Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family)
Page 39
Amethyst flattened herself against the ground, watching the scene by the fire. She was so terrified, she had to clap her hand over her own mouth to make sure she did not scream. Surely the warriors must hear the frightened pounding of her heart. She would stay hidden until the Indians took their captives and rode away. Rather than be captured by savages, she’d take her chances against the hostile desert.
The braves shouted in triumph, dancing around the scared white men. She was a Mexican citizen, and the Indians were friends of the Mexicans. Maybe she should stand up, identify herself, and demand help. Surely the Indians would not dare to harm her. She hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Suppose the Indians didn’t believe her? Suppose they thought she was a tejano or americano because she rode with the outlaws? Suppose in the excitement of the capture, they would rape her anyway, not caring about her nationality?
Even as she watched from her hiding place, the Indians shoved the three men into the middle of the firelit circle, shouting and gesturing.
An old man, majestic in bearing, strode into the circle, followed by that tall young boy wearing the antique armor. The firelight reflected off the boy’s gleaming black hair, off the sheen of his brown skin, the metal of the breastplate. The old man shouted orders in border Spanish. Something about the necklace he wore stirred her memory. Where had she seen a medallion like that before?
Petty jabbered in Spanish. “A woman! We’ve got a beautiful woman! We’ll trade her for our lives!”
“Shut up, Petty!” Ringo shouted, “No use us involving her.”
“The Reb’s right!” Big ’Un sobbed. He was so terrified, he had wet his clothes. Amethyst could smell the reek of it from her hiding place. “There’s a woman,” he blubbered. “We’ll give her to you if you’ll let us go!”
The old man stood looking at them, smiling without humor. She had never seen such hatred in a face before as she now saw in the old man’s. “Do you recognize this boy?” he said in border Spanish, indicating the handsome boy wearing the armor.
The three outlaws looked at the Indian lad, then at each other, blankly.
“No,” said Ringo.
“Five years ago, the three of you raped his pregnant mother, tortured her husband, my son, to death. You left the little boy for dead!”
A light dawned in Petty’s eyes. “Oh, God, he’s talking about that Apache squaw that we—”
“Shut up, you Johnny Reb,” Big ’Un shouted at him. “Are you too damned stupid to know not to admit—”
“We have waited a long time for this,” the old man said with satisfaction, “and our patience has been rewarded.” He turned to the boy. “Now my grandson will have his vengeance. Sun Shield, are these the men?”
The boy strode from one to the other, looking for a long moment into each white face. “These are the men. Sometimes I even see them in my sleep!”
Big ’Un glowered at Petty. “I told you we should have checked to make sure that boy was dead!”
“Nagnab it, he looked dead!” Petty gasped. “How could anyone tell with him covered with blood?”
Ringo swore, struggling against the brave who held his arms pinned. “You two shut up!”
Old Cougar looked around the circle. “Where is your woman?”
Big ’Un and Petty shouted. “Yeah, the woman! She’s a purty one! You take her and let us go!”
Ringo shook noticeably. “It—it was the whiskey. I never meant to hurt the squaw! I’d been drinkin’ and these two talked me into it!”
The old man glared at him. “A man must take responsibility for his own actions. Everyone’s blame is no one’s blame.”
Big ‘Un looked around desperately, pointed at Petty. “It was him! It was his idea!”
“You damned Yankee! It was not! You was the one—”
“God damn it!” Ringo shouted. “You two got to argue even when the Injuns is about to kill us?”
“The woman,” Old Cougar said, “fan out and search the brush. I want their woman, too.”
Amethyst’s heart almost stopped beating. She flattened herself out against the ground, her arms spread out before her. She pressed her cheek into the coarse sand that cut into her face, her hair plastered against her forehead by perspiration. A drop ran down her neck, stinging her sunburn until stopped by her collar.
