Chapter 6

Amanda sat on the Baxters’ porch, fanning herself determinedly, keeping time with the creaking rocking chair. It was too hot to stay inside, but as she looked at the bright, cloudless sky, she had to admit there was little relief anywhere.

It was as though everything was brown and dead, and only an occasional Negro soldier or an Apache scout dared to stir beneath the blazing sun. The hottest day of his memory, the post surgeon had called it, reporting at noon that the thermometer in his infirmary had registered one hundred and eleven degrees.

Moved as much by boredom as by pity, she’d gone there to do what she could for the five men unlucky enough to be sick on such a day. One of them, Trooper Hill, had been half out of his head with a fever brought on by an infected wound. Dr. Abbott, the surgeon, said he needed to take the leg, but Hill didn’t want to give it up without a fight. The world had little enough use for a Negro, let alone one with one leg, and once he let them cut it off, the army wouldn’t have him either. Buffalo soldiers, the Indians called men like Trooper Hill, comparing their wooly hair to that on a buffalo head. But whatever the name, they were still outcasts. Mostly former slaves, they fought the white man’s implacable Comanche, Kiowa, and Cheyenne enemies. Yet she’d heard Louise Baxter complain, “Poor Charles will never get a promotion until he commands soldiers rather than nigras.” As though these men who fought and died to make Texas safe weren’t people.

“Howdy, ma’am.”

Startled, Amanda came down hard on the runners of the rocker. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed the rider approaching.

“Sorry,” he said. “Reckon I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.”

“No, no,” she murmured, recovering. “Not at all—I was daydreaming.”

His blue eyes were warm and friendly within his tanned face, and his smile lifted a full mustache. He removed his hat, revealing thick, curling brown hair.

“You aren’t from around here,” he decided.

“No—well, I was born at the Ybarra-Ross, but I’ve been away for years,” she admitted.

“Mighty big place, the Ybarra.”

“Yes—yes, it is.”

“I knew the fella that owned it.”

“John Ross?”

“Yep.”

“He was my father.”

“Well, I’ll be—” His smile broadened. “Yeah, me and him fought Comanches way back. ’Course I wasn’t dry behind the ears back then, you understand.” He dropped his reins and swung down in front of her. Stepping onto the porch, he wiped his hand on dust-caked pants before holding it out. “Name’s Walker—Hap Walker, ma’am.”

“Amanda Ross.” As she shook his callused hand, she instinctively liked him. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“You wouldn’t know if Clay McAlester’s made it in yet, by any chance?” he asked. “Big fellow on a little pony,” he added for description. “Can’t miss him—looks like a cross between a mountain man and an Indian—got yaller hair halfway down his back.”

“He arrived yesterday.”

He appeared relieved. “I was kinda worried about the boy. Well, he ain’t really a boy—must be twenty-eight or twenty-nine by now. Yeah, that’d be about right. Damn, but I’m getting old.” Catching himself, he apologized, “Sorry, ma’am—didn’t mean to cuss. Out here, a man don’t meet too many ladies.”

“Hap! Hap Walker!”

He spun around, his hand on his gun, much as Clay McAlester had done, then he relaxed. “Well, if it ain’t Billy Samson! Haven’t been running any wagons in from the territory, have you?”

“Cap’n, you know better’n that! No sir, them redskins ain’t gettin’ no mo’ chances at this ole wooly head. I’m bringing supplies over from Griffin now.”

A grizzled Negro carter crossed the grounds toward them. As he drew closer, Amanda could not help noticing the awful scar that ran from his forehead halfway up to his bald crown. Hap Walker reached out to pump the old man’s hand, then turned back to her.

“Comanches caught him out,” the ranger explained. “Only man I know of that survived a scalping—‘course they botched it and only got half his hair.”

“So I see.”

“Everything going good for you now—what with the government contract, I mean?” he asked Billy.

“Yeah, I been hauling for the army since last winter.” The old man shook his head. “But did you hear about Nate Hill, Cap’n? He’s down—real bad.”

“What happened?”

