Diablo

by Georgina Gentry

  “We’ll never get Hurd Kruger paid off,” she complained. “In fact, we seem to get further behind each year.”

  “Now he’s been a good friend to us,” her father chided, “we wouldn’t have made it this long without him.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t complaining,” she put in quickly. She tried not to do or say anything that would upset her father, even when she had to grit her teeth to be agreeable.

  A few minutes later, she walked her dad out to where he saddled a good chestnut, and nodded to his mounted cowhands waiting for him. They all doffed their hats and smiled.

  “Evenin’, Miss Sunny.”

  “Good evening, boys,” she nodded.

  “Now, Sunny,” Swen said, “Will you be all right here?

  “Of course, Dad.” She leaned over and kissed his weathered cheek. “You know I can handle a rifle if any coyotes come around. You just enjoy your barbecue.”

  He frowned. “Not likely,” he muttered and mounted up.

  She looked up at him. “You don’t approve of whatever Uncle Hurd is up to, do you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he sputtered. “Remember, we’re owing to Hurd for everything he’s done for us. If he hadn’t sold me land at a cheap price and lent me money, too, we couldn’t have made it in this rough country.”

  She nodded and waved as Swen turned his horse and all the men rode away. She’d heard her father had a reputation in the county for not being a very good businessman, but they’d managed all right, thanks to Hurd Kruger. She frowned as she returned to the ranch house. She didn’t really like Uncle Hurd. Sometimes, the way he looked at her made her skin crawl.

  The sun went down, and she ate a cold supper and settled in to sew. As darkness descended, she got an uneasy feeling and went to check on the prize mare. The mare was in the barn and stamping uneasily. Sunny looked her over. Oh, darn, the mare was going into labor and seemed to be having trouble. There wasn’t a man in the place, and Sunny knew she couldn’t handle this by herself.

  She hesitated as she petted the nervous horse. What should she do? Dad had told her ladies were not welcome at the barbecue because of whatever Uncle Hurd was planning. On the other hand, they couldn’t afford to lose this foal, much less the mare.

  For a minute, she struggled with her dilemma. Dad might be upset with her, but on the other hand, this was an emergency. She dare not ride astride where a bunch of the neighboring ranchers might see her though. The Sorrensons owned a light buggy, and Sunny could harness a horse. In fifteen minutes, she was driving at a fast clip through the darkness, her pale hair blowing in the wind.

  At the barbecue, many of the gunfighters stood with a mug of beer, laughing and joking around the big bonfire in the clearing near the barn.

  Diablo watched them all from his place in the shadowy trees. He hadn’t joined the group, but had hung back, following them to their destination. As far as the locals were concerned, he didn’t even exist, and that was the way he wanted it. In his black clothing, he blended into the shadows, not mingling, but watching and sizing up every man there. He knew most of the gunslingers by reputation, but there were a lot of locals, ranchers, maybe.

  He watched as the slight Swen rode up with his crew and dismounted. They lined up for barbecue. The wind was blowing toward Diablo, so he could pick up most of the conversation.

  Hurd said, “You want a beer, Swen?”

  The older man frowned. “Hurd, you know I ain’t had a drink in fifteen years. Not after—”

  “All right, never mind,” the burly rancher snapped. Then he stepped over to the roaring fire and held up his hands for silence. The crowd, sipping their beer and eating their barbecue, grew silent.

  Diablo watched the men, gritting his teeth. All four of the ones he came for were in this crowd. He doubled his fists in rage, then reasoned with himself for control. He had waited a long, long time, but he could wait a few days longer. Nothing in his twenty-nine years was as important as this.

  Kruger shouted, “Now I hope all you gents have enjoyed the eats. There’ll be another celebration once we bring law and order back to Johnson County.”

  A murmur of agreement and head nodding among the others.

  “You tell ’em, Hurd!”

  “Anyway,” Hurd continued, sucking his teeth, “we’ll start tomorrow when we ride toward Buffalo. These rustlers and thievin’ homesteaders have cleaned us out and robbed us long enough. It’s time we taught them that law-abidin’ ranchers can take charge and we ain’t gonna take it no more!”