She forced herself not to panic, to lie still as she heard the braves moving through the brush, poking in the shadows with the butts of their lances. Every fiber of her being screamed out to her to jump up and run, but she willed herself to lie very still a she heard the warriors searching through the brush. The moon came out from behind a cloud, lighting the landscape so that she saw the shadows of warriors walking past her in the buffalo grass.
A small shadow moved near her hand. What was that? A rat? A baby rabbit?
She lay motionless, not daring to breath. A brave halted only a few feet away, looking around. He surely must hear her heart pounding, it beat so loudly. The small object in the shadows moved, scurrying nearer her hand. What was that?
It was black and woolly and about the size of a coffee cup. Her eyes widened as she stared, realized it had eight long, hairy legs. Then it scurried closer to her hand, throwing a dark shadow ahead of it in the bright moonlight.
Even as it raised up on its legs and paused, she recognized what it was and had to fight to keep from screaming. A giant, black tarantula spider.
The nearby warrior moved one foot, and the movement startled the giant spider. It scurried over, paused an instant, then ran up on the back of Amethyst’s hand. She lay paralyzed with fear at the feel of its hairy body on her flesh. If she moved to shake it off, would it bite her? Would the movement draw the Indian’s attention?
If she did not move, maybe the spider would run off her hand onto the sand, scurry away. The hairs on its long legs teased her delicate skin.
Don’t move or scream, Amethyst ordered herself, for God’s sake, don’t move! Any second now, it will turn and crawl away into the desert.
The big spider paused as if uncertain which way to go. Surely it felt the heat of her skin, the pulse beating through her hand. Her sleeves opening had pulled up just past her waist. The spider hesitated again as if unsure which way to go. It was only a few inches from her nose.
She tried blowing at it, hoping to frighten it off the back of her hand, and it hesitated. Then very slowly as she watched it, the spider began to crawl up the back of her hand toward her wrist. Another two inches and it would be inside her sleeve, crawling up her bare arm.
Amethyst lost control. With a scream she jumped up, shaking the spider from her hand.
Chapter Twenty-Three
She turned to run, but the young warrior grabbed her.
“Let me go! Let me go!” She struggled as the boy called Sun Shield twisted her hands behind her back and dragged her back to the firelit circle.
“See?” Big ’Un said. “See? I told you there was a girl! Now let us go and keep her!”
The old chief scowled at the big Yankee as Amethyst was dragged, kicking and fighting, back into the circle. “Why should I release you when I now have all of you? You’re in no position to bargain.”
Amethyst shook off the boy’s restraining hands, straightened her shoulders proudly, and faced the old chief. “I am a Mexican citizen,” she said in Spanish with as much dignity as she could muster. “You must let me go!”
The old man surveyed her with eyes hard as flint. “I am Cougar, chief of the Mexican band of Mescalero, and I have no way of knowing if you speak true. You ride with three tejanos who owe me their lives so I must think you are americano.” He shook his head. “No, we will not free you. Spirited as you are, perhaps you will make a good wife for one of my warriors.”
“I have a man already.” She returned his glare.
He looked at the three whites. “Which one of these is your man?”
“None of these!” she sneered, looking at the necklace old Cougar wore. “My man wears a necklace like your own.”
Amethyst was afraid, but no one would get away with calling her a liar. She marched forward, and said right to his face. “I do not lie! My man has a necklace exactly like the one you wear.”
His lip curled with scorn. “Then he stole it from that woman, which is the reason she did not have it when I found her. What thieving vulture steals a medicine charm from the neck of an old woman?”
“He would not steal!”
The old man regarded her stoically, and in the firelight, there was something about the hard planes of his face, the proud nose that looked familiar. “Woman, you have more bravery than sense.”
The pitiless way he stared down at her, arms crossed on his chest, brought a scary feeling to the pit of her stomach. Now he turned to the three outlaws standing with their arms twisted behind them, trembling.
Big ’Un snarled at Petty. “You poor white trash! You were supposed to be on guard!”
“You damn Yankee! Who picked this camping spot to begin with?”
