Comanche Heart (46 page)

Heath Mallory shouldered his way forward. “No, you did not.” He shook his fist at Swift. “That man’s crazy, I tell you! Crazy mean! He killed Abe Crenton, mark my words. You can see the murder gleaming in his eyes.”

It was true; murder
was
gleaming in Swift’s eyes. Amy took a step forward, the panic within her building. The buzzing in the crowd had increased to an angry roar. Looking wary, Hilton stepped closer to Swift. “Everyone just keep calm,” he warned.

“I’ll be calm when that husband killer is six feet under,” Mrs. Johnson cried. “No one’s safe, I tell you!” She wagged a finger. “I saw you on the boardwalk with my Elmira—don’t you think I didn’t! Making eyes and sweet-talking her. And her not much more than a baby. I knew then what kind of cloth you were cut from.”

“I say we settle this here and now,” Joe Shipley roared. “To hell with the folderol of a trial in Jacksonville. One of our own is dead, and this man killed him. We have to take care of our own in this town, or more like him will come. It’s best to set an example, right from the first. Murderers hang high in Wolf’s Landing. That’s our motto.”

Things were building to a fever pitch. Amy saw several men pressing closer to the platform. At any second they might surge forward like a wave, overpower Hilton, and drag Swift into the night. And once that happened, there would be no stopping them.

“Wait!” she cried, clawing her way through the crowd to reach the front of the hall. Elbowing Brandon Marshall from the narrow section of unoccupied floor in front of the marshal, she yelled, “You’re all wrong! Swift Lopez didn’t kill Abe Crenton! He couldn’t have! And I can prove it!”

Amy wasn’t sure where the words had come from, but once they were out, there was no undoing them. As she turned to regard all the enraged faces gathered around her, she wondered momentarily if she’d lost her mind. But fear for Swift drove her—fear and mindless panic. There would be time enough later to question her actions.

“Swift was with
me
last night,” she cried. “We spent the evening with the Wolfs. Then he took me home, and he”—the lie welled in her throat like acid, then spewed forth—“and he stayed until dawn.”

Swift’s voice came from behind her. “Amy, don’t!”

The expressions on the faces before Amy changed slowly from anger to startled disbelief. A wave of shame broke over her. Fiery heat crept up her neck. She swallowed and continued in a calmer voice. “Swift Lopez
couldn’t
have killed Abe Crenton. You’ve all jumped to the wrong conclusion. He was with me . . . all night long.”

Several of the women regarded Amy through narrowed eyes. Harvey Johnson, Elmira’s burly father, said, “You must’ve slept at some point. He could’ve stepped out, then come back, you none the wiser. Who else would scalp Abe?”

Amy drew herself up, rigid and braced. “I assure you, when Mr. Lopez comes to visit me, the last thing we do is sleep.”

Mrs. Johnson gasped and began to fan her hand before her face as if she might faint. Mrs. Shipley squeaked, “That’s scandalous!” Several other shocked exclamations were heard, all of which Swift punctuated with velocity and perfect diction by saying, “Holy shit!” Then, “Amy, have you lost your mind?”

It had taken Amy fifteen years to arrive at this moment, and the way she saw it, she had never been more sane. She was stripped of respect, yes, and most certainly out of a job. And there was no question that she felt humiliated. But none of that mattered. Not when Swift’s life hung in the balance.

Amy turned to face Marshal Hilton. The instant she looked into his twinkling gray-blue eyes, she knew that he suspected her of lying. She shot a frightened glance at Swift. Marshal Hilton rolled one shoulder and scratched the back of his neck.

“So Mr. Lopez was”—he cleared his throat—“keeping company with you all last night, was he? And you’re willing to swear to that?”

Amy envisioned herself with her hand on the good book. She seldom lied, let alone swore to it. God might strike her dead. Her gaze slid to Swift. For an insane instant, she saw him as he had been that first night they made love, so gentle and patient. Then she remembered how kind he had been to Peter. If the God she so revered didn’t want such a man to live, Amy figured it was time she changed religions.

“I will swear to it with my last breath,” she said softly.

No lightning bolt ripped down from heaven. She took a deep breath and sent up a quick, heartfelt prayer of contrition. Her gaze returned to Swift. Tears shimmered in his eyes. A feeling of certainty swept through Amy.
Let me say I love you my way.
Swift had done just that, in so many different ways. Now it was her turn.

