The boy paced up and down, trying to appear modest, but smiling proudly. “No one would quake before a brave named Little Bear,” he complained.
In the eastern sky, the sun’s pink glow slowly showed just at the rim of the shadowy blue horizon. Just enough to reflect off the armor with a light that dazzled the eye.
Cougar thought and nodded. “Sí, there must be a new name. There will come a day when white men see that reflection on a hilltop and run screaming in fear, knowing it is the chief of the Mescalero leading a war party to burn and destroy them for trespassing in our land.”
“What shall I be called?” The boy waited for his grandfather to speak. The name must be of importance, of magic. Both knew that.
The sun moved a little more, reflecting off the burnished metal like a white man’s mirror. Old Cougar had prayed for an omen and this was it. He knew now what the name must be. “I have been given the sign.” He nodded, blinking at the reflection. “This armor is a magic shield for you as it has always been for me, and was for my father before me. You trap the sunlight in your protective metal and this is good; for the sun is the source of all life and warmth.”
The boy fidgeted impatiently. “The name. What is the name, Grandfather?”
The old man put his withered hand on the boy’s broad shoulder. In ten years his grandson would be a man full grown, tall and big for an Apache. Yes, their enemies would not forget him when he came swooping down off the hilltop on his golden stallion to raid and burn, the light captured and reflected by his protective shield. “Your name shall be Sun Shield from this day forward.”
The boy paused. A smile broke over his rugged face. “Sun Shield,” he repeated softly. “It is full of magic, good medicine. It sounds like a warrior’s name. Yes, I like it. From today on I shall be called by this name.”
Cougar nodded, sat back down by the small fire, and took up his pipe. “I did not want the armor destroyed,” he said. “You know it is the Apache custom to burn a dead man’s lodge, his possessions if they have not been given away before his death.”
Sun Shield sat down, too, looked at him with a grave expression. “I like not this talk of death. I cannot imagine not having you to guide me.”
Cougar shrugged and smoked. “Death is a part of life, and I am a very old man. I had not realized how old until the last raid.” He thought of the wrinkled hag who had been a beautiful girl once. He should have carried her off, he thought. Her life with the whites had not been good.
“But with me wearing your armor, Grandfather, you are unprotected riding into battle.”
“I am an old man,” Cougar said abruptly, smoking and staring into the fire. “I ride in no more war parties after this day. I have had a vision that I think means bad luck. But you will need the armor because Sun Shield will take the war trail many times.”
A brave rode up, dismounted. “You asked the scouts to relay word if the three white men who killed your son should be seen again. A scout far to the south says they are riding in this direction. They will be in this area by dark.”
Cougar felt his heart leap with the promise of revenge. “So that’s what the vision meant. Three riders, of course! Are you sure it is the same three?”
The warrior squatted by the fire, nodded. “Sí, it is them. The leader rides a gray horse.”
Cougar almost laughed out loud, exulting. “And I thought the dream meant bad medicine! I was wrong!” Now he understood it all except for the number four.
“Oh,” the scout grunted, “I forgot to say there is a fourth rider now, a white woman rides with the trio.”
Cougar could not contain his pleasure. He stood up, paced up and down, smiling. A heavy load had been lifted from his shoulders. “I now understand what the vision tells me. Yes, this must be the meaning!” He looked at the scout. “By nightfall, you say? You’re sure they are riding this direction?”
“Sí,” the brave nodded.
The boy said, “Grandfather, they will have to ride through our scouts to get back across the river into their own country. We will finally have our revenge!” His eyes were bright with the thought of battle.
“And I had felt the vision foretold some sad event because of the expression on the specter’s face.” Five years. He had waited five years for this vengeance. He would make it worth the wait. An Apache can keep a man alive for a long time, begging for the mercy of death.
Sun Shield ran his hand over the armor. “You have given this to me just in time, Grandfather. I will lead a war party out to attack them.”
