He had wanted Annie to accompany him to the Adams spread, but she wanted to do some sewing and it was a long, hot ride. Besides, she said, winking at him, she thought with his handsome charm, Hannah would see they got a better deal on the milk cow if Annie didn’t come.
The last time he ever saw her, she stood in the doorway in her blue homespun dress and waved as he drove away in the wagon.
He looked back. “Give me a smile, Annie Girl!”
And she smiled in a way that lit up her face, brightened his heart. “I still intend to give you a son someday; see if I don’t!” she called, and laughed.
He waved back. “We’ll start on that when I get back from the Adams place.”
“Oh, you!”
He smiled, capturing her small form forever in his memory as she stood in that doorway. Then not realizing what the future held, he turned and drove away, whistling under his breath. “Her brow is like the snowdrift, her throat is like the swan, her face it is the fairest that e’er the sun shone on. . . .”
Joe cleared his throat, wiped his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Trask asked with annoyance.
“Nothing,” Joe said. “Just a little dust from the road blowing in my eyes, that’s all.”
And now Annie’s son was coming to kill him with all the cold-blooded premeditation twenty-four years of hate had built in the boy. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, that was what the boy wanted, and he couldn’t blame him. Would this Maverick believe Joe if he told him he’d thought Annie dead? If the boy knew about the faceless body Hannah had identified as the missing Annie while Joe rode the outlaw trail with Slade, trying desperately to raise the ransom money?
He’d ask Mr. Adams to loan him the money, of course, but that old rich rancher had whined ’bout hard times, not looking Joe in the eye. . . .
He had married Hannah as that old man lay dying. He knew it was a mistake deep in his heart, but she loved him so and he’d realized now the value of having plenty of money. Being poor was the worst thing in the world.
Joe soon discovered it wasn’t. Being caught in a marriage with a woman he didn’t, couldn’t love, was even worse. His only happiness was the daughter Hannah had given him—Cayenne. It was only after Hannah’s death that Joe found comfort in religion.
Now as the buggy bumped over the uneven road toward the ranch, Joe thought about Maverick again. Revenge. The scriptures said, “Vengeance is mine, says the Lord, I shall repay.” But he was human and frail enough to want to live to see his daughters grown. Well, maybe Lynnie’s wire would get there before Cayenne left Wichita. How was he to know? He wasn’t even sure what he would do if Maverick ever confronted him. Even if his crippled hands could pull a trigger, could he really bring himself to do it?
Send me a sign, O, great Jehovah, he prayed as they drove toward the ranch. Send me a sign so that I may know the outcome, that I may do Thy will. . . .
A shadow passed between him and the hot sun, and he looked up, startled.
“Papa, what a beautiful pair of eagles flyin’ overhead.” Lynnie jumped up and down in her excitement, making the seat bounce. “They’re circlin’ the Lazy M ranch house, all free and soaring as high as a soul gone to heaven!”
Eagles. Joe smiled. He’d always liked eagles. But if it was any kind of sign from God, blamed if he could figure out what it meant. Would he even know the sign if God finally sent one?
Trask belched. “If I had me a rifle here, I’d shoot both them birds outa the sky,” he growled. “Ain’t got the range with a six-gun.”
“Oh, shut up, Trask,” Joe said with the sudden spirit and temper of the old days. “You always did begrudge any living creature a little happiness. The eagles aren’t hurting anyone.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Trask said. “The Injuns, now, they think eagles is powerful medicine, spirit animals.”
Joe didn’t want to think about Indians. He’d come home from the Adams’s with the new cow that evening to find his place in flames, most of the livestock lying dead with arrows stuck in them.
Had it really been more than a quarter of a century ago? Of course it had. Not a day passed that he didn’t remember those last moments, blame himself for not insisting Annie accompany him. He should never have left her alone. If he’d been there, the Comanche might have killed him but they’d never have carried her off while he had strength to pull a trigger.
