Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (41 page)

Somewhere in the distance, she heard the crack of a whip, the noise of the stage rattling along the road toward town.

The man with the gun in her back laughed under his breath. “Here it comes after all! I was beginnin’ to think we’d been lied to. Is there anybody with you?”

“No.” She must protect the children, must protect Maverick. He’d been right after all about an ambush in the shadows.

She heard the stage rolling along at the edge of town now, the whip cracking, the driver yelling at the horses.

The man pulled her up against him so that she felt the heat of him all the way down her back and buttocks. “Honey, you feel real good to me,” he whispered against her ear. “Now you just keep quiet, you hear? Slade and the Mex should be coming in from the Lazy M any time now. We’ll catch this stage unawares as they stop to change teams, get away with the gold.”

So this must be Trask, the third man in Lynnie’s letter.
Robbery
.
They were going to rob the Austin stage
. Here she’d expected to have Maverick confront the trio out at the ranch, and instead, there was going to be a showdown on a deserted Main Street.

The man nuzzled the back of her neck. “Honey, I just love that scent you’re wearin’. How’d you like to go with us when we ride out?”

She was so stiff with fright that her body couldn’t bend to fit the contours of his as he pulled her up against him. She felt his maleness harden with desire as he rubbed it against her hips. “I . . . why don’t we go now? I don’t want to see the children get caught in any cross fire.”

“Why do you think I got that buggy parked there?” He laughed, rubbing his unshaven face against her neck, and she winced from the sting of his whiskers against her delicate skin. “Now you must behave yourself until the stage pulls in. It’s really lucky you happened along. We’ll walk out there casuallike, as if we was going to board, and the guard won’t be suspicious of a couple of sweethearts.”

He glanced up at the setting sun. “The stage is a mite late and so are my pards. Slade and the Mex should be in place by now.”

Maverick had sensed a trap and had ridden Dust Devil behind a building, out of harm’s way. Now he tiptoed quiet as his Comanche ancestors through the alley. He wished there were some way he could move that buggy. If there was going to be trouble, he didn’t want it caught in the cross fire. The black hair along his neck went up in a prickle of warning that had saved his life many times.
Now just where had Cayenne gone off to?

She wasn’t anywhere in sight. He heard a noise, looked off, and saw the Austin stage rolling in toward town. By damn, what was going on? He took a deep breath.

Maverick had spent the first half of his life among the Indians and all his senses were keener than white men’s. He hesitated, took another breath. Vanilla. He almost smiled. She was somewhere close by, all right. He heard a sound he couldn’t identify. It sounded almost like a man dragging a lame foot. Maverick crouched against the hardware store, listening to the stage roll down Main Street. It was strange as hell for the stage to be rolling in and only one man coming out the front door of the saloon to meet it.

He turned and crept quietly around the building. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Cayenne stood in a man’s embrace, her back to him while he nuzzled along her neck. She had said she loved him, but what was going on here? He had the most terrible surge of jealousy, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since the night Annie died in his arms. And then he saw the last dying rays of sunlight reflect off the gun barrel.

He stepped out, cocked his own. “Step away from her or you’re a dead man!”

If she had been any other woman, she would probably have frozen in place, immobilized by fear
, Maverick thought with admiration. But as he watched, the peppery little redhead slammed her elbow into the man’s soft middle. As he bent with a moan, stumbling backward, she hit the ground. “Now, Maverick! Now!”

Maverick fired at the same time Trask did. Trask’s bullet went wild, hitting the man who had just left the saloon. But Maverick’s bullet found its mark. The shot echoed and reechoed through the shadows of the empty streets as the man screamed, grabbed his chest, and stumbled backward.

When he went down on his back, Maverick holstered his pistol, strode over, and kicked the gun from the dead hand. A look of surprise froze forever on the dead face, the eyes staring straight into hell. Blood spread slowly across the dirty shirt.

“Maverick! Maverick!” She fell into his arms, weeping, and he held her against him, kissing her hair.

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I was so scared! The kids’ll be afraid! What happens now?”

“If the other gunfighters were in town, they would have showed themselves by now just as the citizens are.” He nodded toward curious faces peeking out of surrounding buildings, upstairs windows. “That means they’re out there with your dad. I’ll have to corner them there.”

