Chapter 20

It was almost two days before he found what he was looking for. “Somebody’s ridden this way lately,” he told her.

“How do you know?”

“I can see the signs. Look at how the grass is bent here. By nightfall it’ll be standing up again, so that tells me we’re not far behind them.”

She looked to where he knelt over a clump of grass, seeing nothing. “Indians?” she asked uneasily.

“No.”

“You mean there are more than two foolhardy Anglos out here?”

“Mexicans.”

“How can you tell?”

“The way the hooves are shod.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“You don’t have to.”

He stood up, frowning, then walked to where Hannibal chewed determinedly on a sparse clump of grass. Loosening one of the packs, he took out the all-purpose pan and poured water into one of the canteens. The mule drank it dry. Repeating the process, he offered some to his paint mare and the Indian pony.

“I could use a drink myself,” she said.

As he handed the nearly empty canteen to her, he told her to go slow with it. Wild China Pond, the place where he’d expected to find water was dry. Flat Rock Ponds probably were also. And it was a long way to the Mustang Ponds. That left only a small canyon stream at the bottom of one hell of a hole in between here and the mustangs.

“Do you really know where we are?”

“Uh-huh. Over there’s New Mexico—and this way’s the Llano Estacado,” he added, pointing eastward. “Back there are the Castle Mountains.”

She sipped the tepid water, holding it in her mouth before swallowing it. Handing the canteen back, she dared to ask, “How much farther are we going today?”

“Until we catch up to them.”

“You think it’s the Comancheros?”

“Well, if it is, there’s no sign of a wagon. On the other hand, Comanches don’t have much use for any other kind of Mexican, and unless I’ve missed my guess, these tracks are headed straight for Quanah.”

“Why would they do that if they haven’t brought anything to sell?”

He shrugged. “They may just be going to set up a meeting for the actual trade. I still think it’s probably going to happen somewhere around Big Spring. The way I see it, Quanah’s offering either stolen horses or cattle—maybe both—and while he can hole up in the Llano with them, the wagons can’t come in. So he’ll have to take them someplace where there’s both water and access to a wagon trail before he can trade them.”

“But why Big Spring? Why not go back across the Pecos?”

‘Too risky. It’d be too hard to take a herd the way we came—it’s too narrow at Castle Gap. And if they try to go around, there’s at least a sixty-five-mile stretch where there’s nothing to drink. So I figure they’ll be wanting to start out from a place like Big Spring.”

“What are you going to do if you find Quanah Parker first?” she asked uneasily.

He didn’t answer. He’d mulled that over in his mind himself and reached the conclusion he would have to lie. If he got caught at it, Quanah wasn’t likely to for give him. And if that happened, he’d be a traitor, and being one of The People wouldn’t save him.

“I’m pretty attached to my hair, you know,” she said finally.

“I’m not worried,” he lied. He stowed the pan in the packs, then swung back into the saddle. “Come on—the longer we linger, the closer they get to Quanah.”

Resigned, she looked across the broad, high plain and she shuddered at what she saw. On the horizon big black birds circled the sky, waiting for something to die.

“Do you see that?” she asked McAlester.

“Yeah—buzzards.”

“Maybe that’s your Mexicans. Maybe the Comanches found them. Maybe they weren’t Comancheros.”

“No. If I had to guess, I’d say something’s dying of thirst. Sometimes when I’ve come this way, I’ve seen bones and carcasses strung out for miles, and not all of them were animals. But I wouldn’t worry about it—we’ve still got a water paunch.”

“All the canteens are empty?”

“Almost.” He looked across at her. “Sorry you came?”

“No. At least you speak English.”

He’d give her one thing—once she got through that first day, she’d kept up with few complaints. Last night, when he’d fixed supper, she hadn’t even asked what it was. He found that rather ironic—the first time she didn’t want to know, he’d fixed a stew of jackrabbit, wild onion, beans, and yep that she would have eaten anyway.

She was also a lot stronger than he’d expected, and she seemed determined to carry her own weight. While he’d cooked yesterday morning, she’d fixed up the day’s shelter, and when they woke, she’d gathered firewood for him, both without being asked. When he’d cleaned his new Colts, she’d watered the animals. It was as though she were trying to show him that she was neither useless nor helpless.