“Outfit ran into a war party up by the Pecos, and a bullet plumb shattered when it hit Nate’s thigh bone. Guess they didn’t get all of it out. I dunno—maybe you might talk sense to Nate—tell ’im he’s got to let go of that leg afore it kills him.”

“Mr. Hill is refusing the amputation,” Amanda cut in. As they both turned to her, she took a quick breath, then let it out. “I’ve seen it myself, and there’s no hope of saving the limb. I … I could smell it, I’m afraid.”

“Jesus.” Recalling himself again, Hap Walker looked sheepish for a moment. “Sorry, ma’am, but he was in the State Police with me, and like most of the coloreds, he had a hard time getting much respect for it.”

“Told me he nearly got lynched over in Walker County,” Billy recalled. “Would have, he said, if it hadn’t been for that McAlester.” His face broke into a wide grin. “Fired a load of buckshot out of that double-barreled shotgun right over that mob. Took the vinegar right out of ’em, Nate said. Faced ’em down, telling ’em he’d take the first man that moved with the other load. Nate said he had the coolest head he’d ever seen. No sir, they wasn’t wantin’t’ tangle with ’im, not a-tall. That boy’s a rough ’un, Cap’n.”

“Clay’s not afraid of much,” Walker agreed.

“Much? He ain’t afraid of nuthin’!”

“And you think I can change Nate’s mind?”

“Well, he always said you was the finest white man he ever met—best officer in the State Police. Maybe if you was to tell him to let go of that leg, he’d mind you. He’s got a woman and a boy in San Antone, Cap’n.”

Hap squinted up at the relentless sun, then looked down at his boots. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt none to talk to him, but I don’t know about asking a man to give up his leg, Billy—mighty hard thing to do.” Abruptly, he jammed his wide-brimmed felt hat back on his head. “Yeah, I’ll give it a try,” he decided. With that he jumped down from the porch and started across the dusty ground.

Billy Samson turned back to Amanda. “Thank you, ma’am, for looking in on Nate.” Glancing at the door behind her, he added significantly, “There’s them here that don’t care if a colored man’s going to die. I ain’t namin’ names, you understand, but that’s just the way it is.”

“I just hope it isn’t too late.”

“Well, if the cap’n tells ’im, he’ll listen. Hap Walker don’t tell no lies—no, ma’am, he don’t. Ain’t a finer man a-livin’ nowhere. Ain’t another man I’d want beside me in a fight neither,” he declared.

“Not even Mr. McAlester?”

“Lordy, but that’d be a choice, wouldn’t it?” he said, rolling his eyes.

Shading her face with her hand, she watched Hap Walker. He walked with a slight limp, but there was a determined set to his shoulders. It occurred to her that if he’d fought the Indians with her father, he was worth knowing. She rose and smoothed her skirt over her petticoats.

“Excuse me, Mr. Samson, but I think I’ll go with him.”

The old Negro moved back diffidently. “Tell the cap’n I’ve gone to fetch Mr. McAlester—he’ll be sure enough glad to see him. It was him that brought the boy back from them thieving Indians.”

Gathering her skirt with her hands, she stepped off the porch and hurried across the yard. When she reached the infirmary, the ranger captain seemed surprised she’d followed him. He’d paused to take off his hat again, and as he smoothed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead, his smile crinkled the skin around his bright blue eyes.

“No need to come on my account, ma’am. I kinda know my way around this place.”

“I came for Mr. Hill,” she said simply. “Perhaps if he agrees to the surgery, I can be of help.” She hesitated for a moment, then met his gaze soberly. “I was nearly thirteen when my cousin Joe came back from the rebellion, Captain Walker. He was with the second Massachusetts, and at Gettysburg he took five Confederate bullets. He lost an arm, and his leg was shattered, and there were two balls that they couldn’t remove because they were too near his spine. We tried to nurse him, but he died from the infection,” she recalled bitterly. “So I assure you that I am not likely to swoon at the sight of blood—or of the surgeon’s saw.”

