Chapter Sixteen
As they were packing the next morning to leave, Carrie Sue tested a suspicion of hers. She picked up T.J.’s saddlebag and remarked, “I’ll fetch some paper so you can draw me that map before we ride out.”
The raven-haired man nearly yanked the bags from her and said, “I’ll get it. You finish your chores. I have an Apache charm in here and it’s bad luck for a woman to touch it. Besides, a lady shouldn’t handle men’s underwear.” He chuckled to pass off his odd reaction.
“I’ve handled my father’s and brother’s many times.”
“That’s different. We’re strangers,” he reasoned playfully.
“Considering our relationship, Mr. Rogue, we’re hardly strangers anymore. I know what you’re hiding in there,” she teased.
His head jerked in her direction and his expression was strange. To hide her suspicion, she jested, “You have keepsakes from your old conquests and you’re afraid I’ll get wildly jealous if I see them.”
He laughed and retorted, “How did you know?”
With a seductive grin, she ventured, “Don’t all men keep souvenirs of such victories? I’ll have to think of something special to give you when we separate so you’ll always remember this one as your best. Do the map, partner, while I finish with Charlie. I promise not to peek at your feminine treasures or order you to throw them away.”
He chuckled and said, “Thanks, you’re a wise woman, generous, too.” When the map was done, he handed it to her and cautioned, “Don’t lose it. It might save your life if anything happens to me.”
“I’ll keep it close to my heart,” she replied and shoved it into her shirt pocket, more intrigued than ever about his saddlebag contents. How, she plotted, could she get a peek at them?
On the way to Deming, New Mexico, they passed more brown mountains on both sides, mountains which looked purple in the distant haze. Hills varied in size and height, many with rocky ridges and craggy protrusions which formed unusual shapes and gave the scenery a wild and rugged appearance. Some rocks were side by side like towering stone cactus which grew from the earth to the peak like sturdy walls holding back the tall mounds behind them. The terrain was covered by scattered scrubs and thick grassland. There was a large dry wash to their left, as they traveled near—but not on—the public road. The area had flattened out; the tall cactus and yuccas were gone for a while. It was almost like traversing a vast prairie.
They by-passed the rough settlement of Shakespeare, which was a mining town and a brief stop on the Butterfield and Garret stage lines. The quiet couple weaved through the Pyramid Mountains. They came to areas where no trees or bushes grew, where the mountains and hills were a great distance away, where the ground was sandy and dry. They crossed several playas where the desert terrain sent forth the mirage of water, of beautiful lakes and rivers which weren’t really there, unmerciful illusions which played havoc with heat dazed senses. Occasionally clumps of grass were seen, but nothing more. It was a barren location, one which put them in the open for a long stretch.
Carrie Sue wondered if this area wasn’t hotter and dryer than Arizona had been. She didn’t like this valley, this lack of cover from the heat and from human perils. There was no place to hide, no cover for shade. T.J. told her they were about seventy miles west of Deming, and she eagerly looked forward to reaching that area.
They did very little talking because they needed to stay alert in the almost mesmerizing heat and glare of the blazing sun, and talking also dried their throats even more than the arid climate. Overhead were wispy clouds on a pale blue sky which offered no shade beneath their skimpy sizes, a trick often used by travelers in the open. Neither cared for this hazardous stretch of their journey which made them easy targets for attackers and the weather. Yet, it had to be covered.
Suddenly, a tree-lined dry wash seemed to spring miraculously from the barren earth to entice them toward it. Nearby was an abandoned shack and well. They halted to water the horses, refill their canteens, and refresh themselves. They only rested there for a short while because T.J. warned that other travelers could come along at any time.
Soon, they continued their ride, but the demands eased up for a while as small trees and bushy scrubs again dotted seemingly endless grasslands. Yet, the ground was still very dry, and Carrie Sue realized how hardy the plants must be to survive under such harsh conditions. She was amazed by the way the bushes and clumps of grass made the deserty region look cool and green, almost inviting!
