Bobbi Smith (2 page)

But their search was futile. They found only the charred remains of those who’d died, trapped in the burning house.

“She’s not here,” Hawk said, looking up from examining the last body they’d found. “Jessie’s not here.”

It hadn’t been an easy task, but they’d been able to identify the dead by their belongings—a belt buckle, his aunt’s wedding ring, the guns they’d been using. Hawk had found no trace of Jessie, though—neither her wedding ring nor the heart-shaped locket she always wore.

Hope grew within him, even as he agonized over what she might be suffering at the hands of her Apache captors.

“How can you be sure?” Will asked, looking around at the carnage.

“I’m sure.”

Cold-blooded fury filled Hawk as he searched the rest of the area for any tracks left by the raiding party. His own Comanche heritage tormented him. The only solace he could find was in knowing that everything he’d learned about tracking during his time in the village would help him find Jessie.

“It looks like there were ten of them, and they rode out this way.” Hawk showed Ted and Will their trail. “I’m going after them.”

“Not alone, you’re not,” Ted asserted.

“We’re going with you,” Will added.

They quickly buried the dead, then started to give chase. Though it was almost dark, Hawk didn’t even consider waiting for daylight. Every minute counted.

He had to find Jessie. Her life was at stake.

The miles seemed endless, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was saving her.

It was late on the second day of hard riding when Hawk spotted a small piece of torn cloth caught in a bramble bush. It looked like material from the dress Jessie had been wearing the day of the raid, and it gave him hope. He believed it possibly could have been ripped from the skirt of her dress as the horse she’d been riding had passed by.

The ground was rocky there. The trail was harder than ever to follow. The three men spread out, each trying to determine which direction the renegades had gone.

Ted saw her first, lying in the dirt among the rocks, her clothing torn from her, her body battered and abused. He had been about to call out to Hawk when he suddenly heard Hawk’s cry and saw him riding recklessly toward him.

“Jessie!” Ted knew he would never forget the anguish in his friend’s voice.

Hawk had doubled back to let Ted and Will know he’d found the trail again. It was then that he’d caught sight of his wife’s lifeless body.

Hawk reined in and dismounted. He ran to Jessie’s side and dropped to his knees to take her in his arms.

Ted backed away. There was nothing he could do. When he saw Will in the distance, he signaled him. Will rode in, wondering what had happened. He soon found out. They moved off to give Hawk the privacy and time he needed to mourn.

Hawk buried his beloved Jessie there.

Pain and grief and guilt filled him.

If only he’d found her sooner . . .

The need for revenge burned within him.

Nothing was going to stop him.

Nothing.

Hawk slowly got to his feet after placing the last stone upon Jessie’s grave. He looked up at Will and Ted, the expression on his face one of pure, coldblooded hatred.

“I’m going after them, and I’m not going to stop until they’re all dead. You can come with me or we can part ways here.”

Will and Ted exchanged looks, already knowing what they intended to do.

“Let’s ride,” they answered in unison.

Hawk nodded tightly, grateful for their friendship.

He took one last look at Jessie’s grave, then mounted up. He rode away, following the raiding party’s trail again.

He would not quit. He would not give up until he’d claimed his revenge.

Hawk tracked the savage killers from dawn until dusk for endless days. The three men lived off the land as they relentlessly pursued their quarry. The Apache raiders moved swiftly, riding for the Mexican border, but Hawk, Will, and Ted stayed on their trail. When they did stop, it was only long enough to rest their horses; then they were back in the saddle, tracking the Apache again.

It was late on the night of the tenth day out that the murderous raiding party settled in to sleep in a small clearing, surrounded by rocks and heavy brush. They were unaware that they were being hunted down and believed they were well shielded from sight, safe in their camp.

Hawk noticed the glow of their campfire from a good distance away. He left Will and Ted behind with the horses as he approached the Apache camp silently on foot. He wanted to scout the area before launching his attack. He knew they were outnumbered, so their attack had to be fast and deadly.

Hawk carefully moved in close to the site. He hid in the rocks to get a good look at the renegades. There were ten warriors, just as he’d thought, and he could see that they were armed with rifles. Only one warrior was keeping watch. The others had bedded down for the night.

