Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (43 page)

She looked at him. “You’re riding out then? Where are you going?”

He shrugged, his shoulders slumped. “Who knows? Who cares? Become a saddle tramp, I reckon. I don’t suppose the old Don would want me back on the Triple D after this. I’m good with a gun. There’s lots of people who’d hire a man good with a pistol.” He sighed. “Good-bye, Cee Cee. I’m sorry for what I’ve done; it was rotten. Forgive me.”

She reached out and caught his arm. “Maverick, wait.”

“Why?” He turned back to her, his expression sad, lost, as if wondering what she wanted.

How much did she love him? More than anything in this world!

“You asked me once if I was willing to turn my back on everything I care about, ride out with you. I’ll still do that, Maverick.”

He stared at her, unbelieving. “The life of a gunfighter is hard, baby, too hard for a girl like you. You belong on the Lazy M. I couldn’t ask you to make a sacrifice like that; not for me.”

“If you leave here, I’m going with you,” she said stubbornly. And as she had done that very first time, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed his lips.

For a moment, he stood as if startled, stiff in her embrace as she kissed him. She didn’t take her arms from around his neck as she looked up into the surprised gray eyes. “Now you’re supposed to say, ’No, Cayenne, here’s how it’s done,’ and then you kiss me back!”

For a long moment, he looked down at her as if he couldn’t believe the way she was looking up at him, then he swept her up off her feet, kissing her over and over, “Cayenne! Oh, Cayenne!”

His tears streaked her face as he kissed her and her own eyes were not dry as she clung to him. “Maverick, I love you! You can’t leave! You can’t leave! We need you too much!”

“But your Papa—”

“He’s the one who sent me out,” she whispered, kissing him again.

Past his shoulder, she saw the buggy pulling into the barnyard, and as they embraced, her little sisters tumbled over each other to get to her like a litter of playful puppies. “What’s happening? Cee Cee, what’s happening?”

Cayenne didn’t take her eyes off his face as she clung to Maverick’s still-trembling body. He had a lot of scars on his heart and soul to erase but she had all the time in the world to do it. Finally, she looked down into Lynnie’s serious little face. “Nothing’s happening, except I’m kissing my sweetheart.”

Lynnie regarded them a long moment. Then she looked at Maverick. “Are you the one in the letter who’s going to marry my sister?”

Cayenne flushed with embarrassment. “My stars, Lynnie, that wasn’t a proper question. . . .”

“I damned sure am if she’ll have me!” Maverick faced the little girls with a wide grin.

Stevie twiddled with an untidy pigtail. “You’d better stop sayin’
damn
if you intend to be part of this family,” she admonished primly.

Cayenne’s eyes filled again as she watched Maverick reach out and rumple the child’s red hair. “I’ll bet all you kids are just like your big sister—bossy and stubborn!”

Cayenne’s mouth dropped open. “Why, you Yankee lover, you! Who’s bossy and stubborn?”

He pulled her to him. “Hush up and let me kiss you again. I came so close to losin’ you, baby; thought I was about to ride out and never see you again. . . .”

“I know, dearest,” she whispered as she clung to him, awed by the scariness of how close they’d come to losing each other.

“. . . and they lived happily ever after,” Maverick whispered against her ear as his lips caressed there.

“What?”

He shrugged. “My mother told me all the best stories of the white people begin with ’Once upon a time’ and end with ’. . . and they lived happily ever after.’ ”

“And so they do, Maverick,” she murmured, kissing him again. “And so they do!”

Captain “Swen” Swenson of the Texas Rangers swung back up on his horse and looked around at the citizens of McBride. “It’s all over,” he shouted. “You folks can go back to your homes and I’ll go out to the Lazy M.”

He glanced at the wire he’d just received from St. Joe, crumpled it, and stuffed it in his pocket. Joe McBride had been on his conscience a long time now and Swen might as well take care of it all at once.

As he rode out of town south into the purple haze of dusk, the undertaker’s men were already picking up the bodies of that outlaw, Trask, and the banker, Ogle. Old Sanchez from the Triple D had volunteered to help Joe’s cook and ranch hand get the buggy full of McBride children back to the ranch and they had already headed out ahead of Swen.

