Without slowing his pace, he turned in the saddle and pointed at six of the men thundering along behind him, motioning for them to leave the narrow path and swing around to the right to come out behind the bushwhackers. The remaining men he waved to the left to follow him.
The bandits were engrossed in shooting the men who had ridden into their trap. They did not see their attackers until Johnny and his riders opened fire. Unsuspecting bandits slumped and fell.
Patchy saw the counterattackers and shouted orders. Bandits not pinned down began working their way to the south, firing as they ran.
Where the floor of the canyon narrowed to a six-foot apex, half of the bandits regrouped and spread out behind rocks, their backs once more protected. Patchy caught his breath and waited for the intruders to rush them—if they dared.
“Take cover!” Johnny yelled. “Dismount!”
Bullets whined and ricocheted off boulders as men scrambled to comply. They dropped to the ground and ran to find shelter behind rocks. Gunfire slowed and became sporadic.
Andrea and Tía rode into sight. Johnny stood up and yelled, “Get down! Keep low!” Keeping low himself, he broke cover and ran toward them. Bullets fired into rocks and ricocheted off.
They scrambled off their horses and ran to meet him. Johnny pulled them down behind a boulder almost as tall as he. “Get down, dammit!” Without looking at either of them, he shouted for Dap.
“Take them back out of range!” he yelled.
Tía tugged on Johnny’s sleeve. “I’m gonna stay with you.”
“It’s too dangerous. I want you out of here.”
She started to insist, but Andrea stopped her. “Let her stay with you. I’ll go with Dap. I have to find Steve.”
“I thought you were worried about her.”
“That’s why I want her with you,” Andrea said curtly.
“I’m staying,” Tía said firmly. Johnny bit back his reply. Right or wrong, Teresa Garcia-Lorca was the boss.
Andrea slipped away with Dap.
Tía huddled beside Johnny and peered around at the men visible to her. She was looking for Steve.
“If these men belong to El Gato Negro, where is he?”
“I reckon we’ll see. I imagine he’s in these rocks somewhere.”
Halfway to the canyon floor, Mateo Lorca reached a small plateau and halted so his horse could rest and he could survey the results of his ambush.
Taking off his hat to allow a sudden breeze to cool his hot forehead, squinting at the rocky gulch, he could see his men bunched together at the narrow, western end of the canyon. Facing them across a relatively barren stretch of level ground, gringos spread out behind creosote bushes and granite boulders.
A standoff. His men could protect themselves, but little more. Fortunately he had anticipated the most damaging eventuality. Now he peered closely at the canyon walls where he had directed Patchy to place their reserves. Smiling, he saw a patch of sleeve here, a head there, a rifle barrel there, an arm over there. Excellent. They were above and behind the men who faced his loyal caballeros.
Taking in the various positions of his enemy, his narrowed black eyes scanned the valley floor. At most twenty men opposed him. Mateo was suddenly impatient. It was time to put an end to this farce.
Raising his rifle over his head to give the signal that would send a hail of bullets down on the unsuspecting intruders and the surviving muleteers, he started to squeeze the trigger. A breeze whipped down from the steep canyon wall. A slender arm lifted a hat and tawny gold hair tumbled down and glinted in the sunlight.
¡Madre de Dios! His heart leaped at the sight of Teresa. At the knowledge he had almost fired the shot that would end her life, weakness flushed into him. Damn Rita to hell!
Mateo shoved the rifle into its sheath and urged his horse forward. As quickly as he could manage, he worked his way down to level ground. Moving with stealth until halfway between the two warring groups, he forced his reluctant mount through the heavy undergrowth that clogged the edges of the canyon floor.
Fortunately for him, the intruders’ attentions were riveted on the bandits they had driven into the mouth of the canyon. Still unobserved, Mateo cut a long, straight limb from a bush, stripped off the small branches and leaves, and jerked his white handkerchief out of his pocket. Tying it to the end of the limb, he raised it over his head and waved it from side to side. Slowly the shooting subsided. Silence. Not even a bird broke the stillness.
