Del had decided the day he arrived in Bozeman that he was not going to trail the judge to Helena and kill him there, so on the sixth day, when the man had not returned, Del boarded the train for the return trip to Big Timber.
A man whom Del had seen at Bonnie’s restaurant made a point of speaking to him at a water stop between Bozeman and Big Timber. The man, a brakeman, deliberately sought him out and told him that Mike Bruza had gone to the restaurant and had been less than respectful to Bonnie. The marshal had threatened to jail her for pouring hot coffee on Bruza when he grabbed her. The brother and sister had closed the restaurant and left town.
“Guess we’ll have to find another place to eat, huh, mister? Damn shame a decent woman has to put up with the likes of Mike Bruza and a half-ass marshal. Well, I got to get aboard. Thought you’d like to know, seein’ as how you took your meals there.”
Bonnie, Bonnie. My sweet Bonnie. If they’ve hurt you, I’ll kill them. I swear it.
The words echoed in Del’s mind as he left the hotel and went down the boardwalk to the marshal’s office. No one was there. He continued on to the restaurant. The curtains were drawn. A sign on the door said CLOSED. He looked in and saw that the furnishings were still there. Bonnie’s apron hung on the nail beside the wash bench.
Del stood in front of the restaurant for a long moment. The town was wide-awake and going about its business. When he moved, it was to the alley and over to the next street. His long legs quickly ate up the distance to the big house enclosed with a white picket fence.
* * *
Colonel Forsythe was seated at the large dining-room table. Ruth moved between kitchen and table, serving coffee or hot bread. A mass of blue bruises and red welts marked her face. Her cheek was swollen, as was the side of her mouth. Her hair was perfectly groomed as usual. A freshly ironed apron covered her dress. She held her head proudly, looked Kyle in the eye and refused to cower. That, more than anything, irritated him enough that he vowed to break her spirit.
When a sharp rap sounded on the beveled glass of the door, Forsythe got up to open it. Del stepped inside without being invited and closed the door behind him.
“Mornin’, Del. Had breakfast? Ruth,” the colonel shouted without waiting for an answer, “set a place for Del.”
Ruth came from the dining room. She looked directly at Del Gomer. He removed his hat.
“Hello, Mr. Gomer. I’ll be glad to set a place for you.” Ruth spoke barely moving her mouth. He looked at her steadily, but not a flicker of expression crossed his face at the sight of hers.
“I didn’t come to eat, but thank you, ma’am.” He turned his colorless eyes on Forsythe.
“Have coffee then,” the colonel hastened to say. “Ruth, get Del some coffee.” He cleared his throat. “Business over with in Bozeman?”
“As far as I’m concerned it is. I don’t want coffee. Please excuse us, Mrs. DeVary.”
Forsythe rubbed his sweaty hands. He always felt a chill in the presence of this man.
“I’ll get the rest of your money.”
“You owe me nothing more.”
“No . . . no. My word is my bond. I said I’d pay you—”
Without warning Del reached out, grasped the colonel’s starched shirt front, whirled him around and slammed him against the wall.
“Where are Bruza and Lyster? I want some answers and I want them now. What happened at the restaurant? Where did Miss Gates go?”
“Calm down, Del, and I’ll tell you.” Del loosened his hold on the colonel’s shirt front. When free of the man’s grasp, Forsythe moved away.
“Start talking.”
“I knew you’d be upset about that, Del. The girl is all right. She and her brother went out to the Larkspur. I’ve given strict orders that they are not to be bothered in any way. Mike got a little angry when she spilled coffee on him. Lyster, in his stupid way, was merely trying to do his job. Hell, the people of this town wouldn’t stand for him jailin’ a woman like Miss Gates. He knows that.”
“Where is he? Where is Bruza?”
“Mike and Lyster went out to the old Taylor place. Greg Mender is out there . . . raisin’ hell. I told them to straighten him out or send him packing.”
“Are they going to ride on the Larkspur?”