The old man shook his head. “No, we will wait here, crouched like the big desert tarantula.” He made a scurrying motion with his hand. “You must learn patience, my grandson. Tonight when they finally camp in this area, we will pounce on them unexpectedly!” He made a pouncing motion with his hand. “Tonight, Sun Shield, we will make these white killers beg for the mercy of death!”
Chapter Twenty
Bandit had taken his time about meeting with Señor Falcon in the library after he left Amethyst. He dreaded facing the man he had come to love like a father.
Señor Falcon said, “You’re leaving? May I ask why?”
Bandit hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. “Papa, I–I’ve just got some unfinished business back in Texas. It doesn’t concern you.”
The old man ran one gnarled hand through his silver hair, sat down at his desk. An open case containing a pair of magnificent dueling pistols rested before him, and he continued cleaning the guns. “Tony, do you want me to go with you? Do you need to take some of our vaqueros? As you’ve seen the last few days, I have many.”
“No.” Bandit shook his head, tipped his Stetson back. “This is something I must handle alone.”
The old man looked from him to the pistols. “Is it some question of honor?”
Bandit stared at the guns. “You might say that.”
“In that case, you must go,” the old man said proudly. “Honor has always been most important to the Falcons, more important even than our bloodlines.” He picked up one of the engraved pistols, hefted it. “Did you know your great-grandfather killed one of his own sons with this gun? The boy had missed his man, fled like a coward from the dueling field rather than wait for his opponent to take his shot.”
“I’d never want to disgrace the Falcon name, Papá,” Bandit said, looking away. “So I must go take care of this.”
“Will you be back?” The old man stared at him keenly, as if judging him.
“I would be lying if I said yes, though I’ve never been so happy as I have been here the last few days. I just don’t know.” He shrugged.
The old man stared down at the pistol. “Have you told your fiancee?”
Bandit blinked hard, remembering Amethyst clinging to him. “I told her. She understands. A man must do what a man must do.”
Señor Falcon nodded, stood up. “Women do not understand how important a man’s honor is to him. I will break it to your mother. I know you must be dreading that.”
“Gracias. I—I can’t bear to make her cry.”
“She’s shed a million tears in the past sixteen years. What’s a few more drops in the ocean?”
“Thank you for your understanding, sir. About the stallion–”
“Take him with my blessings.” He gestured as if the gift were of no importance.
“But you value him so.”
“Like a son, I value him,” the old man admitted. “So my sons should be together. Take the pinto. I don’t know his bloodlines, but he’s got the heart and soul of a thoroughbred. He will serve you well.”
Bandit swallowed hard. “Thank you, sir. The horse has become a symbol to me of all I ever wanted from life.” He thought of a spotted rocking horse he never got, another one upstairs in the nursery. Why had he been foolish enough to hope he would someday see his own sons riding that toy? “The pinto reminds me of this place, of the Falcon family.”
Señor Falcon smiled sadly, held out his hand. “Vaya con Dios.
Go with God, my son. We hope to see you again soon.” Only a slight quiver of his jaw betrayed his emotions.
Bandit shook his hand, and then, overcome with emotion, he hugged him in the Latin manner. “My heart has truly come home to this place as if somehow it remembered the Falcon’s Lair from a long time ago, generations ago. It breaks my heart to leave you.” His voice broke, and he could not continue. Then he turned, went to get a few clothes, and strode off to the barn.
It hadn’t taken him long to get a few things together. But as he led the big pinto from its stall, he looked up at the sun, cursed. In his hesitance to confront Señor Falcon, he had delayed, wasted a lot of time. Now all he had to do was tell Romeros. He sent a vaquero to find him and tell him to come to the stable.
Romeros strode into the barn, dismissed the vaquero. “What’s going on here?” He chewed a match as he looked from Bandit to the horse, the bedroll.
“What does it look like? I’m pullin’ out.” Bandit continued to saddle the horse. “Something came up.”
“Is that a fact? Just like that, you walk out—destroy all our plans, our chance of both the fortunes?”
