The Texan's Bride (17 page)

Jack frowned. “Are you certain, Wilson? Are you positive he was Indian? There haven’t been Indians in this part of Texas since ’39.”

Wilson shook his head excitedly. “He was an Injun, all right. Tell him, Doc. You saw him too.”

Mayfair, still tied and gagged, agreed with a nod. When the sheriff took the kerchief from his mouth, he said, “It was an Indian, all right. Painted and feathered. Comanche, I imagine. And he had the Gallagher boy with him. They came in through the back window and broke into my medicines.”

“Gallagher!” Strickland exclaimed. “What is it with that family tonight?” He bent over Wilson and worked the knots. He said, “Something’s going on; we may have a Moderator incident on our hands. Doc, I’m calling out the men. You ride over to Davis’s place and have him start the word. Sid, you go tell George Taylor to do the same. We’ll meet in front of my office immediately.”

“But, Sheriff,” Wilson piped up, “what if there’s Indians out there?”

Strickland gave him a look that would scare a dead man.

“I’m on my way, sir,” Wilson said, his voice trembling as he cautiously eased out the front door.

“Wait.” Strickland snapped upright and fixed a cold stare on first Wilson and then Doc Mayfair. “I want it clear to every man out there tonight that no one is to hurt old man Gallagher if they discover him. I want information from him—him and his boy.”

Twenty minutes later Wilson made the comment to George Taylor, “Sheriff sure looks mad. If that Irishman had any sense at all, he’d be over at that church of his taking the last rites from the padre.”

VOTIVE CANDLES in red and blue glass cast a muted glow beside the altar. Shadow-faced statues flanked the wrought iron candle stand, and the scent of vanilla hung heavy on the air.

Keeper McShane sat within the circle of light, scratching his head like a flea-bit hound, cogitating on the Cherokee’s proposal. “I dunno,” he finally said. “You sure something like that will work? It seems kind of farfetched to me.”

His eyes searched the darkness for the one person in the group he still trusted in spite of tonight’s misdeeds. “Miz Katie, I guess you think I should go along with this or else you wouldn’t have brought me here.”

Katie moved into the candlelight and sat beside him. She clasped his hands between hers and stared imploringly into his eyes. “Please forgive me, Keeper. I didn’t mean to frighten you, and I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Kincaid. It’s just that this plan is so important. So many people are depending on us, on you. They are my friends. I love them, and I’m so afraid they’ll die without your help.” She squeezed his hands tightly and said, “You see, you are the only man I know who can do this. You can save hundreds of lives. You’ll be a hero, Keeper.”

Keeper swallowed hard. Miz Katie was an angel, one of them statues come to life. At that moment, he’d have jumped off the bell tower if she’d asked. He squared his shoulders and said, “Okay, let’s get started.” He tried his best not to think about disappointing Sheriff Jack or Deputy Kincaid.

He grew a foot taller beneath Katie’s radiant smile. Then she kissed him—on the lips—and he got dizzy in the head. But when he caught sight of the knife in the Cherokee’s hand, a knife the size of Mississippi, he thought he’d faint dead away.

“Do you think Miz Katie could do it, please?” he asked the Indian in a timid voice.

Shaddoe’s smile reassured him. “Anything you ask, my brave young friend.” He passed the knife to Katie.

She lifted Keeper’s arm, then hesitated. “I’ll be right back.”

“What are you about, young lady?” John Gallagher whispered. They were the first words he’d uttered since entering the church with a straggling Keeper in tow. The youngster had wondered what was keeping the usually talkative man quiet.

Katie’s dancing slippers made not a sound as she disappeared into the gloom at the front of the church. A moment later she returned, and Keeper could see that the blade was wet. “I was afraid it was dirty,” she explained, “and I thought a little holy water couldn’t hurt. Daniel, do you have everything ready?”

Daniel Gallagher came out of the darkness like a ghost. A dark red stain seeped through the bandage wrapped around his arm. He passed two bottles to Katie. “I’m going to do this twice,” she told Keeper. “Just in case one of the samples is no longer alive, I’ll use both. It won’t hurt you, and it may prevent this whole effort from being a waste of time.”

Uncorking the first ampoule, she withdrew a single thread. “The vaccine has been dried on here. Shaddoe, you remember to remove this from the cut tomorrow afternoon.” She mumbled her next words, but Keeper heard them. She said, “I guess that’ll be long enough, I hope.” She bit her lower lip and raised the knife.