Waving the flag, Mateo Lorca rode out into the open.
“Surrender, gringos! You are surrounded.”
Johnny Brago shook his head and laughed softly to himself. El Gato Negro, the Black Cat—hunted by the military and every peace officer in two territories and feared by every white man who had ever sneered at a Mexican. And every half-breed who’d ever shot one of his men for trying to run off with a whore.
The white flag was a lie. El Gato Negro would give no quarter. That was apparent from his disposition of Russ Sloan and his men—one more incident in El Gato Negro’s tradition of dealing justice to his white neighbors. Surrender did not enter Johnny’s mind.
“Go to hell!” he yelled, lifting his rifle to aim it at El Gato Negro’s broad chest. Remembering those buzzard-torn bodies, he lined up the sights. His finger tightened on the trigger. Moaning, Tía reached out and pulled the barrel of his rifle toward her.
“What the hell!?”
“No!” she said. “Don’t shoot him.”
“Why the hell not? He’s their leader. We kill him, we’ve got half a chance of getting out of here alive.”
Shaking her head, Tía looked up. Johnny’s gaze followed hers. On the canyon wall above and behind them, men stepped out from behind rocks, stood up, and pointed their rifles at Johnny. As he watched, other men stood up from behind rocks and bushes. Johnny guessed fifty or more. The canyon walls appeared suddenly to be peppered with Mexicans. He lowered his rifle and faced the bandit leader.
“Now what?” he yelled.
“Surrender the silver and the girl, and you may leave in peace.”
Johnny looked at Tía. “You understand that?”
Tía shook her head miserably. Before he could stop her, she stepped around the boulder and ran toward Mateo. She stopped beside his horse, shaded her eyes with her arm, and squinted up at him.
“Why do you want to take me away?” Tía asked. Hope still lived in her that he loved her the way he always had.
“To save them, you have to come with me.”
“As your daughter?”
“As my woman.”
A shiver of fear rippled through her, but Tía refused to give up hope. She could go along with him now and reason with him later. He could not forget how much he had loved her. “Will you spare them if I come with you?”
Mateo’s black eyes flickered with sudden amusement. Tía understood: these men meant nothing to him. Even killing them would mean nothing.
“I gave him my word. I am not some gringo whose word means nothing.”
“I will go with you, but let me talk to him first.”
“Do it quickly.”
Mateo motioned with his arm, and several of the men on the canyon floor scrambled from their hiding places and began leading the mules bearing the packs toward the west end of the canyon.
Helpless anger burned in Johnny. If they weren’t so outnumbered and pinned down…
Tía ran back to Johnny and stopped well out of his reach.
“I have to go with him,” she said blankly.
Stepping forward, he pulled her behind the rock. With the sun shining on her honey-gold curls and her cheeks flushed with bright color, she was so beautiful she made his heart ache. But he had nothing to offer her, except a bullet in the head.
“You know what he means to do with you.”
Momentary despair flooded through Tía. “I know.”
Johnny held out his arms, and Tía moved into them.
“I could kill you, if I had the guts to
do it.”
“No. If you do that, you’ll all die. If I go with him, he promised he’ll spare you.”
“You don’t believe that bastard, do you?” El Gato Negro would kill them the way he had killed Russ Sloan and the others. If Tía stayed with him, she would watch them die, and then, if she were not killed herself, the bandit would take her for himself or his men or both. If she went now, she might be spared watching the slaughter, but…He sighed heavily, his mind veering away from the thought: Either way she would be brutalized; if not killed, she’d be held captive and used until death would be a blessing.
He should kill her. One quick bullet in the temple. No pain. No suffering.
Switching the rifle to his left hand, slowly, Johnny reached for his handgun. The feel of the cool ivory handle against his palm was like a blow to his guts. Tía’s eyes beseeched him, pleaded with him. To what? To let her go? To shoot her? A sudden hard cramp shivered through his chest and belly. Sighing, he slipped the gun back into the holster.
So…killing her was not possible for him. Not even to save her from El Gato Negro.
