Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family)

by Georgina Gentry

  “You know those other two don’t intend to let me go.” She jerked her head back toward the pair asleep by the fire.

  “I still boss this gang, and what I say goes. If either of them lay a hand on you, Amethyst, they’ll answer to me,” he said a little grandly.

  “You’re different from those bums you ride with. I saw that right off.” She forced herself to smile up at him. “Why do you ride with them? You outclass them.”

  “Hell, you think I don’t know that?”

  She reached up, caught his hand between both of hers. “You’re too smart to be with them. Have you ever thought about goin’ it alone?”

  Ringo hesitated. “I—I don’t handle a gun as well as I used to.”

  “Says who?” she challenged, looking up at him, her lips moist and slightly parted.

  He shook his head. “It’s true. Otherwise, the Oklahoma Kid couldn’t have taken over, become the leader when he came in from the Territory.”

  “You could be top gun again, Ringo, anywhere . . . with the support of the right woman. After all, it sounds like you do pretty well as an outlaw.”

  Ringo laughed. “I don’t know about that. That last holdup turned into a real disaster. We’d just robbed the Fort Concho payroll when we rode into Bandera for some fun.”

  Curiosity goaded her. “And the Texan was part of your gang?”

  “Naw.” He shook his head, reached into his pocket for tobacco and papers. “We came into the saloon, see? The Kid got into a poker game with that Texan, and the Texan caught him cheating. Never saw anybody draw as fast as that Texan! Blew the Kid away from that table before the Kid’s gun hardly cleared leather.”

  Amethyst really was puzzled. “If the Texan wasn’t part of your gang, how’d he end up with the money?”

  Ringo made a wry face, rolled a smoke with an unsteady hand. “The payroll was in the Kid’s saddlebags. When the Texan ran outside after he outdrew the Kid, I reckon he realized the Kid’s pinto was the best horse at the hitchin’ rail. Anyway he took off on him fast as a deacon takin’ up a collection on Sunday!”

  “So that’s how he got the pinto stallion,” she thought aloud with relief. She reached up, took the match from Ringo’s unsteady hand, and lit his smoke for him.

  “Much obliged.” He nodded his thanks, took a deep draw. “We’ve been on the Texan’s trail ever since, tryin’ to get the payroll back.”

  “Ringo, I like you,” Amethyst said confidentially, “but I’m afraid of them.” She shivered watching the pair by the campfire, hearing them snore.

  “I boss this gang now that the Kid’s dead,” he said squaring his shoulders. “Don’t be afraid.”

  She studied him, almost feeling a little sorry for the man. “I’ll bet you used to be the best gun in Texas.”

  He smoked, staring off into the night. “Women,” he said bitterly, “women, cards, and whiskey do in more gunfighters than bullets. Yessir, women have been the ruin of many a man.”

  “Who was she, Ringo?”

  “Does it show that much?” He grinned, a little chagrined, knocked the long ash off the cigarette. “A girl at Miss Fancy’s in San Antone, a girl with hair the color of fire. She had big plans, Mona did, and I didn’t fit into them, not enough money. She wanted to be a real lady.”

  Amethyst only half listened. She had to gain his confidence, keep him talking while she figured out what move to make. “And what ever became of her?”

  “Dunno. I found myself staring into the bottom of an empty glass too many times thinkin’ about her, wondering where she went. Lost track of her in New Orleans. By then she was passin’ herself as French.”

  Amethyst felt her mouth dropopen in surprise; then she shook her head. No, it was a coincidence; it couldn’t be.

  “Mona was ambitious. No room for a cheap gunfighter in her plans. The fact I was crazy about her meant nothin’ to her.” He studied Amethyst as he smoked. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t be like that.”

  She pictured Bandit in her mind. “No,” she whispered, “if I loved a man, I wouldn’t care if we starved, as long as we could be together.”

  Mona, she thought, Monique. It all fit. A professional whore all set to marry my foolish father. Bandit knows that and he’s protecting her, why?

  She tried to decide whether to tell Ringo Mona was back at her father’s ranch, then decided against it. She couldn’t see how bringing the other girl into this could help, and it might make things worse.