Keeper shut his eyes, scareder than the time he kissed ol’ Milly, the droop-tittied whore at The Mansion of Joy.

The blade sliced into the fleshy part of his arm, and a blaze of pain called water to his eyes. Blood dribbled from the wound.

Daniel winced. “Hell, Katie. Go easy on him.”

“Watch your mouth, Daniel Gallagher,” Katie snapped. She stared at Keeper, worry dimming her eyes. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve done it right. I only watched Doc do this one time, when he did us. I just don’t remember.”

Actually, the slash didn’t hurt too much, Keeper decided. He’d felt worse from the toes of his mama’s shoes.

Katie dabbed a fold of cloth to the cut until the bleeding slowed. Carefully, she inserted the thread and wrapped a strip of her petticoat around his arm as a bandage. “Are you in pain?” she asked, frowning.

Keeper grinned. This hero stuff was all right. “Nothing to it, Miz Katie.”

When she smiled, she looked like the Madonna statue that stood out front of the church.

He sat up straight and puffed out his chest as Daniel handed Katie a needle and the second bottle. Tipping the amber container, she dipped the needle into its neck. Keeper wrinkled his nose when he saw the thick yellow slime that clung to the darner as she withdrew it.

The next time didn’t hurt as much, and Keeper turned his head away when she wiped the matter into his cut. She had just finished bandaging his arm when the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked exploded through the quiet church.

The needle slipped from Katie’s fingers. Keeper heard it hit the floor.

The slow drawl floated from the darkness. “Anybody care to tell me just what the hell is going on here?”

Shaddoe recognized the voice. So the deputy sheriff had his quarry beneath his gunsight. But would he go so far as to hurt the Gallaghers, hurt Kathleen?

When he spoke, the Cherokee’s tone was an open challenge. “Kathleen, is your hunter a
just
man?”

Katie groaned. “I think the paint on your face must have bled over and clogged up your ears. He’s not my hunter. You know what? You two are really very much alike.”

“Quit the yammerin’ and answer my question. What’s going on?” Kincaid had moved since the first time he spoke. Now his voice came from off to the side.

He walks as quietly as I
, thought Shaddoe. I wish I could see his face, read his expression. But though she denies it, Kathleen cares for her hunter, therefore, he must be a good man.

John and Daniel were attempting to convince Kincaid to leave the church. Shaddoe interrupted. “I will tell you the whole of it, Branch Kincaid. Your honor will decide.”

He turned to face the darkness where he believed Branch was standing. He said, “Not long ago, during the depths of winter, a man from an Indian settlement north of my people’s village stole a blanket from a white man on a riverboat. The boat carried smallpox. We heard rumors. A trader reported that within weeks, every member of that man’s village had died. I had previously received the vaccination, so I went to investigate.”

Shaddoe heard the horror in his own voice, horror that would not leave. “I found bodies, black and swelled to thrice normal size, one atop the other. A stench that is indescribable. The entire village was dead. Those not afflicted with the disease were apparent suicides. Mothers and babies, a buzzard’s feast, rotted beneath the sun.”

He allowed his pain to show itself on his face and in the tremors of his body. “This was the second time that I witnessed a scene such as this. Once before I traveled to another village where I discovered smallpox’s deadly presence. That time it took my wife and my son.”

He shrugged away the vision, but his hand remained clenched at his side. “The disease is sweeping south and will without a doubt reach my village and what is left of my family soon.” He stared into the gloom, searching for sight of the man who controlled, for this moment at least, the success of his endeavor.

“I came to Texas to obtain the vaccine. The Republic owes my people that much at least. No doctor was willing to share his supply, so I stole it. My new friend Keeper, here, will help carry life to the Territory.”

Keeper chimed in, “That’s right, Mr. Branch. I’m gonna be a hero.”

Katie’s voice echoed in the vastness of the church. “The vaccine should have been mine to give, anyway, Branch. Doc Starr owned these bottles when he died. Mayfair wanted it only because it was worth so much money to him, and he wouldn’t give it back when I asked. Let them go, Branch, please!” she begged. “They’re not even taking the vaccine with them. Just Keeper. In eight or ten days he’ll be at the right stage to provide vaccine for the Indians. This could save hundreds of lives, Branch. You have to let them go!”