Moving silently and swiftly back off into the darkness, Hawk returned to Will and Ted and told them what he’d found.

“This isn’t going to be easy, but I don’t think we’ll have a better chance.”

“I’m ready,” Ted said, eager to take their revenge.

“Will?”

Will nodded. “How do you want to do this?”

“There’s only one guard. I’ll go in first. As soon as I’ve taken care of him, we’ll attack the campsite full force. We’ll be able to take them by surprise, so that will help.”

Will and Ted shared a tense look at the thought of being so outnumbered.

“Good luck,” Ted said.

“We’re going to need it,” Will added.

The three men checked and loaded their weapons. They had waited days for this moment. Memories of the dead drove them. They were ready.

Hawk moved in, knife in hand, to seek out the warrior keeping guard. He approached the camp without making a sound, using to his advantage everything he’d been taught about hunting as a youth in the Comanche village.

Hawk was tense as he closed in on the guard. His knife attack was swift, deadly, and silent. He returned to join his friends.

With the element of surprise now on their side, Hawk, Will, and Ted wasted no time. They rode at top speed into the camp. They began shooting at the warriors as they awoke and reached for their guns. The sound of the battle echoed in the night.

With deadly accuracy, Hawk claimed his revenge on the Apache. Most of the warriors were killed outright in their first assault. Only three remained alive as Hawk, Ted, and Bill charged through the camp again.

The three surviving Apache fired wildly at the horsemen as they ran for cover.

Will was hit. He fell from his horse and lay unmoving on the ground.

The gun battle continued.

Hawk and Ted pursued the fleeing warriors as they tried to disappear in the night.

Hawk’s aim was true.

So was Ted’s.

Soon the gunfire stopped; the battle was over.

Hawk and Ted rode back and quickly dismounted beside Will. They hoped he hadn’t been seriously injured, but they were too late. Will was dead.

They waited until dawn, mourning the loss of their friend. When it was light, they found a secluded spot to lay him to rest.

There was nothing more for them to do. Hawk and Ted rode back toward what was left of the Bar T.

Though Hawk had claimed his revenge, his mood was dark. Regret tore at him. If only he’d been at the ranch during the attack, he might have been able to save his family and the other ranch hands who’d died with them. Hawk knew he would bear forever the pain of not having reached Jessie in time to rescue her from her terrible fate at the hands of the raiding party.

Jessie had been his love, his life.

Now he was alone.

Dry Springs, Texas, 1870s

Deputy Thompson sought out Jim Watson at the stable in town. “Where’s Hawk Morgan? Sheriff Spiller needs to talk to him.”

“Check around back. That’s where he was the last time I saw him,” Jim told him.

The deputy made his way to the back of the building and found Hawk in the corral working with several horses.

“Hey, Thompson, what can I do for you?” Hawk called out.

“The sheriff wants to see you. You got time to go over to the office?”

Hawk was surprised by the request. The sheriff usually called on him only when there was some serious tracking be done, and he hadn’t heard of any trouble in town lately. “Sure. I’ll head over after I finish up here.”

“I’ll let him know you’re coming.” Deputy Thompson eyed one of the horses and thought he recognized the black gelding Hawk was leading docilely around the corral. “Is that Bruiser?”

“Yeah,” Hawk answered, not surprised that the deputy had recognized Bruiser. The gelding’s reputation was known far and wide around Dry Springs. “I bought him from Sam Roth a few days ago.”

“And you got him this tame already?” Thompson had heard the stories from Roth about how stubborn the powerful gelding was and what a rough time he had had trying to break him himself. That was how the animal had gotten the name Bruiser.

“Nothing to it.”

“Yeah, right.” The deputy knew better. There had been a lot to it.

Deputy Thompson left, impressed anew by Hawk’s talent with horses. He’d always heard Hawk was good, but he’d never known just how good until now.

It was about half an hour later when Hawk reached the sheriff’s office and went in.

Sheriff Spiller looked up from his desk. He was glad to see Morgan coming through the door.

