Colt tasted it. It might be a little muddy, but it was cool and he was parched. He drank and drank.
The temperature slowly dropped and he began to shiver. Little Grasshopper watched him curiously.
“I was afraid of this,” Hannah said and reached for a blanket to wrap around Colt. Her hand went to his forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”
Her hand felt cool and gentle on his sweating face. Colt couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering, and she took a second blanket and wrapped it around him. Outside, the rain poured and the river became a white-foamed torrent as it rose and raged through the arroyo.
“Hannah, I want to tell you how to reach the fort if I get so bad you have to leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said.
“If I get too sick, you’ll have to,” he whispered. “You can’t stay here long. We don’t have that many supplies. Besides the longer you stay here, the better the chance the Comanches will find you.”
“You’re not in command anymore, Lieutenant,” she snapped, “and I’m not leaving you; not after what you went through to get me out.”
He was too weak and tired to argue with her. “I’ll just rest a minute,” he murmured, “and then we’ll ride on.”
“Okay,” she said, “now just hush and sleep.”
When he opened his eyes, she had torn off a piece of his shirt, soaked it in cold water from the canteen and wiped his hot face.
“That feels so good,” he whispered, loving the gentle touch of her hand on his fevered brow.
“I’m sorry I can’t light a fire,” she said, leaning over to brush his dark hair from his eyes. “Then I could get some coffee or broth going.”
He enjoyed the touch of her hand stroking back his hair. “I know. The Comanche would smell the smoke for miles. We can’t chance it.”
“What are the odds we’ll make it back to the fort?”
“Oh, good,” he lied. “The Comanches will probably give up huntin’ us and go back to their camp.”
“After I’ve killed a major warrior? Not likely.”
“Then why did you ask?” He sighed.
She turned and watched the little boy playing happily with a couple of sticks at the back of the cave. “They will want Grasshopper, and I don’t want him raised as a Comanche.”
“We’ll get him back to the fort,” Colt promised, but he was not at all sure he could keep that vow. He slipped off to sleep in spite of himself and awoke late in the afternoon to find Hannah washing and dressing his arm wound. It looked swollen and discolored. Outside the rain had stopped.
She noticed he had awoken. “It doesn’t look so bad.” Her voice was more cheerful than her face.
“Your blue eyes don’t lie,” he said. “I’ve seen wounds like this before. That redness and discolorin’ will gradually spread all over the arm and I’ll get delirious and out of my head.”
“Maybe not.” She cleaned the wound and poured a little whiskey over it.
He winced and had to grit his teeth to keep from screaming in pain.
“I’m sorry, Colt. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know. You’re a brave girl, Hannah, a real Texas girl.” He looked down at his arm. “I’ve seen doctors in the war saw off an arm not much worse than mine.”
“I’m not sure I could do that.”
“You’re a Texan. You could do anything you had to, but I’d rather be dead than lose my right arm. A soldier or a cowboy without an arm is useless.”
“Don’t say that.”
He managed to turn his head and saw the toddler now asleep on a blanket at the back of the cave. “He’s a good kid, a brave one; any man would be proud to have him for a son.”
She shook her head. “He’s a half-breed bastard. No white man would accept him.”
“I would,” Colt said impulsively, “If only ...” He let the words drop. What the hell was he saying? He was engaged and she was married with a husband due to come for her anytime.
“I’ve got a little dried meat and hardtack,” she said and dug in the saddlebags.
“Save it for Grasshopper.”
“But you need to keep up your strength,” she protested.
“I can manage until we get back to the fort.” He almost added, if we get back to the fort, but stopped himself. “We’ll wait for dark and then we’ll ride out again. Hannah, I want you to promise me one thing.”
“Anything, Colt.” She took his hand between her two and looked deep into his eyes.
“If I get too delirious and out of my head, I want you to abandon me and ride on. The fort is about ten miles to the northeast.”