“Whew—I guess not.” Shaking his head, he exhaled fully, then reached for the door. Standing back to let her pass, he waited until she was inside before he spoke again. “A lot of men died then, and a lot who came back were never the same,” he said quietly. “I guess folks here in Texas don’t stop to think what the war did to the Yankees.”

“You fought in the rebellion?”

“I fought for the Confederacy, ma’am—under John Bell Hood. But in the end, there were just too many goddamned Yankees for us. We killed a lot of ’em, but they just kept on coming, until they even overwhelmed the likes of Bobby Lee.”

“Slavery was wrong.”

‘Texas joined the Union in 1836 by choice,” he countered. “In 1861 we chose to get out of it, and that damned Yankee Lincoln had no right to stop us.”

“You sound just like Mr. McAlester.”

“I reckon he got it from me.” Looking past her, he saw the post surgeon directing the application of wet cooling sheets over his patients. “Jesus God—it’s hotter’n hell in here,” he muttered. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“I’ll probably hear worse before I die.”

Leading the way between the rows of cots, she found Nate Hill’s bed. His eyes were closed, his teeth clenched, and his breathing shallow. She reached out to touch his forehead. It was hot and dry.

“He ain’t no better’n he was,” a soldier in the next cot told her. “Been out of his head since you left.”

“He’s worse,” she observed. Leaning over Nate Hill, she tried to rouse him. “Can you drink some water?” she asked loudly. “I’ll get you cold spring water.”

He opened eyes that seemed yellow against his gray-brown face. “Help me,” he rasped. “Help me, Sergeant.”

“Captain Walker is here,” she told him.

“Don’t leave me … can’t ride …”

Reaching past her, Hap shook the trooper’s shoulder. “Nate, it’s me—Hap Walker.”

“Don’t let ’em have m’hair, Sarge … don’t …” The eyes closed.

“Mr. Hill, you’ve got to let the doctor operate,” Amanda pleaded, taking his hand.

“He doesn’t know what you’re saying, Miss Ross,” Abbott, the post surgeon, said behind her. “He’s beyond consent now. We’re going to put him on the table.”

“This should have been done yesterday—or the day before.”

Ignoring that, the physician walked to the other side of the cot and lifted Nate Hill’s big hand. “Uneven pulse,” he muttered. “Fever’s high.”

“I can try to bring it down. I can bathe him with cold water,” she offered. “I’ve seen it done.”

He looked up, his expression pained. “Miss Ross, I know what I’m doing, I assure you.” Letting his patient’s hand fall back to the cot, he wiped perspiration from his own face. “I know it’s too damned hot for this.” Turning to two soldiers waiting behind him, he ordered, “Heave him up, boys and make it quick. Thompson, you’re going to have to fan me while I do the cutting.” Turning to Hap Walker, he said, “Guess you saw your share of this in the war, Captain.”

The ranger nodded. “Can he make it?”

“Chancy—real chancy.” Twitching the sheet back, the surgeon exposed Nate Hill’s leg. As Amanda looked away, he told Walker, “Feel that.”

Hap stepped to the bottom of the cot and grasped Nate Hill’s toes, then he shook his head. “Cold,” he said quietly. “Dead cold. How much, do you think?”

“The whole thing,” the doctor answered grimly. “At this stage I can’t risk anything less.” Nodding curtly to one of his aides, he ordered, “All right, let’s go, boys. Thompson, fetch the chloroform while we put him up. Best get on before we start, Miss Ross—it’s not going to be pretty.”

But as the men lifted Trooper Hill, his eyes opened, and he blinked in bewilderment. Then it was as if the confusion lifted, and he realized what they were going to do to him. “Cap’n,” he begged desperately, “don’t let ’em—eeeeowwwwwwwww!”

“Nate, listen to me,” Hap said, leaning over him. “You’re going to lose that leg. It’s dead—it’s poison now.”

“No—no—” Hill bucked between those who held him and turned his head from side to side. “No! Ain’t no use for—”

“Thompson!” the surgeon barked.