Then the offer had come through a trader. Joe had no money to buy the weapons, the supplies the warriors offered to trade for his Annie. He had to get money, would do anything to obtain it. Maybe if he could raise the money quickly, the braves wouldn’t rape her and pass her around as they so often did. He’d seen white women returned and turned away by their husbands. He’d seen others who’d gone insane from what they’d endured. He couldn’t bear the thought of any man touching his innocent Annie Girl.
Neither old Adams nor Ogle would lend him the money. He was too distraught to even think at the time that Hannah might have had anything to do with that. Later, word seemed to get around quickly that there was a desperate young man armed with a Kentucky long rifle who could outshoot anybody on the frontier and would do anything for money.
Bill Slade and his partners had approached him in front of a backwoods saloon. “Are you as good with that rifle as everyone says you are?”
“Best shot in Kentucky,” Joe said, and he was. When a man was poor and powder was dear, he learned to make every shot count.
Slade leaned against a post and studied him. “You interested in making quick money, lots of it?”
Joe’s heart quickened. It had been a week since Annie’d been taken. He had to ransom her, had to. “Mister, I’ll do anything if the money’s right.”
“There’s a bank in St. Joe that’s supposed to be full of money. . . . ”
“Now, wait a minute, I didn’t know you was talkin’ about robbin’ banks. . . .”
“My gal’s been wheedling information out of the teller,” Slade grinned. “It’s a big bank that’s handlin’ all the settlers’ money as they head for the Oregon Trail. Your cut’ll be big,” Slade promised. “More money than you ever seen in your whole life.”
And in the end, Joe had gone with the three. Slade had a girl, a pretty girl named Molly, who’d come from a tumbledown shack on the outskirts of St. Joe. If he hadn’t been so in love with Annie, Molly might have turned his head. The pretty girl-child was younger than his Annie, probably not more than fifteen or sixteen.
He remembered now as he rode along in the buggy that Molly’s black hair had been cropped short and uneven when he’d met her at the hideout in St. Joe.
“What happened to your hair?” he asked.
The pretty brunette blushed, looking away. Obviously she had been very vain about her dark, thick hair. “My old lady. When she caught me out with Bill, she hacked my hair off, called me a Jezebel.”
Slade laughed, tousling her hair with his hand. “Aw, it’ll grow, Molly. You got the prettiest hair I ever seen on a woman.
The girl looked Joe over. “Where’d you get the good-lookin’ redheaded dude?” she asked archly.
“Now, Molly, you get your schemin’ little eyes off him,” Slade grinned, lighting a cigar. “He’s in this strictly for the money, and he ain’t plannin’ on spendin’ it on you.”
“That’s right, ma’am.” Joe twisted his hat in his hands. “The Comanche carried off my wife, I need the money to ransom her.”
“Oh.” She looked crestfallen as she sauntered around him, looking him up and down. “Couldn’t be tempted by no other woman, huh?”
Joe backed away uneasily. “No, ma’am. Not that you ain’t a purty one, but you see, Annie’s special. . . .”
“There’s some thinks I’m special.” She cut her eyes at him, winking back at Bill.
Slade slapped her familiarly on the bottom. “Just cause he’s handsome, don’t get any ideas, Molly. I don’t want you wastin’ your charm on him. There’s a teller yo
u need to cozy up to, find out more about money shipments and all.”
“That old teller!” She made a face. “Didn’t I do enough telling you how much money I’ve seen moving in and out of there?”
Slade pulled her to him roughly. “Do like I tell you, Molly, or you’ll end up back at that shack hanging over a scrub board takin’ in laundry for a livin’ like your crazy ma.”
She seemed to consider. “Good times and money is what matters to me, Bill, you know that. I never had much of either. My hair’ll finally grow out and then I’ll do it up with fancy combs and jewels.”
Bill laughed. “Only if you play along with me, you little slut, do as I tell you.”
Joe’s hand doubled into a fist. “You shouldn’t talk to a woman like that, call her names. . . .”
