Sweetwater (47 page)

“I’ll go on. Go after the marshal. I’m goin’ to kill a man and he ought to know it. The marshal, his deputy and prisoner are headed east. I owe ya, boy. I won’t forget it.”

“Head for there.” Travor’s eyes followed Linus’s pointed finger. “Ya’ll cut their trail.”

“Thanks. It’s all I can say … for now.” He gigged his horse and took off in a run.

Colleen awakened to find herself lying on the ground. She was on her stomach, her face in the grass. She opened her eyes a crack and peered through strands of tangled hair. As memory returned, so did reason. She swallowed the groan of pain that rose in her throat. She didn’t move even though her head throbbed and her jaw ached.

“She waked up yet?” The voice reached Colleen from somewhere above her head.

“She ain’t moved,
Señor.
”

“If she moves a finger wake me. I’m goin’ to catch a wink or two.”

“I ain’t seein’ why we wait,” the Mexican grumbled. “I ain’t carin’—”

“Ya ain’t got no say. We ain’t humpin’ ’er till she comes to. If ya ain’t wantin’ to take orders, light a shuck.”

“
Yi, yi, yi.
” The Mexican sighed.

Colleen’s face was turned and she couldn’t see him, but she knew the Mexican was closer than Hartog, possibly only a few feet away. It was quiet. A bird chirped in the trees overhead, and from a distance came the call of a mourning dove.
How could things appear to be so normal when she was living a nightmare?

Colleen’s mind worked rapidly.
Thank God, her britches were still in place.
She knew that, unarmed, she was no match for two of them. She also knew that she wasn’t going to lie like a sheep and let them have their way with her.

Travor, I’m sorry. We should have loved each other the way we both wanted and not waited for the preacher. Now these animals will try and take what I wanted with all my heart to give to you.

Colleen felt something sliding up and down over her bottom. She did her best not to stiffen. Instead she groaned softly and turned her head slightly to see two down-at-the-heel boots there on the ground beside her.

“Ya wakin’ up,
Señorita
?” The whispered words of the man squatting over her barely reached her ears. “Wake up. I be good to you. Hartog asleep. He been sick. He shit for three days.”

The hand slid up under her shirt. She stood it for as long as she could, but when the hand moved around under her arm to her breast, she straightened her legs and turned. Her hands were tied, she lifted them and brushed the hair from her face. He was grinning at her.

“Shh—” He placed a finger over his lips and jerked his head toward Hartog on the bedroll.

Colleen scooted back away from him. She was tethered to a tree with a rope around her ankle. Her ankles were not bound.

The animals wanted to get her legs apart!

“I will be good to you,
Señorita.
Mendosa know how to make love.” He whispered the words and pointed to where Hartog lay on his bedroll. “He want to hurt you. He know how to make the hurt last a long time. I watch him screw Bannock squaw. He screw her front, then her behind. She scream long time. Scream more when he bring pup to suckle—”

Colleen closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. The horror of what he was telling her made her weak. The way he grinned while telling her indicated that he had no trace of compassion.

“Let me go.”

“Pull off the britches,” he whispered. “We make love. I let you go before Hartog wake up.”

She shook her head again. Her eyes scanned the area for a weapon. Knowing she could do nothing sitting on the ground, she got quickly to her feet and found herself pinned against the tree with a long sharply pointed stick pressed firmly against her naked breast.

“Do not make noise,
Señorita.
Better me than Hartog.”

He stood in front of her. They were of equal height, but to her he looked like a large, hungry rat. His black eyes glittered. His red mouth beneath the mustache hung open and his tongue lay on his lower lip.

“Yo’re as much of a animal as he is.” She put all the scorn she could muster in the sneering remark.

“It is not so. I advise you not to say that to Mendosa.” He backed up a step, moving his hand along the stick to keep the point in place. “You like snake,
Señorita
? Mendosa very good at catchin’ snake. See snakeskin on hat?” He wore a round-brimmed hat with a glistening snakeskin wrapped around the crown. “I catch him on the Rio Grande. He nine feet long. Snake meat better than rabbit.”

Colleen watched with large almost unbelieving eyes as the Mexican stooped, his eyes still on her, and picked up a heavy leather bag. The hissing that came from within caused a cold clammy sweat to break out on her face. There was nothing in the world she was more afraid of than a snake. Any snake.

