened girl on the blanket as he stood towering over her. “It will need to look like you both planned to escape. If there is only the one saddled horse, someone might realize that a deal had been struck.”

Silent as a shadow, Maverick’s hand went to his gun belt, feeling for the rawhide thong there. He dared not fire a shot. To do so would alert the whole camp. He didn’t trust Little Fox. Probably up in the rocks was one of the other’s braves, waiting to pick Maverick off when he tried to ride out. That way, Little Fox not only got the girl but the big gray stallion as well, as war honors for having stopped the imposter’s escape when Quanah rode in tomorrow and Maverick’s deception was uncovered.

Cayenne was going to have to help him on this. He knew Little Fox spoke a little English, so there was no way to warn her except hope she trusted him enough to play along. “Woman,” he said in English, “my ruse is uncovered and Little Fox offers me a chance to escape with my life.”

The emerald-green eyes widened. “What must we do?”

Maverick laughed, “I am lucky that he hungers for you, white squaw! He’ll take you in exchange for my escape!”

Cayenne gasped, looking from one to the other. For a long moment, Maverick was afraid her fiery temper would jeopardize his whole plan. “Why, you yellow Yankee! You’re gonna ride out and leave me?”

Little Fox slowly uncovered his turgid manhood. “I’ll see that you don’t miss him, white bitch! I’ve thought of nothing else but mounting you since I rode into camp and saw you! And if you please me enough, I won’t add your hair to my war lance!” He moved slowly toward her while she cowered against the blanket.

Maverick caught her gaze. Trust me, he tried to tell her with his gray eyes.
Trust me, Cee Cee,
I’ll
l
ook out for you.

She hesitated, staring back at him across the other man’s shoulder. And then she seemed to believe what he was trying to tell her with his eyes. “Well, if the great Little Fox wants me, perhaps I should be flattered. . . .” She opened her shirt so that her fine, white breasts showed, ran her hands down her rose-tipped nipples.

Maverick watched her smile invitingly at the brave, shaking her flame-colored hair back. He had to fight to stop himself from grabbing the warrior as he dropped to his knees before the girl, reached out, and ran one dark hand across her soft breasts.

Little Fox laughed as he pawed her creamy skin. “I’ll enjoy you night after night,” he muttered thickly, licking his lips. “And I’ll see if I can hurt you enough to make you scream and beg as my sister must have screamed and begged, as that black-haired white woman cried and begged as I tortured her.”

Molly.
He was talking about
Molly.
Maverick fought to control himself as he stood quietly behind the warrior, who had eyes only for the beautiful, half-naked girl cringing before him.

Maverick’s gaze caught Cayenne’s and she seemed to understand.
Trust me, baby,
he said with his eyes.
Trust
me.

Cayenne smiled invitingly at the warrior, though Maverick saw her lips tremble. “Perhaps I would enjoy being your woman,” she said, slowly holding her arms out to him.

Little Fox’s small features spread into a twisted grin as he grabbed the girl, ran his hands over her flesh. “I’ll make you know you’d been mated by a stallion!” He breathed heavily, pawing at her as he threw her down, his hands running across her creamy skin, his attention on her as she smiled invitingly at him.

That was all Maverick needed. Soft as a sigh, he stepped behind the warrior, looped the rawhide over his head, and jerked both ends tight. The brave gasped, clawing at his throat, trying vainly to get his fingers under the thong. “Aaa-hey!” Maverick snarled in Comanche.
I claim
this coup.
He reached for his scalping knife.

Cayenne jumped to her feet, watching the struggle. “Come on, Maverick, let’s go!”