She stomped one foot on the uneven boards and the door to the cabin opened and a tall, slim man appeared, buttoning the top of his pink shirt, the material of which was ringed with succeeding circles of dirt and sweat.
‘Huh, you callin’?’
The crop came down against Belle’s leg a second time and her eyes flashed.
‘You bet I called. Are we shiftin’ them damned horses or ain’t we?’
‘Sure we are. But we can’t do nothin’ till them boys come in from Deep Fork an’ you know it.’ He scratched at his side and then the top of his leg. ‘Why don’t you quit belly-achin’ and make a man some coffee or somethin’?’
The riding crop swung loosely from Belle’s wrist as she faced him, looking up at his dark-skinned face in which the lines of his Cherokee blood showed clear.
‘You want coffee, you make it. I ain’t your slave. Not yours or any other man’s.’
‘Jesus Christ! Who said anythin’ about bein’ a slave? All I said was I wanted a cup of coffee. Is that too much to ask round here? ‘Cause if it is, maybe there’d best be some changes.’
The crop swung and cracked the air. ‘There’ll be some changes right enough, but they won’t be nothin’ to do with coffee. This outfit’s been gettin’ so damned slack it’s a wonder we ain’t fell clear apart. That’s what’s goin’ to be changed. I’m goin’ to make damned sure it does.’
‘I don’t see...’
‘No, you don’t. Sam, you don’t see nothin’ ’cept what dribbles off the end of your nose.’
‘That ain’t...’
‘You can shut up an’ listen. With all you men round here, the only one with any balls is me. When I holler you an’ everyone else had better jump an’ jump fast.’
Sam’s face flushed and he took a lurching step towards her, fist raised. ‘I told you before, you ain’t goin’ to talk to me that way an’ get...’
Belle leaned back on her left side and pulled her right arm high. The crop whistled through the air and cracked hard across the side of Sam’s face, splitting the skin above the cheekbone.
He stopped short, for a couple of seconds blinded by the sharpness of the pain. He lowered his fist and touched his cheek, staring at the traces of blood on his fingers.
‘Jesus, Belle, what the livin’ hell d’you do that for?’
She lifted the riding crop again but this time slowly, resting it alongside the slashed skin with the gentleness of a lover.
‘I did it, Sam, ‘cause you was getting dumb an’ lazy. I did it ‘cause you was forgettin’ who’s top hand here.’ She increased the pressure for a moment and then relaxed. ‘Let’s pull out as soon as we can, Sam. I don’t feel happy with them horses where they are. Sooner we run ‘em down into Texas the better.’
Sam looked at her and took hold of the thin shaft of the riding crop, firm between his fingers. ‘Okay, Belle. We’ll do that.’
He turned and went back into the cabin. Belle let the crop fall back against her leg where the end of it grazed the green velvet of her dress with specks of blood.
She stepped off the planks and walked towards the corral where her black mare, Venus, was penned with a dozen or so other animals.
She was stroking the mare’s fine head when a short man hurried towards her from one of the other cabins, shuffling with a limp on his right side.
‘Belle. Hey, Belle.’
She turned to face the old man and her horse lifted its head and tried to take a bite out of the plume on her hat.
‘Hey, Belle. That you an’ Sam I see havin’ a lovers’ quarrel?’
‘I didn’t see no one else about,’ answered Belle stiffly.
The old man laughed, showing a few blackened and chipped teeth. Time you two was settlin’ down, ain’t it. Stop all this fussin’ an’ fightin.’
He poked a bent finger at her belly.
‘Ought to be somethin’ else in there other’n wind an’ water. Ought to be by now.’
Belle turned aside, moving round the mare, but the old man followed her close, glancing every now and then at the cabins to make sure no one was about to interrupt.
‘That’s what’s eatin’ him, you know that, don’t you. Bitin’ into his craw. He knows ‘bout them kids of yours. That Pearl an’ the other one, the boy, whatever his name is. Livin’ off with your folks. But he’s your man now and he wants proof of it. Livin’ proof. You understand me, girl?’
Belle turned away from him again, her face tight with anger, hands clenched into fists.