“Kiss me good-bye, Johnny.”
Johnny pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, and finally her mouth. His lips warmed to the task, and all the fear in her body dissolved. She longed to tell him she loved him, but something stopped her. Better to end it now. She had made a deal with Papa, and she would keep it. Mama had told her once that a woman paid a high price for being a woman. She had to do things that came hard. Now, suddenly, Tía knew what Mama had meant. This was the hardest thing she had ever done, and it would probably get a lot harder before it was over.
“I love you, Tía. I’ll come after you.”
“No, it’s over, Johnny. Let it go.”
Tía stepped away from him. She held up her hand to keep him back, and then stepped around the rock and into the open. As if welded to her, Johnny followed. He looked from Tía to the bandit, tall for a Mexican—tall and straight-limbed and not half-bad looking.
“Why are you going with him?” Johnny demanded.
“If you ever loved me, don’t ask me to explain. I’m doing what has to be done.”
Bitterness flushed through Tía. Her whole life had worked like a funnel, pouring her toward this moment when she would have to leave Johnny. She should have told him about Papa that night. Now it was impossible. Too late. There were so many things she should have told him.
I love you, Johnny. Take care of Andrea for me. So much more burned in her heart to be said.
Aloud, she said nothing. Her throat wouldn’t work around the lump that burned there. Johnny would take care of Andrea and Steve. He would do whatever had to be done—always—because he was decent and responsible. Now his dark gaze, so level and watchful, flicked over her again. The corners of his lips were tucked in. In disgust? Or despair?
It didn’t matter. This part of her life was over.
Johnny’s hand went back to the gun. It was apparent to him that Tía felt something for this bandit. Maybe El Gato Negro felt something for her as well. Once a long time ago he had heard a rumor about El Gato Negro and his lovely blond mate—supposedly a white slave he had taken in a raid on a wagon train. Perhaps Tía had been chosen as her replacement. Perhaps El Gato would keep her for himself. As repugnant as that thought was, it beat killing her by his own hand. Rage blazed through Johnny. He didn’t want another man to touch her. The thought of El Gato using Tía, who should be cherished and taken only in love…
Tía motioned Johnny back as Mateo’s men led the mules past her. It was time to go. Without looking back at Johnny, she turned and walked to her stepfather.
Already mounted, Mateo kicked his boot out of the stirrup. Tía put her foot into the wooden stirrup, and he swung her up behind him.
Johnny trembled with helpless anger, but his hand dropped away from his pistol. Tía’s slender, golden arms tightened around El Gato Negro’s waist. Her proud, slender body swayed gently as the horse started to move away. Her shining golden curls blurred out of focus. He wasn’t man enough to do the one thing that could save her. He would have to live with the knowledge of that weakness, but, he thought, looking around at the Mexicans aiming their rifles at him and his men, not for long.
Chapter Forty
“You should get some sleep, young man,” Dr. Potter said, stopping beside Judy’s bed.
Grant sighed. “I don’t want her to be alone, in case she wakes up. She doesn’t like to be alone…” His voice drifted off.
Shaking his head, Potter walked away. Young people. Damned unrealistic. She’d have to be alone someday. When she was old and wrinkled—if she got old and wrinkled.
Judy lay on the edge of consciousness, drifting in and out as if in a dream. She heard Grant talking to Potter, and it touched her that Grant cared. He’d been there all night and all that day. Sometimes he held her hand. Sometimes he just sat beside her, sleeping lightly in the chair. Once he stretched out on the floor near her bed.
She drifted away and then back again. Slumped in the chair, Grant slept. Judy stared at him for a long time. He called his face a clown face. Suddenly she resented that. He had a nice face. The mouth no longer seemed too wide, the jaw too simian. They were generous, and they fit him perfectly. Actually she didn’t really notice the outside of Grant much anymore. Lately she saw only his goodness and decency, beaming out of his eyes.
Her chest ached with a hot, crying pain, but she choked the tears back. Grant Foreman was a good man; he loved her, but something had happened to her when Morgan Todd beat her. Now she couldn’t face Grant—him or anyone.