They’d lingered too long over his stew, getting a late start on the night, but he wouldn’t have traded the time for a hundred miles on the trail. After supper, they’d sat there, roasting hackberry balls over the fire, comparing Chicago to Boston. It had been, oddly enough, one of the best times of his life. Until he’d clasped her hand to help her up. Then it had taken every ounce of will he had to quell his desire for her.

No, if he had any complaints of her, the problem lay within him, not her. She was in most of his waking thoughts and all of his dreams now, and nothing he did seemed to change that. One glance, one touch, and there it was—aching within him. And the worst of it was that at times like those, he could almost believe it possible to possess her again.

He’d always been a man in total control of himself—cold, calculating, disciplined to the point that he believed he could endure anything. Except the nearness of Amanda Ross. He could cross the broiling desert, climb the mountain, swim the river, and survive the worst mother nature threw at him. But he couldn’t shake the hold she had on his mind and body. He was, he reflected wearily, as consumed by desire as a lovesick youth after his first time with a girl.

“Is something the matter?” Amanda asked him.

“Huh? No, why would you think that?” he managed to answer.

“You aren’t saying anything.”

“Sometimes when I’m on the trail I go for days without saying anything,” he said defensively. “I’m still trying to track the sign.”

“But you weren’t looking at anything,” she reminded him.

“How would you know?”

“I was watching you.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“I expect that’s because you never sleep.”

“I sleep enough.”

“When?”

“When you sleep.”

He reined in and leaned across to pull his telescope from the ropes that secured it atop his packs. Adjusting it, he trained it on the buzzards, then the ground. A horse lay there, its ribs quivering. It was still saddled.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Somebody’s mount. It looks like I was right, and they ran out of water. Here—look for yourself.”

She held the glass up and squinted, adjusting it until she spied when he’d seen. “It’s alive.”

“Not for long.”

“They just abandoned the poor creature,” she said indignantly. “How could anyone do that?”

“What would you have them do—die with it?”

“Would you just leave it like that?” she countered.

“No. I’d have to kill it.” He took the telescope back and looked again. “He left a good saddle behind. Come on—I want a look at it,” he added, spurring the paint.

It turned out to be farther than she’d expected, and it took a good quarter of an hour to reach the dying horse. The animal’s eyes were wide open, bulging, its breathing labored. Clay dismounted and drew a gun.

“Turn your head,” he told Amanda.

“You aren’t—?” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it.

“Yes.”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s too late to save it.”

He walked closer, taking in the elaborate silver conchos that trimmed the hand-tooled saddle, and his heart beat a little faster. It was Mexican. He raised his hand, pointing the Colt’s barrel at the blaze on the horse’s head.

“Don’t!” she cried out.

‘Turn your head, I said!”

He squeezed the trigger. When he turned around, Amanda was crying. “Look—I’m sorry, but it had to be done.” He holstered the gun. “We ought to catch up to the owner pretty soon,” he observed. “Two of ’em are riding double, and judging by this, they’re short on water.”

“There’s just two?”

“No. Four. But there’s only three horses now.” He shaded his eyes and looked toward what still appeared to be flat plain. “I don’t know why they didn’t shoot the animal themselves,” he added.

“I don’t see any canyon,” she protested.

“You won’t until you’re about ready to fall into it.” Turning his attention back to the dead horse, he knelt down and unbuckled a saddlebag. “Well, look at this,” he murmured, whistling low.

“What is it?”

“A letter from Sanchez-Torres to somebody named Emilio.” He scanned the Spanish words quickly, then reread them. “It looks like Emilio’s supposed to tell Quanah there’s nine wagons coming. Hap was right—it’s one hell of a shipment. No wonder they raided all the way to Durango. Sanchez-Torres wants three thousand horses for it.”

“How bad is it?”

“A whole lot of rifles and a Gatling gun. Not to mention enough ammunition to blow up a stockade. I’d say if Quanah gets this, he’ll have enough to arm his Quahadis as well as many Kiowas and Cheyenne as want to take to the war trail with him.” He read further before looking up. “Well, Hap said there was a Texan involved, and it looks like he was right.”

