Mustn’t think of things like that, he told himself, and kept dancing about, shouting and singing. The brave seemed frozen in shock as he stared at Bandit from the top of the boulder. His mouth was open; his rifle hung limply at his side.
“‘Camptown race track, five miles long, Oh, doo-dah day!’”
Bandit danced and sang, picking cactus blossoms, throwing them up at the moon. He heard confusion, excited voices in the camp. For a split second, he fought the urge to run back to the tree where he’d stashed his weapons, but he controlled himself by exerting an almost superhuman will. There were too many of them, they’d overpower him anyway. No, the only thing he could do was dance about naked as a branding iron, convince the warriors he was loco.
Indians came running, shouting, paused to stare. Bandit pretended to pay them no heed. He tore off some mesquite blooms, put them behind his ears for decorations, then danced around and sang some more. “‘ . . . gwine to run all night, gwine to run all day. I bet my money . . .’”
His heart pounded so hard, he was sure the Indians could hear it. Perspiration ran down his muscular, naked body as he pranced about, throwing claret cup cactus blooms at the moon. His voice cracked from singing so loudly and he was so scared he thought he could not breath in enough air to keep shouting the song. His mouth tasted dry and thorns cut his bare feet, but he didn’t dare do anything but dance and cavort in the warm May night like one possessed.
“‘. . . Doo-dah! Doo-dah! Camptown race track, five miles long. . .’” He wished he could remember other verses, but only the same words came to his mind over and over. For a split second, he saw himself sitting in the music room next to Aimée the night of the party, both of them playing the old Stephen Foster song on her fine piano. “‘. . . on de bobtail nag, somebody bet on de bay . . .”’
The old, gray-haired chief came running, shouting questions to the sentry. The Indian shrugged, gestured with his rifle. Obviously they were trying to decide where Bandit had come from, whether he was alone. Well, at least they hadn’t killed him yet. He danced close to the old man, offered him a flower, threw a handful of blossoms into the bewildered face. Indians gathered around, staring at Bandit, jabbering at each other.
Loco, he heard one say, and another repeated it. Loco.
Bandit danced and sang until he thought he would drop as the Indians gathered in a silent circle, staring at him. Finally, the old chief shouted an order, gestured to some of the warriors. Obviously he was telling them to catch Bandit, bring him into the camp. The braves looked at each other uncertainly. Three of them approached Bandit. He threw back his head and laughed and laughed.
When they moved close enough to touch him, Bandit jumped at them. “Boo!”
The warriors retreated in confusion. But the old man spoke sharply to them and they moved in again, caught Bandit, and pinned his arms behind him. He was careful to show no fear, no concern, even though his heart was pounding. He only laughed and sang as they dragged him back toward the camp. Well, they had him. Now what did he do?
But when they dragged him into camp, Aimée looked up suddenly, tried to scramble to her feet, fell. “Texas!” she shrieked. “Oh, Texas, I knew you’d come!”
She was going to ruin it all. He pretended not to see her although he was embarrassed to be publicly nude before her. He laughed and sang about the Camptown races.
“Oh, Texas! Santa María! They’ve captured you, too! What shall we do?” She wept, rubbing at her eyes with her bound hands.
Instantly, the old man seemed suspicious. In Spanish, he said to the girl. “Do you know this loco person? Is he your man?”
She paused as if making a decision deep in her own heart, but she didn’t have to answer. It was clearly written on her lovely face for the whole world to see.
The chief’s face was a mask of fury. “He tries to deceive us! He plots to get in here to save his woman!”
Bandit’s heart almost stopped beating even though he continued to laugh and sing, to struggle against the warriors holding him prisoner.
But the Apache was no longer fooled. “Bind him!” he thundered. “We’ll show this tejano how we deal with whites!”
He’d gambled and lost. And what a hand to lose when the stakes meant life. Bandit’s my name and poker’s my game. Strange how words came to your mind under stress, he thought with wry wonder, as the Indians pulled his arms above his head, tied them to a frame of timbers probably used for drying animal skins.
