Bandit's Embrace (The Durango Family) (42 page)

“Garlic.” He turned the cigarette over and over in his fingers, staring at it. “Was Romeros there?”

“Well, yes, of course. Everyone on both ranches came.” She shrugged. “Romeros helped serve the food. Why?”

A frown crossed his face. “Awfully convenient that she died suddenly, clearing the way for Mona—Monique.”

Amethyst shook her head in confusion. “What on earth are you hinting at?”

Bandit studied the ash of his cigarillo. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget it.”

The camp came awake gradually. Women went for water, stirred their campfires, baked corn cakes. Small children ran about half-naked. Dogs barked and stretched between the wickiups.

Old Cougar came out of a wickiup with his tall grandson, smiled as he saw them, then came over to squat by the fire. “The day dawns bright for me now that I have found you, my grandson. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

“What prophecy, Cougar?” Bandit asked.

Cougar shook his head. “It matters not. Now I understand the true meaning.” He nodded toward the boy who stood proudly, his breastplate catching the first rays of the sun. “In a few minutes, we will ride back over to our own camp. And tonight, I shall take my small band back to renew the fight against the pony soldiers with my old friend, Cochise, if he still lives.”

Bandit stood up, clasped the old man’s hand in both of his. “May the good spirits ride with you, Cougar.”

“And with you, Grandson.” He held onto Bandit’s hand, shook it again in the white man’s manner. “If you ever change your mind, look for the Mescalero in the hills of New Mexico and Arizona.”

Bandit shook his head solemnly. “I am proud to carry your blood, Cougar, but in my heart, I am a white man and cannot change. When I leave, I return to the ways I know.”

Amethyst swallowed hard, watching the moving farewell, knowing they were probably seeing the proud old man for the very last time.

Cougar studied her. “I am sorry I did not take his grandmother for my own. I left her behind because I did not think she would fit into my life. I hope my grandson does not make the same mistake.”

Bandit took a small coin from his pocket, flipped it absently.

Amethyst reached out and caught it. “If you’re trying to make a decision on the toss of a coin—”

“No.” He shook his head, smiled sadly. “I was just thinking of your pedigree and of how little I really know about myself. That coin in your hand and that one word, ‘sokol,’ are all I know about my father.”

She looked down at the small coin in her hand, puzzled. She didn’t think it was a coin at all; it looked more like a religious medallion. That must be an image of the Virgin of
Guadalupe
on one side, on the other, an eagle or a falcon or maybe a hawk.

Cougar said, “The girl loves you,
tejano;
it shows in her face. With her eyes she says, ‘skii” ni nzhqq.’”

Somehow Amethyst understood what the words meant without translation. “Cougar’s right,” she murmured, “I love you.”

Bandit turned away, not meeting her gaze. Her heart sank as she clutched the medallion. She knew his decision by the look on his face. In spite of everything she could do, he was going to walk out of her life forever. “Are you ready to go home now, Aimée?”

She looked toward the pinto and the blood bay mare grazing between the wickiups, then back to him. “I am ready to go wherever you are going, Texas.”

The pinto stud raised its head, looking off toward the hostile brush country to the north. It nickered loudly.

Bandit frowned. “What do you suppose he smells?”

Amethyst laughed. “Probably the pony herd. There’s some pretty mares I imagine.”

Old Cougar scowled. “The pony herd grazes to the west, not the north.”

Bandit craned his head, listening. “I’d swear I heard just the faintest echo of a cavalry charge.”

“That’s not funny,” she scoffed. “U.S. Cavalry almost sixty miles below the river separating the two countries? The
americanos
wouldn’t dare!”

She looked toward the young Indian boy, saw by his expression that he had heard the noise, too.

It sounded like thunder beginning to rumble far away, but the sky was clear. The sudden concern on the faces of Bandit and the two Indians brought fear to her heart. “Thunder,” she said as if to reassure herself, “it’s only thunder!”

Then out of the north, as if to make a liar of her, charged bluecoated soldiers, galloping straight for the village. The rising sun reflected off their shiny brass buttons even as it reflected off Sun Shield’s breastplate.

She stood rooted to the spot with the others, staring at the horses moving nearer and nearer.

Old Cougar cried out. “Soldiers! Soldiers!”

Amethyst stared at the galloping troops moving into the edges of the camp. “But—but those aren’t Federales!”

She glanced over, saw the disbelief on Bandit’s face. “American Cavalry!” he gasped. “We’re under attack by American cavalry!”

She could only stand in that split second and stare at the lathered horses now galloping through the village, shots echoing, dogs barking, women screaming.

