Mouth of Hell (The Law Wranglers Book 2)

by Ron Schwab

  He lunged for her and slammed a fist into the right side of her cheek, dropping her to her knees. Then he pushed her to the ground and bent over her and started pulling off her boots. She kicked and cursed, but soon he had removed them and commenced tearing off her trousers. She drove her knee upward with all the force she could muster and struck him solidly in the groin. She saw Sour Face double up in agony on the ground beside her and heard a small chorus of laughter nearby. Looking back toward the camp, she saw they had an audience of a half dozen warriors. She wormed away from her attacker and started running away from the camp, driven by instinct, knowing that her attempt to escape was futile.

  Abruptly, an arm locked about her neck and jerked her to a stop. She was quickly released before a rough hand closed on her wrist and led back toward the camp. Tabitha could see Sour Face ahead of them, standing now with his hands on his knees, still trying to catch his breath. She studied her new captor as they walked. This warrior was a tall, lean and muscular man, by far the tallest Comanche in the war party, and his face was marked with only a few small streaks of red paint. They walked past Sour Face, whose eyes bored in on her with obvious hatred, no doubt, she thought, because of the humiliation in the presence of his tribesmen.

  The Comanche pulled Tabitha along behind him until they reached a ragged deerskin spread out on the ground. "Down," he said.

  She looked at him with astonishment. "You speak English?"

  He did not reply to her question. "Down," he said, harshly this time.

  She obeyed.

  He turned away and seemed to be headed toward the other captives. The other Comanche had tethered the horses and now sat in little clusters about the campsite, seemingly no longer interested in her fate. The warrior who had placed her here was evidently someone of importance because Sour Face had not challenged him, and the others had shown him considerable deference. She wondered if she had now been claimed as his woman and whether she would soon be expected to submit her body to him. Her instincts readied her for another struggle, but her head told her it would be a hopeless battle with this man. He was an imposing figure, and she had no doubt she would ultimately surrender or die. She was a pragmatic woman, and she knew, in the end, she would choose to live.

  Her eyes searched possible avenues of escape and found nothing. The landscape was all open country with no place to seek cover. There would be no river route to freedom this time, as she had seen warriors wading into the water and had noted the nearby creek ran no more than a foot or two deep.

  Her head began to throb again, and dizziness overtook her. She lay back on the rough hide and drifted off to sleep. Darkness shrouded the camp when she awoke. She could still make out the shadowy movement of men moving about the camp and lumps of what she assumed were sleeping warriors lying on the earth. Then she turned and saw the tall warrior sitting cross-legged not more than five feet off to her side, his eyes studying her with apparent curiosity.

  He nodded at something next to her. "Water. Food."

  She looked down and saw a military canteen and a chunk of some indeterminate substance within easy reach. She picked up the canteen, opened it, pressed it to her lips and had to restrain herself from downing the contents, realizing that her thirst was unquenchable. It occurred to her briefly that the canteen had probably been filched from some dead trooper. She plucked the other offering off the ground and examined it suspiciously. The contents seemed to be contained within a gut casing, almost like a sausage. She wondered if this was what whites called pemmican, which was said to be a mix of finely-shredded dried meat and melted fat with, perhaps, nuts and berries or any other convenient ingredients, depending upon the season.

  Tabitha was suddenly starving and decided she didn't care what the Comanche might be feeding her. She squeezed the tube, and a mushy glob came out. Her fingers clasped it and pushed it into her mouth, and she began to chew. It was more than edible, not close to a steak at The Exchange, but not unpleasant and surprisingly sweet. She quickly devoured it all.

  She had almost forgotten about the Comanche and cast a glance his way to find that he was still studying her like a specimen of some type, although his face, illuminated in a shaft of moonlight, betrayed faint traces of a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you," she said softly.

  He showed no sign of understanding but replied, "Why ride soldiers?"

  She guessed he wanted to know why she was with the army. "I am a reporter. I write stories for a newspaper."