It was dark when Swen rode into the barnyard of the Lazy M and saw a swarthy man lying crumpled by the water trough as if he’d been waiting in ambush when he was killed. The Ranger’s heart beat a little faster as he thought of the defenseless man he’d come to see.

“Joe? Joe McBride, are you here?” he called as he dismounted in front of the big, rambling ranch house. Only then did he see the silhouette of a man and woman standing in the moonlight out under the old chinaberry tree with all the little McBride sisters watching them. But that pair was kissing and never looked up.

Joe McBride came out on the long porch with an older man as Swen went up the creaky steps. “That you, Swenson?”

Swen sighed with relief. “Thank God, you’re okay, Joe! There’s a dead man lying down by the corral and I was afraid—”

“There’s one in the parlor, too,” Joe sighed heavily, sitting down in his wicker rocker. “Swen, this is Don Diego de Durango from the Triple D.”

“Evening, sir.” Swen touched his hat brim respectfully as the white-haired old lion of a man settled himself in a chair. Everyone in Texas knew of the powerful and rich Durango family.

Joe turned his blind face toward him anxiously in the moonlight. “The Don’s told me what happened in town. I hear my little girls laughing over there so I reckon they’re all right.”

Swen nodded, reaching for the crumpled wire in his pocket. “The Don’s wrangler, Juan, and Rosita just drove in with the buggy. Everything’s taken care of in town. Banker Ogle got killed by a stray bullet, but don’t suppose anyone’ll miss him. Maybe it’s ironic that after the way he cheated you, you’ll preach his funeral; preach the services for these three dead outlaws.”

Joe nodded soberly. “That’s what preachers are for. I’ll try to think of something good to say; every man’s got some good to him.”

Swen bit off a chaw of tobacco, looking again at the young couple standing with the big gray horse out under the tree. “I don’t know who that is embracing yore daughter, Joe, but they’re hangin’ onto each other like they’re afraid they might never see each other again.”

“They came very, very close to just that,” Joe smiled.

“We’ve already identified that one dead man as part of a trio that’s wanted all over half of Texas for bank robbery.” Swen nodded toward the corral and the parlor. “I suppose these are the other two?”

“Yes.” Joe nodded, took out his knife, and began to whittle a willow whistle. “I got the one inside with a shotgun just as he was about to ambush young Maverick as he started up the porch.”

At the sound of the name, the young man standing out under the tree linked his arm in the girl’s and came toward the porch while the little sisters stayed to play in the old swing. Swen took a good look at him.
Were those tear streaks on that scarred dark face?
He couldn’t be sure in the moonlight.

“Hello, sir,” the young man said to the old Spaniard as he and the beautiful fiery-haired daughter came up on the porch. “Joe’s right. Even though he knew I’d come gunnin’ for him personally, Joe killed that gunfighter to save my life.”

Joe paused, shaking his head modestly. “Annie always promised me a son,” he said softly, “and God does move in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.”

The old Don looked sad, pulling at his white mustache. “Si, it’s true. I should have realized that Maverick had too much character to do what he’d sworn to do. I wasn’t needed after all.”

“That’s not true, my friend,” Joe protested, leaning forward in his rocker. “I had forgotten how much I enjoy your company! We must make arrangements to visit each other often now that we’ve found each other again.”

“Si!
We’ll sit here on this porch and rock for hours, or maybe out by my fountain, talking. And do bring all the children!” The old Don’s dark eyes lit up eagerly. “The little ones can play with my own grandchildren, and that smart one, Lynnie, can use my library.”

Maverick hugged Cayenne to him. “She’ll need it,” he said. “I’m going to see that one gets an education.”

Swen thought about the telegram and pulled it out. “What I came about, also, was this wire I got from St. Joe.”

The big man paused in his rocking. “So you’ve come to take me to jail? Now my conscience is clear and I’m willing to serve my time since Maverick’s here.” His blind gaze turned toward the younger man. “You are plannin’ on marryin’ my daughter, aren’t you, son? You can take over this place. The Lazy M can stand for Maverick.”