Bandit gave up the pretense then. He was exhausted and covered with thorn wounds and perspiration. In the firelight, tied to the frame, his muscular, naked body gleamed with sweat, yet his face was half-hidden by shadows.
“So,” said the elderly chief in border Spanish, as he came around to face Bandit, “you play the fool to gain entry to this camp! You are a very brave hombre!”
Bandit craned his neck to look over at the bound, sobbing girl. “I came for my woman, old man,” he said softly. “Neither of us have done the Indians any harm. Let us go in peace.”
“You are either very foolish or very brave to say this to me.” There was grudging admiration in the Apache’s voice. And then puzzlement crossed the wrinkled, brown face. “Have we known each other before? Your face seems as familiar to me as my own.”
Strange, Bandit had just been thinking the same thing, but what did it matter now?
“Kill me if you must, old man, but let my woman go.”
The old chief scowled. “I see Indian blood in the lines of your face. What tribe are you?”
“Mescalero Apache,” Bandit said.
The old man struck him, making Bandit’s ears ring. “You lie! Knowing our tribe, you lie to save your life!”
Bandit tasted the coppery blood running from his torn lip, dripping scarlet down his bare chest. He glared straight into the chief’s eyes. “No man has ever called me a liar and lived, old man! My white grandmother was raped by a Mescalero.”
The old man snorted in scorn. “No doubt it was the other way around. Your Indian grandmother was raped by a white hunter or soldier!”
What did it matter anyway? The chief was only playing with him, prolonging the mental torture. “If I show you how bravely I can die, old man, will you release my woman?”
“I make no bargains with whites.” The chief sneered. “I have you both, and we will see how bravely you will die!”
He signaled to a warrior to bring a burning brand from the fire, then turned and ordered another brave to go search the brush for the white man’s horse and weapons.
Amethyst seemed to realize for the first time what was about to happen. “No!” she cried out as she struggled to break free. “No! Let him go and I will willingly become wife to any of your warriors!”
The old man stood there a moment, holding the burning brand in his hand, looking from one to the other. “Each is willing to make a sacrifice to save the other,” he mused, looking about the silent circle, “so she really is his woman.” He grinned without humor. “And now they shall die together!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Amethyst watched in horror as the chief carried the torch still closer to the magnificent, naked man whose hands were tied to the pole above his head.
“No!” she shouted, struggling to break free. “No, don’t hurt him! For God’s sake, don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything you want, only let him go!”
She struggled against the bonds that cut into the tender flesh of her wrists. Her round, soft breasts were visible because of her torn blouse, but she didn’t care. All she thought of was breaking free, saving Bandit.
The Texan stood naked and bound, the firelight of the torch playing on his sinewy, muscular body. He did not cry out or struggle, but stood glaring back at the chief who approached him, flaming torch in hand. Cold blue eyes stared into the old man’s dark ones, and Bandit’s lips curled in the slightest sneer of contempt as if he dared the chief to make him scream or beg for mercy.
Strange, perhaps she imagined the sl
ight resemblance as the two glared into each other’s eyes from a distance. Then the chief carried the flickering torch still closer while the Indians in a silent circle, watched.
Amethyst struggled against the rawhide thongs until her wrists bled. “No! My Papa is very rich! I’ll ransom him!”
But Bandit stood proudly, glaring at the Apaches. “Money means nothing to Indians, Aimée. Save your breath! We must die bravely. Remember, sweet, I love you. I always loved you. That’s why I got into this plot to begin with, why I came into this camp, knowing what might happen.”
“Oh, Texas.” She wept, still struggling to break free, “I love you, too. I guess I always did from that very first night! I’ve fought against it ever since!”
As the chief carried the flaming torch right up to Bandit’s face, Aimée closed her eyes and wept. She could smell the scent of the burning flare, almost feel the heat of it from where she sat.
Bandit laughed with contempt. “I dare you to make me cry out, old man! I’ll show the Mescalero how a brave man dies!”