Morning? Afternoon? She must have slept again. An orderly came to check on her. His hands were warm and strangely impersonal; she liked the way they felt, so anonymous, so undemanding.
“How is Mr. Todd?” Grant asked as the orderly took her pulse.
“Woke up without a fever. The surgeon said the bullet hit his hipbone and stopped. The onlyest thing he could think of was that it must have been some wet powder or some such. The doc said he never seen a forty-five slug that didn’t have the juice to smash bone. Usually a forty-five’ll tear a hole in a man big enough to drive a steer through.”
The orderly shook his head and grinned. “Course Todd must have the constitution of a loco bull. Even complained about being hungry. Asking about the young lady.”
Grant grunted.
Judy woke slowly. Grant was sleeping again. Shafts of sunset gold slanted in the window, lighting the far wall. The air was drowsy and warm. It smelled of meat and potatoes and spicy, fruity pies. Judy’s stomach growled. Footsteps shuffled close to her bed.
“Excuse me, sir. Didn’t mean to wake you. Mr. Todd insisted he had to see the young lady. So I wrestled him into a wheelchair.” It was the orderly. Judy recognized his voice. A moment’s silence was followed by the sound of wheels rolling on the wooden floor. Grant mumbled something, and footsteps walked away.
“Judy,” Morgan whispered. His voice was so close beside her. Her heart leaped with fear. “Look, honey, I know you can’t hear me, but I got to tell you something.” He sighed heavily. “You’re half-dead because of me, and I’m thinking of myself. Guess that’s just the way I am. No damned good. Anyway, I’m not good at this mushy stuff, you know that, but well, dammit, I’m in love with you, and I want you to marry me. I never realized it before, honey, but I need you. I need you to be pretty and cute and funny and to love me back. I need you to get well. I swear I’ll never hurt you again, even if you treat me like the dog I am.”
Morgan could not believe what he was doing. Proposing to Judy Burkhart! But she was so beautiful. Even bruised, a cool, sweet loveliness glowed in her face.
With his hands, Morgan covered, then uncovered his face. He opened his eyes; Judy blinked twice and stared at him. The look in her eyes staggered him. Her dark eyes watched him coolly, with intent and level gaze, as if she saw everything in great depth. He forgot to be amazed that she was awake.
&n
bsp; “Judy?”
“I heard you,” she said softly.
“Oh, Jesus! I’m so glad you’re alive! I’m so damned glad I didn’t kill you.”
“Me, too.”
Morgan flushed. “You heard what I said?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
Judy shook her head. “No…I…I’m…grateful for what you said, Morgan, but I can’t marry you.” She shrugged. “I don’t love you.”
He bowed his head. “Can’t blame you for that…after what I done.”
“It has nothing to do with what you did…not really. I never loved you, Morgan. I always loved Johnny.”
Morgan sighed, and pain stabbed into his chest, reminding him of his own injury. “He must love you, to shoot me…” His weakness was becoming more pronounced. He waved to the orderly. “Think about what I said…anyway.”
“I will,” she said gently, knowing she wouldn’t.
The orderly came and wheeled Morgan away, and Judy wondered what had happened to Grant. He should be back by now.
Grant waited and watched by the window at the front of the hospital barracks. After a few seconds of watching Todd’s face while he talked to Judy’s still form, he turned away.
Morgan Todd was in love with Judy Burkhart. Really in love with her…the way she wanted a man to love her. And he was handsome and rich. And he had learned his lesson. Now Morgan could learn to cherish Judy the way she deserved…
Grant turned away from the window. Slowly, blindly, he walked away. At first he didn’t know where he was going, but then, somehow, he did. It was time. He had put this off long enough.
Rutledge’s door stood slightly ajar. Grant walked inside. The captain looked up; Grant saw recognition in his eyes.
“I shot Morgan Todd.”
Rutledge’s mouth went slack. Uncomprehending, he stared at Grant. “What?”
“I shot him. It was me, not Brago.”
After Eden Page 45