Swen spat a stream of tobacco juice over the porch railing. “Dagnab it, Joe, you didn’t let me finish.” He waved the paper. “The law in St. Joe ain’t lookin’ for you. Seems some gal named Molly Kelly wrote a letter, went to see the law years ago; cleared your name.”

“Molly,” Joe whispered with a gentle smile. “Dear Molly. Wonder whatever became of her? She always loved a good time!”

The handsome young half-breed cleared his throat as if he might say something, then the girl gave him a warning shake of her head. “Wherever she is, Joe, surely she’s at peace now. She must have loved you very much to do that.”

Joe chewed his lip. “I suppose she did,” he answered softly. “But I was in love with Annie Laurie and no other woman could ever take her place in my heart.”

Swen hesitated. This was going to be hard for a proud man like himself. “I—I came for something else, too, Joe. I—I owe you an apology.”

“What?” Joe said.

“We both know everyone thought Annie was dead because Hannah was so eager to identify that body we found just because it wore Annie’s clothes.”

The young man made a sound of surprise and looked at Joe. “So all these years you really did think Annie was dead?”

Swenson scowled. “Let me finish while I still got the nerve to admit I’m wrong. I was too eager to close that case, didn’t question the identification. Lord only knows who that pore dead woman was, why she was wearing Annie’s dress.”

The young man’s face turned pale. “I—I know. Mother said the woman was to be returned to her people and was ashamed to go back dressed as a squaw. Annie gave her the dress.”

“Probably they lied to that girl, was really taking her off to sell her to the
Comancheros.
When she realized it and tried to get away, they killed her, left her unburied, and never told anybody back at the Indian encampment. I shouldn’t have been so eager to close the case.” Swen looked from Maverick’s pale face to Joe’s.

The blind man shook his head. “We all make mistakes, all of us. We’re only human after all.”

Swen took off his hat, twisting it in his hands. “I—I I got something else to tell you, Joe. Remember when you came to me ten years ago, told me some boy had escaped the Comanches, said Annie was still alive and in their camp?”

“I remember,” Joe nodded. “Annie had helped him escape. You swore you’d put the Rangers to lookin’ for my Annie.”

Swen turned and spat off the porch. “I lied, Joe,” he said softly. “Every time you came in to ask if there’d been any progress, I lied and told you we was still lookin’ and would let you know when we learned something.”

The young man stared at him a long moment. “By then it was too late anyway. Annie was dead and I was on the run, ended up on the Durango spread.”

Joe folded the small penknife, dropped it in his pocket, and turned toward Swen. In the moonlight, his face mirrored great tragedy, sadness. “You mean, after you told me you’d look for her, you didn’t?”

Swen leaned against the porch rail, the enormity of what he’d done washing over him. “I took it upon myself to play God,” he said, “that’s what I did; I stepped in and played God instead of leavin’ the ending up to the Almighty!”

Senor
Durango stared at him in the moonlight. “Why? Why did you do this thing, knowing how much he loved the woman, how badly he wanted her back?”

Swen ran his hand through his gray-streaked blond hair. “I was with Sul Ross that day in 1860 when the Rangers recaptured Cynthia Ann Parker. I saw what a terrible tragedy it was to bring her back to civilization. After all those years with the Indians, she was a white Comanche herself, never fitted back into the white family she had left.” He paused, looking out across the horizon. “Maybe if we’d left her with the Indians, we wouldn’t be havin’ to fight her vengeful son, Quanah, now.”

No one said anything. The children’s laughter echoed from the swing and Swen took a deep breath, continuing. “I was afraid it would be the same with Annie Laurie after she’d spent fifteen years with the Comanche. I thought I was doing Joe a favor by not finding and returning her, don’t you see?”

The old Don crossed himself. “May the Holy Virgin intercede for you,” he whispered. “Your playing God almost cost Joe his life tonight!”

Cayenne began to sob softly and Maverick looked at him a long moment as he put a comforting arm around the weeping girl. “Mister, I want you to know what misery Annie went through. I want you to understand how my mother waited and waited to be rescued. She never gave up hope, never quit trusting Joe to come for her.”

