Authors: Georgina Gentry
Colt (25 page)
Colt used his last bit of strength to pull himself up into the saddle and now he hung onto the horse's neck, urging it on. How he wished he had Rascal under him. He had no faith in these fancy thoroughbreds, but he knew if Rascal got a chance to get loose from the Indians' picket line, the little mustang would head back to the fort.
The escaping Cavalry rode away from the roaring flames that had the Comanche temporarily confused. Colt joined them. They moved more slowly than Colt would have wished, but they had wounded men and limping horses and he knew they could not ride much faster. He reined in next to the half-conscious captain, who was reeling in his saddle. Colt only hoped they could make it back to the fort before the officer bled to death. They were expected back at the fort by midmorning, but when they didn't arrive, the major might send out a search party.
As dawn came over the horizon with great paint splashes of pink and gold, Colt kept looking behind him. If the Comanches were to give pursuit, the tattered Cavalry patrol would be sitting ducks out here on the bald prairie. Every muscle in his body ached and the men riding with him weren't much better off. Some of them were barely conscious and hanging onto their saddles. If one fell, Colt wasn't sure any of them had enough strength to get the man back in his saddle.
He licked his cracked lips and thought of water, cool water, enough to splash and drink and drink and drink. He must not think of that, he thought, keeping his stumbling horse moving forward. It was getting much more difficult to keep the captain in the saddle, and the exhausted horse might go down anytime. Then they would be in worse trouble than before.
A morning breeze came up, but it was not cool. It felt more like a fire against his blistered skin. That made him think of Sarge, and he shook his head to cut off the sound he heard in his brain of screaming. Would he never stop hearing that sound?
The captain groaned again, and Colt patted his shoulder, smelling the blood-soaked shirt the officer wore. “It's okay, sir. We're almost home. We'll be there soon.”
He was lying and he knew it. As slow as they were moving and as thirsty as men and horses all were, none of them might make it back, even if the Comanches didn't come after them.
All he could do was keep riding and praying and maybeâmaybeâsome miracle might happen. It wasn't too likely, but maybe God would be merciful.
Chapter 16
It was just a little after dawn when Hannah fed her little son, and they walked over to open the sutler's store. She had made the tea cakes and cookies for Miss Olivia's tea, and last night, the captain's aunt, under a Cavalry escort, had taken the stage to Galveston to catch a ship back to Boston.
She had barely opened the store and was dusting shelves and putting out new stock when a big, red-faced man in overalls came in the front door and took off his straw hat awkwardly.
“Excuse me, miss, is the owner around?”
She smiled at him. “No, I'm working here now. May I help you?”
“My sons usually bring our stuff in and deal with Mr. Hutton, but you're a heap purtier.” He grinned and she noted he was missing a front tooth.
“Well, thank you. You've got something to trade or sell?”
He nodded. “Fresh eggs. I got a purty good-sized farm east of here. My boys and I farm it.”
“I'm sure Mr. Hutton will be happy to get fresh eggs.” She came out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. “You've got sons?”
“Yes, ma'am. Five all growed up. My wife died four years ago.”
She took the basket of eggs from him. “I've got a son, too.”
Travis came out from behind the counter then, holding his wooden horse and smiling up at the big man.
The big man frowned. “Oh, yeah. We heard about you, ma'am. Everyone has. How are you doin' here at the fort?”
She put the eggs on the counter, went over to scoop up Travis. “All right, I reckon.” She wasn't about to admit how hostile the atmosphere had been. “I'll give you a credit for the eggs, Mr.â?”
“Holbrinker. And you are?”
“Mrs. Brownley.”
“That'll be good, ma'am, and I'll pick up some stuff I'm about out of, like coffee and tobacco.”
She took out the ledger book and checked to see what the owner usually paid for eggs and wrote in a credit for the farmer.
“Don't seem to be many soldiers out this morning.” He paused and looked out the front window.
“Most are out on patrol,” Hannah answered as he brought his purchases over and she wrote them down. “They're supposed to be in sometime this morning, I hear.” She tried not to worry as she wrapped the package.
“Ma'am, you got a husband or a sweetheart with that patrol?”
She shook her head. “No.” She couldn't call Colt a sweetheart, not when he was engaged to another woman.
He brightened and gave her a big, shy smile. “I reckon I didn't know what I was missin', sendin' the boys in for supplies. Thank you kindly, ma'am.” He took the package and nodded to her, turned toward the door.