Bandit grabbed her arm, looking about as if unsure which way to run. The galloping horses were close enough now to see the lather on their gray coats.

Old Cougar’s face turned ghastly pale. “Gray horses coming four abreast, galloping out of the thunder. . . .”

Bandit shouted, “I recognize the insignia, that’s old Three-Finger Mackenzie’s Fourth Cavalry! We’ve got to find cover!” He grabbed Amethyst’s arm. “Which way, Cougar?”

Old Cougar began to laugh as if the attack were the funniest thing in the world.

Amethyst stared at him in the swirling dust and smoke.
Had he gone
insane?

“I didn’t understand the vision,” the old man said. “Old Mangas tried to warn me!”

Bandit grabbed him with his other hand. “Cougar, we must find a place of safety! Isn’t there a gully, a ravine nearby?”

Cougar laughed. Then he began a singsong death chant.

But Sun Shield shook him. “Grandfather, we must mount a defense even though this is not our camp! With most of the warriors gone, no one seems to know what to do!”

Cougar hesitated. Then, like the great chief he was, he took control, shouting orders. “We’ll attempt a defense from that ravine near the river!”

He and Sun Shield grabbed weapons, while Bandit took Amethyst’s arm, steered her through the dust. Choking smoke swirled through the camp as the soldiers set the farthest wickiups on fire. “Aimée! Run!”

She gripped the small medallion, turned to obey. He held onto her arm, and they ran for the ravine. Praying desperately, she stumbled through the smoke and dust. All around her horses galloped past, dogs barked, women screamed and grabbed for crying children.

This must be what hell is like, she thought dully as the heat from a blazing wickiup scorched her face. A lathered horse brushed past her and she stumbled and fell.

“Go on!” she shouted. “Go on! I—I just can’t make it!” It seemed like she had been running forever, and she wasn’t even certain which way to go anymore.

Bandit stooped, swung her up in his strong arms, cradled her against his broad chest. “We’ll make it, Aimée,” he promised grimly. “The smoke’s so thick, the soldiers can’t even see what they’re shooting at anymore! They’re just firing wildly!”

She clung to him as he ran with her through the smoke and heat toward the shallow creek bed. But she didn’t drop the medal, and she prayed as he stumbled, caught his balance, kept running. Rifles cracked all around her, echoed through the Sunday morning heat.

When they reached the stream bed, he put her down. “Get behind that driftwood, Aimée!” he ordered. “For God’s sake, keep down!”

But she raised up, looking around for old Cougar and Sun Shield. The two ran through the wild confusion, gunshots echoing as the Indians dug in, tried to defend themselves.

Sun Shield made it to the creek, fell in alongside them. “Where’s grandfather?” he demanded, “Where’s—?”

They all squinted, looking through the swirling smoke and dust for the old man. He ran toward them, hesitated, stopped to pick up a small, abandoned child who stood crying in the confusion. Then he ran toward the creek again.

Amethyst choked on the acrid scent of gunpowder, the coppery smell of blood. When she ran her tongue over her lips, she tasted grit and salty perspiration.

Old Cougar was close enough for them to see the grim expression on his face. He was prepared to die, expected to die.

Bandit rose up. “I’ll go get him!”

Sun Shield, said, “He gave me his armor, his magic iron jacket! He—”

All three of them cried out as Cougar stumbled, hit by rifle fire. He paused in the swirling dust, surprise and pain on his dark features. Then he clasped the baby close, began to run again.

Bandit yelled, “Come on, Sun Shield!”

Even as Amethyst watched, they ran out, grabbed the old man, half dragged, half carried him and the child into the safety of the ravine.

Amethyst took the baby, realized it wasn’t hurt. An Indian woman near her grabbed the infant, sobbing with relief at being reunited with her child.

Sun Shield and Bandit knelt, cradling the dying old chief between them.

Bandit implored him. “Hang on, Cougar, there’ll be a surgeon with that outfit! When the fighting’s finished—”

“No,” The old man raised a feeble hand in a silencing gesture. “No. They come to take us to a reservation and the Cougar cannot be caged. In the Spirit World, the Cougar will roam his hills wild and free forever.”

Sun Shield’s dark eyes shone with tears. “If I had not had your armor—”

“I have saved you to carry on the fight,” the old man said faintly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You must take our people back to our hills to the north.”

Amethyst had never seen such fury on a face as she saw on young Sun Shield’s. “Today, I attack the pony soldiers!”

Cougar reached up one trembling hand to Bandit. “He is young . . . so impatient . . . save his life for me. . . .”

For a long moment, she could not believe the majestic old chief was gone.