  She saw his look of bewilderment. "I tell people in our villages about the war."

  "Tell stories. Why woman?"

  "Why not?"

  "How you called?"

  "You mean my name? I am called Tabitha Rivers."

  He seemed agitated at her response. "Rivers?"

  "Yes, Rivers. How are you called?"

  He hesitated for some moments. "Me called Quanah."

  Impossible, she thought. She had just stumbled onto the biggest story of her fledgling career--if she lived to tell about it. She was stunned nearly speechless to find herself in the presence of the notorious Comanche war chief.

  Quanah tossed her an old horse blanket and then turned away and lay down. She guessed their conversation, such as it was, had ended.

  31

  Josh and Cal rode out of Santa Fe before dawn, Josh astride his buckskin gelding and Cal riding a black and white speckled Appaloosa stallion. Two pack horses trailed behind. Their gait was slow, and the brothers chatted as they moved southeasterly toward the Staked Plains, or Llano Estacado, as many of the Mexican populace referred to it.

  "Is Erin upset about your coming with me?" Josh asked.

  "Hell, no. The first thing she asked when she heard about Tabby was whether I was going after her. She expected no less."

  "You have an understanding woman, considering you've got a baby on the way and all."

  "I know that. I hope we can get back before the baby comes. Erin and her Aunt Dawn--I guess she can still be her aunt--are going to stay in Santa Fe until the baby's born. I think Pop's going to hang around, too, at least for a while. Remember, it wasn't that long ago Erin was living with the Comanche. She knows about rough times."

  "Do you ever talk much about the time she spent in captivity?"

  "Not a lot. I never ask, but every so often she'll pop up with a story out of the blue. With all the shit raining down all at once, I hadn't had a chance to tell Erin about Michael till after we got word about Tabby. There's something she told me I should pass on to you."

  There was something in Cal's tone that caught Josh's attention. "What was that?"

  "It seems there was a little boy about Michael's age with Quanah's band who didn't look like any Comanche she ever saw. His eyes were especially noticeable . . . brown with green flecks. Sound familiar? And rusty-colored hair. She wasn't very good with her Comanche and had to be damn careful about asking questions or she'd get a good beating. The boy's mother was at least part white, Erin figured. Dark . . . but not Indian dark . . . and her features were more white-like. The boy's father was a warrior by the name of 'Four Eagles.' Erin thought he was the natural father and assumed the kid's differences came from a part-white mother."

  "Did she know the mother's name?"

  "Well, that's what about strikes me dumb. I met her when we ransomed Erin. You know her. Name's 'She Who Speaks.' What do you think of that?"

  Josh remained silent as he tried to come to terms with the wave of emotions sweeping over him. Anger and disbelief mixed with the joy that he may be close to finding his lost son. "I think She Who Speaks is a lying, treacherous bitch."

  "Well, Josh, I understand how you feel. But you've got to put your feet in her moccasins. In her mind Michael . . . if the boy is Michael . . . is her son, blood or not. Willow isn't my blood child, but I'd lie in a second to keep somebody from taking her away. Actually, I'd kill the bastard before I got to lying. Maybe you're lucky to have your scalp."

  "This is a huge complication. I'm working for Quanah
. Frankly, he's my client in negotiating peace terms. This woman is our go-between, you might say. How in the hell do I wiggle my way through this mess? Incidentally, She Who Speaks is also known as Jael Chernik. She was a captive, too. She doesn't carry an ounce of Comanche blood."

  "Well, we're not going to find Quanah's bunch real quick. You'll have time to think this out. But on another tack, do you think Tabby might be in Quanah's camp . . . if she's alive?"

  "I've thought a lot about that. The Kwahadi bands are the only Comanche that haven't made peace. If she's not in Quanah's village, he should know where she's at. She'd be somewhere among his people. I don't know. I hold out hope she's alive. She's smart as hell. If they didn't kill her early on, she'd figure out how to survive."

  "Well, we've got to find them first."

  "They'll probably find us."