“Oh, dearest, I’m so afraid for you!”

He kissed the tears off her face, and she turned to see the stage driver climbing off the seat, bending down to look at the fallen man.

“Who is this?” the driver shouted.

“Banker Ogle!” Someone said, “That wild shot got banker Ogle!”

“Baby,” Maverick said, “you haven’t changed your mind about leavin’ with me; no lookin’ back, no questions asked?”

“Oh, no! No!” She kissed him feverishly.

“Then wait here for me, baby, go look after those kids!” He thrust her away from him and mounted, trying not to look at the little red-haired girls staring up at him from the buggy as he rode right past them, setting out on the road south to the Lazy M.
He would take care of things, all right,
he thought grimly. Sure, he’d finish off those other two, but he still had a vow to fulfill to Annie, the one he’d made when he was fourteen years old . . . the night he killed her.

An eye for an eye
, he thought with fury, trying not to hear the children talking excitedly to Cayenne. He was going to make orphans of them all, come back and carry off his woman; gamble that he could take her far enough away that she’d never hear what happened, never know Joe’s blood stained Maverick’s hands.

He urged Dust Devil into a lope and didn’t look back at the curious people coming out into the street behind him as he rode toward the Lazy M to finish his quest.

Joe put his hand against the rough stone of the fireplace. Cicadas began their rhythmic hum outside as they always did as dusk settled in. He felt suddenly hungry, remembered he had forgotten about dinner. Rosita had said something about leaving a plate of cold chicken on the long oak table. He should leave the parlor, go into the dining room. . . .

He heard a sound, a man crossing the barnyard leading a horse. He had thought Slade’s bunch had already left. Joe puzzled about it, listened without moving. He heard the creak of the squeaky porch, the jingle of spurs as if the owner moved stealthily. His heart started to pound faster as if it sensed danger. “Bill?”

“Sure, it’s me.” Joe didn’t turn around as he heard the man enter the room behind him. Why did he sound so tense, so nervous? “Just wanted to say good-bye to an old buddy,” Slade said. “We’re pullin’ out now. Maybe we’ll meet again some time.”

“Sure.” He wondered if Hank Billings had gotten the Rangers, if there’d be a showdown in town? But he dare not let on to anything.

There was a shout outside the window. “Hey, Bill,” Mex yelled, “there’s a rider comin’!”

Slade swore loudly and crossed to the window, his spurs jangling as he moved. “What the devil?”

Joe was careful to make no sudden movement as he heard Bill rustle the curtain back from the window.

“Mex,” Slade yelled, “what’s he looks like?”

“Dark,” Mex called in a hoarse whisper from outside near the corral, “and ridin’ the biggest gray horse you ever saw! I’ll get him!”

Joe started but he didn’t move. He knew who it was and why he was coming. His heart pumped rapidly but he didn’t move as he heard Slade click back the trigger behind him.

A gunshot echoed and reechoed suddenly from the corral and Slade swore again, “Damned greaser! Shoulda waited! Now the stranger knows he’s there!”

Joe stood stock still, listening. A pistol shot rang out and he heard Mex scream.

“Dammit!” Slade swore from the window. “Don’t know who he is, but he’s a damned good shot! He got Mex!” Then he laughed a little in his throat. “That’s okay, though; one less to divvy up with. Maybe Trask can handle that stage ’til I get there! Almost dark, can’t get a good shot from here, but looks like he’s comin’ to the house! I’ll nail him when he comes up on the porch!”

Joe listened to him pull back the hammer, laughing a little under his breath. He almost felt a sense of relief. Annie’s boy had come to kill him but Slade was going to ambush the boy first. Then he felt ashamed to be so relieved. But oh, dear God, life was so sweet! If he did nothing at all, Slade would kill Maverick and Joe could quit worrying about having that vengeful ghost from the past continually stalking him.

All he had to do was stay very quiet while the unsuspecting boy walked up on the porch and Slade ambushed him through the open parlor window. And yet . . . this was Annie’s boy. Could he stand by and let Slade kill him in cold blood without raising a hand to stop him, even if his own life were at stake?