  The crowd roared in approval, but Diablo noted that Swen frowned at the other man’s words.

  One of the gunfighters drawled, “What about the law?”

  “What about the law?” Hurd challenged. “Frank Canton, here, used to be the sheriff, and he’s with us. Oh, that sheriff in Buffalo is of a different mind maybe, but every rancher in Johnson County is with us. Most ain’t gonna interfere with good citizens bringin’ law and order to the area. I can guarantee you that.”

  Another roar of approval, with men clapping Canton and Hurd on the back.

  Hurd looked around the big fire. “Anyone got anything else to say?”

  Swen cleared his throat and looked as if he might say something, but the big, beefy rancher glared at him, causing the old Dane to lapse into silence, although he didn’t look happy.

  “Well, since that’s settled, I reckon there’s nothing else to talk about. We’ve got about forty men marked that we’d like to be rid of, and there’s a bonus for every rustler you men kill. I’ll give you the details of how we’ll handle this in the morning. You Texans can spread your blankets in my barn or under the stars, but tonight, you’re welcome to stick around and eat some more. There’s plenty of beer.”

  Another roar of approval. The crowd now broke up into smaller groups, talking to Hurd or some of the other ranchers. A big crowd of the gunfighters gathered around the beer barrel, while some scattered out through the woods and shadows to visit with each other.

  Diablo didn’t want to be seen. The other gunfighters seemed to have forgotten he was ever on the train, which suited him just fine. He was always alone but not lonely. His anger kept him company. Instead, he decided to scout out the terrain around the ranch house and barn. Sooner or later, he might need that information. Somewhere a big dog barked and snarled. It must be chained or in the house. He walked around behind the barn and saw a magnificent black stallion in a pen. The moonlight reflected off its shiny coat and long mane and tail. It had whip marks on its hide. That made Diablo frown. He didn’t like men who mistreated horses. When the stallion saw Diablo, it reared and stamped its hooves, rolling its eyes and baring its teeth. A man-killer, Diablo thought, but fine bloodlines . A stallion like this could cost a man a fortune.

  He checked out the terrain around the ranch and then returned to the trees in the shadows near the ranch house, making sure no one saw him. Around him, he heard loud, coarse laughter as the gunfighters visited and drank.

  Sunny drove her buggy through the cool spring night and up to the Kruger ranch. She jumped down and ran up to the ranch house door, where a bent Indian woman answered her knock. “Where are the men?”

  “Down by the barn,” the old housekeeper pointed.

  Sunny turned and ran down the trail in the darkness. There were a lot of men here at the barbecue tonight. She could see all the horses tied up and men drinking beer and talking in small groups in the distance. She had to walk through a shadowy grove of trees to reach the barn, so she slowed her gait. Dad would not be pleased she had disobeyed him, but with the prize mare in unexpected labor, Sunny felt she had to come.

  Near her, a man stepped out of the shadows, and she started. “Well, hello, there, girly, you comin’ to the barbecue?”

  “No,” she shook her head and attempted to step around him, but he blocked her path. She took a deep breath and realized the stranger was drunk and stank of sweat and dirt.

  “Let me pass,” she said with dignity. “I need t
o find somebody.”

  He grabbed her arm. “My name’s Tom. Will I do, sweetness?”

  “Let go of me, or I’ll tell my dad.” She attempted to retreat, but the swaying man didn’t release her.

  “Oh, honey, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve seen since I left Lubbock.”

  Should she scream? That would bring a lot of people running and would create an embarrassing scene. In that second while she tried to decide, the man pulled her to him and clapped one dirty paw over her mouth.

  “Come on, honey, give old Tom a few kisses out here on the grass, and then you can go.”

  Her heart pounding in her throat, Sunny struggled and twisted, but he was a big man and she was no match for him. She bit his hand, and he only laughed as he stumbled back unsteadily, pulling her deeper into the shadows.

  And then a soft, deep voice said. “Let go of her, you bastard, or I’ll carve your belly open and feed your guts to the timber wolves.”