  32

  Josh had been on target about George Hatter's behavior, Danna thought, as she leaned forward in her chair and tapped her fingers rhythmically on the desk as was her wont when she was perplexed about something. Hatter had been visibly upset when he learned a full day after Josh's departure that the senior partner would not be in the office, perhaps, for several weeks or even months.

  He had moaned about Josh missing his appointments, Marty and Danna had already split up the client load. Most had become accustomed to Josh's absences. One had even jokingly asked whether there really was a lawyer Rivers. Hatter didn't share the client's sense of humor, and he had demanded a meeting with Danna. She was expecting him shortly.

  There was a light tapping on her office door, before it opened.

  "Come in, Mr. Hatter. And be seated."

  Hatter came in and sat down. His round face had a ruddy caste, and he was sweating profusely. His thin lips were pursed tight in a grim expression. Danna decided to force him to initiate the conversation and remained silent.

  Finally, he spoke. "Miss Sinclair, I have some grievances I feel I must raise."

  "I see. Please tell me about your grievances. I make no promises regarding action, but I'll certainly listen to what you have to say."

  "It's about Mr. Rivers and his lack of cooperation."

  "I don't understand. He's not here all that often, and you do very little of his work. Linda handles most of his matters."

  "But I deal with many of the clients who make appointments or ask about his work. I generally handle the management of the front office, and it's an embarrassment when I cannot account for his availability. I need to know when he's leaving and where he's going."

  "With all due respect, Mr. Hatter, I don't think Josh Rivers needs to account to you on either of those issues. And if you have a disgruntled client, refer him to me. I'll address any concerns. I'm the managing partner. That's my job. With Martin Locke joining the firm, we can handle any of Josh's clients with little problem."

  Danna could see scarlet creeping up the flesh of the law clerk's neck and into his cheeks. He was clearly angry and frustrated, but she was confident he was not willing to risk his job with intemperate statements.

  "May I ask where Mr. Rivers is now and when you expect him back?"

  "Not that I'm obligated to reply, but he and his brother, Cal, have ridden north to the Slash R, their father's ranch, to look over some property that may become involved in a land grant dispute. I expect him back within ten days," she lied.

  "Levi Rivers and his new bride are still in Santa Fe, as is Calvin Rivers' wife, I'm informed. It seems strange that Levi, at least, did not join his son."

  This man was certainly tracking the whereabouts of the Rivers family. "Well, Nate's family returned to the Slash R, and Nate runs most of the ranch business these days." She hesitated before continuing. "Now I have a question."

  "Yes?"

  "Why in the hell are you so interested in what the Rivers family is doing?"

  Hatter seemed momentarily stunned and removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at his perspiring brow. "No special interest. I work for a Rivers, so people seem to just be inclined to share local gossip about family members with me."

  "Very well. Let me just say that we suspect information is leaking from this office, and, further, that this has been related to the attempts on Josh's life. We are going to determine the source of the leaks, and when we do, we'll take appropriate action." She stood. "Good day, Mr. Hatter."

  Hatter got up, and she could see he was confused about his abrupt dismissal.

  "Yes, of course. I have some filings to make at the courthouse I must be taking care of."

  Hatter escaped quickly through her office door and she followed him, meeting Marty Locke in the hallway. She saw George Hatter grab a few file folders and head out the office door. She nodded at Marty, and he returned the nod and moved toward the doorway that led to the Plaza.

  33

  Marty gave George Hatter a healthy lead and angled across the street, thinking he would be less conspicuous trailing along on the opposite side. He was surprised, however, when Hatter made an abrupt turn and headed deliberately for the federal courthouse on Marty's side of the street. Fortunately, Hatter appeared focused on his destination and did not look Marty's way.

  Marty did not entirely understand why he was following the law clerk. He had been told only that Danna suspected the employee of leaking important information from the firm--information that literally meant life or death. He was dubious that the suspicion would be confirmed this day since Hatter seemed to be going right to his stated destination. Marty decided to follow Hatter into the building. It didn't matter if he were seen here. As a lawyer it would not be unusual for him to cross paths with a law clerk in the city's hub of legal activity.