Ringo said, “Stop it, you two! Don’t we have enough trouble?” Big drops of sweat beaded on his trembling face, made crooked trails into the neck of his shirt.
The old man turned to Amethyst, looked around at the three men. “Do those two always quarrel like this?”
“Always.” She nodded, wondering what the old chief was thinking.
Cougar grinned without humor. “I think I have the perfect vengeance,” he said in broken, border Spanish. “Give that big one back his bayonet and the short one his butcher knife. They are going to entertain us with mortal combat. Form a ring around them so they can’t escape.”
“What? You can’t be serious!” Amethyst gasped, but the expression on the old chief’s face silenced her. The horror of what he proposed became clear to her and then, gradually, to the three men. She could see the terror on their pale white faces.
Big ’Un said, “You—you want us to fight each other?”
“To the death!” Cougar said.
Petty looked uncertainly around the circle of warriors. “Suppose we won’t?” he blustered.
“But you will,” the old Apache vowed, “because the winner gets to live a little longer.”
Ringo threw back his head and laughed. “I think this is what they call poetic justice. For more than five long years, I’ve had to keep you two from fighting, now you finally get the chance!”
Amethyst reached out, grabbed the chief’s arm. “No, you can’t do this!”
He shook her hand off. “These men owe me their lives. It is for me to decide how payment is to be made.”
Sun Shield grabbed her, dragged her to the edge of the firelit circle, and bound her hands. One of the other braves caught Ringo’s arms, tied them behind him, and pushed him out of the way.
Even as Amethyst watched, horrified and unable to do anything about it, the braves stripped Petty and Big ’Un to the waist, then shoved them out into the center of the big ring. Now Cougar took the bayonet, the butcher knife, and walked slowly out to the center of the circle. “The winner gets to live a little longer.”
Big ’Un backed away, shaking his head. “No, I—I won’t do it.”
“Then I will have you both killed on the spot,” the old chief said. “Life is very precious and only one of you will have it when this fight ends.” He held out the weapons. “If either of you should even consider trying to attack my braves with these weapons, remember you are outnumbered. Spilling any of my men’s blood will bring torture to you as only the Apache can devise.”
Uncertainly, the two men took the weapons, looked at each other and then around at the Indians.
Amethyst watched in horror. Their bare chests gleamed pasty white and dripped sweat as they faced each other in the center of the circle.
Big ’Un said, “This is barbaric!”
Cougar folded his arms across his chest. “It is justice. Barbaric is raping a pregnant woman and torturing her husband to death, leaving a small boy for dead!”
Petty ran his tongue over his cracked lips, looked beseechingly at the Apache. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Ringo’s and Big ’Un’s. The gunslinger actually killed her! Let me go!”
Ringo swore. “You sonovabitch! It was you as much as anybody!”
“Silence!” Cougar thundered. “Let the contest begin!”
Could she do anything to stop this? Amethyst struggled against her bonds. Sun Shield had tied her hands behind her back, and as she struggled, the torn lilac riding habit slipped down, revealing the swell of her breasts.
She looked over at Ringo. But he was as helpless as she was, hands tied behind his back and at the edge of the firelit arena. The braves had ringed the two outlaws so there was no possibility of escape. The two looked uncertainly at the weapons in their hands, back at each other, then at the Indians.
Cougar stood with arms crossed. “Let the fight begin,” he repeated.
But instead the pair backed away from each other. The old Apache nodded to two braves who each took a flaming branch from the fire, moved behind the two men. Petty screamed as the torch touched his bare back. Big ’Un, too, was forced back to the center by the fiery stick.
Cougar smiled. “If either one of them retreats from combat, use the torches to drive them back to fight!”
So now the pair half crouched, facing each other in the center of the arena, each armed with his blade. After all these years, they were finally going to be forced to fight. Sweat ran down both dirty faces, and terror made the two men shake visibly. But there was no way out. The one who survived was going to have to kill the other. It was the law of the wild—kill or be killed.