It took a moment for it to sink in. “How on earth could anyone want to unleash an Indian war on his own people? Clay, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, it does.” Without waiting to explain, he mounted the paint mare. “Come on—there’s not much time.”

It wasn’t until he’d ridden a couple of miles that he spoke again. “You ever hear of Sam McKittrick?” he asked abruptly.

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“I’m going to put a noose around his neck. McKittrick’s got a spread not too far from the Ybarra. It’s not half as big as yours, but Sam’s got big plans for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“McKittrick’s behind Sanchez-Torres. He wants the Comanches to come down and clean out his neighbors. He wants them driven off the land and out of business. He knows the army’s going to come in and punish the Indians when it’s all over.”

“And I suppose that by the time that happens, he’s bought up cheap land and owns half of West Texas—that’s it, isn’t it?”

“Kinda looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, then exhaled. “But he won’t get Ybarra-Ross. We’ve got walls as high as a fort’s.”

“An Indian war can sure as hell isolate you.”

She fell silent as the full import of what he was saying sank in. With hostile Indians raiding at will, ranch hands would be reluctant to ride herd on Ybarra cattle, and there was no way of telling how many animals she’d lose. Big John always said he had two things worth as much as gold in the bank—his land and his cattle.

“When do you think Quanah Parker means to start this?” she asked finally.

“He’s got to have guns first.”

“But he’s not going to get them.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” He straightened in his saddle. “But the going gets a whole lot rougher from here. From here on, we’re going to have to ride during the day.”

It didn’t take long to realize he meant the terrain. He’d been right about that also. From a seemingly flat, wide-open space, the ground suddenly dropped as though it had been ripped open by an angry god, and she was staring over the brink into a chasm several hundred feet straight down. The walls looked to be solid rock.

“My word!” she gasped. “We aren’t going down into that, I hope.”

“Yeah.” He looked down into the canyon at the small ribbon of water slicing through it. “Hard to imagine that a stream can do that,” he murmured.

She was dizzy just looking into the abyss. “I—” She caught herself before she told him she couldn’t do it. “I don’t see how,” she finished lamely.

“There’s a path.”

“Where?”

“Right down the side. It starts over there—just past where you see that rock ledge.”

“Oh.” She swallowed nervously. “Have any horses fallen going down?”

“Probably. Want to ride Hannibal?”

“You told me he’s temperamental.”

“He is, but there’s nothing more sure-footed than a mule.” He could see she was hesitant, but he was in a hurry. “I’ll go first, leading you down. Now—do you want Hannibal or the pony you’re already on?”

Vaguely remembering being dunked in the Pecos by the mule, she didn’t take long to make up her mind. “The pony.”

“Good. I wasn’t wanting to shift the packs anyway.” He reached to take the reins from her nearly nerveless fingers, then he nudged Sarah with his knee, turning her toward the ledge.

As they began the steep descent, Amanda made the mistake of looking at the canyon floor. It was a long way down. She froze, unable to move.

“I—I can’t … I just can’t,” she whispered.

“Close your eyes, and I’ll get you down.”

“I’m afraid of high places.”

“Pretty soon you’ll be in a low one.”

“You’re not frightened at all, are you?”

“No, but I grew up out here.”

He knew the longer he waited, the more she’d panic, so he gave Sarah her head, and the mare moved slowly, picking her way along the narrow one-sided path. When he looked back over his shoulder, Amanda’s eyes were closed, her lips moving silently, and he was pretty sure she prayed.

“We’ll be at the bottom in no time,” he assured her.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she responded tersely. “I’d rather get there whole.”

“You will.”

It seemed as though her whole life passed before her eyes, as though it took an age, and all she could feel was the slow, stolid walk of the Indian pony plodding downward. She was leaning at a steep pitch, almost over the deerhorn pommel. She grasped the saddlehorn with both hands and held on so tightly that her knuckles hurt.

After about the twentieth Hail Mary, she dared to ask, “Are we nearly there?”

“Almost,” he lied.