‘Time you stopped livin’ in the past, girl. What else d’you think you’re doin’. Changin’ the name of this place to Younger’s Bend the moment you arrived. To hell with Cole Younger! He’s likely shot to pieces an’ with the dogs pickin’ at his bones right now.’
‘No!’
His thin hand seized her arm. ‘Why not, girl? He might as well be for all the time or thought he give to you. That’s the truth, ain’t it? Sooner you realize that an’ start livin’ for what’s happenin’ now the better.’
He pointed towards Belle’s cabin. ‘That man in there. He’s my flesh an’ blood. But he’s yours, too. It’s him as is pressin’ his weight on you nights, not some damned ghost you’re lyin’ there dreamin’ about.’
He increased the pressure on her arm.
‘You mind that, girl. For all your cussin’ an’ shootin’ an’ ramroddin’ round the place you’re a woman an’ a damned fine lookin’ one. A woman.’
He let go her arm and pointed at her belly once more.
‘You remember that. You give that boy of mine what he wants.’
Belle rode ahead of the bunch, keeping the mare at least fifty yards away from the nearest rider. The men guessed at her mood and were content to keep out of her way. Although Tom Starr had been the only one to have seen Belle strike Sam earlier that morning, the others had seen the cut on his cheek and made their own guesses.
There were seven of them: Tom Starr and his two sons, Sam and Ben; Virgil and Cas, both of whom were close kin, and two newcomers who’d joined them just before their last raid. One was a short, burly man with lank hair and a fast temper; his companion a youngster who didn’t look a deal older than sixteen. Belle hadn’t wanted to take the kid, but the older man had insisted. Since they were getting short-handed Belle had agreed.
Now she didn’t have a thought for any of them. The old man’s words were still chasing one another round her head. Damned old fool! More so since he was right.
Of course Cole Younger was the only man in her life: always had been and always would be: first and last.
She’d been eighteen when she’d first met him. The three Younger boys, Cole, Jim and Bob, had ridden into Texas along with Jesse James. They’d taken their first bank in Liberty, Missouri, and got away with close on six thousand dollars. Time and money enough to light out and rest up. Reason enough, too.
She’d noticed Cole straight away: he was the sort of man it would be hard to miss. Two hundred pounds, but it was strength and humor. He had a handsome face that was always smiling, eyes that were always alive. It was difficult to know how any woman could resist him—and few of them did.
Yet he had shown a preference for Belle. There had been others who were prettier, richer, more experienced. That hadn’t mattered to him.
When she lost her temper, as she always had since she was a small child, he simply laughed her out of it; when she was awkward or ignorant, he smiled and was kind. Two months later when Cole rode back to Missouri with the others of the gang, he left Belle with a bunch of white roses, a box of candy tied with a large pink ribbon and a child quickening inside her.
She called the baby Pearl and walked with her head proud and high.
The horses were in a hollow immediately north of the old Lowther place. A deep valley cut into the land to the west, a fast-moving creek leading down to fertile ground. Less than twenty years before, Jacob Lowther had settled there on the summit of the hill, thinking to be lord of all he surveyed.
He hadn’t been satisfied with a place made out of timber. No, for Lowther it had been stone and brick, dragged up from the foot of the valley in wagons, load after heavy load.
Now there was a little more than a pile of rubble; the remnants of a chimney and the broken outline of rooms—laid out in the middle of rough, spreading grass a floor of broad, patterned tiles.
Old Tom Starr laughed as he rode past and spat upon the ruins.
Just then Belle reined in at the crest and looked down into the hollow. Shielded from three sides it was a perfect place. The grass was rich enough to provide good grazing; a spring bubbled to the surface at the center. She sat in her Goodnight side saddle and counted: twenty-eight head. There were another dozen waiting near Shawnee. It was a good haul. The getting had been easy and taking payment was going to be easier still. There was nothing, no one to stop them.
Sam rode slowly up alongside her, uncertain of her mood, but now she smiled at him and pointed.
‘Look there, Sam, ain’t that a fine sight?’