“You're welcome,” she sighed, her gaze on the big clock hanging over the cash register. “Come back anytime.”
“I surely will do that.” He nodded to her again and put on his straw hat as he went out the door.
She watched him drive away. He had a good-quality wagon, pulled by two fat horses. His farm must be prospering.
She let Travis play on the floor while she cleaned and dusted shelves, put up new merchandise.
Two women came in, gave her cold looks although she tried to be friendly. They left without buying anything.
Hannah watched the hands of the clock move toward noon. Then she went and looked out the window. The street was empty, save for two soldiers on horseback riding toward the stable. The patrol should be back soon unless they had run into trouble. She didn't even want to think about that.
Hannah put up her
CLOSED FOR LUNCH
sign, took her little son home, and fixed him a sandwich. She tried to eat a little herself, but she was getting too worried to eat.
CLOSED FOR LUNCH
sign, took her little son home, and fixed him a sandwich. She tried to eat a little herself, but she was getting too worried to eat.
She needed to get back to the store. Taking Travis by the hand, they walked toward the store.
“Soldier Colt?” he said.
“Not yet home.” She smiled down at him with a cheeriness she didn't feel. Inside the store, she put him down on a pallet behind the counter to nap and decided to clean the big window. It was covered with fingerprints and fly specks. She got a rag and some soapy water and set to work. Olivia rode by in her fine buggy, saw her, scowled, and quickly turned her face away. Hannah sighed. She needed to get away from this place, Olivia had made that very clear, and it was painful being in love with a man who was engaged. Even though he claimed he wasn't, she knew Olivia was determined to have him and her father could decide whether Colt was promoted or not. That was a pretty powerful weapon.
In early afternoon, a soldier came in to buy some tobacco.
“Afternoon, ma'am.” He took off his hat.
“Afternoon, soldier. Anyone heard anything of the patrol yet?”
He shook his head. “They're overdue.”
How well she knew that. She sold the man the tobacco. “You think they'll be sending out a patrol looking for them?”
“Hard to tell, ma'am. Gossip is if they don't turn up by late afternoon, the major will send out a patrol. Can't afford to send too many and leave the fort open to attack.”
“Yes, I know.”
Travis woke up as the soldier left, and she played with him a little and let him help her stack boxes of dried apples and dry goods on the lower shelves. The day seemed intolerably long.
She kept looking up at the clock. Something had to be wrong or the patrol would have been back by now. She tried not to picture Colt dead or wounded, or even worse, a captive of the Comanches. That thought made her shudder.
Finally, it was five o'clock. She put up the CLOSED sign, picked up her child, and started out into the street. A soldier ran down the street yelling, “They're comin'! They're comin'! Somebody find Doc.”
Oh my God, something must be terribly wrong. Clutching her little son, Hannah joined the crowd coming out of buildings and gathering near the major's office. She saw Doc come out of the infirmary, his bald head shining, and he was clutching a medical bag.
Holding her breath, she looked toward the gate. A shocked sigh went up around her as the patrol limped in, and a sorry sight it was. Men were reeling in their saddles, covered with dust and blood. Horses looked lathered and exhausted. Hannah did a silent count, realized some were missing. However she only had eyes for one man. Her gaze traveled quickly from one bloody, disheveled man to the next until she saw Colt dismount and drag the unconscious captain from his horse. She cried out with relief and started to run toward him, but then Olivia came out of her father's office and raced to Colt, threw her arms around him.
“Oh, my darling Colton! What happened?”
She couldn't hear any more as people crowded around, helping the soldiers and asking questions. The major strode out of his office, looking grim.
Doc shouldered his way through the crowd. “Get back! Dag nab it, get back! Some of you soldiers, get me some stretchers!”
Hannah stood watching the bloodied Colt help put the captain on a stretcher, and then he went into the major's office with Olivia still hanging onto him and crying uncontrollably.
Doc spotted her in the crowd then. “You, Hannah, I'm going to need all the help I can get.”
“Yes, Doc.” She handed little Travis over to the Indian servant, Maria, and ran over to help. The captain looked pale and breathed shallowly. Other men were dismounting and limping toward the infirmary.
She forgot about Colt then. These wounded men needed her help, and she followed Doc into the infirmary and helped men into bunks, began to wash the blood and the dirt from strained faces.
“It's all right, soldier. We'll take care of you now.”