“It’s about time you got here,” the lawman said with a smile.

“I came as fast as I could,” Hawk said. “Has there been trouble in town?”

“No, no trouble here. But there is something I want to talk to you about.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Hawk sat down.

Sheriff Spiller went on, “I got a letter from a friend of mine—Jack Stockton. He owns the Lazy S Ranch over near San Miguel.”

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Most everybody has.” Spiller knew the Lazy S was very successful. “Well, Jack’s got trouble. He’s got some rustling going on, and he’s had no luck catching the varmints so far. As good as you are at tracking, I thought you might be able to help him out.”

Hawk was silent, but only for a moment. He’d been in Dry Springs for several years. He had made some friends in town, but lately he’d had the feeling that it was time for him to move on. “When would Stockton want me to start?”

“You want the job?”

“Yes.”

Spiller nodded. “I’m sure Jack would want you to start as soon as you can get there.”

“All right,” Hawk said, his decision made. “I’ll have to let Jim know I’m leaving.”

“When do you want to head out?”

“How’s the day after tomorrow?”

“Good. Real good. If you’re going to leave Dry Springs that soon, there’s no point in my writing Jack back. I’ll just give you a letter to take with you. He’ll understand.”

“Thanks.”

Hawk stood up to go. The two men shook hands.

“Hawk . . .”

Hawk looked at his friend.

“Jack’s seriously worried about what’s been going on there or he wouldn’t have contacted me. I get the feeling there may be more to this than just rustling. The job could be dangerous. Be careful—real careful,” Spiller cautioned.

“I will,” Hawk said, appreciating his concern.

He left the office. As he made his way back toward the stable, he looked around Dry Springs. He realized that with the exception of his few friends, there wouldn’t be much he’d miss about the town.

Five Days Later

The Lazy S Ranch

Outside San Miguel, Texas

“Go, Angel!” Eighteen-year-old Randi Stockton urged her palomino on to an even faster pace.

Randi knew it was reckless to ride at such a breakneck speed, but she didn’t care. She’d just caught a glimpse of the fabled phantom stallion silhouetted on a rise in the distance, and she was determined to give chase.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen the elusive horse. Legend had it that the magnificent white stallion had belonged to a fierce Comanche warrior who had been killed during a raid, and that the stallion had been running free ever since. According to the tale, only the finest of warriors would ever be able to catch him, and it seemed there was truth to the story. No one had even come close in all these years.

But just because no one else had, didn’t mean Randi wasn’t going to try. And while it was true that she wasn’t a warrior in the pure sense of the word, she never hesitated to fight for what she wanted, and she wanted that horse.

Leaning low over Angel’s neck, Randi raced on in the direction the phantom had disappeared. Angel was fast—really fast. If any horse could keep pace with the stallion, she believed it would be Angel.

Randi concentrated on her quest, hoping against hope that this would be the day she’d finally catch up to him. But suddenly Angel tensed and altered her pace.

Puzzled by the change in Angel and wondering what had startled the animal, Randi glanced around.

It was then that she caught sight of another rider pursuing her.

Terror seized Randi.

The bare-chested man who was chasing her looked like a Comanche warrior.

Fear ate at her, but she fought it down. She was armed, and Angel was fast. She just hoped she could outrun the warrior.

Randi spurred Angel on.

Any thoughts of finding the phantom stallion were gone now.

All that mattered was getting away.

She had to escape.

Hawk had been on the last leg of his trip to the Lazy S Ranch when the sight of a clear-running stream had enticed him to stop for a while and cool off. His ride that morning had been a long one, and the hot summer day was dry and dusty.

Hawk had stripped off his shirt and had just started to wash up when he’d noticed a young boy on a runaway horse in the distance. Certain the youth was in trouble, he hadn’t hesitated. Hawk had mounted up on Bruiser and charged after him. He just hoped the boy didn’t get thrown or hurt before he could reach him.

Randi didn’t usually admit to being scared, but right then she was. She’d learned early in life how to take care of herself, and she could under most circumstances. Even armed as she was, though, she knew she was vulnerable, for Angel was becoming winded and her pursuer was gaining on her.