The man stepped forward with a pad soaked in the chloroform. As he slapped it over Nate Hill’s nose and mouth, he advised Hap Walker, “Better step back, Cap’n—you too, ma’am. Stuff’s powerful strong.”

Hill twisted his head, trying to escape the fumes, then choked. His body fell limp. Amanda moved away, hesitated, then walked purposefully toward the water bucket. No one even noticed when she carried it outside.

Her petticoats stuck to her damp legs, and sweat ran down her neck, trickling between her breasts. It was too hot for anything—too hot for what they were going to do to that poor man inside. Pushing back wet tendrils of hair from her forehead, she stumbled toward the springs, where she splashed her face and arms with the cold water. She dipped the bucket, half filling it, and hurried back toward the infirmary.

The bandage over Nate Hill’s gangrenous leg was gone, and the wound that had not healed gaped. As the post surgeon pressed the skin above it, it oozed. She forced herself to walk to the trooper’s head. Taking a cloth from the instrument table, she dipped it into the cold water and began wiping his dark, ashy face.

“Miss Ross, get the hell out of here!” Abbott barked.

“I’m all right,” she insisted.

“Devil take you, then,” he muttered. “If you faint, I’m going to leave you where you fall.” With that he went to work. “Got to close off the artery above—just about here—yeah, ought to be it,” he said, talking to himself.

He sliced into the swollen limb, and the foul odor gagged Amanda. She kept her eyes on Nate Hill’s face as she washed his forehead. Turning away, she wrung the cloth out again, then made a compress. When she dared to look up, her eyes met Hap Walker’s, and his were red.

“Got to go up further—can’t save any of it. It’s going to have to be the hip joint. Damn.”

The air in the room was hot and heavy as the stench of dead flesh mingled with the smells of chloroform and male sweat. As the surgical saw bit into the bone, Nate Hill’s body jerked. “More chloroform, but not much,” Abbott ordered, adding, “and will someone take over the fan? I can’t see for the sweat in my eyes.”

A slender Negro, a youth scarce out of his teens, picked up the piece of cardboard, and looking away, he began waving it vigorously.

“That’s better. Well, there won’t be any wooden leg for him, that’s for sure.” A stream of blood spurted into the air, spattering him. “Got to close that off—” Wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, Abbott turned around to take something from the enameled tray. “Yeah,” he said, returning to his work, “I think that’ll hold for a few minutes.”

He kept up a steady stream of conversation with himself, while Amanda continued reapplying the cold compresses to Nate Hill’s head. Suddenly, the surgeon’s shoulders jerked.

“Jesus—he’s going. Back off with that chloroform!” he barked. “He’s got too much of it, and we’re sending him into shock! Give me that fan, soldier!” Jerking it from the man’s hands, he waved it in Nate Hill’s face. Then he dropped it and began beating the trooper’s breastbone. “Come on, Hill!” he shouted, “get that ticker going!”

“It ain’t no use, Doc,” Thompson said after several minutes.

For a moment Amanda didn’t want to believe it. Abbott leaned over and delivered one last blow as though he could somehow wake the dead. Nate Hill’s arm jerked by reflex. The surgeon looked up at Hap Walker. “If we’d had a little ether, he might have stood a chance. No, I’d be lying if I said I believed that. He was too far gone to take the shock of the saw,” he said finally. Turning away, he began washing his hands in Amanda’s bucket of water.

“No!” As the cry escaped her, she caught his arm. “You cannot let a man die just like this! You’ve got to do something!” When he shook her off, she mistook the reason. Returning her attention to Nate Hill, she began pounding on his breast, trying to rouse him. It seemed as though he sighed. She looked up and saw Hap Walker shaking his head.

“But he just took a breath—you heard him take a breath!”

“Miss Ross—” Abbott’s voice was pained. “You expelled the last air from his lungs.” Nonetheless, he lifted the closed eyelids and studied them. There was no question now—the blank stare told it all. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

“Sorry?” she shrieked. “Sorry? He’s dead!”

