Texas Drive (17 page)

His only hope was that Conlee’s men, used to getting what they wanted when they wanted, might tire of the chase. But Conlee was supposed
to be a man who hated, above all else, to be challenged on what he believed to be his own ground. Ted had dared to challenge him. What price would he have to pay?

TED THUNDERED DOWN
the long ridge, keeping just below the crest as he angled across. He had a big enough lead that he just might be able to double back on them. But he had to reach a gap in the hills before Conlee’s men made the top of the rise. By cutting the angle, he hoped to pick up a hundred or two hundred yards. It would be close, but it might work.

He lashed at the cow pony with the reins. Glancing back every twenty yards, he strained to see through the Kansas night. The steady rhythm of his horse seemed almost too good to be true. The raiders were riding much larger horses, more like cavalry chargers. They had longer strides, and probably greater speed, over the short haul, but the cow ponies were bred for endurance and maneuverability. If he could keep enough distance between
them to keep from getting a bullet in the back, Ted knew he could eventually outrun them.

But it was a large if, and the odds were long. And he was only too aware that Conlee and his men knew the terrain. He was just passing through. As a stranger, he might run in circles, for all he would know. That meant he had to keep the guerrillas in sight long enough to be certain they hadn’t outflanked him somehow.

For a brief moment, he thought about running straight for the O’Hara ranch, but he knew it was too close. If he led Conlee and his men there, the momentary relief of having two extra guns on his side might save his skin, but it would doom the O’Haras. Sooner or later, unless Ted killed him first, the O’Haras would be made to pay. And Ted had just gotten a firsthand look at the brutal coin of Conlee’s realm. There was no way in hell he would subject Millie to the risk of that kind of savagery.

Ted dipped lower on the slope. He could sense the ground beginning to flatten, but he couldn’t see well enough in the dark to know whether he was getting close enough to a break between hills to cut through and reverse his course. So far, there was no sign of the guerrillas on the long ridge. He was tempted to rein in, to listen. But if they were on his tail, the delay might cost him every yard he’d already gained. He couldn’t recover quickly enough to make it up again. It was just too much to ask the pony to do.

Swinging slowly right, still on the flat bottomland, he narrowly missed a shallow brook, the pony leaping at the last second. The sudden jump almost threw him, and he had to lean forward to hang on. He cut along the stream on the far side, and it led him through a narrow cut between two hills. A stand of trees suddenly materialized, as if it had grown in seconds, and he skirted it closely, then wheeled the pony in a tight turn.

Ted dropped from the saddle and ran into the trees, pulling the horse after him. He heard hoofbeats approaching as he ducked into the small clump of trees already beginning to lose their leaves. The horse tried to back away, and Ted nearly lost his grip. The thunder of the hooves grew louder as he ducked down behind a small clump of brush.

It sounded as if the raiders were going to ride right over him. They roared past within yards of the trees, and he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable shout. But it didn’t come. The thunder slowly faded, dying away like a flash flood in a dry gully.

Then it was gone.

Ted let his breath out slowly, then sank to the ground. His hands trembled, and his lower lip shook uncontrollably with every inhale. He flattened one palm over his chest to hold his bones in place. It felt as if they were trying to pound their way through his skin. His heart beat in his ears for a few moments, then that thunder, too, faded away.

He got to his feet, still shaking, and his legs threatened to give way as he tried to get a boot into the stirrup. It was closer than he thought, closer than he wanted. And he didn’t know where the hell to go.

He could ride the flat hills all night, but then what? Where would he go? What could he possibly do? Conlee had nearly three dozen men. Even if he allowed for the man Conlee stabbed at the camp, and the hapless Roy, the numbers were overwhelming. Throw in the three men he’d shot, two of whom were probably dead, the other possibly, and he still had more than thirty. He couldn’t do it, and he knew it.

The only way for him to win was to get to Conlee. He knew that if he could somehow sever the head, the body would die. Half of the guerrillas were bound to Conlee by fear, the other half because they looked up to him. Deny them that, take away the fear, and they had no reason to stay.

Or did they?