  Marty saw Hatter disappear into the court clerk's offices just as he entered the courthouse hall. He had a case he could inquire about there, so, after a brief wait, he opened the door and walked in. He was greeted by three male clerks at their desks and a woman standing behind the long, ornate counter that separated the desks from the receiving area. But George Hatter had disappeared.

  Marty gave Tara Cahill, a petite, attractive auburn-haired woman, his most charming smile. "Good morning, Tara. How's your day going?"

  She smiled back. "Hi, Marty. Things could be worse. Judge is in, though, so we have to be on our toes."

  Judge Andrew Robinson had a reputation for impatience and arrogance, and he supposed staff didn't mind his being tied up in court or, even better, at home on his little ranchero just outside Santa Fe. "Could I take a look at the Sanchez case file? I didn't write down the next court date when the judge held the motion hearing."

  "Sure, I'll find it. Be just a minute." She turned away and went to a row of heavy cabinets that lined one wall.

  Marty's eyes scanned the room. Two doors. One he knew to be a storage room and closet. The other had the words 'Judge Andrew Robinson' inscribed on it. George Hatter was meeting with the Federal Territorial Judge? That made no sense. Federal judges didn't confer with law clerks. Tara returned with a skimpy file folder. He pretended to peruse the judge's notes as he spoke softly to Tara, who was making entries in a ledger on the counter. "I could have sworn George Hatter was on his way over here."

  Without looking up, Tara responded. "Oh, he's with the judge. They've been quite the chums this spring and summer. Your law clerk's a regular visitor. I'm surprised the judge doesn't insist that one of your lawyers handle all of your business before him. Of course, George has been clerking long enough he's close to a lawyer."

  "He is that." Marty closed the file and moved along the counter to get closer to Tara. "Thanks, Tara." And then in a near whisper, he said, "Would you consider having dinner with me some evening?"

  She looked up, her eyes seeming to study him suspiciously. "When?"

  Marty shrugged. "Tonight?"

  "So soon?"

  "It doesn't have to be. You say when."

  "Tonight would be okay. I live at Sen᷉ora Munoz's boarding house. You may call for me there. Six-thirty?"

/>   "I'll be there."

  On his way back to the office Marty found he was surprisingly buoyant. Other than an occasional business lunch with Danna, he had not asked a young woman out since his arrival in Santa Fe. He felt a bit of guilt because the invitation was triggered by his search for information, but he also had thought on several occasions Tara was a woman he would like to know better.

  34

  "Before we order, Mr. Locke, I would like to lay some cards on the table."

  What was this about? She had been quite demure when she met him outside the boarding house, which was located only a few blocks from The Exchange. They had exchanged a few forgettable pleasantries on their stroll to the hotel's dining room, and she had been very soft spoken, seeming almost shy. And he had been staring at her unabashedly, he now realized, for in the course of abandoning her drab office clothing for a jade dress with a daring neckline, Tara had undergone a metamorphosis into a stunning young woman.

  "Are you listening, Mr. Locke?"

  "I'm sorry. I hope we can at least be on a first name basis."

  "Of course, but I have something very serious to say."

  "Yes, you were going to lay some cards on the table."

  "I just wanted you to know that I'm aware you didn't invite me out because of my charming personality."

  "Well, I don't know you well, but you've always shown a very friendly and pleasant personality when I've been in the court's offices. But, if I may be so bold, I think you are a very attractive woman, and I thought it would be nice to get to know you better."

  She gave him an exasperated look. "You want to pump me for information about something. That was obvious today at the court. You have had ample opportunity to get to know me better. It's more than coincidence you asked me to dinner today. I just wanted you to know that we don't have to waste time playing games. You may ask your questions, and I will decide whether to answer. Now that's out of the way. I'm starved. May we order?"