She opened one eye and wished she hadn’t. While the horse hugged the rock wall, there was nothing but air on the other side. She started over, saying the rosary from the beginning, this time whispering it, reassuring herself with her own prayers. Her hands, where they held the saddlehorn, were so wet she was afraid she’d lose her grip.

“Another hundred feet,” he told her.

“I don’t want to hear it unless we are there.”

“All right, I won’t say anything more.”

She lasted about five minutes. “Where are we now?”

“Fifty feet—do you want me to count them out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Forty feet … thirty-five … thirty … twenty … fifteen …”

She exhaled, visibly relieved. “I’m all right now,” she decided, opening her eyes. This time, she looked up. “I can’t believe we started from there.”

“There are bigger holes than this around.”

“But we don’t have to go through them?” she asked hopefully.

“No.” He got out his telescope again and looked down the narrow canyon. “We’re not far behind our Mend Emilio.”

“Do you see them?”

“No, but I can smell the smoke of a campfire.”

That was too much for her. “God must have given you different equipment if you can smell that.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as he turned around. “I reckon he did.”

Heat flooded her face. “I was speaking of noses,” she said stiffly.

He sobered almost immediately. “It’s going to get pretty rough here shortly. I don’t think they’re much farther than that rock bend ahead, and for all I know they may have heard us coming down. Before we stumble into an ambush, I’m going to leave you on this side of the bend. If it’s clear, I’ll come back for you. Otherwise, you’re going to hear gunfire.”

“Yes.”

“If you hear shots, and I’m not back right away, you hightail it the other way. There’s another trail going up to the rim about two or three miles behind you, and it’ll be easier going because you don’t have to look down.”

“And do what?” she demanded incredulously. “I don’t even know where I am.”

“If you ride straight north, you’re headed toward the leased lands. If you ride south, you’re headed for Stockton. It’s about four or five days from here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Whatever you do, if I don’t come back, don’t come after me—savvy?” He reached for his shotgun and handed it to her. “It’s double-loaded with a charge of number four shot in each barrel. Each trigger fires one load.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m leaving it with you. If you get in trouble, you don’t have to have much aim—it’ll scatter anything within a hundred and fifty feet. All you have to remember is not to fire both loads at once.”

She could see he was serious. “All right. But you don’t really think anything’s going to go wrong, do you?” she asked anxiously. “I mean, I don’t want to be stranded out here with nothing but Comanches and Comancheros.”

“You asked to come.”

“I know, but—”

“Amanda, I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He gave her a look of long-suffering. “I don’t know what the hell you think you can do.”

“Neither do I, but I’m not staying behind. There’s no way on earth I’m going back up there alone.”

“Damn.”

“There’s no need to curse, is there?”

“I could say a whole lot more than that right now,” he muttered. He looked up the trail, then to the rocky curve ahead. “How well can you climb?”

“I told you I’m not going back alone.”

“You’ve made that clear—I was looking at that ledge over there,” he said, pointing. “Think you could climb up to it?”

“Not decently—but yes. At least it looks like I could find something to hang onto. Why?”

“If you are determined to stay, I guess you might as well cover me.”

She looked at the shotgun. “With this?”

“If you have to use it, it’ll do the most damage. Come on—I’ll go up there with you. I’ll take a look at what I’m getting myself into.”

“Maybe they won’t be there.”

“You better hope to God they are. I’d rather take them out here than risk letting ’em get to Quanah.” He swung out of his saddle and came to stand beside her. “Are you game to try?” he asked, taking the shotgun back from her, setting it carefully on the ground.

“Yes.” He reached up for her, and as she leaned out of the Indian saddle, her face was but inches from his. “You know, Amanda Mary Ross,” he said softly, “you’re one hell of a woman, whether you want to be or not.”

She slid the length of him until her feet were on the ground. Before she had time to close her eyes, she felt the warm caress of his breath against her cheek, the surprising gentleness of his lips against hers. His arms closed around her, holding her close, and for some odd reason, she was so overwhelmed she wanted to cry. Her hands came up to clasp his shoulders as she returned his kiss. For a long moment she savored the strength of his embrace, then it was over.

He set her back from him. “You make a man afraid to die,” he said, dropping his hands. “You make him want to live.”

