Somewhere, a Comanche screamed. Others were yelling and whooping, striving in vain to stop an irresistible force.
A large black horse flashed by in front, so near that the mare had to veer to avoid a collision. Another animal struck her hindquarters. Jolted, Davy clung on, tucking Liz under his arm to keep from dropping it.
Another forty feet they raced. Thunder boomed and crackled, the cacophony of hooves like the rumble of an earthquake. The air itself vibrated. Davy’s ears pulsed to the beat.
His mouth had gone so dry that when he tried to swallow, his throat hurt.
Deep in that roiling mass an animal whinnied shrilly. A thud, a crunch-crunch-crunch, and the whinnies were stilled.
Davy felt certain that he would share its fate. He could not see the east edge of the herd. More and more horses were going by, so many that a collision appeared inevitable. He tensed, wondering how much pain there would be, whether he would feel each bone crack and shatter or whether it would all be over so quickly that he would be spared some torment.
Suddenly the open prairie was before him. Davy did not slow, but he did look back. The herd blotted out the grass for as far as the eye could see. It was heading straight for the village, a tidal wave no one could withstand.
Comanches were running every which way. Mothers hustled children to the north or south. Warriors formed a line to attempt the impossible—to turn the herd before it destroyed all they held dear.
Davy frowned and almost turned the mare. He had not meant for this to happen. Despite everything, he had no hankering to bring wholesale destruction down on the tribe.
A few of the warriors waved burning brands. Others flapped blankets or robes. Bravely, they planted themselves in the herd’s path. Some succeeded in parting the seething wave; others did not. Those who failed were buried, their screams snuffed by the clamor. A lodge crumpled, then another. A woman shrieked.
Davy did not watch the rest. Making for the hills, he soon wound among them to the spring. As he rode up, he was bewildered to find everyone else gone. “They left without me?” he said aloud.
“No.”
Flavius strode out of the shadows and grasped the Irish-man’s leg. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, ol’ coon,” he declared. On hearing the horse approach, he had taken cover with the Texians. Better safe than sorry, as the old saw went. “We thought you might be a Comanche.”
“They’ll have their hands full for quite a spell,” Davy said. “It’s safe for us to light a shuck.”
Farley Tanner, his sister, and the men from San Antonio stepped from the darkness. “I wish to hell we could,” the tall Texian said angrily.
“What’s wrong?”
Flavius explained, concluding with “Kerr can’t have much of a start. A couple of hours, we reckon. Find us some Indian ponies of our own, and in the morning we’ll take out after him.”
“It’s not that simple.” Davy had not dismounted, and now he turned the mare to the south. “The Comanche herd is scattered from here to Canada. We’d need a whole day, maybe two, to round up enough animals. And with the Comanches out rustling them up too, we’d have the devil to pay to do it without more bloodshed.”
“So what do you propose?” Taylor asked.
“I’ll go after Kerr and fetch your own horses back.”
Anxiety ripped at Flavius’s innards, just as it did every time they were separated. One of these times, he dreaded, they would not be reunited, leaving him stranded. “I don’t know,” he hedged. “That Kerr is a mean cuss. Wouldn’t it be smarter to take at least one of us along? I could ride double.”
“No.” Davy had decided what needed doing. “We’d never catch him that way.” He touched his coonskin cap. “Keep your hair on, gents, and lay low until I return.”
Taylor stepped in front of the mare. “One thing, Crockett. You’re under no obligation to bring Kerr back alive. After what he’s done, none of us will hold it against you if you put windows in his skull.” He stepped aside. “I just wanted to put your conscience at rest.”
Davy clucked to the mare.
“Be careful, hoss,” Farley called out. “He’s as tricky as he is sidewinder mean. Watch his right boot. He keeps a dagger hid there.”
Waving, Davy galloped off. The stricken look Flavius gave him was like that of a child deathly afraid of being deserted. He smiled encouragement, but the mullygrubs had Flavius in their grip again. No one could sulk and pout like Flavius Harris.
The mare settled into a mile-eating gait, and for three solid hours he pushed her southward. Thereafter, ten minutes out of every sixty he dismounted and walked. Weariness dulled him, but he shrugged off each bout.