Swen took out a handkerchief, blew his nose. “And I got to live with that, son. Every day for the rest of my life, I got to live with that.”

Joe wiped his eyes. “I’ll pray for you, Swen. I don’t hold no grudge against you. Annie wouldn’t have wanted that. She was the sweetest, most gentle person I ever knew.”

Maverick looked at Swen. “You poor devil,” he said softly, “now you’ll get a taste of what I’ve gone through for ten years—the heartache, the bitter regret. . . .”

Cayenne put her arm around the young man, hugging him to her. And the look on her face in the moonlight told Swen how very much she loved the man. Swen had played God when he shouldn’t have, and yet . . . if he had not, would this pair’s paths have ever crossed? Maybe God had used him in some mysterious way to bring these lovers together who would never otherwise have met. The thought made his aching conscience feel a little better.

Swen sighed. “Every day, I’ll think about what I did. Every single day, I’ll regret it.” He looked toward the northern horizon. “First week of August and the weather’s sizzling! But already I see a cold autumn coming on in a few weeks time.”

Quanah Parker pulled his buffalo robe around him as he sat the gray pacer and shivered. It was late in the month the whites called “September” and all signs pointed to an early winter. Already the winds were cold and now rain blew into the Palo Duro in contrast to the hot dry summer of this past year.

Little Fox rode up. “Oh, Great Chief, you are determined to leave this canyon? Why?”

Quanah nodded, looking back at his band gathering up children and horses. “Maybe it’s my white blood,” he muttered, “but I have a sense of impending
puha,
of coming disaster; bad medicine.”

“But we have had some good engagements against the whites since our war against the buffalo hunters started,” Little Fox argued, reaching up to touch the fine pearl combs in his black hair. “We have laid waste to white civilization, left dozens of their soldiers, their settlers dead and tortured. Our allies scatter out across the plains attacking and discouraging the
Tejanos,
the
Americanos,
from coming into our hunting grounds.”

“And yet more will come,” Quanah predicted direly, watching his people gathering up their things to ride out of the deep canyon. “We are few and they are many. In the end, my good sense tells me they will kill off all the buffalo and take this land for their own to farm and raise families.”

Little Fox laughed and Quanah looked at him long and hard. The Plains tribes looked on the insane with a touch of awe. Certainly Little Fox had been touched by that spirit of the gods. Quanah had first realized it a few months ago when Little Fox had captured those harmless white women and children at the picnic. Then, while Quanah was riding hard to get there and set things right, Little Fox had broken the tribes’ word, blinding that brave fire-haired man who had ridden in with the ransom for the white captives.

Quanah thought about that man now, wondered if he and that man could ever have been friends, lived peacefully side by side. They would never have a chance to find out.

Quanah signaled his followers and they began to ride single file out of the deep canyon of the Palo Duro. “There will be more and more Bluecoats coming,” he said to Little Fox. “The whites are very angry about the slaughter of that family by the Cheyenne several weeks ago. They will come looking for those four little girls Medicine Water took captive.”

Little Fox laughed. “Females have always been prizes of war. Surely the white soldiers will not make such a fuss over four sisters.”

Quanah thought of his own mother, returned by force to her white family, now dead if reports from
Comanchero
could be believed. “Since you have not experienced it yourself, you cannot understand what value
tahbay-boh
put on their women; how they will come after us like bears whose cubs have been stolen!” He shook his head. “I promise you that stealing those girls will send thousands of soldiers searching across the plains! And the soldiers will be not gentle with any Indians they capture because of it.”

Little Fox sneered. “The Great Chief is afraid then? ”

Quanah was too weary, too discouraged to react with anger, whereas only a short time ago, he would have knocked the man from his horse for his insults. “Even the most ignorant brave has heard that soldiers are riding at us from all directions to surround and kill us even as we used to do the great herds of buffalo before the white hunters began their slaughter. Only last spring, I let myself be lulled into thinking we had a chance of winning. But deep in my heart, I think I knew even then that it is only a matter of time until the buffalo are gone completely, that I will spend my old age on a white man’s reservation.”