But he’d never live long enough to find out, if he tried to pare them down a man or two at a time. This nightmare of an army was not a stick he could whittle away a curl at a time. They hadn’t yet made the knife that could do that. You took an ax, and you chopped it quickly, cleanly, and unmercifully. Or you walked away and forgot about it. There was no middle ground.

Ted glanced at the stars to get his bearings. It
was well after midnight, and he was exhausted. He felt as if he were getting close, but he couldn’t do it without sleep. And he needed to talk it through. He needed Cookie, someone he could bounce things off until he could sort out the pieces. A mistake now would be costly, maybe even fatal. But there was just so much time. He felt as if a huge, invisible clock ticked off the seconds, and that some deadline drew closer and closer. He didn’t know how much time he had, he knew only that it wasn’t enough.

Goading the pony with his spurs, he rode back along the shallow creek, letting the raiders chase their own shadows. For the moment, every stride of their horses took them farther and farther astray. He wished it also bought him time, but that was too much to ask of fate.

He rode like a man half asleep, letting the pony have its head. Every so often, he had to make a choice, and he chose cautiously, staying as far away from the camp as he could, making a broad circle back toward the O’Hara farm.

It was nearly sunup when he broke over the last rise. The first red lip of the sun curled in an inverted sneer over the horizon, flooding the endless sea of grass with scarlet. It grew brighter, and the color leached away as the sun rose. And it seemed to shrink, as if it were contracting into itself, curling into a tighter ball like an armadillo to protect itself from something Ted neither saw nor sensed.

The farm spread put below him, like a postcard he’d seen once in a New Orleans store. Then that unreality faded, too, and the grass turned pale green as the sun came the rest of the way up. He rode down the last hill slowly, trying to fit the scattered pieces of the night together in some way that made sense. He had seen the brutality of Ralph Conlee firsthand. It did nothing to reassure him. The man seemed to have no weakness, because he seemed to have no heart and no soul.

Ted kept thinking of Jacob Quitman, and wondering what the old man would say if he had witnessed the things that Ted had seen that night. He found it hard to believe that Jacob would not be the first man in line to spit on Conlee’s corpse.

Or would he?

Maybe that was what made Jacob so special. Maybe the ability to look beyond the gore and the rendered flesh was what gave Jacob his faith. But Ted couldn’t look that far. There was too much blood for that, and too much flesh ripped bleeding from the bone. No man should have to forgive that kind of savagery, he thought.

“I sure as hell don’t,” he whispered as he turned into the narrow, tree-lined lane leading to Kevin O’Hara’s farm.

Cookie was up already. The old man sat by the fire, a pot of coffee just beginning to burble. He watched Ted quietly, waiting for him to dismount before getting to his feet.

“Thought you might not be coming back, Teddy.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean?”

“You like the rest of them, Cookie? You lost your faith in me, too?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you damn well know it. I was afraid maybe you bit off a mite too much to swallow. A meal like that has a way of turnin’ on a feller, can bite him back if he don’t look out.”

“You’re right about that. Conlee would chew me up and spit me out, if I give him the chance.”

“How you intend to avoid it?”

“I don’t know. I wish to hell I …”

A screen door banged, and he turned toward the house without finishing his thought. Millie O’Hara stood on the porch, drying her hands on her apron. She saw him and waved. He waved back, and she stepped off the porch. “You want some breakfast?” she called.

Ted shook his head. “No thanks, ma’am.”

She walked toward the wagon, and Ted watched her closely. She was really quite pretty, but did nothing to flaunt it. She dressed simply and took no pains to color her face. A thin white ribbon holding her hair in place was the only concession to vanity.

When she was close enough, she stuck out a hand, and Ted grasped it. Her grip was firm, the
hand strong without being aggressive. Then he realized it was how the woman herself had to be, in order to survive out here.

“You look like you had a long night,” she said. Her smile was warm, but muted. He nodded, trying to return it, but what he’d been through stole it from his lips before it had fully formed.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse,” Ted said. He thought about asking Millie if she knew the farm Conlee had razed, but that inevitably would lead her to ask questions, questions he didn’t want to answer, especially not for a woman.

“Margaret was asking for you.”