A pink tinge to the east heralded a crisp dawn. Davy scouted for tracks, roaming half a mile to either side. Finding none, he looped wide to the east, then to the west, then back again, swinging in wider circles. Pricking him was the worry that Kerr had not headed for Texas, but was bound for St. Louis instead. He’d never catch up.
The sun had climbed an hour into the blue vault when Davy came over a knoll, spooking quail into fluttery flight. One ran off, and as his gaze followed it, he beheld churned earth. Electrified, he examined the spot closely.
Four horses, moving at a rapid walk, had gone by within the past hour. Shod horses.
“Got you.”
Forking the mare, the Tennessean gave chase. There was no more rest for his tired mount, no more walking her to conserve her energy. Davy spurred her on when she flagged. He showed no compassion when she balked. Too much was at stake; too many lives hinged on the outcome.
Shortly before noon he came on fresh droppings. Shortly after noon he was surprised to spy a thin, smoky tendril. Had Kerr stopped for a meal? Davy would have bet the few coins in his poke that the Texian would not halt until evening.
In a convenient gulch he hid the mare. He did not like leaving her untied, but he did not have a rope. He counted on her being so winded that she would not stray off while he was gone.
The smoke was a mile off. A mile across essentially flat, open terrain. Mostly he was on his hands and knees, rising into a crouch when the grass was high enough to screen him.
Kerr had chosen well. A hollow half an acre was bordered by a steep, bare bank on the west side. In its shade were tethered the four horses. Seated at the fire were Heather and Becky, their backs to the north rim. Of Kerr there was no sign.
Davy did not like it. Where had the Texian gone? Hunting? Heeding Nature’s call? He scoured the hollow, then the prairie beyond.
Heather shifted and began to turn her head. Rising up onto his knees, Davy waved to attract her attention, but she did not twist all the way around and did not spot him. He assumed Kerr had bound both or else they would have jumped on a horse and skedaddled. As the minutes dragged and the Texian did not appear, Davy grew impatient. He might be able to sneak on down there, untie mother and daughter, and get the hell out before Kerr came back.
Gliding along the crest to a grassy slope, Davy descended. Liz was cocked and firmly against his shoulder. Hugging the base, he jogged to the camp. The horses showed little interest. They were as weary as the mare. He stalked past them until he could see Heather and Becky plainly.
They could also see him. Kerr had trussed them something awful, binding their ankles, their wrists, and their arms to their sides. In addition, they had been gagged with strips from Heather’s dress.
“Hold on,” Davy said. “I’ll have you free in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
Heather’s eyes were as wide as saucers. Vigorously shaking her head, she mouthed incoherent words. Becky whined like a lost puppy and jiggled wildly. Sheer excitement, Davy reckoned as he sank onto a knee next to the girl and dropped a hand to his tomahawk.
A metallic click turned the Tennessean to stone. Gruff laughter spilled from behind him, and a voice as cold as arctic wind stated flatly, “Don’t so much as twitch, coonskin, or those females will be wearin’ your brains.”
Davy did as he
was directed. Out of the corner of an eye he saw part of the bank on the other side of the horses dissolve. The Texian had scooped out a depression big enough to lie in and covered himself with the loose dirt. A damned clever trick, worthy of Davy himself.
Kerr sidled around, his rifle level. “I had me a hunch at least one of you would be on my tail,” he said, sneering. “I guessed it would be Taylor. That son of a bitch never has cottoned to me. But it don’t hardly matter. You’re going to be just as dead as he would be.”
Experience had taught Davy that nine times out of ten a man could talk himself out of a tight scrape. Tavern drunks, barroom bullies, ruffians, and cutthroats, he’d encountered them all at one time or another, and in most cases he had been able to fend off a beating, or worse. It didn’t always work, but it was better than the alternative. Adopting a carefree air, he grinned at the unkempt Texian. “Go ahead. Shoot me.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to give you a new nostril?”
Davy nodded. “The others are close by. They’re bound to hear and come on the run. You won’t get a hundred yards, you miserable polecat.”