Sun Shield stood up, crimson blood from his grandfather’s wound smeared across his clothes. “I go out to fight the pony soldiers! I—”

“Not today, Sun Shield,” Bandit said with determination. “I promised Cougar to watch after you!” And with that, he swung, putting all his power behind his fist. The boy collapsed in the dirt. Covered as he is with blood, Amethyst thought, he looks dead.

Bandit rubbed his knuckles. “I hated to do that,” he said, “but there was no point in him committing suicide by going against overpowering forces. When he’s older, he’ll make a great leader because he is as brave as Cougar.”

The gunfire in the camp seemed to be fading away, although wickiups still burned and stray ponies galloped about aimlessly. Somewhere a dog barked.

Bandit looked over at her, and Amethyst saw the grief etched on his face.

She blinked back her own tears at the sight of the crumpled body of the old man, the bloody, unconscious form of Sun Shield. Slipping the coin in her pocket, she reached out a consoling hand to the big Texan. “Bandit, we’ve got to find the cavalry officer and stop this slaughter!”

He stared at her as if he were too weary, too grieved to comprehend her words.

“Texas? Do you hear me? We’re going to have to work fast or they’ll find Sun Shield. What we do in the next few minutes may make a difference as to whether he escapes or ends up a prisoner on a reservation!”

Amethyst’s pleading seemed to bring Bandit out of his grief and shock. “You’re right,” he said, and his shoulders straightened as he stood up. “Let’s go find the colonel.”

They walked through the burning camp. Here and there women and old men wandered about, dazed. Somewhere she heard a baby crying. Soldiers were everywhere, rounding up Indians.

They found Colonel Mackenzie standing under a mesquite, giving orders to his officers. He stared at them in astonishment. “What the hell are you doing in this camp?”

She saw the anger in Bandit’s blue eyes. “I reckon I was just about to ask you the same thing. The U.S. Cavalry has no jurisdiction this side of the river.”

Mackenzie looked strained and weary. “Someone had to stop those bloody raids across the border. Politicians talk and talk, but finally the military took action. Now we’ll gather up these families, hold them hostage to force the warriors up to the Indian Territory.”

Bandit shook his head. “I’ve seen both sides of this, and I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, women and children dying on both sides.”

Mackenzie looked at him for a moment. “That’s the way it is in war; women and children bleed and die just like warriors and soldiers. I’m only responsible for trying to save the white ones on my side of the border. You must be the ‘wild card’ from the cantina. The scouts told me about you. What are you two doing here?”

Amethyst answered. “I was kidnapped by three Texas outlaws; then the Indians captured us and killed them.” She nodded toward Bandit. “He came to save me.”

That appeared to satisfy the colonel. “Sounds loco enough to be true. You’re free to go.”

Bandit stuck his thumbs in his gun belt. “And what are you going to do?”

Mackenzie laughed without humor, turned to look at the burning camp, the soldiers rounding up the women and children. “We’re gonna get the hell out of here before the braves return or before the Federales find out we’re here.”

Amethyst heard a man scream in pain. She winced and turned to see a surgeon working him as soldiers held him down. Another wounded soldier lay nearby breathing shallowly.

A beefy red-faced sergeant strode over, snapped off a salute. “One man badly wounded, sir, don’t know if he’ll make it back. Doc is havin’ to amputate another’s arm.”

Mackenzie’s shoulders slumped as if weighted with responsibility. “We’ll have to take them with us somehow, Sergeant. They’ll face a firing squad if they fall into the Federales’ hands.”

The sergeant snapped him a salute, walked away.

Now the officer turned his attention back to Amethyst and Bandit. “What was that about outlaws? We’ve been looking for that bunch that took the Fort Concho payroll—”

“Speaking of which,” Bandit said, “I’ve got something that belongs to the U.S. Army and I want to give it back. It’s caused me a lot of trouble.”

As Amethyst watched, he turned, looked around for the big pinto. The two horses had bolted in the noise and confusion, but now they both grazed peacefully on the edge of the camp. Bandit whistled and the pair trotted over.

He reached into the saddlebags, handed Mackenzie two heavy sacks. “The Fort Concho payroll,” he said. “That wraps everything up.”

Mackenzie took the sacks, hefted them in his hands, considered. “I won’t ask how you came by these, cowboy. Thanks for your help.”

Bandit gave him a cold look. “I wouldn’t steal from my own government. But right now I’m having mixed feelings about the U.S. Cavalry.”