At last they halted, forty miles from their secluded haven in the cool Chiricahua Mountains of Arizona. The heat and terrain had been responsible for their slow progress today. The sun was setting and the western horizon was ablaze with shades of rich colors: reds, pinks, oranges, golds, and violets on an ever darkening blue backdrop.
T.J. chose a scrub-lined arroyo which put them out of sight of any late passerby. They unsaddled and tended the loyal horses first, then made camp. He warned against a fire, as smoke would give away their location and presence. He handed her weather-heated strips of peccary meat and a plate of beans, to be washed down with water as whiskey only made one more thirsty and sweaty in such heat.
The couple was tired from their demanding ride, so they claimed their bedrolls quickly, side by side. Neither mentioned lovemaking, as both knew it was impossible at this spot. It was even too hot to cuddle during sleep, but they did kiss good-night several times.
The ride was much the same the following day with landscape varying back and forth as with yesterday. It was hot on this fourth day of June in the year of eighteenseventy-six. They were forty-five miles from Deming, where T.J. planned to make a stop for supplies.
Carrie Sue realized that the Tucson school was to have reopened for classes tomorrow. She wondered what Mrs. Thayer and Maria were doing and thinking. She wondered what the town residents, especially those who had met her on the streets and in church, thought about Miss Carolyn Starns turning out to be the notorious Texas Flame, a thought she did not find the least bit humorous. She wondered if Martin Ferris’s body had been found, or if friends were searching for the mysteriously missing rancher at this moment.
The fiery redhead tried not to think about eager posses and greedy bounty hunters tracking her. She tried not to think about Darby’s perils. She hoped he was resting in the Guadalupe Mountains which straddled the New Mexico- Texas border. She also tried not to let tormenting doubts about her lover gallop into her sluggish mind, but she couldn’t master that runaway topic.
As she traveled near T.J. Rogue, she was plagued by doubts, fears, and worries. She wished she could halt such feelings, but she had learned to survive by her instincts, instincts which warned that he was trouble. She had just spent days making love to him and talking with him; yet, she distrusted the legendary Rogue! Loving T.J. was easy, irresistible, but believing him was difficult. Maybe that was the core of her problem; she was too emotionally involved with this peak of prowess to judge him accurately.
The desperado reflected on the evidence against him. Why had a loner taken to a proper lady, a staid schoolmarm, a passing stranger in a relay station? Even if he was attracted to her, men like him would have avoided her or believed her out of his reach. Yet, he had continued coming around her even before she appeared receptive to his pull. Perhaps it had been her connection to Martin Ferris which had enticed him to keep company with her; perhaps he had wanted to aggravate his past foe and provoke Martin into a battle. Later, he had been waiting for Curly James to arrive, and had seen them talking. Somehow, T.J. had always been around—as with the stage holdup and the attack during their picnic—always been there when she needed help, as if he had advance notice of trouble in the wind. Had those numerous incidents been coincidental or created by his design?
Then, he had just happened to be in Sheriff Ben Myers’s office when her first poster arrived! He had just happened to be in her room to rescue her from that other sheriff. His questions in camp and on the trail could be normal or s
ly ones. Yet, he was asking plenty about Darby and his men, particularly about their skills and weapons. He had said it was information needed in case he had to defend and rescue her from that gang. Yes, he always had logical explanations!
Lately he had pressed her about her actions with the gang, wanting to know exactly where she had gone and what she had done over the years. He had wanted to know if she had. spent most of her time in the gang’s camp and if she had taken care of the men by cooking and cleaning and washing for them. He had seemed pleased when she had told him she had rarely been involved in the heart of crimes, and she didn’t tend to the men’s chores, only to Darby’s.
The inquisitive male had wanted to know why no one had realized the Texas Flame was Darby Stover’s fiery-haired sister and gotten her description out sooner. She knew she had explained that before, but she did so again. She also told him that the few men who had seen and met her face-toface were outlaws who wouldn’t or couldn’t release information on her without incriminating themselves.
Since that night in the colossal cave and later in their romantic hideaway, T.J. had gone from refusing to ask any personal and probing questions to pouring them from his loosened lips! What worried her now was his main topic always seemed to be Darby Stover and his gang! And, there was the curious matter of what was inside his saddlebags.