Bandit tightened his saddle girth, not looking at the lean man. He liked him less and less every day. “I told you I have to leave. Things have changed. Besides, I’ve reached a point where I can’t look at myself in the mirror every morning when I shave. What we’ve done is rotten, without honor.”
“By God, you’re even beginning to sound like the old man! Next thing I know, you’ll be inviting me out on the dueling field with those old pistols of his.”
“That’s for gentlemen,” Bandit said. “Neither one of us is a gentleman. If Señor Falcon knew the truth, he’d put a bullet through both our heads for our trickery, especially mine for daring to smear the family honor.” He reached for his bedroll.
Romeros took the match from his mouth. “You are planning on coming back, aren’t you?”
Bandit tightened the saddle girth. “I wish I could, I love this place, love this family. It’s as if somehow deep within me I know them.”
“You’re talking gibberish! Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m just seeing things clearly for the first time. This was a loco thing I let you mix me up in.”
Romeros caught his arm. “What about the girl?”
Bandit hesitated. “That’s the hardest part of all, leaving her. That’s why I got into this in the first place; it wasn’t the money or the ranch.”
“So what happens to her?”
Bandit shook his hand off, reached for his slicker to tie it on behind the bedroll. He thought of his discussion with Mona. “I think her papa can be persuaded to let her do anything she wants to, maybe go back east to school or something. Someday she’ll find a man with fancy bloodlines like her own and get married.”
“And what happens to me?” Romeros almost shouted.
Bandit gave him a long look. “You’re rotten, Romeros. As smart as he is, it’s a wonder Señor Falcon hasn’t seen through you, realized how rotten you are. Why don’t you find another job, or at least give the old man the loyalty he deserves?”
“And be a lowly foreman the rest of my life? No! God damn it. No!” He was so angry, his voice rose and his gaunt frame shook.
Bandit shrugged. “You’re well paid.”
“Not enough to cover my gambling debts. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve had to do to meet them. . . .”
“Yes?” Bandit looked at the man curiously but Romeros’s voice trailed off as if he realized he’d said too much.
“I just always need extra money, that’s all. I figured you’d be in control of plenty soon. Let’s discuss this.”
“You can’t talk me out of it. I’m leaving.”
“You think I’m going to give it all up because you got scared, changed your mind?”
Bandit’s hand went to his pistol butt. “You callin’ me a coward?”
“I’m just callin’ it the way it looks to me.” The foreman put his foot up on a bale of hay, slid his hand into the top of his boot.
“I don’t have time for all this,” Bandit turned away, finished checking the bridle on the big pinto.
“At least tell me why!” Romeros shouted. “You’ll never know what all I’ve gone through to get my hands on the Falcon money; what all I’ve done—”
“God help the Falcon family. I think I’m just beginning to realize what you would stoop to.” Bandit hesitated, knowing he was riding out and leaving the unsuspecting Falcons at the mercy of a man who was ruthlessly ambitious. His sense of justice warned him he ought to do something about this vulture. But the family might be in worse trouble if he stayed and the outlaws showed up.
Even as he paused in indecision, a small boy on a donkey trotted into the corral.
“Señor Texas! Señor Texas!” The child’s face lit up as he saw Bandit. He slid off the burro, ran into the stable, handed him the note. “An hombre said to give you this and you would give me some pesos.”
Puzzled, Bandit accepted the crumpled note and ring, reached in his pocket. He almost handed the boy his lucky coin, but put it back and gave the child a couple of pesos. He read the note quickly. “Good God!”
Romeros stared at him. “What is it?” He jerked the note from Bandit’s nerveless fingers.
While he read it, Bandit turned back to the child. “The hombres, niño, were there three of them?” He held up three fingers.
“Sí, tres,” the urchin nodded eagerly, held up four fingers. “Cuatros, with the pretty lady.” He described all four.
Bandit’s face went white. If they hurt Amethyst because of him . . . “Niño, go to the kitchen, comprende? Tell them I said feed you. Do you read?”
The child shook his head. “But I will someday soon. The padre is going to teach me.”