“Not on orders from me,” Forsythe said quickly. “Hell, I’d not put those brainless fools in charge of cleaning out a shithouse. We were waiting for you.”
“When did Miss Gates leave?”
“A couple days after you did. Some fellers saw them on the freight trail heading north. They wouldn’t have gone on to Helena alone. They must have stopped at Lenning’s place.”
Del went to the door. Pinpoints of light glittered in the cold depths of his eyes.
“You better be right, Forsythe.”
Del walked out the door, closing it behind him, crossed the porch and went down the steps. Forsythe’s lackey, the boy with the crooked back who lived in the carriage house and tended the yard, was hoeing a flower bed along the fence. As Del passed, the boy said, “Sir, don’t look at me. He’s watching.”
Instantly alert, Del stopped, pulled a cigar from his pocket and struck a match on the wooden gate. He took his time lighting the cigar.
“Miss Ruth say men ride on Larkspur today. Told to kill all.”
“Obliged to you.” Del flipped away the matchstick, walked on down the street and headed for the livery.
That lying, cowardly son of a bitch had been beating on that woman! That in itself was reason enough to kill him.
Del had been sure that Forsythe was lying. What surprised him was that Ruth DeVary would take the risk of warning him. Why didn’t she shoot the bastard as he slept or cave his skull in with a club? Del drew deep on the cigar. When he was finished with Lyster and Bruza, he would do it himself—for her. He surprised himself for thinking this.
Del rode out of town on a tall, strong roan he kept at the livery. An hour out of town he met a rider, a Mexican he had seen hanging around with Forsythe’s men. He nodded and rode on. His business was with Lyster and Bruza, and he expected to settle with them at the Larkspur ranch.
He seldom indulged in self-analysis. He did so now as he realized that lately he had undergone a subtle change. For five years he had been a destroyer with hand ever ready to grasp his gun. At first he had suffered pangs of conscience when he killed; but the second time it was easier, and, by degree, he had become contemptuous of his victims and had killed casually.
He knew that he could never go back to what he once had been. He had to find words to reach the woman he loved. He must make her realize that what he did for a living had nothing to do with his love for her and that his profession earned him a tidy sum that would permit him to give her most anything she wanted. Her brother was dear to her. Del couldn’t understand that, but it appeared to be a fact. He would set him up in a business if it would make Bonnie happy.
To speak of love was not easy for a man like Del, when the feeling was deep and strong. Somehow he had to convince her that he would spend his life providing for her, protecting her. He thought of many things to say to her, but they formed no logical order in his mind.
The one thought that stood foremost was that without her, the future seemed empty and meaningless.
* * *
It was midafternoon when Cleve and Dillon rode into town and stopped at the livery. They had ridden out to a place along the Yellowstone River where, it was said, two Englishmen planned to build a bridge. Cleve had thought to get some information that could be used against Forsythe, but only a camp of tree cutters was there.
“A Mexican was here lookin’ fer ya, Mr. Stark.” The liveryman came from the barn.
“Yeah? What’d he want?”
“Didn’t say. Horse he was on was lathered and ’bout wore out. Reckon he’ll be back.” The liveryman looked beyond Cleve. “Dang my hide if he ain’t comin’ now.”
“Señores!” The Mexican’s short legs pumped as he hurried towar
d them. “Yi, yi, yi, you choose hell of a time to leave town.” He spoke in rapid Spanish.
“What’s on your mind, amigo?”
“Men ride on the Larkspur,” he said in Spanish, and looked at the liveryman.
“Who are you?” Cleve asked.
“Yi, yi, yi, it does not matter now. Pablo Cardova.” He doffed his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. “Colin Tallman, my good friend, say come keep eyes on little brother Dillon Tallman. So I come. Find out plenty more if they do not know I friend. Smart, huh?” He grinned, showing a gold tooth.
“Where did you see Colin?” Dillon demanded. “I can take care of myself without any help from him.”
“At Timbertown, Señor. He know who is here. Papa Tallman, Mama Tallman, all know and worry—”
“Well, for cryin’ out loud! You’d think I wasn’t dry behind the ears yet!”