On the other hand, she knew Martin Ferris had been behind that picnic attack. She knew from Martin that her poster had arrived in Tucson on Thursday, but after her morning departure. Had there been another one in the early mail as T.J. claimed, the one he had seen and stolen? Did he make it a practice of opening others’ mail? Could it be true, as he claimed, that fate had guided his hand to that letter? Why two posters to Ben Myers, if that was where T.J. had gotten his copy? Who had released her new description: Quade or his father? Or T.J. to force her onto the trail with him? Had it been in his possession all along, with him waiting for the perfect moment to use it? Had someone tipped him off by telegraph, ordering him to speed up his ruse? Had he left during the night while they were at the cave? Where had he gone that day in the Chiricahua Mountains?
There were too many unanswered questions about her lover, too many coincidences and pat explanations. If only she dared to demand answers, but that would alert him to her lingering mistrust. If T.J. Rogue was a threat to her and Darby, she was no match for his prowess at this moment. It was a quandary which only time and events could settle for her. Was it, she asked herself, wise to let T.J. keep forging a stronger bond between them, uncontrollably or intentionally on his part? She would make her final decision about her lover at El Paso. Merciful Heavens, she wished she could trust him completely, but she was afraid she couldn’t. Until she was certain of him, she couldn’t lead him to her brother…
They neared Deming at dusk. T.J. showed her an excellent place to hide while he went into town for supplies.
“It’s too risky,” she protested his decision.
“I know a man here that I can trust. I’ll get supplies from him. We have to eat, woman. And I’d like to get some news. We’ve been out of contact for days. I want to see if your posters are everywhere and if I’m a wanted man. I have a gut feeling that Shibell didn’t let it be known you slipped through his hands and I got the drop on him. He’s a proud and stubborn lawman. He’ll want to correct his mistake without anybody learning about it.Trust me; I know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll go with you,” she announced.
“You can’t; that’s definitely too risky. If I get chased, I can flee better alone. I’ll work my way back to you after I lose them.”
“If you aren’t back by morning, I’m coming after you, Rogue.”
He grinned at her defiant expression and warning. “I will be.”
Carrie Sue and her pinto stayed hidden in the trees while she watched her lover ride off again. She was tempted to follow him, but knew he would catch her and it would cause trouble between them. She glanced at the possessions left behind. No saddlebag was among them. If they were careful, they had enough supplies to get them to Mesilla where he had another friend who had a place they could use. Without a doubt, he had another reason for going into town!
She withdrew the map from her pocket and studied it. She read the names and locations of T.J.’s friends, and wondered who—no what—they were. The one in Mesilla was Hank Peterson, but she’d never heard of him. Nor had she heard the name Mitchell Sterling who was in El Paso. One owned a cantina and the other owned a mercantile store. The map ended there because T.J. knew she was familiar with Texas. Whatever happened, she’d never look up strangers for help.
The flaming haired fugitive remained there, fretting, until T.J. returned. He grinned lightheartedly as he served her fried chicken, biscuits, and steamed vegetables which were rolled inside a clean cloth.
“Good news for me, woman,” he said, “but I’m afraid you aren’t as lucky. Your poster’s up all right, but they don’t know about me. Shibell kept his mouth shut just like I presumed.”
She tried to pass him-some food, but he shook his head and said he’d already eaten with his friend. She wished she could see one of those wanted posters and compare it to the one in his possession. If they weren’t alike, that would answer one question for her! Somewhere and somehow, she had to get a look at one of those real posters. As she ate, she listened intently to his words.
T.J. sipped tart tequila as he reluctantly related his devious tale to cover his trip into town to use the telegraph. He hoped she would credit the unusual tone of his voice to the strong liquor, not as the effect of his guilt and deceit. Many times he had fooled people easily, but he found it hard to look at her while lying. “Matthew Grimes, that’s my friend, saw a marshal today and he learned a lot which he passed along to me. You were reported last seen in Tucson, but nothing was mentioned about me escaping with you. The law assumes you left town Wednesday night before your posters reached Ben Myers on Thursday. They figure by now you’re either heading north to safety or you’re back in Texas with your brother. His last strike was two weeks ago near Fort Worth, and Monday after our picnic. That means he isn’t laying low in Oklahoma. Either he has to be near Brownwood or the Pecos River, like you predicted. You must know Darby well.”