“You aren’t going to die—you cannot.”

“I don’t plan to, Amanda, but in my business it happens.” He searched her face almost hungrily. “Would it make any difference to you, I wonder?”

His gaze was so intense she had to look away. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it would.”

He sucked in his breath, holding it for a moment, then he exhaled heavily. “Come on—there’s no time right now,” he said. Leaning down, he picked up the shotgun and started toward the curve ahead.

The floor of the canyon narrowed, obstructed by huge boulders piled like stairs to the low-hanging ledge above them. “Go on,” he urged her, “I’m right behind to catch you if you lose your footing.”

It was easier than she expected. Though her hands and feet slipped and slid into crevices between the rocks, she managed to scramble all the way up without actually falling. When she reached the ledge, she discovered it had enough of an overhang above it to put her in heavy shadows. She turned back to take the shotgun so McAlester could join her.

“Well, now—would you look at that?” he said under his breath. “I think we’ve found Emilio and his friends.”

She followed his gaze and saw three men gathered around a small cooking fire beside the stream. While one turned a spit, the other two shared a bottle of something. Two horses were hobbled nearby.

“There’s only three men down there,” she whispered. “I thought you said there were four.”

“There were. And one horse is missing.”

“Where do you think he is—the other man, I mean?”

He’d hoped to get all of them, but he was too late. “Unless I miss my guess, I’d say he’s gone visiting. Damn, but I hate to see that.”

“Why would just one go?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think Quanah would be this far north with a herd to feed and water. I still don’t.”

She could see that he was angry with himself, and she sought to mollify him. “Maybe the other one’s gone hunting for food—it doesn’t look like they’ve got much to eat.”

“Maybe—but I don’t think so.”

“What are you going to do now?”

‘Take my chances. But I need you to look out for me while I go down.”

“Don’t you think you ought to wait?”

“No.”

He hesitated, then reached to brush her hair back from her forehead. For the first time in his life, he felt a responsibility to live. If he didn’t, if he made a mistake, she’d be at the mercy of Comancheros—or worse.

“Well, that’s it, I think,” he told her. “Don’t make a move unless you have to—unless you see I’m in trouble.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. But as he started to leave her, she blurted out, “Wait!”

He turned back. “What?”

Feeling utterly self-conscious now, she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I guess I’m just afraid.”

“For me or for you?”

“Both.”

“Hey—” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “I do this all the time.”

She nodded.

“God, Amanda—” He got no further. His arms closed around her, holding her against his chest. “You didn’t ask for this, did you?”

“No,” came the muffled reply.

“As soon as this is over—as soon as I get Sanchez-Torrez and McKittrick, I’m taking you to the Ybarra,” he whispered against the crown of her hair. “I’m going to be there to see the look on Sandoval’s face when he finds out you survived.”

“I hope so.”

“I am.”

With that, he released her. “Hold the fort for me, will you?” he said.

She watched as he went back down the way they’d come up, and then he was out of sight. Reluctantly, she picked up the shotgun and waited.

It seemed like forever before she saw him again, this time on the other side of the bend. He was on foot, close to the rock wall, then he stepped into the open, his revolver drawn.

“Emilio!” he called out.

The three men scattered, and one came up shooting. Two shots nicked rock, and the sound reverberated down the canyon. Amanda froze as Clay McAlester returned fire. There was a cry, and the Mexican doubled over. The other two reached the horses. He caught one in the back, and the fellow fell. Desperate, the last Comanchero tried to make a stand, using his horse for a shield. Clay crouched low, waiting until the man raised up to shoot, then he got off the first round. The fellow’s head jerked back as the bullet struck, then his body slipped noiselessly to the ground.

The sudden silence had a finality to it. While Amanda looked on, too horrified to move, McAlester turned the first Mexican over and went through his pockets. Finding nothing, he walked over to the other body. As he knelt, he froze, and the hairs on his neck stiffened.

She saw what he heard—coming down the canyon were half a dozen painted Indians and the missing Comanchero. One of the Indians stood in his stirrups and raised a rifle.

“Look out!” she screamed.