“Want to see my supper,
Señorita
? Maybe I let him bite ya. No? Maybe I let him bite Hartog.”

One quick movement and he had jerked the thong from the top of the bag. Grinning, his bright eyes on Colleen, he swung the bag back and forth. Colleen heard a faint whirring sound. Suddenly he dropped the sack not more than two yards from where she stood. A long, thick snake came out of the bag. It was a rattler and as big around as her arm. Its mouth was open wide with fury. Mendosa danced around it waving the stick.

Almost paralyzed with fear, she looked frantically for something within reach to use to protect herself. She scooped up a broken tree branch and held it in both hands. The snake would have slithered away, but Mendosa urged it closer to her with the stick.

“Shoot it,” she screamed, beating the ground with the club. “Shoot it!”

“What … the hell?” Hartog lunged up off the bedroll as if he’d been bitten by a scorpion. “Ya goddamn fool!” he yelled. “I told ya to leave them goddamn snakes alone. I’ll kill ya—”

Mendosa danced around the other side of the snake, and as Hartog came up, gun in hand, he flipped the snake. The rattler fell across Hartog’s shoulders and, with writhing fury, wrapped itself around his neck and sank its fangs into the flesh beneath his jaw.

Hartog screamed and dropped his gun. He tore the snake loose and flung it away.

“It bit me!” he cried in terror, and clamped his hand to his neck. “Do somethin’, damn you!”

“Ain’t nothin’ to do,
Señor
,” Mendosa said calmly. “You die soon. No way to stop poison in vein. Want I put tourniquet on neck?” A near-hysterical giggle came from him.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Crazed with fear, Hartog ran in an erratic circle around the camp, then in full panic took off into the woods in a dead run, screaming, “Oh, my God! I’ll die! I’ll die!”

“Don’t run,
Señor
!” Mendosa yelled. “You die sooner.” He watched the fleeing Hartog until he was out of sight. When he turned, he ran his lust-crazed eyes over Colleen. “It was foolish to run. He maybe live two, three hours if he lays still.”

Colleen saw the fever of excitement in the Mexican’s face and gripped the club.

“You say nothin’,
Señorita.
You no say thank you to Mendosa for saving you from Hartog?”

“That’s right. I say nothin’, ya slimy little worm.”

“Mendosa don’t like worm.” He frowned bringing his heavy brows together. “Call me snake. Snake a fighter.”

“Ya call yoreself a fighter,” she sneered. “Yo’re just a little man tryin’ to act big.”

“
Señorita,
you foolish woman.” With the stick he had used to toss the snake he pushed back her shirt, exposing her naked breasts. “You no make Mendosa angry. It you and me now.”

“You’re wrong! It’s
you
and
me
now!”

Travor came into the clearing, his gun in his hand. He crouched. The wolfish look on his face made him hardly recognizable to Colleen. Startled, the Mexican turned. Blood blossomed on his chest as Travor’s bullet hit its mark. The force of the bullet flung him backward. He was dead when he hit the ground. Travor scarcely looked at him. A few quick steps and he was in front of Colleen, shielding her with his body, his eyes searching the area.

“Hartog—” he gritted, “I heard yellin’.”

“Ran off. Snake bit him.”

Travor shoved the gun back into his holster and turned to her. He gently pulled her shirt over her naked breasts before he put his arms around her and held her tightly to him. After a moment, when he could speak, he gazed into her face.

“Did they …?”

“No.”

“Thank God!” He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “The sonofabitches … hit ya!” He touched her swollen jaw with his fingertips, then pulled his knife and cut the thong that bound her hands.

“I’m all right.” Tears of relief rolled from her eyes and down her cheeks. “How did ya find me.”

“The kid from the store headed me off before I crossed the river. He saw ’em take ya.”

“They sneaked up on me at the pond.”

“When I heard the yell, I got off my horse and ran. I knew I was close.” He knelt down and cut the rope from her ankle, freeing her from the tether.

“The Mexican was as mean as Hartog. He had a rattlesnake in a bag.” Her trembling hands refused to let go of him.

Travor put his arms around her again and pressed her head to his shoulder. His eyes continued to search the edge of the woods as he stroked her hair.

“I never want to go through that again,” he breathed. “I died a thousand times. I kept thinkin’, what if I don’t find her? How can I live the rest of my life without her? Sweetheart, darlin’ girl, I’ll not leave ya ever again.”