“No.” She shook her head. “After what you’ve done for me, I couldn’t leave you out here to die.”
“You listen to me.” His voice became stern and he was once again a commanding officer. “It’s important to me that you and your son get out of this alive. I didn’t go to all this trouble to have you die out here on the plains because I fell out of my saddle or couldn’t remember my directions. Now you promise me.”
He was clinging to her hand, his green eyes so intense with fever that she nodded. “Of course I promise. Now you just take it easy and maybe we can all get out alive.”
He relaxed and settled back against the cave wall, shivering.
About dusk, as little Grasshopper was awakening, she heard the distant thunder of hoofbeats. She took a deep breath, trembling. What were the chances it was the Cavalry looking for them?
Then she heard a shout in Comanche and knew it was a war party searching along the river. Colt’s eyes opened wide, and she made a shushing sound to him, then grabbed for her child.
Grasshopper began saying, “Mama, Mama,” in Comanche, and she put her hand over his mouth and held him close, praying that the Comanche wouldn’t find them.
Her heart seemed to be beating so hard, she thought everyone must surely hear it. It was almost dark, so that was in the fugitives’ favor. She held her child close and prayed for the darkness to come faster. From the mouth of the cave, she saw the silhouettes of the war party on their painted ponies, spears and shields in hand, searching along the riverbank below, looking for where the fugitives might have crossed.
She understood some Comanche language, but not enough to understand what they were shouting to each other. She turned questioning eyes toward Colt.
He whispered, “They are lookin’ for tracks and promisin’ they will roast us both alive if they find us.”
“Oh, God,” she gulped, but she did not cry and she did not get hysterical like most women would have.
Colt found himself admiring her even more. “Listen, Hannah, if they capture us, I’m gonna tell them I killed Spider and carried you off against your will. That way, you and your child will be taken safely back to their camp.”
“I’d rather die than become a Comanche slave again. And what would they do to you?”
He shook his head, closed his eyes. “You don’t want to know, but it doesn’t matter. I want you and Grasshopper to be safe.” He had ridden with the tribe for ten years and although he had never participated in the torture, he knew the Comanche could keep a man alive for days, screaming in agony, hurting him enough that he prayed for death. Well, he didn’t intend to be captured; he had to get this woman and her child to safety.
They watched the warriors hunting along the stream for tracks, crossing the river, looking about, then riding farther downstream, until they were lost in the blackness of the coming night.
Colt heaved a sigh of relief. “That was close. We’ll wait a while until we’re sure they’re gone.”
Hannah trembled now; he could see her outline in the mouth of the cave. “I didn’t intend they should take us alive,” she whispered. “I’ve got your pistol. I was going to get as many of them as I could, then save the last bullets for us.”
“You’re a brave woman, Hannah,” he said with admiration. “Give Grasshopper some of that dried meat and some water, and then we’ll try t
o get out of here.”
“I don’t think you’re fit to ride,” she protested.
“We’ve got to,” he said, struggling to get up. “They’ll be back at daylight, rechecking all along the river.”
He was sicker and weaker than he had realized, he thought as he stumbled to the mouth of the cave. “You gather up our stuff and I’ll saddle the horses.”
“All right.”
His fever was raging and he had to fight to keep his teeth from chattering, but he managed to get the two horses saddled. “You ready?”
She came out of the cave carrying a bundle of gear and leading Grasshopper by the hand. “I’m ready.”
He helped her on Rascal, then handed up the toddler. “Now, Grasshopper,” he said in Comanche, “you must be a brave warrior because we have a long ride ahead of us.”
“Brave warrior,” the child said proudly.
Colt swung up on the Comanche pinto horse and the mustang snorted a welcome. He had put Hannah on Rascal because his little horse could be depended on to get her back to the fort, no matter what. “Okay, Hannah, follow the stars. The fort is right under the Dog Star, remember that.”
“I’ll remember.” She nodded as they started down the steep ravine at a walk.