“I just do my duty,” Mackenzie snapped. “If I ever stopped to think about right and wrong, I might go crazy. Plains Indians and white settlers aren’t going to be able to live peacefully side by side, I don’t care how many treaties are signed or how hard everyone tries.”

Bandit nodded. “That’s true, and I’m a realist. Sooner or later, all the Indians will be rounded up and put on reservations so that immigrants who want to grow wheat and corn can have the plains for farms.”

Mackenzie gave him a long look. “And is that so wrong?”

“I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.” Bandit shrugged. “I reckon if I was a starving immigrant in Europe or toiling in a city sweatshop, I’d hunger for a homestead, too. But I’m sorry for the Indians who must give way.”

Amethyst felt pity as they watched the weeping women and children being gathered together and mounted on pack mules.

Mackenzie hefted the payroll sacks in his hands again. “It can’t be helped, Texan. I only follow orders. Is there anything I can do for you before we ride out?”

“No.” Bandit shook his head. “I’m just going to bury an old man, and then I’m taking the
señorita
home.”

He took Amethyst’s arm and they turned away, to walk back toward the ravine. For a moment, she held her breath, seeing the soldiers searching through the bodies along the creek bank. The sergeant paused, looked down at Sun Shield. She couldn’t be sure from his troubled expression whether he thought the boy dead or had decided to ignore him. He moved on down the creek, shouting orders to the troopers.

She looked at Bandit. “I think he realized Sun Shield wasn’t dead, decided not to take him captive.”

Bandit gave her a thin smile. “Then I feel a little better about the cavalry at this moment. By the time the boy comes to, the troopers will be gone. Then Sun Shield will take his people back to New Mexico to rejoin the other Mescaleros.”

She paused and, looking down at the old man’s body, swallowed hard. “The Indian wars will go on and on?”

Bandit sighed, knelt by the broken, bloody body of his grandfather. “On and on,” he said softly.

After they buried the old chief, they watched the troopers riding out to the north, taking their two wounded soldiers and the captive women and children with them. Here and there in the brush, a few Indians hid out, enough to tell the story when the warriors returned from their hunt. The Texas border ranches were safe from attack at last.

Amethyst’s emotions were mixed. She was sorrowful about Cougar’s death, angry with the
americanos
for crossing into Mexican territory, and sorry for the Texans who had been killed and injured by the Indians. She was no longer sure what was right and wrong, who were the heroes and the villains. She only knew that when men fought, women and children suffered. So it had always been, would always be.

They left the unconscious boy safely tucked away in the brush of the creek bank, knowing that the hidden Indians would look after him. Then they caught up their horses and headed south.

“Come on, Aimée,” Bandit said, “I’ve got to get you home. Your Papa and the Falcons will be frantic about you.”

There was something grim, final about his expression as they spurred their horses and took off at a canter.

“Texas,” she said, “I . . . I love you. I don’t give a damn about your past, about your ancestry. Do you hear me? Why don’t we keep up this pretense? Unless Tony Falcon shows up someday unexpectedly, you could getaway with this masquerade forever.”

Bandit’s face was a cold mask. “That’s the least of my worries, Aimée. I’ve decided I can’t live with myself anymore. Even a no-good saddlebum can have a little honor, act like a man.”

There was something frightening about his face.

“Texas? What is it? What do you intend to do?”

“I’m going to take you home, sweet. And then I’ve got to do something about a rattlesnake nesting at Falcon’s Lair.”

She hadn’t the least idea what he was talking about, but the hard anger on his face frightened her so that she dared not ask.

The trip back to her father’s ranch seemed twice as long because of Bandit’s moody silence. The flip, cocky pistolero who had charmed her was gone, replaced by a solemn man who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. As they rode up on a rise overlooking the Durango barn, the sun had just set, the place looked deserted. They reined in.

Bandit said, “In less than thirty minutes, you’ll be safe at home, sweet, and you can forget this nightmare–forget about me.”

“Just like that!” Her anger flared up. “Texas, don’t you have any explanation? You’ve hardly said anything on this whole trip back.”

He looked at her, spurred his horse forward. “I reckon it’s all been said, Amethyst. Let’s ride on in.”

Mona stood in the library of the big, deserted house staring at the note the servant had just handed her.

Meet me in the barn. We must talk.

She looked after the departing servant, considered running after her to get a description of the sender, then shook her head. The servant couldn’t read, she knew that. But asking questions might lead to gossip, and that she didn’t need. Should she send Mrs. Wentworth? Mona frowned. Her dour friend was drunk and despondent again. Mona would have to make her own decision.

Bandit. It must be from Bandit. He had sneaked back somehow and wanted her help. Maybe he wanted her togo back to Texas with him. Mona smiled. She would go anywhere, do anything, for the jaunty pistolero with the cocky grin.