Kerr stiffened, surveying the skyline. “You’re bluffin’, Tennessee. You’re alone.” Shifting, he hunkered to make a smaller target of himself. “If the others were with you, they’d be here.”
“Oh, they’re out there, all right,” Davy said glibly. “They have the hollow covered in case you make a break for it.” Enjoying the doubt he had inspired, Davy nonchalantly leaned back. “But don’t take my word for it. Show yourself. Climb that slope and raise your head up. Then we’ll see whose brains get splattered.”
“You’re lyin’ through your teeth,” Kerr spat, but he lacked conviction. Licking his lips, he glanced over a shoulder, then caught himself and glared at the Irishman. “I always pegged you for a sneaky bastard.”
Davy sighed. “Be that as it may, there’s only one way for you to leave this hollow alive.”
“What might that be?”
“Mount your horse and ride out. I made Taylor promise not to kill you if Mrs. Dugan and Becky were unharmed.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
“I did it for them.” Davy nodded at Heather and Becky. “I won’t chance either of them being hit in the cross fire, or for you to kill them to spite us. Let them live and you live. It’s as simple as that.”
“Taylor and Farley and Ormbach agreed?”
“Why not? They’re as mad as wet hens, naturally. But they’re not out for blood. And now that Farley has Marcy safe, the only thing he wants is to get her home to San Antonio.”
“You found her?”
“And stole a bunch of Comanche horses, to boot. That’s how we caught up with you so soon.”
It sounded plausible. As Davy’s own pa had once said after Davy talked himself out of a licking for having neglected his chores, he “could be as slick as axle grease” when the need arose. Davy congratulated himself and exaggerated a yawn. “What’ll it be? I don’t have all day.”
Kerr was in a stew. Scanning the rim, he constantly swiveled. “I think you’re pullin’ my leg,” he said at last. “And there’s a way to prove it.” Rising, he jammed the muzzle of his rifle against Davy’s neck. “Throw down that pistol and that hatchet.”
So much for the benefit of a glib tongue. Davy obeyed, and was roughly hauled erect. Smiling as if he did not have a care in the world, he commented, “I guess Taylor was right. He claimed that you wouldn’t believe me. He said you were too dumb to know when you were well off.”
“Taylor said that?” Kerr snarled, and shook Davy as a terrier might a rat. “Too bad they didn’t send him down instead of you. I’d gut that bastard just for the thrill of it, and make him choke on his own intestines.”
“You can still make a liar of him. Mount up and leave.”
Kerr let go and stepped back. Indecision twisted his bearish features. He was on the verge of giving in; Davy just knew it. To prod him, Davy said, “If you’re worried about being shot, take me along as a hostage. They’re not about to let anything happen to the Dugans or me.”
“No, they’re not, are they?” Kerr’s mouth quirked upward. “That means I hold all the aces, don’t I?”
Davy did not like the sound of that, or Kerr’s gleeful expression. “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you.”
Growling deep in his throat, the Texian took a step and rammed his rifle against Heather’s bosom. “Do you hear me out there?” he bellowed. “Taylor? Farley? I’ve got my gun lined up with this woman’s heart. Either waltz on down with your hands in the air, or so help me, the little girl gets to see her ma die!”
“No!” Davy exclaimed, and coiled to lunge.
“Don’t you!” Kerr warned. Eyes ablaze, as feral as a cornered wolf, he gouged the barrel in deeper. Heather grimaced and tried to pull away, but being bound severely hampered her movements.
“Don’t hurt her,” Davy begged.
“Shut your mouth, Crockett.” Glancing at the east crest, Kerr hollered, “Taylor! I know you can hear me! I’ll give you until the count of five!” He paused. “One!”
Davy was at his wit’s end. Unless he did something, on account of his bluff the woman was going to die.
“Two!”
Confessing the ruse might result in his own death, but Davy saw no other way out.
“Three!”
“I lied.”
“What?” Kerr was so intent on the top of the hollow that he was not paying much attention.
“You were right all along. I came alone.”
“I don’t believe you.” Kerr jumped when one of the horses stamped a foot. “Four!” he roared. As tightly strung as a fiddle string, he was primed to shoot anyone or anything that gave him any excuse.