“Comanches,” one whispered as she put a cold rag on his fevered forehead. “Comanches ambushed us, lost a lot of men.”
“It's okay. Don't think about that. Here, let me get you some water.”
Someone in another bed was calling for water.
Hannah got up and filled a pitcher, went from man to man, giving them water. Most of them drank and drank and drank. One of them called faintly for water and Hannah started toward him, but Doc frowned and shook his head. Then she saw why: belly wound. There was nothing to be done for this soldier; he was barely alive.
Still Hannah wet a cloth and wiped his cracked lips and dirty face, singing softly to him until he closed his eyes and smiled.
“My mama used to sing that song,” he whispered, and then he died.
She must not break down; there wasn't time for that luxury. She pulled the sheet up over the boy's tired face and went to help Doc, who was bandaging the captain. She knelt by him and took his hand. His handsome face was almost unrecognizable with dirt and blood.
“My fault,” he whispered. “Too green. Led them into an ambush... .”
“Don't talk,” Doc admonished. “You can give a report later, Captain.”
The officer continued to mumble incoherently as Hannah bathed his face and looked over at Doc.
He frowned. “I don't know,” he whispered. “He's lost a lot of blood and I don't have much in the way of medical supplies. See to the others, Hannah.”
She checked on the ones less hurt, bandaging heads, putting arms in slings. Then she started a pot of hot broth because men were crying out for food.
It took her over an hour before she got the soup around to everyone, and Doc sat down in a chair near her and sighed. “I've done everything I can do. Now it's up to God.”
It was turning dark outside. Hannah thought about her child, but there were so many needs here.
The captain moaned again, and seemed to be having a nightmare or delirium. She knelt by his bed and took his hand. “It's all right, Captain. You're safe now.”
His curly light hair was plastered to his head with sweat and he quieted. “Sarge,” he whispered. “Poor Sarge.”
“What about Sarge?” she whispered and wiped his pale face with a cold cloth.
“My fault, mine. Led them into an ambush.”
“Take it easy, Captain.” She held his hand and stroked his fevered brow.
“... Lieutenant killed him,” he muttered.
She didn't know what he was talking about, but if it were about Colt, it might be important. “Killed who?” she whispered.
“Sarge. He killed Sarge.... Indians had him.”
She winced.
Oh, my God.
“Just rest, Captain. Think about Boston; think about going back there where it's cool and there's civilization and codfish dinners and lobsters.”
Oh, my God.
“Just rest, Captain. Think about Boston; think about going back there where it's cool and there's civilization and codfish dinners and lobsters.”
Doc walked over just then, and Hannah looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
Doc sighed and shook his head.
Captain Van Smyth smiled in his sleep and then drifted off again, still holding onto Hannah's hand. Gradually he relaxed and she tucked his hand under the covers. Right now, he looked like a sad, dying little boy with light ringlets of hair plastered against his sweating forehead, and she couldn't hate him.
Just then, the major, Colt, and Olivia came in, Olivia still clutching Colt's arm possessively. Hannah tried not to look at them as they went from bed to bed. She turned to Doc. “Can I go now? My little boyâ?”
“Sure, you've worked hard and there's nothing else you can do. I can use some help in the morning, though.”
“I'll be here,” Hannah promised. She thought she felt Colt's gaze on her, but she didn't look at him as she turned and left the infirmary, went back to her cabin and her child.
She fed Travis and put him to bed, went to bed herself, but she could not sleep. She kept seeing the exhausted, haunted eyes of Colt as he helped lift the captain down from the horse. Something terrible had happened out there on the plains, something too horrible to imagine, but she had lived among the Comanches for almost four years and she knew their savage ways. The captain had told her enough to guess.
It was a hot night and all her windows were open, but there wasn't much breeze. What there was felt like the breath of the devil, hot as a branding iron across her skin and sheer nightdress. In her mind, she saw Colt in Olivia's arms and cursed herself because she could not forget him. He did not belong to her and never had, but she could not forget his smoldering kiss that one night.
It must be almost midnight or even later. The post was quiet. She got up to go into the kitchen and get a dipperful of water. From her window, she saw the lights in the infirmary on. Maybe she should go help Doc. Then she remembered that her child was asleep and she could not leave him alone. She might get a little more air through the house if she opened the front door. She opened it, then realized there was a man sitting in the shadows on her front step. Hannah started to slam the door, but then he turned and the moonlight half lit his strained face.
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