His decision was the measure of the man. He listened to Slade grumbling softly under his breath, brushing against the curtains, heard the boy dismount outside. Very slowly, so that Slade wouldn’t notice, Joe’s crippled hands reached up for the ten-gauge double-barreled shotgun that hung low over the fireplace. And it was always kept loaded with deadly buckshot. His hands clenched on the weapon with difficulty, lifting it from its rack.

Disabled as he was, Joe couldn’t stand by and let Slade kill the boy without making an attempt to stop him. He had the old, familiar gun in his hands now. He’d have to whirl and fire quickly. Once Slade realized what he was up to, Joe’d never get another chance.

His hands trembled as he clutched the shotgun, listening to the boy dismount, start up the creaking steps.

“Bill!” Joe shouted, and in one motion, he whirled and pulled the trigger.

The sound exploded in the darkness, the gun recoiling in his hands. Slade swore as the buckshot hit him, screaming in agony as he went down, twisting and kicking.
A hole big enough to put your fist in
, Joe thought,
the old double-barrel always blew a hole big enough to put your fist in
.

“. . . sonovabitch!” Slade groaned, “you tricky old sonovabitch! How’d you know I’d really come in here to kill you . . . steal that fancy rifle? Should never have underestimated you. . . .”

Joe stood there with the shotgun hot in his hands, smelling the fresh blood, the acrid powder. Uncertainly, he turned back toward the fireplace as he heard the clatter of boots on the porch, heard Maverick come through the squeaky screen. What did he do now? He still had one barrel. Could he let the boy kill him when Joe had the advantage of the wide pattern of that shotgun?

Cayenne ran out to meet the stage, her little sisters gathering around, people running from businesses and homes as the alarm was raised. “Thank God! There’s been trouble!” She shouted to the driver, “They were going to rob you!”

The driver and the guard looked from banker Ogle’s body to her. “What’s going on here?”

She started to explain even as a dignified, white-haired old Spaniard thrust his head out the stage window. “
Senorita
, what’s happened?”

“They were going to rob the stage,” she yelled over the hubbub as the old man opened the door and stepped down, followed by the gray-haired Mexican with the crippled hand. She suddenly recognized Maverick’s chief
vaquero
. “Sanchez, what are you doing here?”

“
Senorita
Cayenne!” he said, grasping her hands. “Have we come in time?”

She heard shouts off to the east and saw the Billings boy coming in at a gallop over the crest of a butte.
Were those Texas Rangers with him
?

Sanchez’s words penetrated her consciousness as she looked back at him. “In time for what? I don’t think I understand. . . .”

“Are you Cayenne McBride?” The dignified old man faced her. “Thank God I’m in time! Where’s Maverick? I’m
Senor
Durango!”

“
Senor
Durango?”
Why on earth would these two be so far from home
? “Why, he’s gone out to the ranch,” she gestured south in the growing twilight, “gone to see about my father!”

“
Dios
!” Sanchez groaned, pulling at his mustache.

The Don grabbed her arm and she was suddenly alarmed at the horror in his eyes. “How long ago did he ride out? We’ve got to overtake him!”

She felt a chill start at her feet, move slowly up her legs. “Why? He’s about ten minutes ahead of us. There’s a couple of gunfighters on my father’s ranch he’s gone out to deal with.”

The Don barked orders. “No time to lose! We’ve got to get out there and hope we’re not too late! You have a horse? Is there one for me? Sanchez, take charge of these children!”

Cayenne had a sudden growing apprehension. She could only point wordlessly to Strawberry and Trask’s dun. “What’s this all about?”

“No time to talk.” The Don grabbed her arm, propelling her along with a brisk step that belied his age.

Sanchez yelled, “Diego, you’re not supposed to ride-”

The old man swore in Spanish. “I’m still the Don of the Triple D and I’m tired of being treated like a sick baby! There’s man’s work to do!”

Cayenne mounted and watched him swing up on the dun. “
Senor
, can’t you tell me—?”

“Did Maverick ever say anything about revenge? About hunting a man down and killing him?”

“My stars, yes,” she stammered. “Something about a low-down varmint who abandoned his mother to the Indians, but—”

“
Senorita”
—the old man looked at her a long moment—“the man Maverick’s searched for all these years, the man he seeks vengeance against is your father! And I guess it’s a toss-up as to who will die, since they’re so evenly matched!”