  She shook with anger. That damned pistolero! Why did he protect that woman? Mona must mean more to him than he would admit. He had lied about that. If she had a gun, Amethyst would shoot Bandit herself when he came riding into this camp tomorrow.

  “What’s the matter, Amethyst, you cold? You’re shakin’.”

  “No.” She must concentrate on the problem at hand, which was escaping. Who knew if this alcoholic gunfighter could or would protect her when things came to a showdown? “Ringo, that was nice of you tonight, not to . . . well, you know . . . and not to let them either.” She blushed.

  He looked away, smoking his cigarette. She saw the embarrassment, the frustration in his eyes. “Forget it.”

  He’s impotent, she thought with sudden surprise, he hadn’t tried to rape her because he’d feared he’d be humiliated himself. She didn’t let on she knew. She reached for the bottle. “I’d like a drink, wouldn’t you?”

  He watched her drink, and his tongue ran over his cracked lips as he looked at the bottle. If she could get him drunk, maybe she and Heartaches could slip away in the darkness.

  Ringo grabbed the bottle from her hand, turned it up, his throat moving visibly as he swallowed. “Let’s drink to us,” he challenged. “Let’s drink to us!”

  Petty sat up suddenly, looked toward them. “Ringo, your voice is gettin’ louder by the minute.” He ran his fingers through his tangled beard. “You better watch that drinkin’.”

  Amethyst’s heart almost stopped beating. If Petty took over the watch, there went her chance for escape. “You his mama? He just had a sip. Now go back to sleep.”

  But Petty got up, yawned, scratched his privates, and stumbled toward them. “Maybe I better take guard duty for a spell, Ringo. You look like the dogs have had you under the porch!”

  “I only had a couple of drinks,” the man said defensively, standing up. He swayed a little.

  “Un-huh.” Petty glared at Amethyst as if he’d realized what she was up to. “Sleep awhile, Ringo, I’ll stand guard.”

  Ringo sighed, looked at Amethyst. “I could use a little shuteye. Petty, you treat her like a lady, hear?”

  “I hear.” Petty sat down on the rocks, took a lip full of snuff while Ringo went over by the fire and wrapped himself in a blanket. He studied her. “What you two been talkin’ about?”

  What could she do now? “I was just tellin’ Ringo what I really liked was Southern gentlemen, and he was trying to convince me he was one.”

  “Him?” Petty guffawed. “He sat out the war. Now I was really right in the thick of it!”

  Amethyst gave him her most dazzling smile. “I’d already figured out where you were from by your accent. Did you have a plantation and everything?”

  He beamed at her, his dirty hand playing with the hilt of the rusty butcher knife in his belt. “It weren’t perzactly mine, but I was the overseer.”

  She hugged her knees, smiled. “But that’s a position of importance, isn’t it, keeping all those slaves working?”

  “Big ’Un sneers at me about it, but you’re right. Ma’am, I was second only to the owner. And during the war, I was a sergeant.”

  “A sergeant!” She let her eyes widen with admiration. “Why imagine that! I’ll bet you were a hero, saw a lot of action.”

  “Shore I did! Why at Fort Pillow, we really taught them niggers a lesson about taking up arms against white folks! Woulda wiped ‘em out if it hadn’t a been for that uppity Shawn O’Bannion.” He took out his watch, checked the time. “It’s a long time �
��til dawn. I won’t sleep easy ’til we get back across the Rio Grand.”

  “Let me see that.” Amethyst reached out, caught his hand in hers, looked at the inscription on the watch.

  To Beau St. Clair with all my love, Savannah.

  “Why you must be Beau, just breakin’ all the ladies’ hearts.”

  “That’s right.” He grinned, taking the watch back. “Just call me Beauregard St. Clair Pettigrew.”

  He’s lying, she thought with scorn. He stole that fancy watch. “You know, Mr. Petty,” she purred, “you’re a fool to settle for a third of twenty-five thousand.”

  He spat a spray of juice. “Hell, lady, that’s a lot of money, more’n I ever seen in my life.”