Sam grinned, relieved. ‘Surely is, Belle. Surely is.’
Belle raised her hand and turned in the saddle. ‘Virgil, Cas! Get round behind ‘em. We’re shifting out.’
Caught up in Belle’s good humor, the two rustlers let out a holler and spurred their mounts wide, right and left. Belle reached across from Venus and put her arm round Sam’s shoulders.
‘I’m happy, Sam. Happy now.’
‘Damn, Belle. D’you think I can’t see that? Think I don’t know?’
She nodded: “Course you do.’ She lifted one arm high again, waving it above the bobbing plume of her hat. ‘Let’s get amongst ‘em!’
They rode between the horses, turning them, calling, urging, using their ropes. Soon they were taking them up the hill at a steady trot, back past the ruins of Lowther’s ranch house and on towards the south.
A half a mile on Tom Starr edged his mount up close to Belle and Sam who were riding in the point.
‘Don’t turn too fast, but we got company. East on the ridge.’
Belle did as she was told and looked round carefully, her eyes widening as she did so. ‘Sweet Jesus! Where’d they spring from?’
Sam shook his head. ‘Don’t matter. What does is what the hell we’re goin’ to do about it.’
The line of Cherokee was outlined against the muted blue of the sky. Double file, eighteen in all. Riding straight ahead and apparently paying no attention to the rustlers and their stock.
Apparently.
‘You don’t think they’re about to mind their own business, do you?’ asked Sam.
‘They ain’t,’ replied his father. ‘Not armed like they are. Not ridin’ like that.’
The others had noticed the Cherokees now and were riding nervously, hands straying close to their weapons, not wanting to make the first hostile move.
Belle quickened the pace to a canter, casting occasional glances towards the ridge. The Indians kept up with the rustlers and their stock, apparently looking directly to the front and paying them no attention.
‘You know that they’re after, don’t you?’ said Sam.
‘Yeah, they want them horses. Ever know an Injun as didn’t. Mean more to them than any squaw.’
Belle turned on the old man sharply: ‘You’re talkin’ too damn much an’ we ain’t got the breath to waste!’
‘We could always let the horses go,’ suggested Sam. ‘They’d take ‘em an leave us be.’
Belle sneered at him. ‘One thing I never took you for, Sam, was a coward.’
‘I ain’t...’
‘We’re not givin’ nothin’ to them savages. Nothin’!’
‘Then you better come up with an idea fast,’ put in Old Tom Starr, looking to the east. “Cause they’re startin’ to move in.’
The line of Cherokee had changed direction, angling in towards the south, still making no other move that would split the moment into action.
Belle felt the velvet of her dress clinging to her arms and against her thighs.
“Bout quarter of a mile on the land dips and rises, after that it’s flat an’ straight for as far as you can see. We’ll keep goin’ as we are till we hit the dip. Soon as we do we’re goin’ to go hell for leather.’
‘Don’t see us out chasin’ them bastards,’ said Tom.
Belle’s eyes flashed: ‘Less you got any better ideas, old man, we’ll do as I say.’ She kicked her heels down into the mare’s side, moving her clear of the pair of men.
The Cherokee were still riding in line, gradually lessening the distance between the two groups.
The dip was less than a couple of hundred yards off.
Word was passed back to the others, who nodded anxiously, tightening the grip on their reins.
Belle swallowed a ball of spittle and pushed the end of her tongue against the inside of her teeth her eyes counted the yards and she held her body tense.
‘Hit it!’
Her voice came out shrill and clear and behind her to the left Sam roared a response and slapped a flat hand against his horse’s flank. The old man dug in his heels hard and bent low over his saddle. Virgil and Cas spurred their mounts into a gallop, whooping at the riderless horses in front of them and driving them forward.
Almost immediately the Indians responded, singing out and galloping their ponies in pursuit.
Belle turned in the saddle, cursing under her breath. If the law wasn’t smart enough to cut down on her action, she wasn’t letting any fool Indians make off with what she’d worked to get for herself.