“She’s mine,” Slade said, “and she’s used to it, aren’t you, Molly?”
She shrugged, staring at Joe as if Sir Galahad had suddenly ridden onto the scene. “That don’t mean I like it.”
“You’ll like it well enough when your lace stockings have money stuffed in the tops,” Slade grinned. “Maybe I’ll dress you up fancy, take you to St. Louie or San Francisco, where we can really have some good times.”
Her pouty face brightened. “What do you want me to do?”
“Like I said, cozy up to that old teller, do whatever it takes to find out when the next gold shipment’s coming in.” He winked at her, “I ain’t jealous.”
Joe felt disgust and anger. He glanced around at Trask and the Mexican who lounged against the wall. Neither of them said anything. “This ain’t right,” Joe said. “I never figured on makin’ some girl whore for us just to find out about the money.”
“Then think about your woman layin’ under some damned Injun buck and him pumping on her, passing her around. . . .”
Joe hit him then, catching Slade in the mouth and sending him flying. The image Slade had brought to his mind about his beloved Annie being violated was more than he could bear. “Don’t you say that!” he shouted. “They won’t touch her! They’re waiting to see if I got the money!”
For a moment, he thought Slade would come up swinging, but the man was a cool one. “Reckon I deserved that,” he shrugged. “Not the lowest-down white man who ever lived would want an Injun’s leavin’s, want to take a woman back who’d been raped by dirty savages.”
Molly looked at Joe with warm, sympathetic eyes. “You got heart and guts, mister. Your Annie is a lucky woman, I’d say.”
The Mexican yawned. “Enough of this, amigos. Let’s make plans about the bank.”
So Molly had been sent to seduce the old teller and find out when the money was coming in the next week. Then they’d hit the bank. Everything went wrong. A sheriff happened along and the teller tried to shout for help. In the confusion, Slade shot the man, but when Joe tried to stop and help him, Slade screamed at him. “Are you loco? This is a hangin’ offense for the whole gang if they catch us!”
The noise attracted help for the sheriff and Joe took a slug in the arm. They couldn’t get the safe open with the teller sprawled unconscious, so they didn’t get away with a dime. Matter of fact, the gang just barely got away with their lives.
In a hideaway up in the Ozarks, Joe rested with his injured arm while Molly looked after him. The other three went out casing a small town to see if there was another bank they could hit soon.
Joe was inconsolable. “I should have known better!” he said. “I never stole a penny in my life! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! And we didn’t get the money, either!”
Molly came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t shoot that teller. It was Slade’s pistol. I can tell you wouldn’t hurt anybody, Joe.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know anything about me, Molly.”
She put her hand on his arm. “I’ve seen enough to like what I see. Good times and high livin’ was always my dream, Joe, but for a man like you, I’d give it all up, live in a sod shack.”
He looked at her. She was too young to know what she knew about men. Just a girl, but her full breasts swelled above the low-cut dress like a full-grown woman’s, and he looked away. Joe had been used to making love to Annie every night and his body wanted relief. But he was faithful to his Annie Girl. “You don’t mean that, Molly. You’re just grateful because I’m kind to you. A woman shouldn’t have to put up with the way Slade treats you. I feel like killin’ him for it.”
“It was my choice,” she shrugged, running her hand up and down his arm. “If I went home, my crazy old lady would beat me for my vanity, cut off my hair again so men wouldn’t look at me.”
Her hand felt warm moving up and down his arm. He could see the hollow between her breasts and wondered if her nipples were dark rosettes. “You’re pretty, Molly, too pretty to waste your life the way you’re doin’, and I’ve got a woman already.”
“You may never see her again.” The girl leaned closer and he could smell the musky, womanly scent of her, the perfume she wore on her breasts. “I’ve loved you, Joe, from the first moment I saw you. I’d be your woman, go anywhere with you.”
She unbuttoned the cheap yellow dress she wore, put his hand on her full, bare breast.