“We can sort this out later,” Cleve said. “What about the men riding on the Larkspur?”
“More than a dozen, Señor. They want me to go. I say I sick in the bowels. Smart, huh?”
“When did they leave?”
“Two, three hours. Kid with stone head, the ugly one, the marshal and one named Mike. He take charge. Mean man, that Mike. He said leave no one to say anything. He want to kill lady with crippled brother. Forsythe say kill lady with light hair named Anderson. Marshal don’t want to go, Forsythe say him go to say they serve papers. It . . . one big . . . bad thin’ they do, Señores.”
The liveryman had not understood a word that had been said. Cleve explained.
“Forsythe’s men are riding on the Larkspur—”
“—Goin’ to burn ’em out! By jove, that son of a jackass ain’t fit to shoot.”
“Yo’re right about that. Water and feed the horses. We’ll be back in twenty minutes. I’ll go send the wire to the fort and to Judge Williams. He was due back in Bozeman today. Dillon, how about checkin’ around to see how many of Forsythe’s men are still in town.”
“I can do that, Señor.”
“You’re in this for the long haul?” Cleve asked.
“Of course, Señor. I go with you to Larkspur.” Pablo’s dark eyes shone with mischief as he looked up at the tall, blond Dillon. “How else I keep eyes on little brother?”
“She . . . et! If you’re goin’ to get along with me, you pepper-eater, you’d better cut that out.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Black Elk manifested all the qualities of a leader. He treated his warriors respectfully, but issued orders firmly. He was proud, but not vain. It was easy to think of him as brother to Little Owl, who had been so courageous with a broken leg.
Buck liked him.
They set a steady pace through the passes of the Crazy Mountains. Black Elk would stop and look at tracks, especially if they came to an open place where several animals had crossed the trail. No words were exchanged.
Buck could read the trail as well as the Sioux. Runs Fast was leading a horse. At one time Kristin had fallen off. A blond hair had caught on a bush, and an indention marked where her bottom had hit the ground. He kept this knowledge to himself, not wanting Black Elk to think he was wanting to share the leadership.
At times Buck’s anger almost choked him as he thought of what Kristin was enduring. Please God, if you’re up there, and I think you must be—don’t let him rape her.
They rode for several hours before they came out onto a grassy plain. By the time they reached the foothills of the next rise of mountains, the sun was directly overhead. Black Elk stopped when they reached a small stream of clear water coming down from a sheer rock wall. He spoke to one of his warriors who rode on ahead.
“Not far now, Lenning,” Black Elk said as they watered their horses. “Your woman has hair like a cloud? It is not tied and catches on bushes.”
“Yes. Her people come from over the sea. Her hair is very light.”
“All Wasicun come from over the sea.”
“That is true. I had not thought of it.”
“Is this woman of your heart, or was she chosen for you?”
“She is of my heart. I will know no peace until she is with me.”
The Indian nodded gravely. “One of my wives is of my heart. The other I took with her permission to help her because she is not strong. I do not bury my manhood in my second wife. It is reserved for the wife of my heart.”
Buck was surprised the Indian revealed so much about his private life.
“Do you have sons?”
“Yes.” A smile came over the handsome face. “A big, strong son.” The smile faded quickly. “He is the cause of my wife’s weakness. The medicine woman say she get stronger and in time we will have more sons.”
“Runs Fast will not want to give up my wife.”
“If you have not divorced her, he has no right.”
“I will kill him if he has raped her.” Buck looked the Indian in the eyes to judge his reaction.
“It is what I would do,” he said simply.
A half hour later, Black Elk’s warrior returned. Buck understood enough of what he said to know that Runs Fast, with six braves and three women, was camped up ahead. The women were taking down the tipis and preparing to move. A Wasicun woman lay on a blanket. Other women kicked her as they passed.
It was not surprising to Black Elk that the women would be angry when their husband brought in another wife, without consulting with them first.
Sweetheart, you’ve been through hell. I’ll be there in just a little while and will get you out of there or die trying.