The ground was hard beneath the mare’s hoofs and her body jolted against leather. Someone was firing behind her, a Winchester, but she didn’t know if it was one of her own gang or a Cherokee. All that she was concentrating on was the hill that was slowly rising up in front of her and the thought of making that safely.
She saw one of the men, the newcomer with long, lank hair, drive his horse until it was almost level with her own; his pistol was drawn and held in his right hand, the reins in his left.
For an instant he caught her eye.
An arrow thrummed past her left side, too wide to be any danger.
The top of the hill was less than two hundred yards off.
The sound of drumming hoofs threatened to explode her ears.
‘Come on, Venus! That’s it. That’s it!’
Belle drove her horse over the rise and exhaled breath, her body relaxing its tensions. Before her eyes could register anything new, the sound of a gunshot cracked across her brain and she jerked at the reins, alarmed. Confused.
The shot had come from in front.
‘Christ, Belle!’ Sam’s voice sang out immediately behind her.
Belle stared at the band of Indians that was riding straight at them: eagle feathers, daubed white and yellow paint, patterned shirts, breech clouts, bows and rifles being worked from their animals’ backs.
She pulled again at the mare’s reins and the horse reared up, ears back in fear.
‘Turn!’ she yelled above the sound of firing. ‘Turn ‘em back down.’
Chapter Ten
Belle drew her pistol and fired twice into the air, yelling at the horses. Sam and Tom Starr moved left and right, waving their arms, shouting at the top of their voices.
Dury held his mount steady and took careful aim with his Colt. The leader of the second pack of Cherokees was heading directly for him, war lance held high in his left hand, a shield on his right arm and covering the lower part of his chest, the top of his leg.
Dury waited three, four, five seconds then squeezed all the way back on the trigger. He watched as the Indian bucked forward and back, the lance moving uncertainly, waving, the shield dropping away to show the blood pumping from the wound high in the chest.
‘Dury! C’mon!’
The bull-necked man hesitated until the point of the lance had dug into the ground, leaving the long, feathered shaft vibrating; the Indian had fallen sideways from the back of his still gallopi
ng pony. Fallen and rolled: rolled and become still.
‘Dury!’
He turned and saw Drew ten yards away, mouth open as he shouted warning and anxiety. Behind the youngster, Belle and the others were driving the herd of stolen horses smack into the middle of the larger group of Indians.
‘Okay, kid. Let’s go.’
The two men charged down the hill in the wake of the rest of the gang, the following Cherokees harrowing them as close as they could. Several times Dury swung round in his saddle and snapped off shots which made the Indians swerve wide.
As the leading horses split the Cherokees like a well-aimed wedge, Sam Starr rode his mount towards one of them, a tall brave with jet black hair and an amulet tight about his long neck. Aiming his pistol at the Indian’s body, Sam guided his horse with his knees, dropping to one side as the Cherokee threw a war club through the narrowing space that divided them.
Cas pushed shells into his pistol, his face flushed with anger, ‘Bastards! Lousy bastards! They finished Virgil. Ran one of them damn lances clear through him. Back there with his guts hangin’ out.’
He stood up and started firing the gun, quickly, without aiming, without there being a Cherokee within range to aim at.
‘Cut it out!’
Sam jumped at Cas, grabbing his right arm and forcing it high’ pushing him back down to the tiles of what had once been Lowther’s floor.
‘Don’t be a fool, Cas. That don’t do no good.’
Cas stared at Sam, wild-eyed. ‘You didn’t see him. Didn’t hear him scream. Didn’t see the blood an’ stuff pouring’ out of him.’
‘I know how you feel.’ Sam rested his hand on Cas’s shoulder. ‘All the more reason for not wastin’ what ammunition we got.’
‘I don’t like bein’ hemmed in here like we are,’ put in Dury. ‘Maybe we should’ve kept on ridin’.’
‘Maybe you should,’ Belle snapped. ‘Out there those Cherokee ponies would’ve run you down inside a couple of miles and hacked you out of the saddle. On horseback, they generally got the odds; when it comes to a shoot-out that favors us.’
She looked across at Dury’s broad face. ‘If you an’ that kid of yours reckon you got a better chance on your own...’
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