Kincaid stepped into the light, pistol in hand. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He cocked his head as though listening.

Then Shaddoe heard it too. Metal hinges creaked as the church door swung open.

Branch sprang forward, pushing Katie and Keeper down upon the oak pew. Shaddoe pulled John and Daniel to the ground. “Keep still!” Branch demanded in a whisper. Sticking his head above the back of the pew, he called, “Halt where you are. This is the law speakin’. Who’s there and what do you want?”

“That you, Deputy?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Sid Wilson, Deputy Kincaid. Sheriff Strickland has the Regulators checking the town for John Gallagher and his boy. They’re wanted for theft and assaulting a lawman. Even worse, they probably got an Injun with them. I seen him, a real Injun. One of them scalp-huntin’ Comanches. The sheriff told me and Billy Parker to look around the church.”

Branch shouted furiously, “Sonofabitch, can’t a man go anywhere to have a little privacy!” He nudged Katie and whispered, “Giggle.”

Katie lay on her back staring up at him. He pulled at the buttons on his shirt and glared back. She did as he asked.

“You got a lady there, Deputy?” Parker called.

Branch made a show of rising and supposedly buttoning his pants. “I got a female with me, don’t believe she’s a lady.”

“In church, Deputy Kincaid?”

“On my knees, Parker. What’s it to you?” he asked.

“Nothing, sir. Sorry to interrupt you, sir.”

“Then get on about your business and leave me to mine. Ain’t nobody here but me and the saints.” He nudged Katie again and she laughed.

“Uh, I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir. The sheriff told us to wait here for him. Seems he’s got an idea he’ll find the Irishman in church.”

“He does, does he.” Branch’s voice dripped sarcasm. “And I suppose the Gallaghers and a Comanche war party are hiding in the shadows even now, watching the show.” He sighed heavily as he stomped up the aisle. “All right, you boys check the confessionals there, and then we’ll all traipse up to the bell tower to see if they’re getting a bird’s-eye view.”

He followed the men up the narrow, twisting staircase hoping Katie’s Shaddoe would have brains enough to hide everyone in the confessionals. They’d get caught sure as Santa Anna’s peg leg if they tried to make a break for it now.

A huge brass bell hung from a wooden beam at the top of the stairs. Branch motioned to Parker. “Best check the clapper, someone could be hanging from it, you know.”

“Ain’t you the funny one, Deputy.”

Wilson grumbled, “Come on, Kincaid.” He walked to the arched opening facing east and remarked, “Here comes the boss.”

Branch looked down into the street. In the starlight, he could see the sheriff making his way toward the church. “It’s Strickland, all right, and he certainly has his dauber down.” He called out, “Sheriff, the church is empty. Where do you want us next?”

“Where the blazes you been, Kincaid?” Strickland shouted.

“Uh, just laying around,” Branch answered. The men snickered.

“Well, you certainly were not doing your job. Come down here, I want to talk to you.”

“Yessir, boss.”

When he came downstairs, Strickland was leaning against a confessional door, a lighted lamp in his hand.
Quiet, folks
, Branch prayed.

The sheriff said, “It’s as dark as a tomb in here. Are you positive you searched the church thoroughly?”

“I’m tellin’ you, boss. Ain’t a damn thing up around here tonight.” Out the side of his mouth he mumbled to Wilson and Parker, “Anymore.”

Strickland said, “Kincaid, while you were making cow eyes at John Gallagher’s daughter at the Independence Day Ball, he and his son were stealing medicines from the town’s only doctor.”

“No!” Branch exclaimed, just the right touch of offense in his voice.

“Yes. I hate to believe that the charming young woman was part of the plot, but it is possible her role was to distract the law. From my viewpoint, she succeeded at that quite well.”

“Now, Sheriff, Kate wouldn’t do anything illegal. Now, I’m not talkin’ immoral, mind you. Everyone knows the Widow Starr and I keep company, but I’d bet my last shinplaster that she’d never try anything illegal. She’s just not that smart, Sheriff.”

Strickland shrugged. “You lived with the Gallaghers for a time, Kincaid, you must know something about them. They have to be aware that their Irish luck has run out. Where do you think they would run to?”

Branch folded his arms and frowned. After a moment of thought, he said, “I’d imagine they’d head for the border. John mentioned a relative, sister I believe, in Natchitoches. Of course, that’d be a first, someone running from the law leaving Texas rather than coming in.”