Buck wanted to start for the camp immediately; it was hard to wait and let Black Elk take the lead. After the warrior had watered his horse, Black Elk gave the signal to mount up. They rode single file until they came to the clearing where, in haste to depart, even the warriors were helping load the packhorses. Buck moved up beside his Indian friend.
Runs Fast stood waiting for them, a rifle in his hand. Buck had never seen him so untidy. Gone were the decorations, the fancy leggings, the beaded moccasins. The look of hatred on his face caused Buck to drop his hand toward his gun butt because it would take only a slight move for the Indian to tilt the rifle and fire.
Black Elk moved out ahead of Buck and slid from his horse.
“You would shoot your Sioux brother?”
“I will shoot the Wasicun, if he tries to take the woman.”
“It would be foolish. You would no longer be welcome in the Sioux camps. The woman is his wife. He has a right to her.”
“She is not his wife. She does not sleep in his blankets.”
“It is not the Wasicun’s way for a wife to sleep in her husband’s blankets when she is bleeding. You have stolen the man’s wife. Will you give her back or fight to the death of one of you?”
Runs Fast looked beyond Black Elk to his well-armed, seasoned warriors, and then to his own who were not. He did not want to die here. He called on the Great One to help him find a way to keep the woman and to appease his Sioux brother. He had spent the night and the morning getting here and he was tired. The damn woman had wailed half the night. At one time she shouted for Lenning, and he’d had to stop and put a rag in her mouth.
“I will think on it,” he said to Black Elk.
Buck dismounted, and keeping his eye on Runs Fast he headed for the blanket where Kristin lay. The Indian moved between them and stood over Kristin.
“No! I have not yet decided.”
Buck’s temper exploded. He jerked a knife from his belt and prepared to spring.
“I’ve decided, you stinkin’ pile of cow dung.” Buck moved the two-edged blade back and forth. “Touch her and I’ll rip you wide-open.”
Black Elk moved in. “It is time to smoke and talk while Lenning speaks to his woman.”
Runs Fast reluctantly moved away with Black Elk. Buck knelt down on the blanket, turned Kristin and lifted her up in his arms. His lips moved in silent curses as he looked at her face. It was scratche
d, dirty, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. Her hair had come loose from one of the braids and hung down over her face in strands dampened by her tears. The other braid hung over her shoulder. She shivered from the cold.
“Kristin . . . honey, are you all right? What did that bastard do to you?”
Kristin opened her eyes. There was a strange singing noise in her head. She thought she had heard Buck’s voice and called to him.
“Bu . . . ck—?” At first her voice came out in a croaking sound. Then became stronger and she called frantically, “Buck!”
“I’m here. I found you . . . love—” It was Buck’s voice, close to her ear.
She moved her head and her eyes began to focus. She saw his face, the dear face she had seen behind her closed lids all through the long, dark and torturous night. This Buck’s cheeks were covered with several days growth of beard.
It’s . . . you? Her lips formed the words, but she didn’t say them.
Their faces were so close she could see the amber circle around the irises in his eyes. She was being cradled in strong arms against a warm chest that smelled faintly of woodsmoke. Let it be real. Please let it be real.
“Buck? It’s you? Really?” Her mouth trembled, her eyes flooded until she could no longer see his face. She lifted her hand to his cheek.
“Yes, sweet girl. It’s really me. We’ll be going home soon.”
“I prayed you’d find me.” Her arms went around him and held him with surprising strength.
“I’d have crawled on my belly through a valley of rattlers to get to you. I kept telling you that I was coming.”
“I heard you. I swear I heard you.”
“Darlin’ girl. Sweet, sweet woman of my heart.”
The hoarsely whispered words came out on a breath. Kristin wasn’t quite sure if she heard them or if she just hoped that she had. She buried her face in the warm flesh of his neck and savored his nearness, his strength, his warm breath on her cheek. Every bone in her body throbbed with pain and her back felt as if it was about to break, but a wondrous spurt of happiness flooded her heart.
Larkspur Page 28