That meant Bandit didn’t have to worry about the child knowing the contents of the note. Should he learn of them, Don Enrique would insist he take a posse of vaqueros, and they would slow him down. Besides, the outlaws might kill Aimèe if they felt cornered. He’d give them the damned money to free her!
“Niño,” he said, “don’t say anything about the lady; just eat and go home. I’ll take care of everything now.”
He stood staring after the child as the boy mounted the burro and whacked it, making the dust fly from its woolly coat as it headed toward the house at a walk.
Romeros looked from the note to Bandit. “What in hell is this all about?”
Bandit looked down at the ring in his palm, swore a string of oaths, and then paced the barn. “I never thought she’d get caught in the middle of this! If they hurt her, I’ll—”
“What is this all about? You goin’ after her? I’ll go with you!” Romeros threw the match away.
Bandit jerked the note from his hands, tucked it in his pocket along with the little amethyst ring. Then he turned toward the loft steps. “It’s about twenty-five thousand dollars that Amethyst is being held for, that’s what it’s about.”
“What twenty-five thousand? You haven’t gotten any of the old man’s money yet—”
“It isn’t Falcon money,” Bandit snapped, taking the steps two at a time to the loft. “I never should have come here, might have known they’d follow me into Mexico for this bank loot.” He came down carrying the saddlebags.
“In there?” Romeros looked from him to the saddlebags. “You mean, ever since you got here, you’ve had twenty-five thousand in cash hidden without me knowing it?”
“It belongs to the United States Army,” Bandit said, placing the saddle bags onto the pinto. “I intended to return it. I’ve always lived on the edge of the law, but there’s three things I draw the line at: murder, stealing from my country, and cheating at cards.”
Romeros blinked. “I can’t decide if you’re a hero or a fool.”
“Would you believe I don’t give a damn what you think?” Bandit swung up on the horse. “Now I’ll have to let those outlaws have the money as ransom for Amethyst
.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Well. . .” Bandit almost shook his head, then reconsidered as Romeros went to get his black gelding. With three outlaws to face, Bandit suddenly realized he could use some help, and he didn’t want to tell Señor Falcon or Amethyst’s papa what had happened. With any luck, maybe he could save her before either family knew she was missing. After the tragedies the two families had suffered over the years, Bandit wanted to save them pain if it was possible.
Certainly he couldn’t alert the Federales. How would he explain to the Mexican authorities about the payroll loot? Besides, he didn’t trust them. They might shoot him in the back somewhere out in that desolate country to the north and take the money for themselves. Anyway, two men could ride faster, more quietly than a posse. “All right, Romeros,” he said with a scowl. “Let’s get movin’!”
They threw a few supplies in the packs on their horses, and took off at a ground-eating lope.
All Friday afternoon they rode at a steady gait, moving north. Bandit resented every minute they had to stop to cool out the horses or eat a bite, but he knew it was smart to do that. He didn’t look at Romeros, loathing the vaquero. What a rotten partner to get mixed up with! But he couldn’t worry about that now. The only thing that was important at this moment was saving Amethyst.
He cursed himself a thousand times as they rode along, the hooves beating out a rhythm: Aimée. Beloved. Beloved. Forget-me-not. Forget-me-not. It was his fault that trio had found their way to the ranch, his fault they’d kidnapped Amethyst.
Dusk shadowed the land purple and Romeros signaled for a halt. “Hombre, there’s a stage relay station up ahead I know about. We’ve got to have a little rest.” He reeled in his saddle.
“Rest, hell!” Bandit swore. “The dead can rest! We’ve got to save Aimée.” All he could think of was that darkness had come too soon, that the outlaws would be pitching camp. And when they stopped for the night, their thoughts would turn to the entertainment the beautiful girl would provide.
Romeros clucked sympathetically. “I know how you feel. I care about the girl, too, although she never gave me a second look. But our horses are about played out and we need to scout the area. Let’s get a drink and some food at the station, see what we can find out.”
Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) Page 34