Just then the brave who had been sent for Bandit’s things returned, leading the pinto stud and carrying Bandit’s belongings. He handed the personal effects to the old man.
Cougar stared at the small coin, laughed. “Here’s something I can use as I used the white man’s magic ticking thing!”
“No!” Amethyst shuddered and wept, remembering.
But then the old man made a sudden noise almost as if he were choking. Amethyst opened her eyes. The chief held the torch and stared down at the other thing in his hands, Bandit’s cougar-claw necklace. When he looked up, the wrath on his wrinkled face was terrible to see. “Where did you get this, thief!”
Bandit spat at the man. “You may kill me, but I defy you, old man! The necklace was given me by my dying mother!”
The old chief handed the torch to a brave, came closer, holding out the medallion in one shaking hand. “This is an Apache spirit charm! I demand you tell me where your mother got it!”
Bandit looked puzzled. “Don’t delay your torture, old man! Get on with it! I’ll show you how a Texan dies! My bravery will shame the best Apache warrior!”
But the old man had eyes only for the necklace in his trembling fingers. With his other hand, he reached up to touch the identical one around his wrinkled throat. “Where did you get this?”
Bandit shrugged wearily. “What does it matter? My grandmother put it around her half-breed daughter’s neck. My mother gave it to me as she died!”
“You lie! This was mine! I gave it to a white woman I loved! You stole this!” The old man looked from the necklace to Bandit’s face, back down to the necklace.
And suddenly Amethyst knew. She screamed out in Spanish, “Cougar, is your soul as blind as your eyes? Do you not see yourself in his face?”
A murmur ran through the crowd of Indians at her words, and the old man made a choking sound, half-exclamation, half-sob. “Cut him down!” he ordered. “Cut him down!”
Amethyst raised her face toward the sky, uttered a silent prayer of thanks.
When a brave cut the thongs that bound his arms, Bandit stood rubbing his wrists, looking about in confusion, his muscular, naked body gleaming like a Greek statue. “Why?” he demanded. “Why?”
Amethyst burst into tears. “Texas, don’t you see? He’s your grandfather!”
The old man stared at Bandit a long moment. “What is lost has been found,” he said dully as if speaking from a dream. “The girl speaks true. I look at you and see my own face staring back at me!”
Amethyst looked quickly from one to the other, then to the young boy in the armor that reflected the firelight. “And that one must be related to you, too, Bandit. The three of you look much alike!”
Bandit stared at her in puzzlement, looked back at the old man, his hand reaching out for his necklace. “I—I don’t understand.”
The old man’s eyes filled, glistened with moisture in the firelight. “A long time ago, I led a war party that attacked a cedar choppers’ camp,” he said softly, as if lost in thought. “I forced myself on a white girl who had hair as light as yours, eyes just that same color. I have always regretted I did not take her away with me.”
Bandit’s face blanched. “I know nothing of my background save this.” He took the medallion from the Apache.
Old Cougar reached out, put one hand on Bandit’s broad shoulder. “I put that medicine charm around her neck to protect her from harm and she must have given it to her own child, your mother. What is lost has been found,” the old man said softly. “The vision is completed, all of it has been fulfilled. You and your cousin, Sun Shield, are my only living relatives.”
An excited buzz ran through the assembled Indians as some brave translated the words into Apache and Kickapoo.
Bandit stared at the old man, then at the boy. “I never met my grandmother. I’d like to know who she was.”
“She is dead.” A great sadness crossed Cougar’s dark face, and suddenly he looked very old, very gnarled. “I think her life was not a happy one because of the half-breed child I gave her. I am only sorry I did not steal her that long-ago day. I think she really wanted to go with me.” He turned away, blinked, and Amethyst, seeing the moisture shining in his eyes, realized how much he had loved the girl of yellow hair and pale blue eyes.
There was a long silence. The old man stared off into the distance as if lost in another time. Bandit reached for his clothes, began to dress. “And now what happens? What about my woman?”