Bolstered by the look in his eyes, Amy turned back to face the crowd. She saw myriad emotions in the gazes she encountered, disgust, hatred, revulsion, scorn. A woman didn’t publicly admit to immoral conduct and retain the high regard of sinless folk. For eight years she had cultivated the good opinion of these people. Now she could only wonder why. What they thought wouldn’t matter a whit in the long run, anyway.

“I trust that you good gentlemen of Wolf’s Landing will find the true killer now?” she said. “Mr. Lopez is innocent.”

With that, Amy headed for the door. As if afraid she might somehow contaminate them if her skirts brushed their clothing, the people in the hall stepped aside to make a path for her. Cheeks afire, head held high, Amy walked through their midst. When she reached Loretta and Hunter, she saw that they were both smiling. At least she hadn’t lost the high regard of everyone.

The night air embraced Amy when she stepped outside. She gulped it greedily and leaned her back against the building, finding solace in the darkness. She was shaking all over. Closing her eyes, she listened to the voices inside. She could hear Hunter and Loretta talking and guessed they had gone to the fiddler’s platform. Soon, Swift would come out. She imagined his arm around her shoulders, the solid wall of his chest warming her. Everything would be all right then. They would shut out the world. Nothing would matter but their being together.

Amy heard a jingling sound near her. She opened her eyes and peered through the darkness, going perfectly still. As always, her night blindness frustrated her. The black figure of a man loomed from the shadows. Almost simultaneously the sharp tip of a knife blade touched her throat. Amy jerked.

“Scream, bitch, and I’ll slit your throat just like I did Abe Crenton’s.”

Terror sluiced down Amy’s spine. Instinctively she tried to scream, but all that erupted from her throat was a squeak. The knife pricked her. She felt a bead of blood trail down her neck to pool in the V of her collarbone. The smell of stale sweat filled her nostrils. A leather sleeve grazed her bodice. Then she heard the jangling sound again. Riding spurs. Night blind or no, she knew one of the Lowdry brothers held the knife.

Cruel fingers bit into her arm. The next instant a filthy hand clamped over her mouth. Panic exploded in Amy’s mind. She grabbed the man’s wrist and sank her teeth into his meaty palm. He swore. Frenzied, Amy tried to twist away. Then, from out of nowhere, something slammed against her head. Bright lights burst before her eyes. She snapped taut, stunned by the blow. Then blackness swooped over her.

 

Hunter read the note once, then twice. Swift held himself rigid, waiting for his friend to speak. Loretta stood nearby, gripping the back of her rocker. Chase and Indigo, solemn-faced and pale, sat by the hearth. When the silence became unbearable, Loretta cried, “Hunter, for God’s sake, what does it say?”

Hunter crumpled the dirt-streaked paper in his fist and raised his gaze to Swift’s. “The Lowdry brothers . . .” His throat worked before his next words came forth. “They’re not really named Lowdry. They’re the Gabriels.”

Swift felt as if a gigantic fist had hit him in the guts. Ever since he had walked up on Amy’s porch and found the note on her door, he had been praying to her God and all of his that he was alarmed over nothing, that she had left the note for him herself, saying she had gone someplace for a walk because she was upset. All the way back to Hunter’s house, he had continued to pray with every running step, his mind racing ahead of him with fear, a part of him knowing that Amy would never venture off alone in the dark.

“Oh, Jesus.” Swift bent forward slightly, still feeling as if he’d been hit in the stomach. “Not the Gabriels. Where have they taken her?”

“A mine shack about eight miles up Shallows Creek, the old Geunther place.” Hunter took a shaky breath. “They want you to come alone and they stress that you must come wearing your guns.”

“No!” Loretta cried. “They’re wanting a shoot-out. If you pick up those guns again, Swift, you’ll end up in the same mess you faced in Texas. Word will spread. Upstarts will come gunning for you. There has to be another way.”

Swift felt sick. “Amy’s life is in danger, Loretta.”

A robust knock resounded. Everyone jerked and looked at the door. Loretta finally regained her senses and ran to answer it. Marshal Hilton stepped inside, a broad grin creasing his face.