Rapidly she figured the distance and time involved in Curly leaving her brother at the Guadalupe hideout on May eighteenth and Curly’s arrival in Tucson on the twenty-third against Darby’s being able to reach Fort Worth to commit a robbery by May twenty-second. Darby would have to have left the hideout immediately—after telling Curly he was staying there for a while—ridden hard and fast, known his target ahead of time, and carried off the deed in less than five days. She knew from experience that schedule was impossible, and Darby never struck a target without careful preparation and observation!
Who, she mused worriedly, was lying? T.J. to trick her, or the law? If it was the law, was the reported charge a mistake or a sly trick to lure her there for capture? If it was T.J., did her lover expect her to panic and refute the information, then rashly disclose the whereabouts of Darby’s location? It could be that another gang was impersonating them; that happened sometimes with them and with other well-known bands!
“What’s wrong, Carrie Sue?” he questioned her moody silence. Excluding his remorse over his ruse, he felt wonderful; the Rangers had withdrawn her posters as requested, claiming it was a sketch of the wrong woman. That compliance should reduce her peril during his case. He yearned to tell her she was safe for a while, but he couldn’t without exposing himself and his mission.
The keen-witted outlaw realized her lover wasn’t fusing his gaze to hers as he spoke, and his voice was strange despite the scratchy tequila. He seemed an odd mixture of joy and tension. He seemed alert and wary, a little too edgy for an unwanted man. “What did Darby hit?” she asked, trying to look and sound sad at his so-called news.
He answered honestly, “A Union Express office. Got away with a big haul of greenbacks. Maybe he’s planning on
trading them for gold like the President promised. Paper is easier to carry off than heavy gold.”
She frowned, not at his unamusing assumption, but at his or someone’s chosen target. Unless Darby had changed his mind since they parted, her brother never struck at Union Express, which was too heavily guarded. Darby Stover wasn’t one to get desperate enough to be reckless! She noticed how many times her lover unconsciously wet his lips and dried his sweaty palms on the knees of his jeans, and she observed how the pulse point in his throat exposed his rapid heartbeat. These, combined with his odd anxiety, unnatural tone of voice, and curious expression, were signs of dishonesty that any astute and intelligent person could read, as Kale had taught her. Anguish seized her, but she concealed the reason. “I wonder if he knows about my trouble. If he’s working near a big town, then I would imagine so. That also puts him nearer Brownwood than West Texas. Still, we should check there first as we pass by.”
He sensed that something was wrong, but he couldn’t surmise what. To draw her out, he said, “Once we reach Texas, we’ll have to be more careful than ever. It’s about seven to ten days from the border to Commanche. You still determined to see your brother?”
Carrie Sue realized another peril. What if they—the law or her beguiling lover—used her reported capture to lure Darby into a trap? If her brother didn’t know where she was, he might fall for such a clever ruse. She nodded and replied, “I have to. There’s no way I can reach him to let him know I’m all right and what my plans are. I want to convince him to join me; that has to be done in person.”
“You think he’ll listen?” T.J. probed.
She sighed heavily and shrugged. “He’ll listen, but I can’t decide what he’ll do afterwards. Darby thinks he’s trapped in this miserable life; Quade saw to that with his action near Laredo. And he knows how many times I’ve tried to go straight and my description wasn’t even out. I’m not sure I can persuade him we’ll be safe anywhere. But I’m going to try my hardest. I don’t want my brother killed or hanged or jailed, T.J.; he made a mistake which carried him away like a flood. He kept getting pulled down by currents he couldn’t fight. It isn’t fair! It’s all Quade’s fault. If you don’t kill him, I will. That bastard! He’s going free while his victims are on the run!”
Kiss Of The Night Wind Page 31