  Her attacker froze, swaying on his feet, and she struggled again but could not break free. She tried to cry out, but all she managed was a weak whimper.

  “I warned you,” came the deep voice again, and it sounded like a rattlesnake about to strike.

  “Go get your own woman,” Tom held onto her. “I ain’t givin’ this one up.”

  She saw only a large shape looming out of the darkness, and then in the sudden moonlight, a scarred, angry face shone above her and a muscular arm wrapped around the attacker’s neck. There was an abrupt, cracking sound as Tom’s neck broke. With a dying sigh, his grip loosened. He slid to the ground, and she was free.

  “You got no business here!” the deep voice snarled, and with a strangled sob, Sunny fled down the trail toward the barn. For all she knew, the new man intended to molest her himself. She ran down the trail past groups of curious men and right into the arms of Hurd Kruger.

  “Why, Sunny, dear, what are you doing here? This ain’t a place for ladies.”

  She wasn’t sure exactly what had happened up there in the shadows, but she wasn’t one to start a fuss. Sunny managed to smile and look at her father’s frowning face as she stepped away from the burly man. “It—it’s an emergency, Uncle Hurd.” She turned to her father. “Dad, that mare’s gone into labor. I thought I’d better get you.”

  “Good thinking,” Swen nodded. “We’re through here anyway, aren’t we, Hurd?”

  The other man nodded. “Until tomorrow, Swen.”

  Swen took his daughter’s arm, and they walked back up the path. She looked around for her attacker, but saw nothing—no body, no second man lurking in the darkness. Could she have dreamed all that? No, she couldn’t imagine that much real terror.

  Swen didn’t have anything to say as he tied his horse on behind the buggy and helped her up into it. Then he grabbed the reins and took off at a fast clip.

  “Dad, what was going on here tonight? Was that half-breed here?”

  “Who?” Swen looked puzzled.

  “You know, the gunfighter dressed all in black, the one with the scars.”

  Swen shrugged. “Don’t remember that one, but there’s a lot of trouble in that bunch. They should have stayed in Texas.”

  She didn’t see how he could forget that one, but maybe he had a lot on his mind. “Dad, what was happening?”

  He didn’t answer, although in the moonlight, she saw the frown on his face. “Something Hurd got up. It ain’t for young ladies to be involved in.”

  She was already involved because she’d been attacked on the trail by one of those strangers and rescued by another, but she was a dutiful daughter and let it pass. She didn’t like Hurd Kruger, although she tried hard not to show it because they were so beholden to the rich rancher.

  “Don’t worry, Dad; everything will be fine.”

  “I don’t know that it will,” Swen said and glanced over at her. “This ain’t been much of a life, Sunny, looking after me. I always intended to send you back east to school.”

  She knew they didn’t have the money for that, and anyway, she liked ranch life. “I don’t care anything about some fancy education.”

  “Your mama would have wanted you an education, I think. You know, your Aunt Mary lives in Boston, and I got a little saved to send you.”

  She doubted that. Times had been so hard, and anyway, rustlers always seemed to be stealing their steers so they never had a profitable year. “Dad, you know I’d never leave you. Besides, as tough as things have been, I understand how there couldn’t be extra money for that.”

  “I got the money,” he insisted. “Aunt Mary would take you in if I could get you there.”

  “Let’s talk about it some other time.” She patted his arm. She couldn’t imagine why Dad was suddenly so upset. Was it because he expected trouble with all these tough strangers in the county? She liked living on a ranch, but the winter cold of Wyoming bothered her. She wished Dad had settled a lot farther south.

  In the meantime as they drove home, she wondered again about the scarred stranger who had stepped out of the darkness to attack her . . . or save her?

  Chapter 3

  Diablo dragged the dead man off the path as the girl ran away. When he returned, he didn’t see her anywhere. No doubt she had gone back into the house where she belonged. He leaned against a tree some distance from the barn and stuck a cigarillo in his mouth. Damn that girl, she had complicated things. He had known it was the petite girl from the train station coming down the dark path from the ranch house the moment he smelled the dainty lilac perfume and saw the flash of moonlight on her long, pale hair.