Davy was fit to be tied. The Texian wouldn’t believe the truth, but did believe his lies. What was he to do?
~*~
Far to the north, Flavius Harris faced a different dilemma. What was he to do if Davy never returned? Venturing to the Mississippi by his lonesome was a daunting notion. He’d as soon wrestle a grizzly.
Dawn had broken chill and stark. Lacking blankets, unable to build a fire for fear of its being spotted by the Comanches, he had spent a thoroughly miserable night, tossing fitfully, waking frequently. Tired and hungry, Flavius rubbed his empty stomach and wondered how the soles of his boots would taste.
The Texians huddled together most of the morning. In spite of the setbacks they had suffered, they were in remarkably fine spirits. Rescuing Marcella Tanner had a lot to do with it. They were terribly upset, though, at being unable to save the other woman, and at one point Flavius overheard them discussing how they might yet do so.
Ironically, Farley’s sister was the one who talked them out of it. “I appreciate how you feel,” she told them, “but you’d only throw your lives away. She hasn’t been right in the head since we were taken. For days all she would do was babble and cry. It got so I fretted the Comanches would kill her.”
“That happens, I hear,” Taylor said. “But if we took her back—”
“She wouldn’t go,” Marcy said. “Trust me. We talked about it every day. She was content there. Why, once she even vowed that she would rather die than leave.”
Taylor dismissed the declaration with a wave. “The poor woman is horribly confused. She doesn’t know what she wants.”
Marcy would not be denied. “Farley, I expect you to believe me. Try to snatch her and none of you will escape alive. Fortune smiled on you once. Please don’t push your luck.”
Amen, Flavius thought. It pleased him no end when, after a long debate, the three men relented. They agreed to tell the other woman’s kin she was dead. “It’s best all around,” Marcy concluded.
Now it was past noon, and Flavius was hungrier than ever. The Texians lounged near the spring, Marcy’s head on her brother’s arm. She had unwound her braids so her hair cascaded over her shoulders and had ripped beads from her buckskin dress, doing wh
at she could to remove the stamp of the Comanches on her person and her attire.
Restless, Flavius walked to the nearest hill and climbed. He had no particular destination, no goal other than to stretch his legs.
Sitting still for any length of time was difficult. Anyone burdened by as many worries as he had was bound to be all het up.
The hills had been quiet since Davy departed. Flavius gathered that the Comanches were busy rounding up their stock and salvaging their effects. It should keep them busy for days, until long after Davy came back.
At the summit, Flavius inhaled and stretched. He saw the spring and the Texians, saw a number of antelope to the east, a hawk to the north. Continuing to turn, he glimpsed clusters of grazing horses scattered from the stream to the horizon. His initial estimate had been wrong. Collecting every last one would take a month of Sundays.
A lot of activity was taking place at the village, but Flavius could not distinguish details. Warriors on horseback were in the vicinity of the stream. Others, on foot, were spread among the cottonwoods. Hunting runaways, Flavius reasoned.
Then seven or eight Comanches left the trees and spread out. They had their heads bent low, and every now and again one dipped to the ground to inspect it. A pinprick of apprehension stuck Flavius, expanding into a sword of raw alarm when one of the warriors rose and pointed at the hills.
Another raised an arm toward the cottonwoods. Half a dozen riders promptly trotted into the open, listened to whatever the man was saying, and quirted their mounts into a trot.
Flavius’s scalp itched as he spun on a heel and dashed down the incline. The Comanches must be thirsting for revenge. They still had plenty of horses to round up, yet they were out hunting those responsible for last night’s disaster.
Ormbach was the only one not dozing when Flavius puffed to a stop. “On your feet!” he bawled. “The Indians are heading this way.”
Farley sprang erect, pulling his sister up with him. But Taylor only rose onto an elbow and arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Maybe it’s a hunting party.”
“Lie there if you want,” Flavius snapped, “but they’re going to be on us like ducks on a bunch of june bugs if we don’t light a rag for the high grass.” As an afterthought, he said, “I have a hunch they’re tracking the mare Davy stole.”
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