His shoulders slumped, then he straightened up. Looking her in the eye, he told her, “No physician wants to lose a patient. Miss Ross. Yesterday he might have made it—or he might not have. I’m not God, so I can’t answer that.”

Hap Walker’s hand closed over her shoulder. “Come on, Miss Ross. You did what you could.”

She wanted to cry, but she managed to nod.

He led her outside, where she leaned against the adobe brick wall. For a time she couldn’t speak, then finally she choked out, “Will they bury his leg with him, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I guess they will. Does it matter?”

“Yes. Otherwise, he won’t be whole in Heaven.”

He eyed her curiously, then he understood. “Guess you must be a Catholic, ma’am—stands to reason, anyway, what with your ma being an Ybarra.”

“Yes.”

“Nate won’t mind,” he said gently. “Unless I miss my guess, he was a Baptist. Come on—I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

“I made a fool of myself in there.”

“No, you didn’t. You’ve got a real kindness to you.” He paused to squint up at the blazing sun. “My ma was like you, you know. She knew how to comfort a body when he was hurt. It’s a real gift—there’s only few that’s got it, and the rest don’t even have a notion. Now, how about that coffee?”

“No, but I thank you.” She forced a twisted smile and held out her hand. “Most people wouldn’t agree with you, you know. I’m accounted rather headstrong.”

“Then any as would say that just don’t know you.”

“Why, theah you are, Miss Ross!” Louise Baxter, parasol in hand, headed toward them. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll be as brown as a walnut, deah.” She stopped. “Now don’t you just look like you ate a lemon—doesn’t she, Captain Walker?”

“I watched a man die, Louise.”

The woman stopped, staring blankly. “But …who?”

“Trooper Hill.”

Obvious relief washed over Louise Baxter. “Oh, thank goodness—for a moment ah was afraid it might be someone.” Seeing that Amanda’s head snapped up, she compounded the mistake. “Well, ah meant it was one of the nigras—that is, well, it isn’t as though he was an officer.”

“He was a man, Mrs. Baxter,” Amanda responded evenly.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Now if you will excuse me …” Turning to Hap Walker, Amanda held out her hand. “You have been most kind, sir.”

“Well,” Louise observed huffily as her houseguest walked away, “now that is downright uncivil, ah must say.”

But Hap was watching Amanda. “No,” he said softly, “that is one hell of a woman.” Tipping his hat to excuse himself, he headed toward the small drinking establishment just outside the post ground. Clay was waiting for him.

“You ever going to get a haircut, boy?” he asked.

“Billy told me you’d come in,” Clay responded, ignoring the question.

Hap sucked in his breath, then let it out. “Nate didn’t make it.”

“I knew he wouldn’t. I saw him last night.”

“Yeah.” Shading his eyes, Hap looked to where Amanda stood on the Baxters’ porch. “A real fine-looking woman,” he murmured. When Clay said nothing, Hap pressed him. “Ever meet her?”

“On the stage.”

“Well? What do you think of her?”

“I try not to pine for things I can’t have,” Clay lied.

“Damned if I know what ails you, son,” Hap complained. “Sometimes I wonder if you got blood in those veins. I was going to ask if you thought I’d have a chance at courting her, but I guess you ain’t talking enough to tell me.”

“Hap—”

“So, what do you think?”

Clay shrugged. “You asked for it. I think she’s too young and too rich for an old forty-dollar-a-month ranger.”

“Old?” Hap fairly howled. “I’m not out of my thirties yet. How old do you think she is?”

“Maybe twenty—maybe twenty-one.”

“Well, there ain’t anything that says a man can’t look, is there? Just because he can’t afford a diamond don’t mean he can’t appreciate it. And I’ll tell you one thing, boy—she may be rich, but she’s got something worth a helluva lot more than money. She wasn’t too fine to go over there and help with Nate. No, she’s got a caring nature.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it. She cares about everything but Indians.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Hell, nobody but you likes ’em, anyway.” The older man peered more closely at Clay. “Say—you ain’t trying to throw me off the trail, are you? You ain’t taking a shine to her yourself?”