  That gunfighter, Tom, would have raped her and maybe killed her to cover up his crime. Troubled, Diablo leaned against the tree and stared up at the moon. He had acted instinctively in rescuing the girl. Now he couldn’t decide if it was because Texans automatically protected women or because she looked like the princess in the fairy tales—the one an ugly man could never have. If that silkey-haired girl was Kruger’s daughter, he knew his revenge should include her. There were a lot of ways to retaliate against a man, and that included his family.

  The next morning, Kruger had just finished his coffee and stepped out on the back porch, sucking his teeth. “Good day to start running the nesters out of the county,” he noted with a grunt of satisfaction.

  His attention was diverted by one of his hired hands running toward him and shouting. What the hell was it now?

  “Hey, boss, we got a dead man!”

  “What?” Kruger strode to meet him. “Who? Where?”

  The wiry cowboy pointed. “In the woods between here and the barn. Think he’s one of those Texans.”

  Kruger started for the little patch of trees and soon came upon the big, burly gunfighter lying at an odd angle, his eyes wide in surprise. He squatted and looked him over. “Neck broke. Guess he fell last night—drunk, more than likely.”

  “I’d think it’d take more than a little fall to do that.”

  Kruger shrugged and yawned. “Don’t matter. He’s one of those Texans, and they ain’t nothin’ to us. Just get the boys to bury him and don’t turn this into a big thing. What’s one Texan more or less?”

  He strode toward the barn and found Smitty, Joe, and Wilson saddling up. The three had been with him more than fifteen years, and he could always count on them. “Hey, boys, you got my horse saddled?”

  Smitty nodded his unshaven chin and grinned. He was as big as a mountain and twice as stupid. He scratched his crooked nose. “You know we have, boss.”

  “I can always count on you three, no matter what I need.”

  Wilson rubbed the knife scar on his ugly face, and big muscles rippled under his torn shirt. “We gonna kill us some settlers today?”

  Joe, the meanest of the three, spat through gapped teeth. His was the sharp face of a weasel. “We’re lookin’ forward to it, boss.”

  Kruger grinned back in anticipation. “You know it, and the Texans will do most of the work.”

  Joe mounted up, took
off his hat, and ran his hand through greasy brown hair. “Them nesters tryin’ to move in on our country.”

  “That’s right.” Kruger mounted the fine sorrel Wilson led out. “I fought Injuns, wildfires, and bears for this range, and my wife and son was the first people buried in the town cemetery. Now that we made it easy to live here, them farmers want to move in and put up fences and take over.”

  “We stand behind you, boss,” Smitty mounted up. “You know we always have, whatever you wanted us to do.”

  Kruger nodded, and the four wheeled their horses and took off to the meeting place up the creek. They would overrun these farmers, cut their fences, shoot their damned oxen pulling the plows that tore up the grasslands. Tonight they would set some barns on fire and shoot up some cabins. In a few days of organized terror, they would have the settlers packing up their wagons and moving out. It was only just. Tough men like Hurd Kruger had tamed this land and built empires here after losing wives and children to Injuns, disease, and blizzards. No one was going to take this away from them without a fight, and that’s the reason he had called in the professional gunfighters.

  They met up with the Texans and some of the other big ranchers at Crazy Woman Creek. Kruger looked around with satisfaction at the Texans. Yes, this was a gang that could spread terror and fast. There were so many of them he couldn’t remember one from another, but it didn’t matter. None of them had any stake in this fight except the money they’d get for killing farmers and burning their places. Now he scowled as he looked at the other ranchers. “Swen Sorrenson’s not here.”

  A wiry old rancher shifted his weight in his saddle.

  “Aw, you know Swen—he don’t approve.”

  “Maybe he’s scared.” One of the Texans guffawed.

  Kruger frowned. “Naw, he’s just got what he calls principles, so he’ll let us do the dirty work to protect his land from these dirt-scratchin’ clodhoppers.”