The warrior looked up as she pulled both triggers. The blast was deafening, and the world went black. She fell back, oblivious to everything but the pain in her shoulder. Below, four wounded Indians fled, leaving two dead behind. The last Comanchero writhed on the ground, clutching his stomach, dying.

Not knowing for sure if there was a larger band nearby, Clay didn’t waste any time. As the smoke cleared, he ran up the rocks to Amanda. She was lying on her back, her expression dazed, the shotgun beside her.

He dropped to his knees and pulled her up, cradling her against his chest. She blinked blankly.

“Are you all right?”

“My … my shoulder,” she mumbled.

He felt over it carefully. “It’s not broken,” he assured her. “That was one hell of a shot you got off.”

“Was it?”

His arms tightened around her. “You bet it was.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured, turning her head into his shoulder. “It hurt … I didn’t expect that.” Then she sobered with the realization of what she’d done. “I killed some of them, didn’t I?”

“You damned near got all of ’em—two dead, four wounded.”

She closed her eyes momentarily. “May God forgive me,” she whispered, swallowing. “I never thought I could do such a thing, and now I’ve done it twice.” She looked up, searching his face. “I don’t know how you can do this all the time.”

“Yeah—well,” He took a deep breath, then exhaled it. “For what it’s worth, it isn’t something a man gets used to, Amanda, but I’ve had to face the fact that some people just don’t deserve to live. When I keep that in mind, it makes what I do a little easier.” He reached down with one hand and picked up the shotgun. Still holding her against him, he looked at it. “Well, no wonder—good God, woman, you fired both barrels! You’re damned lucky it didn’t blow up on you.”

“I thought the Comanches were going to kill you,” she said simply. “I don’t remember pulling both triggers.”

“They weren’t Comanche, so apparently we haven’t stumbled onto Quanah Parker yet. But it tells me that something’s about to happen. If I’m right, these were Cheyenne on their way to join him.”

“How do you know they weren’t Kiowa or Apache?”

“The Apache are bitter, enemies of the Comanche, and they wouldn’t come into the Comancheria, even in summer. These weren’t dressed like Kiowa, so that means they’re Cheyenne.”

“Clay …” She hesitated.

“What?”

“I didn’t believe in this—not in the beginning, anyway—but I want you to know I do now. I’d like to think maybe I could help.”

“You already have.”

But she wasn’t finished. “Ybarra-Ross can stand, I know that, but a lot of the others cannot. I don’t want to have the only ranch in West Texas. I don’t want to have nightmares about what happens to my neighbors.”

She seemed so right in his arms, so very right, almost as though she’d been made for him. He looked down, nearly overwhelmed by the tenderness he felt for her. He bent his head and rubbed his cheek against the softness of her hair. “You scared the hell out of me, Amanda,” he whispered.

But there was no time. By now, more Cheyennes could be mounting up to come after them. He shifted her off his knee and stood up. “Can you ride, do you think?”

She nodded. “It’s just my shoulder.”

“It’s pretty bruised up.” He reached for her other arm and helped her to stand. “Come on—we’ve got to get out of here. There’s no telling who’ll be coming back. We might be heading for Big Spring with five hundred Indians on our tails.”

“Let’s hope not, because it’s going to be slow going back up that trail.”

“We’re riding up-canyon first, just in case we have to make a stand.”

Carrying the shotgun, he went down first, ready to catch her if she lost her balance, but she didn’t. As he boosted her up into the Indian saddle, he realized how much she’d surprised him. Every day since he’d found her half dead in the desert, she’d surprised him. In spite of everything, she was still doing her best to survive.

He still had his hand on her knee. “Is something the matter?” she asked him.

“No. I was just thinking we must be about even-up now.”

“In what?”

“Everything.” He dropped his hand and took a deep breath. Moving to his paint mare, he stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. Grasping the reins and Hannibal’s lead rope, he turned his horse toward the steep trail up. “Let’s get going—we can talk later.”

As she fell in behind him, nothing, not even the awful ache in her shoulder, could dampen the exhilaration she felt. She’d not only saved his life, but she’d proven to him that she could pull her own weight, that she wasn’t merely useless and in his way.