Clay studied her for a long moment, then looked away. “You ever know me to make a fool of myself for a woman, Hap?”

“Hell, I haven’t even seen you look twice at one.” Hap draped one arm around Clay’s shoulder and pushed open the door with another. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to stand out here all day. I think I’m going to get me a good belt of whiskey, and then I’m going to jump into that spring water with my clothes on. Come on—the first drink’s on me.”

“I was getting worried about you when I got here and Baxter said you hadn’t come in.”

“Romero Rios and I went to El Paso to quiet things down over there.”

“El Paso’s a hell of a long way from here.”

“Yeah. But they’re still fighting over the goddamned salt. Wouldn’t surprise me if it didn’t turn into an outright war one of these days.” As Hap dropped his spare frame into a chair, he sobered visibly. “While we were there, Rios got wind of something—looks like Comancheros are getting up a big shipment of guns for Quanah Parker.”

Clay nodded. “I’ve already run into some of them.”

“Not like this. If the load’s half as much as Rios was told, we’re in for hell in Texas—real hell. I sent Buck Evans to tell Mackenzie they’re coming in from New Mexico. Way I hear it, it’ll be real soon. And,” he added significantly, “if the Mexicans can be believed, it’s going to be old Sanchez-Torres himself trading the guns.”

“That’d mean a whole wagon train.”

“Yep.”

“You drinking today, Cap’n?” the barkeep interrupted them. “Whiskey—straight.”

“Nothing for me,” Clay decided.

As the man left, Hap leaned back in his chair and regarded his protege soberly. “Damned if I understand you—you don’t get drunk, and you don’t chase women. Hell, you don’t even really smile. A man’s got to loosen up sometime or he’ll bust.”

“I’m loose enough.” Clay looked down at the table for a moment. “You can tell Rios I got even with Juan Garcia for him. I reckon he’d like to hear that.”

“Yeah. You bring Garcia here?”

“No. I had him on the stage, but Little Pedro and Javier tried to spring him, and I guess you could say he got in the way. I’ve got some of his personal effects, but I couldn’t bring in the body—it was too hot, and I was going after his friends.”

“Any witnesses this time?”

“Miss Ross and Sandoval.”

Hap appeared relieved. “I’ll put in for the reward.”

“Inquire about Little Pedro and Javier while you’re at it. Hernan Mendoza, too.!’

“Jesus—all of them?”

“Yeah. I wrote it up for you, but you’ll probably want to make it sound better. There was another one, a fellow by the name of Velez, but I couldn’t find him.”

“Where in the hell are they all coming from? The whole Chihuahua Desert must be crawling with damned Comancheros.”

“It is.”

Hap leaned forward and lowered his voice. “See anything I ought to know about?”

“Two Comanches. It may be that I missed the rest—or it may be that they aren’t out there this year. But it could make sense of what you found out about the gun-running. Maybe they’re with Quanah and they’re all coming down in the fall.”

“God, I hope not. I guess you heard that the state of Texas in its infinite wisdom bowed to Washington and released the Kiowa chiefs,” Hap said sarcastically. “Kinda makes you want to puke, doesn’t it? Those damned Quakers in the Indian Agency are hell-bent on coddling the murdering sons of bitches. They’re so goddamned stupid they really think all it takes is handing out coffee and beef to civilize Kiowas and Comanches! And what they’re doing is keeping ’em fat enough in winter, so’s they can raid come summer!”

Clay let him vent his frustration, then interrupted him abruptly. “It’s too late for the army to stop Sanchez-Torres, Hap. There are too many places for a Comanchero to slip past the regulars.”

“Well, I don’t know how the hell we’re supposed to cover every trail coming up from Old Mexico, across from New Mexico, and down from the Indian Territory. You tell me how, and I’ll listen.”

“I can make the circuit between here and Fort Davis, then on up and cut back toward the Staked Plains. If I see anything, we’ll at least know where they’re going. I can probably find Quanah’s camp.”

“Would you turn him over to the army?”

“No, but if I know where he is, we can cut his supply route.”