“No,” he said, but he could feel his heart quicken as she leaned closer. Her nipple seemed to burn a circle against his palm. “No, Molly, this it ain’t right. I love Annie. . . .”
The door flew open. Slade and his men stalked in.
“You slut!” Slade screamed, and he caught her as she tried to run, slapping her face.
Joe tried to stop him. “Don’t touch her!”
The Mexican and Trask grabbed him, held him as he struggled. Slade threw the girl across the bed. “You little slut! Acting so hesitant when I want you to sleep with the teller and then diddling this bastard when I’m not around!”
Joe struggled to break free. “It wasn’t like that, Bill, I swear! I never touched her. . . .”
“You think I’m blind?” Slade roared. “You’re pawin’ her tits when I walk in and tell me that! My women are like my horses, Joe; I don’t mind loaning one to a friend for a little ride, but you oughta ask first!”
“I—I never meant to even touch her,” Joe protested, “don’t know what came over me. . . .”
“I know what came over you,” Slade grinned cruelly at the sobbing girl on the bed. “She’s a hot one all right; no one man’s enough for her. Sooner or later, she’ll end up in some bawdy house. But I’ll keep her until I tire of her.”
The Mexican slowly let go of Joe’s arms. “We have news,” he said. “That bank teller died.”
“Oh, my God!” Joe felt sick, weak.
Slade spat on the floor. “That’s the breaks. There’ll be a reward on our heads now; we’d better clear out! ”
Joe thought about Annie. “I thought we were gonna hit another bank?”
Trask swore. “With a posse looking for us?”
“Trask is right,” Slade said. “You might as well get back to Texas, McBride, see if you can find a bank on your own to rob. Maybe you can borrow the money you need.” He glanced over at the tousled girl who sat on the bed wiping her eyes. “Get me a drink, Molly.”
Joe watched the girl straighten her clothes and go over to pour Slade a whiskey. “I can’t borrow any money. I got nothin’. I couldn’t even give away that little patch of poor dirt I got.”
The Mexican shook his head. “Tough luck, hombre. But at least back in Texas, if the Rangers rescue your wife, you’ll hear about it.”
So Joe went back to Texas. When he checked in with the Rangers, the young Swede leader looked at him sympathetically. “We been looking for you.”
How could they have heard so soon about the robbery clear up in Missouri? “You been looking for me?”
“Swen” Swenson nodded and pulled at his blond mustache. “Ain’t you the one whose wife got carried off by the Comanche?”
Joe’s heartbeat quickened. “You got news? You found my Annie?”
“Maybe.” The man turned away as if he couldn’t bear to look in Joe’s face. “We’d like you to look at some clothes, see if you can identify them.”
“Clothes? What do you mean, clothes?”
“You just look at them first, tell me if they belong to your wife.” Young Swenson went into another part of the office, dug in a drawer, and came back. “You ever see these before?”
He spread a dirty, torn dress out on the cluttered desk—cheap blue homespun.
In his mind, Joe saw his Annie waving to him that last time from the doorway. This is what she’d had on. Hope made his heart pounded hard. He jumped up. “Yes, these are Annie’s.” He grabbed the fabric, clutching it between his big hands as if by doing so, his beloved would be in his embrace again. “Where’d you get these? Is she okay? Is she—”
“Mr. McBride, are you a drinking man?” The Ranger looked at him sympathetically.
“No, not much,” he stammered. “Annie didn’t like it.” And suddenly, he was angry, realizing the man was holding back. “Tell me, for God’s sake, tell me!”
The Ranger opened his desk drawer, taking out a bottle and two glasses. “Sit down,” he gestured to a chair. “You’re gonna need this.”
And now he didn’t want to hear, realizing the news wasn’t good. Joe spread the clothes on the desk, stroking them gently as he had often stroked his Annie Girl. The hand that accepted the whiskey trembled so badly he spilled a little of it getting it to his lips. It was cheap and raw, burning all the way down his throat to his empty stomach. Then he collapsed in the chair. “Tell me.”
Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) Page 26