  “Why’d you come to Texas?”

  “Same’s a lot of men. I went home after the war, found nothin’ left but Sherman’s sentinels.”

  “Sherman’s sentinels?”

  He looked over at the sleeping Big ‘Un, bitterness and hatred etched on his ugly face. “Sherman’s Bummers marched across the South, burning everything in their path, leaving so little he boasted a crow’d have to carry its lunch to survive ’cause there wouldn’t be nothing left, and there wasn’t. All the houses burned, nothin’ but brick chimneys left standing guard over the ashes. Southerners commenced to call those Sherman’s sentinels.”

  She smiled at him. “But twenty-five thousand isn’t much, especially when my papa’s rich, has a big fine home, and lots of land.”

  “Just like the cotton planters, huh?”

  She reached out, put her hand on his. “I’ve never married, Mr. Pettigrew, been looking for a man who’d appreciate owning a fine spread like my papa’s.”

  He pulled his hand away. “Don’t give me none of your tricks, missy.”

  “Mr. Petty”—she lowered her voice—“I think those other two mean to do you out of your share of that payroll.”

  He spat. “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged offhandedly. “Oh, I didn’t really hear anything, but once when we stopped to water the horses, those two were mumbling together.”

  Petty scowled, looked over at the sleeping men. “Money splits even better two ways,” he mumbled. “No, I wouldn’t put it past either one of them. Not one damned bit!”

  She smiled again. “I just thought you should know.”

  He seemed to turn things over in his mind. “Think they can cut me out, do they? We’ll just see about that, missy. Now you get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

  She curled up in her blankets, listening for the men’s steady breathing. When she looked over at Petty, he leaned on his rifle. his head drooping lower and lower.

  She held her breath, waiting. This was dangerous, hostile country, but she’d take her chances. Anything was better than the company of these desperadoes. And the farther she rode north, the less chance she had of being rescued. Would Bandit come after her? If he did, he’d be riding into an ambush. Amethyst had no doubt these men didn’t intend to let her go, whether they got their money or not. If there was the slightest chance of escape, she’d better take it.

  She craned her neck. Petty had his head against his rifle, snoring. Now was her chance. Very slowly she crept out of her blankets, sneaked into the shadows of the brush. A giant scorpion scurried near her feet and she jumped. For a moment, she reconsidered. She might be facing more danger from the hostile desert than she was from the outlaws. She’d run for the nearest cover without thinking that the horses were staked on the far side of the circle. To reach Heartaches, she would have to creep completely around through the Spanish dagger and cactus to reach her. Ringo moaned and turned over in his sleep, and Petty’s head jerked, then nodded again.

  Amethyst held her breath. If any of the three came awake now, she’d be missed and the search would start before she could get to her horse. Just what was she going to do? She crouched, waiting to make sure the three were really asleep. When she started to move, she realized with a shock that her legs had gone to sleep. With an agonized sigh, she sat down with her legs out in front of her, aware that precious time ticked by with each beat of her heart while the tingling sensation of blood returning spread through her slim legs.

  Cougar nodded with satisfaction at his friend, the old Lipan chief, Costilietos. “The food was good, my friend. Now let us share a pipe.”

  The elderly Lipan was older even than Cougar. His snow-white hair hung about his shoulders as they sat cross-legged with Sun Shield before the fire on the edge of the Kickapoo camp. Very few people moved about now that the sun had set. “It is good to have an old friend come to share the mescal, beans, and tiswin,” he grunted, reaching for a pipe. “The young warriors are not interested in reliving old battles with us.”

  Sun Shield appeared to stifle a yawn, and Cougar gave him a warning look as he accepted the pipe, took a deep puff of the pungent tobacco. “If young warriors want to live to be old warriors, they need to learn patience, let us impart our wisdom to them.”

  Costilietos grunted in agreement, wiped meat grease from his straggly mustache. “Very few warriors in any of the camps tonight. All but a few gone hunting. It is good you come to share old times, friend.”

  “Tonight we may get one more chance at battle honors,” Cougar said, savoring the taste of the smoke. “There is a trio of whites headed this way that I owe vengeance.”

