The patrol consisted of eleven troopers with O’Hara in command. It was still dark, and the air had a sharp chill that bit at the men preparing their gear and mounts. Somewhere across the parade ground a bugle wailed a lonely call into the gloom.
Luke Kennick, in a trooper’s uniform, came out of Company Headquarters. Before him walked Kicking Bear, also in uniform, his arms and hands tied tightly at his sides. The Comanche walked stiffly, his head high, as Kennick led him to the waiting horses. Kicking Bear was hoisted into the saddle and his feet shoved into the stirrups. Then his ankles were tied to the stirrup irons with rawhide strips.
Colonel Broughton stepped outside. Kennick went over to him.
‘All right, Luke?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Nice to see you in uniform again, Luke.’ Broughton smiled.
‘You never give up, Colonel.’
‘Not when it means something to me.’
Kennick couldn’t see Broughton’s face clearly in the dim light, but there was no mistaking the genuine feeling in his voice.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Good luck, Luke.’ Broughton put out his hand. ‘Keep your eyes on that Indian. He’s smart. And deadly.’
Kennick pulled on his gloves. ‘I plan to watch him real close. I don’t like the idea of dying any more than the next man. I have a lot of years left yet, and I intend to live them out.’
Broughton followed Kennick out on to the parade ground, watched him mount up.
‘Lead out, Bren,’ Kennick called.
The patrol moved out at O’Hara’s command. Kennick looped the reins of Kicking Bear’s horse over his saddle.
‘Luke!’
Kennick glanced down at Colonel Broughton’s shadow, dappled face. He imagined he could see concern there.
‘Take care, Luke.’
‘I figure to, Colonel.’
The patrol moved slowly across the parade ground and out through the gates. Sounds were clear and sharp in the pre-dawn stillness. Out beyond the fort the land stretched flatly into the gloomy distance, vanishing into purple darkness on the horizon. The gates closed behind them, and inside the fort the bugle sounded again. The sound faded and they were alone on the flats, cut off from the fort by the darkness. The men were silent as they rode and their breath hung white in the frost-chilled air.
Kennick hunched his shoulders against the cold. He checked the reins tied to his saddle, then glanced across at Kicking Bear. The Indian stared straight ahead, his high-cheeked face hard and hawk like. Something made the Comanche turn. Kennick felt the full force of Kicking Bear’s hate as the Indian scowled at him. The thin lips drew back in a silent snarl, then Kicking Bear spat at Kennick.
‘You will never reach the river, white,’ the Comanche hissed.
Hearing that voice reminded Luke of the taunting challenge that had been hurled that unforgettable day of the massacre. His stomach jerked sickeningly. Before his eyes flashed that sun-streaked scene of horror. Again he saw the jerking bodies of the men of his patrol as the Indians’ rifles had slammed round after round into them. Again he saw the dead men, sprawling puppet-like on the ground while the thirsty land drank their blood . . . The scene faded.
It was dark again and there was only the hate-filled face of Kicking Bear before Kennick’s eyes. He knew then that he had to make it to the river. There was no choice at all. Kicking Bear had to pay. And Luke Kennick meant to see that he did. In full.
They rode through dawn and into the new day. Mid-morning they halted. O’Hara reined in his sweating, dust-coated horse alongside Kennick’s.
‘You all right?’ he asked.
Luke nodded. He squinted up at the sun. ‘Be a hot one,’ he said.
‘How’s his nibs?’ O’Hara asked, glancing over at Kicking Bear.
‘Keeping his nose in the air and his mouth shut.’
The Comanche had remained grimly silent since he’d made his threat. It suited Kennick. The less exchanges he had with the Indian the better, he decided.
O’Hara wiped sweat and dust from his red face. ‘In another hour or so, we’ll halt again. It’ll be in amongst the rocks at the foot of a mesa. Plenty of cover for you to drop off. I’ll take the patrol off to the south. You give us time to get clear, then head northeast when you’re ready. After that, you’re on your own.’
Kennick opened his canteen and took a short swallow. He held up the canteen to Kicking Bear, but the Indian turned his head away.
‘He’ll maybe change his mind when his tongue feels a foot thick,’ O’Hara said.
‘He can suit himself. I’m not going to beg him to drink,’ Kennick said.
‘All right, me hot, tired, darlin’ boys!’ O’Hara yelled. ‘Stir yourselves and try to look like cavalry, for Christ’s sake.’
He rode to the head of the column and led out. Dust swirled up from under the horses and hung in a choking cloud about the riders. It got into the hair and eyes and mouth, leaving the men irritable and uncomfortable.
A sudden thought hit Kennick. Had Griff McBride heard about the escort? Did he know Kennick had left the fort? Would he follow? Kennick shrugged the questions aside. He had enough to contend with. But he’d keep an eye on his back trail from now on. If McBride did come after him, he wanted to be ready, so he could give him all the trouble he wanted. Hard and fast.
Kennick flicked sweat from his face. He found he was thinking about the ranch again. In his mind he could see the green acres of cool sweet grass. I must have been crazy to leave that for this, he thought. What the hell am I doing in the middle of Texas, dressed like a soldier, when I could be home riding herd on my cattle and not a kill-crazy Comanche? In the same instant, he told himself the answer for the hundredth time since he’d left the fort.
Noon found them halted at the base of the mesa. The jumbled rocks didn’t throw much shade, and it was still hot. A fire was lit and coffee brewed.
Kennick and a trooper got Kicking Bear off his horse. The Comanche was seated against a rock and his feet were tied securely. Kennick made no move to release Kicking Bear’s hands. He was starting off the way he intended to carry on. He offered Kicking Bear water again. Again it was refused.
O’Hara joined Kennick and they sat aside from the others. Kennick accepted the mug of coffee O’Hara had brought him. They drank in silence for a while.
‘I’ll rest up until dark and then move out,’ Kennick said.
‘Be a good moon tonight,’ O’Hara said. He toyed awkwardly with his mug, and Kennick realized he was trying to say something.
‘Wish me luck, Bren,’ Kennick said lightly.
That I do, lad. Only, I got more to say, boy. You and me been good mates. We’ve been through a lot and always come out on top. Don’t change the old ways, Luke.’
‘Bren, I’ve got too much to lose to go down. I’ve got a ranch to build. And some damned fine friends. I’m a lucky man, Bren, and I don’t intend to become unlucky.’
‘Easy enough to say. You mind how you go,’ O’Hara said gruffly. ‘You hear?’
‘I hear, Bren. And thanks for the thought.’
‘I’ll have your horses put behind them boulders,’ O’Hara said abruptly.
He got up and threw out coffee dregs. ‘I feel like I’m running out on you, Luke,’ he said gravely, then turned on his heel and marched heavily across to where the rest of the patrol had hunkered down.
‘You softhearted bastard,’ Kennick whispered affectionately. ‘Thanks.’