He felt himself sway in the saddle and forced himself to sit upright. “If something happens, if I should go unconscious and fall, you must keep riding. You promised.”
She was not going to argue with him. “All right.” But she knew she could never leave him to die.
“You must be a strong Texas woman and save your child. Anyway if I should fall off, you’re not big enough to get me back up on my horse.”
She nodded agreement, but she thought if he collapsed, she would try to fashion a travois and drag him back to the fort. She would not leave him for the Comanche to torture.
They rode mostly at a walk, sometimes at a slow lope.
“We’ve got to spare the horses,” Hannah explained.
However, he knew that if they broke into a gallop, he would not manage to stay on his horse, and that was why she was riding slowly. “With any luck, we ought to be there by daylight.”
“Suppose the Comanche are between us and the fort?”
She heard him sigh. “Then we ride like hell and hope they don’t ride us down. Remember, you must say I took you and your son against your will.”
“All right,” she said to placate him, but she knew she wouldn’t. She would go down fighting and clawing, killing as many warriors as she could and save the last bullet for Colt because she would not let him be tortured.
Sometime during the long night, Grasshopper nodded off to sleep in her arms. When she looked over at Colt, he appeared to be unconscious, but still in the saddle. “Whoa.” She reined in and the pinto stopped, too. She dismounted and lay the sleeping child on the soft buffalo grass and looked up at Colt. “Colt? Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer. She reached up and touched his hand, and it was sweaty with fever. He was so sick, and only his strong will was keeping him in the saddle. She got a length of rope, ran it around his hands, and tied them to the saddle horn. He was right about one thing: if he fell off, he was too big for her to lift back on his horse. She looked around the dark prairie. There was nothing but grass moving like a dark sea for miles, nothing she could use to fashion a travois.
“Now, mustang,” she whispered to the pinto, “don’t you step into any holes or shy from anything. He’s got to stay on your back.”
Rascal nuzzled her as if urging her to move on.
God, it was late and she was bone tired, but they must reach the fort by daylight because they were so visible out here on the flat plains. It was a good thing it was a moonless night.
Hannah picked up her sleeping child and remounted. Follow the Dog Star, the fort is under it, she remembered and started off that direction, leading Colt’s horse. They were either both going to make it or neither, because she would not sacrifice him after everything he had done for her. If worse came to worse, she would tie Grasshopper onto Rascal, give the little horse his head and let the savvy mustang find his own way back to the fort. She at least wanted her child to grow up to be a Texan, not a Comanche.
It was such a long night, Hannah thought it would never end, and yet she prayed it wouldn’t because she was not certain how far they had come and how much farther it would be. She must not be caught in broad daylight out on the open prairie, where the pair could be seen for miles.
Colt had not spoken for hours except to mumble now and again, and she knew he was delirious and out of his head. She prayed he did not start screaming or shouting. Grasshopper was awake now, but she whispered to him in Comanche to be quiet and he obeyed. Every muscle and bone in her body ached, and she was exhausted and hungry. She stopped a few times and managed to get some water into Colt, but he spilled a lot of it. The rest she gave to her child. Now the canteens were empty and she could see a pale glow in the eastern sky that promised that soon the first gray light of dawn would creep across the prairie and then the golden sun would loom large over the far horizon and expose the pair riding across the vast Texas plains.
She was defeated, she knew. It was almost daybreak and she had not made it to the fort. The horses were so tired, they were stumbling and Colt was reeling in his saddle. At any moment, he might fall to the ground. She was distraught, but she did not weep. Weeping would not solve anything. Anyway, that was for weak women and she was strong. Circumstances had forced her to be. If she didn’t make it to safety, at least she had tried her damnedest.
The sky slowly turned pink and lavender in the east and in a few minutes, the sun would come up over that far rise. Already gray light spread across the vast plains.
She heard a triumphant shout and looked behind her.