All Amethyst could do was watch from the edge of the circle, where Sun Shield had tied her. The two outlaws were evenly matched, she thought, watching them confront each other. The Yankee was taller, but the short Southerner had a more powerful build.
Big ’Un feinted; Petty dodged away.
The warriors yelled encouragement, urged them on. Items changed hands as braves bet on the outcome. Petty lunged in, but he wasn’t fast enough. Big ’Un slashed him across the forearm with his bayonet so that crimson blood dripped down his hand onto the handle of the rusty butcher knife. Petty swore terrible oaths, stumbling backward. The Indians shouted again, urging on their favorites.
Horrified, Amethyst watched. This must have been the way it was during the days of the Roman gladiators, she thought, men fighting and dying on blood-soaked sand while others cheered, bet on the outcome. She tried to close her eyes, not watch the life-and-death battle being fought before her, but she was too hypnotized by the action, unable to turn her face away. The scent of fresh blood drifted to her, the grunts and moans of the two who fought.
Now Petty advanced, taking the advantage as he slashed at air, his own blood dripping scarlet down the blade of his knife. Big ’Un dodged and stumbled backward. The breeze shifted, carrying the scents of fresh blood and sweat, odors so strong that Amethyst gagged, tried not to breathe.
The two men meshed, each holding the other’s knife hand to keep it from being plunged into his own body. Then they went down in the dust, rolling over and over near the fire as the Indians moved out of their way, reformed the circle, shouting encouragement. When the combatants stumbled to their feet again, Petty slashed lightly along Big ’Un’s ribs. Blood mixed with dirt and sweat now caked both their pale bodies.
“You white trash!” Big ’Un bellowed, stabbing wildly at empty air.
“I hate you, Yank! I’ve always hated you!” Petty’s small eyes gleamed animal-like. He lunged in, but Big ’Un blocked his arm and again they meshed, went down, each gripping the other’s knife hand.
Amethyst watched in terror from the sidelines. She thought now of a bull ring, Big ’Un charging madly like some blindly enraged animal, Petty cutting places on his big body as he stepped l
ightly away.
They paused, both weaving unsteadily on their feet, facing each other, glaring in anger and hate. Big ’Un was losing, everyone could see that. He backed away from Petty uncertainly, and as he reached the edge of the ring, the brave with the torch touched his bare back, sending him stumbling and screaming in agony back to the center.
“Stop this!” Amethyst shouted, trying to break free of her bonds. “Stop this horrible thing!”
But the Indians ignored her, kept yelling and motioning to the white men, encouraging them to move in for the kill.
Big ’Un’s frightened desperation reminded Amethyst of the old fighting bull on her father’s ranch when it pawed the ground, threw up dust. He’s lost all judgment, all reason, she thought, watching him charge blindly at Petty.
The shorter man dodged as the big one came at him, then feinted, knocked the bayonet from his hand.
For just a moment, Big ’Un blinked and stared back at Petty as if he could not quite comprehend what had happened. Then he shook his head, backing away. “No,” he whimpered, raising his hands beseechingly. “No!”
Petty grinned, looked around in the sudden silence. Then he took a quick step forward, drove the rusty butcher knife to the hilt in Big ’Un’s belly.
Amethyst screamed. But Big ’Un looked down very slowly as if he did not believe what he saw. His hands came up, wrapped themselves around the knife hilt. Blood gushed from the wound, staining his pale skin, running warm and scarlet over his hands. He cried out then, like an injured animal, went slowly to his knees.
Petty backed away from him. The big Yankee reached out both hands in bloody, mute appeal to the other man in the silence. Then he fell heavily on his belly, driving the tip of the blade out his back.
Santa María! For just a moment, Amethyst thought she would be sick. She fought to control the urge. She began to pray, as she had never prayed before, for the dying outlaw’s soul.
The big man writhed over onto his side, lay gasping for air.
In the sudden silence, Petty looked around the circle desperately. The he lunged toward the bayonet laying in the dirt. But a brave reached out, grabbed it. The squat man looked toward the old chief.