Old Cougar turned to the silvery haired Lipan chief standing silently nearby. “Costilietos, this is my Grandson, this is his woman. I will free them.”
The other old Indian nodded. “It is only just. You have paid back the three who killed your family. But it is very late. Stay in our camp tonight, here with the Kickapoo, and tomorrow, take your family and return to your own village.”
Bandit looked weary. To Cougar, he said, “Can I free my woman?”
The old man handed him a knife, his weapons. “Free your woman, my grandson,” he said. “Since it is very late, we will accept the Kickapoos’ hospitality. Tomorrow, I make plans to return to my own territory north of the great river. Grandson, will you bring your woman and join us?”
Bandit looked at him a long moment before shaking his head. “It is very tempting, Cougar. Long have I looked to find my kin and tonight my prayers have been answered. The only pieces of the puzzle missing now are those on my sire’s side.” He patted the pinto horse. “Perhaps I will be like this great stallion and never know who fathered me.”
Cougar smiled. “Does it matter? Tonight you have shown you have honor and bravery. I would be proud to claim you, to have you join our band and go with us when the Mescalero ride north.”
“My heart is where my woman is.” Bandit strode over, cut Amethyst’s bonds, and swung her up in his arms.
She had watched, almost afraid to believe what was happening, but now she lost control. “Oh, Texas. Texas.” She laid her face against the muscular chest bared by his open shirt, slipped her arms up around his neck. “I love you so much.”
His lips brushed her cheek. “I love you, Aimée; enough to know now this can never be.”
Amethyst looked up at him, reached with her finger to touch the cleft in his chin. “No! Not after all this. Not after what we’ve been through together. We can work things out.”
He cradled her gently as if she were a doll. “Tonight,” he whispered, “we have tonight, sweet. People live as if they had forever when they ought to live as if now were all they had!”
She would ask no questions, not think of tomorrow. He was right. If they had nothing else, they had tonight.
She closed her eyes, rested her face against his hard chest. Safe in the haven of his arms, she was his woman and he would protect her.
Dimly she heard Cougar directing Bandit to a wickiup, but she was suddenly so weary, she didn’t even open her eyes as he carried her across the camp with l
ong strides. She felt him bend to carry her through an opening, and as she opened her eyes, he laid her on the soft fur of a buffalo robe.
“Oh, Texas.” She held out her arms to him, and he came into them, kissing her tear-streaked face.
This is our own little world, she thought, glancing around the snug wickiup, seeing the little campfire reflecting the love in his eyes. Whatever happens tomorrow, I want memories of tonight that will last forever.
He reached into his pocket, slipped the amethyst ring on her finger. “We seem to keep trading this back and forth.” He kissed her. “Now all I’ve got to do is worry about what to do with what’s in my saddlebags.”
Outside, the camp quieted down as the Indians gradually retired for the night. Faintly, she heard Heartaches nicker a welcome to Blue Eyes, and she smiled, thinking of the two horses grazing companionably through the night.
“What are you smiling at, sweet?”
“Love makes everything worthwhile.” She was too tired to think of all that had happened that night; she was only relieved that she and her man were alive and safe. They lay in each other’s arms, staring into the small fire, each listening to the other’s heartbeat.
“Texas, are you considering joining up with the Mescaleros? Is that why you said this can’t work out?”
A shadow crossed his face, and he shook his head. “No, But if I were going off to join the Mescalero, would you go with me?”
She lay in his arms looking up at him. “I’d go anywhere with you, do anything you asked of me. Just don’t leave me behind when you go.”
He looked tempted, then shook his head. “You’ve always had the best of everything, Aimée, lived a sheltered life. Whatever my decision, whether it’s joining up with my grandfather’s warriors or going back to being a gunfighter, there’s no place for you.”
She started to protest, but he laid a gentle finger across her lips. “Hush, sweet,” he whispered. “I love you too much to want anything but the best for you. So I’m going to take you back to your rich father’s hacienda.”
Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) Page 41