“Oh, my God! Colt, wake up!” The war party, a dozen painted warriors on pinto ponies, had appeared on the rise behind her, and they had spotted her, although they were at least a half mile away.
Colt must not have been conscious, because he did not answer. For a minute, she wavered, staring at the triumphant brown faces marked with scarlet and yellow paint as they galloped toward her. Colt was right; she could save herself by telling the furious Indians that she and her child had been kidnapped.
No, she wasn’t going to do that. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. “Colt, damn it, wake up! Colt!”
He seemed to rouse at the same time Grasshopper began to whimper as she kicked her horse hard in the flanks and started loping. She glanced back at Colt. He was awake now, but looked uncertain as to where he was. “Ride, Colt! Ride! The Comanches have spotted us!”
She pushed Rascal into a gallop, dragging the pinto along as Colt seemed to stir into semiconsciousness.
She must win this race. Colt seemed to rouse and hung onto the saddle horn as she pushed both horses into a gallop. The mustangs were exhausted from traveling all night, but they broke into a run.
Behind her, she heard the Comanches’ triumphant shrieks as they gained on the fugitives and kicked their horses into a gallop. They would overtake the pair, she knew that, but she wasn’t a weakling to surrender. The two horses were blowing and lathered, but she urged them on, hearing the hooves behind gaining on her. Her heart was in her throat as she rode. If they’d only had another hour, if it had kept raining, if ... then she topped a rise and there lay the fort ahead of her, with a Cavalry patrol riding maneuvers on the prairie just outside the gates.
“Help!” she shouted. “Comanches!” And she took off at an even faster pace toward the patrol. Colt was awake now, but weaving in his saddle and struggling to stay on his horse as they galloped toward the Cavalry.
She saw a glint of brass as a bugle went to a soldier’s lips and a charge sounded out in the coming dawn. Hannah thought she had never heard such beautiful music. Then the Cavalry thundered toward them.
Behind her, she heard the shrieks of surprise as the Indians spotted the patrol, realized they were outnumb
ered, and reined in their rearing, neighing horses. She didn’t look back, intent on reaching the blue uniforms galloping toward her, stirring up dust as the bugle sounded again. She heard the shouts of the Comanches turning and racing away behind her as the soldiers now surrounded her, firing at the enemy.
At that moment, Colt slid from his lathered horse and lay in the dirt, unconscious. Hannah reined in, handed her child to a surprised bugler, and dismounted, running to Colt’s side. He lay in the dirt, his injured arm bright with fresh blood. His green eyes flickered open as she struggled to protect him from the dust the churning Cavalry horses kicked up as they reined in.
“Did we—did we make it?”
“Yes, we made it! Give me a canteen!” She ordered a soldier as he dismounted beside her. She pulled Colt into her lap and splashed water on his fevered face and then gave him a long drink. “We’re all right! The Cavalry is here!”
The elegant Captain Van Smyth, who led the patrol, dismounted and walked over to her. “Good Lord! Who is this?”
She realized then that Colt still wore the disguise of buckskin and moccasins. “It’s Lieutenant Colt Prescott. He’s a hero; he rescued me and my child.”
“Wrong!” snapped the elegant young officer. “He’s a deserter and out of uniform. He’ll probably be shot!”
Chapter 9
In his fevered mind, Colt was a small boy again, traveling with a wagon train through north Texas. The trip had been uneventful until the morning they woke up and discovered they were surrounded by a large war party of Cheyenne warriors.
The wagons were circled, but the settlers saw the size of the war party and the leaders knew they would have to negotiate with the Indians because the whites were outnumbered. Colt’s father offered to walk out and find out what the Cheyenne wanted.
Colt remembered being very much afraid for his dad as the man took the long, lonely walk out to meet with the chief, a handsome big fellow on a fine black horse and wearing bright face paint and a luxurious eagle-feather war bonnet.
The two men talked for a while and then his father walked back to the circled wagons.
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