  The other old man’s eyes brightened. “Tell me.”

  Cougar shrugged. “We wait. They were moving toward this camp from the south at last report.”

  The boy stood up. “Grandfather, I tire of waiting. Suppose they have passed us? What if they slip by?”

  Cougar frowned. “I have faith in my scouts,” he grunted and passed the pipe to the other chief’s gnarled hand. “They will report in.”

  Costilietos puffed slowly. “Are there any scouts to our north?”

  Cougar shook his head. “Why bother? We have nothing to fear from that direction. The americanos’ government does not allow them to cross the river. I have all my scouts watching to the south so we will not miss those three riders when they pass through, headed back to the tejano state.”

  A rider galloped into camp, dismounted, strode over to the campfire. “Great chief Cougar, I am reporting as ordered. The three white men and the woman are camped downstream from this village only a mile or so.”

  Cougar nodded, stood up. “Gather whatever warriors we have,” he told the scout. He turned to the eager boy. “Now, my grandson, now we will finally move because the time is right.” He nodded to the other old chief. “I invite you to join our war party.”

  The elderly Lipan knocked the ashes from his pipe. “I will gather whatever warriors have stayed to protect this camp and we will ride with you.”

  Within minutes, they rode through the darkness like ghostly specters toward the white outlaws’ camp. Cougar’s heart beat with anticipation. When they were still some distance downstream from the whites’ camp, he signaled the warriors to dismount. He did not want the sound of horses to alert the prey.

  Quiet and crafty as the hunter he was named for, Cougar led the braves as they crept up, surrounded the camp.

  Two white men lay asleep in their blanketes by a dwindling fire. Another, short and bearded, sat on a rock, leaning against his rifle barrel, dozing. Cougar’s rheumy old eyes surveyed the camp again. He saw no white woman but there were four horses hobbled and grazing some distance from the fire. What had happened to her? Had they killed her? Had she run away? She wouldn’t have gotten far without a horse.

  He looked at the mounts. Yes, one was gray. He remembered the prophecy, wondered about the thunder. Looking up at the sky, he checked for signs of clouds or rain. Perhaps it would storm by morning. It was, after all, almost time for the rainy season.

  Cougar felt young and strong again, leading the war party. His hand went up unconsciously to finger the medicine necklace. Then he smiled at his grandson.

  The boy smiled back; white, even teeth
visible in his dark, handsome face. The light reflected off the old Spanish armor. Someday Sun Shield would make a great war leader when the Mescalero returned north to their hills to fight the pony soldeirs.

  Quiet as snakes slithering through the sand, the braves fanned out, surrounded the camp. Then Cougar raised his withered arm, signaled the braves to move.

  Amethyst still crouched in the grass, waiting for the circulation to come back to her legs so she could crawl through the brush to her grazing horse. A chill went up her back as she realized suddenly that there was movement in the grass around her. Now she was too terrified to move. She crouched against the sand, listening. Maybe it was only the breeze, rippling through the brush.

  Even as she waited, listening, she saw the shadows in the moonlight. Santa María, what on earth—?

  Then the shadows moved, one creeping close enough that she could have reached out and touched the man. Indians. For a long moment, she almost did not believe what her eyes told her as she froze motionless against the ground. But then the man crept forward again toward the fire. In the firelight, she could see he was more of a boy than a man, clad in an old Spanish breastplate that reflected the light in an eerie way as if touched with spirit magic. It was a miracle that the boy hadn’t heard her breathing, she thought, but then she realized he had been intent on the sleeping men by the fire.

  She almost called out a warning to the white men, knowing what terrible torture they would endure if they were captured alive. Though they had planned terrible things for her, she could pity anyone captured by Indians. While she hesitated, it was already too late.

  The hobbled horses seemed to catch the foreign scents and raised their heads, their ears going forward. One of them neighed and Ringo raised up from his blankets, grabbing for his guns.

  He screamed a warning, but the Indians rose up around the fire, kicking the weapons from the dazed white men’s hands, shouting in triumph as they captured them alive.