“Be like looking for the needle in the haystack,” Hap muttered glumly. “Quanah’s got a hundred places to hole up.”

“I know my way around the Llano, Hap. I’ve been in every canyon up there. I know where they can hide.”

“But you’ve been away from ’em for a long time, Clay. What’s to say it won’t be your hair on Quanah’s scalp pole? He’s not apt to take it kindly when he discovers what you’re up to.”

“I’m Nermernuh, Hap—no matter what happens, I’m Nermernuh. If I rode into Quanah’s camp tomorrow, I’d be welcomed.”

“Even he was to know you were coming to betray him?”

“I’m not betraying him. You don’t see me scouting for the cavalry, do you?” Clay countered. “But if those guns get through—if they make it possible for him to raid—he’s done. It’ll take a while, but Mackenzie will scour those canyons until there isn’t a Comanche left alive. I don’t want to see that.” He looked across the table, meeting Walker’s eyes. “Come on, Hap—what have we got to lose?”

The older ranger was silent for a moment, then he sighed. “Just you,” he answered finally. “When do you want to leave?”

‘Tomorrow night. I’d rather travel at night—unless you want me to go earlier.”

“You never get rid of those Indian ways, do you?”

“How’s that?” Clay asked.

“You’re still following that Comanche Moon.”

“There’s something to be said for traveling when it’s cooler. It takes less water.”

“When do you ride in winter?” Hap countered.

Clay’s faint smile didn’t reach his eyes. “At night whenever I can.”

“I rest my case. You still think you’re a damned Comanche. You’ve got to get over that, Clay, or you’ll never have anything. A man’s supposed to find a good woman and put down roots before he dies.”

“Like you, Hap?”

“Who says I’m what you want to be?” The image of Amanda Ross flashed through Walker’s mind. “And if I found the right woman, I’d settle down, you damn well better believe it. I could see myself with a piece of land, maybe doing a little farming. I wouldn’t mind having a couple of kids. At least then I’d be leaving something behind that says I’ve been here. You ought to think about that before you get your fool head blown off.”

“Maybe I will someday. Yeah,” Clay murmured, “I’d sure like to get a look at the woman who’d have me.” He pushed back from the table and rose from his chair. “Maybe I’ll advertise back East for a bride.”

“Yeah—you could write it up real nice, and—” Hap looked up and caught the twitch of a suppressed smile. “Oh, get on with you! Here I am all serious, and you—”

“And I’m smiling, Hap.” Clay laid a quarter on the table.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m buying.”

“Damned if I won’t have another whiskey, then.”

The sun was blinding as Clay emerged. He stood there for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness, then he stepped off the boardwalk and headed toward the post store. Before he left, he was putting some ammunition on the state of Texas’s account. Where he was going, he expected to need a lot of it.

He started across the open yard and saw Amanda Ross. She was again sitting on the Baxters’ porch, fanning herself. His first impulse was to keep going, then he changed his mind. She smiled when she saw him coming.

“Well, I see you met Hap,” he said. “He was pretty taken with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was sorry to hear Nate died.”

“Yes.”

“I tried to talk to him yesterday.”

“So did I. It was just too late by the time Dr. Abbott decided to do it.”

He squinted up at the sun, then took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know. It’s funny how it happens sometimes—death, I mean.”

“Yes—yes, it is,” she agreed. She laid aside her fan and sighed. “Well, since it doesn’t look like there’s going to be any break in the heat, I’ve decided to leave in the morning for home.”

“You’d better take plenty of water with you.”

“We are. And you—where will you go now?”

“Back out. So I guess it’s adios, amiga.”

She stood up and held out her hand. “If you get near Ybarra-Ross, I hope you’ll stop in.” Her fingers seemed small within his. “Maybe I will,” he said, dropping his hand.

She waited until he was several feet away, then she called out, “Be careful.”

He swung around, and this time he actually smiled. “I always try to.”

He knew what Hap Walker had seen in her, and it was more than beauty. She didn’t have to like a man to care what happened to him. When she told him to be careful, she’d actually meant it.