She primped in the lamp-lit mirror a moment. Expensive green silk, she thought with satisfaction. Mona Dulaney, you’re a real lady at last!

Making sure she wasn’t seen by the servant girl, she sneaked through the dusk toward the barn. Both ranches were almost deserted, all the vaqueros and old Durango himself having gone out to search for the missing pair.

Lifting her skirts, she ran through the growing darkness, past the pen near the barn door where Durango had recently placed that old fighting bull he’d saved from the arena. The great creature raised its big head and snorted, the short length of chain dangling from its nose ring jingling like keys.

Mona started at the sound, stared at the bull’s sharp horns gleaming in the moonlight, at its coat black as the depths of hell. She shivered as she ran past that pen, and the animal moved to the back of the corral, fading into invisibility in the darkness. It seemed harmless enough from what everyone said, but she never planned to take a chance on venturing into its pen.

Mona paused at the barn door, moonlight filtering through the opening, through the cracks in the weathered wood. She took a deep breath, drawing in the smells of hay and leather. “Bandit? Bandit, are you in here?”

Abruptly, a tall, lean man stepped out from behind a bale of hay, throwing a black shadow across her that made her jump.

“So”—Romeros’s teeth gleamed in a feral smile—“you gave no thought to me. You hoped it was the Texan.”

She bit her lip, trying to mask her disappointment. “What are you doing here? I thought all the vaqueros were off looking for them.”

He came closer, chewing on a match. “I was too banged up to go, thanks to that damned cowboy. And of course, old Falcon is too frail. He’s home by the library fire, awaiting word.”

She flinched as he reached out, touched her hair. “I hate hair the color of fire,” he said softly. “Later, I want you to dye it very black.”

“Señor Durango likes it red.”

He smiled without mirth, stroking her hair. “I said I want it dark.”

Suddenly she realized why, and could not contain her jealousy. “It’s because of Amethyst, isn’t it? You’re in love with her, just like Bandit!”

He took the match from his mouth, glared at Mona. “I don’t like hair the color of fire,” he whispered in a tone that frightened her. “And
sí
, I’ve always wanted her.”

She turned away. “Knowing Bandit, I don’t think he’d allow that. From the bruises on your face, I’d say you’ve found out what he’s like when he’s mad.”

Romeros shrugged. “I underestimated him. No matter.”

She felt helpless frustration at his cold remark. “If I had realized what I was getting into, realized you’d stoop to murder when we first hatched this plot—”

“Oh, come now, Mona, don’t go getting soft on me.”

“I . . . I’ve come to like old Durango. He treats me like a
real
lady.”

He laughed, put the match back in his mouth, put one hand on her shoulder. “Is that a fact! And you only a cheap whore after all.”

She winced at the epithet, tried to pull away from his hand, but he tightened his grip. “You’re hurting me.”

“I like to hurt women. It makes sex more exciting. You can play the high-class, elegant lady around old naive Durango, but I know what you really are, what all women are at heart.”

Tears came to her eyes. Because of his blackmail, there was no way out. The murder meant she must keep her mouth shut. “You’re rotten, you know that? Why did you send the note? Do you know what’s happened to Bandit?”

His clammy hand stroked her shoulder, her neck. “You, the druggist’s daughter, gave me information that helped me poison the one person who stood in the way of your being Señora Durango, and you call me rotten?”

“I mentioned it when I saw you chewing a match. I had no idea you’d use the knowledge to—”

“But after I did, you didn’t tell anyone.” His fingers tightened. “Admit it, Mona. All you could think of was being the rich
señora
of this ranch. Who would believe you were innocent if I implicated you? I came to tell you I think you can forget about that Texan and the girl ever returning.”

Bandit had run away with the girl. She closed her eyes against the pain of the idea, shrank from the stroking hand. “So now what happens?” she asked dully. “I marry Durango and continue to be your mistress?”

“
Sí
, it appears I’ll have to settle for that. I’ve spent a quarter of a century trying to get my hands on the Falcon fortune. If you only knew what lengths I went to, but all in vain. If you marry old Durango, and he gets killed or dies, then you could marry anyone you chose. Your choice, of course, will be me, and I will control the Durango fortune through you.”

She whirled on him. “No! I won’t be a party to any more murders! I’ll take Mrs. Wentworth and go back to New Orleans!”

Her turning around had moved his hand from her neck to her throat. His fingers shifted to stroke the swell of her breasts in the low-cut dress. “Where is our old whorehouse madam tonight?”