“Well, if that wasn’t a standing performance Miss Amy gave, I never saw one! I don’t usually cotton to lying, but this is one time an untruth saved the day.” He chuckled and shook his head. “For a minute there, Lopez, I thought that straight talk of yours was going to ruin the whole thing. If you hadn’t shut your mouth when you did, I was fixing to shove my hat in it. Those yahoos were an inch away from having a lynching party.”

Hilton took several steps into the parlor before he seemed to notice that the others in the adjoining room looked as though death had struck. He came to a stop. “What in hell’s wrong? This gives us some time to hunt down the killer. I thought I’d find you celebrating.”

Swift finally regained his voice. “Those fellows . . . the Lowdry brothers? Their real name is Gabriel. They came here from Texas, looking for me because I killed their brother. They’ve taken Amy.”

Swift had always known Hilton was quick-minded, but even he was impressed by the speed with which Hilton grasped the situation. “Son of a—They killed Abe and tried to make it look like you did it!” He slapped his jeans. “Dumb ass that I am, I never even thought of them!”

Pain shot behind Swift’s eyes. He was the stupid one. The moment Abe Crenton had turned up with his throat slit, he should have been trying to remember who had overheard him threatening Abe. Instead he’d panicked, his one concern being that everyone believed him guilty. He had forgotten all about the Lowdry brothers. In retrospect he felt like a fool. And Amy was paying for it.

“Why in heck did they take Miss Amy?” Hilton wondered aloud.

“To get at me. After her announcement tonight, it was pretty clear that she and I—” Swift threw up his hands. “Hell, I don’t know why. Why does their kind do any of the things they do? I guess they hoped that I’d hang. When they saw I wasn’t going to, they took her as bait. The bottom line is that I killed their brother Chink. Nobody crosses the Gabriels and gets away with it. What better way to get their revenge than to hurt Amy?”

Hilton’s face drew taut. Swift turned his gaze to the wall hook where his six-shooters hung. He remembered how frightened Amy had been when she saw the two comancheros on the sidewalk. She’d be terrified now. Decision made, he walked to the coatrack and pulled down his gun belt.

“Oh, Swift, no,” Loretta cried. “There has to be another way. Amy wouldn’t want you to.”

Swift strapped on the belt and bent to tie the leather thongs to anchor his holsters to his thighs. “I have no choice.” He glanced up. “I guess maybe I never did. Like Amy says, you can’t outrun your past. This just proves it.”

Hunter stepped to the table and picked up his Spencer. “I will go with you.”

Swift doubted the Gabriels had come this far alone. Hunter had no equal as a warrior, but he was no fast gun. “It’s me they want. I know you love Amy, but you’ve got your family to think of.”

Hunter gathered extra cartridges and slipped them in his pocket. Shifting his gaze to his wife, he said, “There are some things I must do. My family understands that.”

The color drained from Loretta’s face. She nodded slowly. Hunter’s dark blue eyes filled with a prideful gleam. He smiled and turned back to Swift. “How many do you think there will be?”

“God knows,” Swift replied. “The only certainty is that there’ll be more than two.”

“I’ll go saddle up,” Hilton inserted.

Hunter held up a hand. “We appreciate the offer, Marshal. But Swift and I will fight this battle the Comanche way. A white man would only confuse matters.”

Hilton puffed up his chest. “I’m a damned clean shot, I’ll have you know. And you’ll be outnumbered. That’s not to mention that I’m the law here in Wolf’s Landing. Those gents are wanted for murder.”

Swift was still staring at Hunter. Memories of times past washed over him, and he felt a flare of hope. If he and Hunter used Comanche warfare strategy, they might be able to pick off the comancheros one at a time without a shoot-out becoming necessary.

“If we work as well together as we once did,” Swift told the marshal, “we won’t be outnumbered for long.” He met Hilton’s gaze. “You’ve proved yourself a loyal friend to me. If you’d like to ride along and stay behind as a backup rifle, I’d be grateful.”

Hunter nodded his agreement to that, then spun for the back door. Swift fell in behind him. Hilton glanced at Loretta. “Where in blazes are they going? The horse barn’s the other direction.”

Loretta pressed a trembling hand to her bodice. “They have to prepare for battle.”

A few minutes later, Hunter and Swift reentered the house. Hilton took one look at their faces and barked with laughter. His grin died a quick death when Swift approached him with the paints. Within seconds the marshal’s cheeks were streaked, his chin was striped in red, his eye sockets were outlined with graphite, and his teeth were blackened.