“Can we leave here?” she whispered, her lips against his cheek.

“I got to see about Hartog.”

“He dropped his gun when the snake bit him on the neck.”

“Into a blood vessel, I hope. He won’t last long, but I’ve got to make sure.”

“I want Pa’s gun. They took it.”

“I’ll get it for you. The boy went to get Cleve. This is Indian land and he’s the man in charge. We’ll stay till he gets here, then we’ll go home to the Double T. Which way did Hartog go?”

Colleen pointed the way. He took her hand. Travor followed the trail of broken brush and staggering footprints and found Hartog lying on the ground. His neck and the side of his face were hideously swollen, his breathing labored and faint. He was still conscious, but seriously close to death.

He opened his eyes. When they focused on the two standing over him, he lifted a hand and let it fall back to the ground.

“McCall. Ya was next—ya sonofabitch—” The grunted words came from swollen lips.

“Yeah? What were ya gonna do? Backshoot me? Ya ain’t man enough to meet me head-on, ya stinkin’, low-down, dirty coward!”

“I’d … a had the gal but for that … goddamn Mex. Should’a cut his throat—”

“Ya’ll be meetin’ him soon. Tell him about it.”

“Shoot me.” His eyes pleaded. “Shoot … me—”

“Hell no!” Travor gritted out angrily. “I’ll not waste a bullet. Ya shot Miles Murphy down with his ma and girl lookin’ on. Ya stole her away to rape and kill her. Yo’re on your way to hell. Lay there and think about it.” Travor put his arm around Colleen. “Come on, honey. He’s never goin’ to move from that spot.” They turned to retrace their steps.

“Ya ain’t got … the guts to … shoot me,” Hartog called in a raspy whisper, taunting, his last words filled with the hate that had marked his life.

Back in the clearing Colleen avoided looking at the body of the Mexican as Travor went through the saddlebags. He found Miles Murphy’s pistol, took it and the holster and strapped them around Colleen’s waist. With his arm around her, he led her from the scene. Mud Pie was happily cropping grass in the place where Travor had left him. He nickered a greeting.

Travor leaned against the trunk of a large cottonwood. Colleen rested against him and placed her head on his shoulder. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her breast.

I’m alive. I’ll come to him unsoiled. God has been good to me.

Linus rode toward Stoney Creek on a mission for the marshal. He felt good about himself for the first time in a long time. McCall and the marshal had praised him for his quick thinking, and his reward would be the horses that had belonged to Hartog and the Mexican. Marshal Stark would use them to pack the bodies to town, then leave them at the livery in Sweetwater with papers declaring them his property for service to the Territory.

The boy could hardly wait to tell Arvella and Pud what McCall and the marshal had said to Longfellow when the preacher sneered at him and called him a no-good, lyin’ bastard.

“Shut yore mouth, ya little pissant, or I’ll jerk ya off that horse and stomp yore guts out!” McCall had been so angry that Miss Murphy had to hold his arm.

“One more bad word about that boy,” the marshal had said, “and ya’ll walk behind that horse all the way to Laramie Prison. He’s more of a man than you are.”

The most surprising thing Linus had learned was that there were two McCalls.

“Go tell my brother and Miss Gray that Colleen is all right. I’ll bring her back to Stoney Creek in the morning.”

Linus never felt so important in all his life as he did when he rode into the yard at Stoney Creek and saw the teacher, the old lady, a man on crutches and Whit, old Whitaker’s Indian bastard, waiting. The kids from the school were there as well as the teacher’s sisters.

“She’s all right,” he called when they all turned to face him.

“How you know that?” Whit demanded.

“I saw Hartog and a Mexican take her, and I went for McCall, that’s why,” Linus said belligerently. “What was
you
doin’? Learnin’ yore ABC’s?”

“Hold it.” The man on the crutches said firmly. “We just discovered her missing a bit ago. Granny thought she was at the school. Jenny thought she was in the house.”

“Yo’re … the other … McCall?” Linus stepped down from his horse. “Miss Murphy’s with yore brother. He said he’d bring her back in the mornin’. She’s wore out.”

“Did they … hurt her?” Jenny asked fearfully.

“McCall said not. Hartog got snakebit. McCall killed the Mexican.”

“She’s all right, Granny.” The teacher had her arm around the old woman. “If she’s with Travor, she’s all right.”