“How is she?”

“Still terrified. She’s talked a little, but not much. She hasn’t really told me what happened, but I can guess. The poor child, it must have been hell for her.”

“Yeah, well …” He stopped because he didn’t really know what to say. He looked at her a long moment, then turned to look at the sun. Without turning back to her, he asked, “Is Kevin up?”

“Just finishing breakfast. You can come in for coffee, if you like.”

“No thanks. I guess I’ll just try some of Cookie’s java. It’s an acquired taste, but it kind of ruins you for anything else.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

She smiled, and Ted shook his head. “I’d be lyin’ if I agreed with that, Mrs. O’Hara.”

“Well, if you change your mind …”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll just get a little sleep.”

“You’re welcome to use the guest room. Margaret’s up, and she’ll be helping me put up some preserves this morning.”

“That’s alright. I been on the trail long enough, a nice rock is about all the comfort I need. Long as it’s the right size.”

“You’re really not the ruffian you pretend, Mr. Cotton. Don’t think I don’t know that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to walk back to the house, and Ted watched her quietly.

“That’s a married woman, there, Teddy. Don’t you be lookin’ at her that way. I’ll have to tell Ellie Quitman about it.”

“Cookie, you old sonofabitch, just pour me some of that coffee, will you. After I get a nap, we have to have a long talk.”

“What about, son?”

Ted didn’t answer. There was no need.

KEVIN O’HARA POUNDED
the table with a huge fist. “Jesus Christ, man,” he exploded, “what in the sweet name of Jesus were you thinkin’?”

“I didn’t have time to think, Kevin. I did what I had to do. There was no other way.”

“You bloomin’ idjit. You know what you’ve done, don’t you?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Ted said. “I’d love to hear how you would have handled it, too, while you’re at it.”

“Handled it? Is that what you did? You handled it? Oh, it’s a fine mess you’ve caused us all, Cotton. A fine mess.”

Ted watched the big farmer pace back and forth behind the table. He wanted to explain to O’Hara how badly he misunderstood Ralph Conlee, but he knew O’Hara wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t listen
because he didn’t want to hear. He was too damned scared. He knew he was scared, and he’d been scared so damned long he didn’t know how not to be.

Finally, O’Hara sighed and sat back down. “You don’t know what a hole you’ve dug, Cotton. Deep enough to bury us all, it is. And that’s a plain fact.”

Millie O’Hara sat silently through it all. She watched each man in turn during the exchange. Ted was conscious of her gaze and sensed that she wanted to speak. But there was no opening for her, none long enough for her to overcome her hesitancy.

“Kevin, I know what you think, but I’m telling you, that woman was as good as dead unless I shot that bastard. How would you have handled it? Would you have turned and ridden away? Do you really think that’s an answer?”

“It’s not an answer, no. But there doesn’t have to be one. There’s no damned question. We
know
what Conlee is like. We don’t have to consider possibilities. There
are
none.”

“You can’t turn your back on something like that, Kevin. I know I can’t anyway.”

“That’s because it’s personal for you. You have a score to settle, man. Good God, can’t you see that? It makes a difference. It makes all the difference in the world.”

“And you don’t have a score to settle, is that it? That woman’s husband doesn’t matter to you. He
was a neighbor, so what? Is that it? Are neighbors no more important than goddamned trees? Do you plant a new one every time one is cut down?”

“There is no other way.”

“Yes, Kevin, there is.” Millie spoke quietly, but her voice was razor sharp.

“This is none of your affair, Millie. Hush up.”

“None of my affair, is it. And I suppose it’s your legs they’ll be pullin’ apart when they decide to pay us a visit. You won’t mind it, either, will you. You think Rachel Higgins shouldn’t have minded. Is that what you’re trying to tell us?”

“Don’t be talkin’ about such things in front of a stranger. It’s not proper. And I’m not talkin’ to you, anyway. I’m talking to Cotton.”

“But I hear you, Kevin. I hear what you’re saying and I can’t believe my ears. We always knew it would come to this. We used to talk about it, but you didn’t want to face it. So we stopped talking about it. We pretended it didn’t happen. And when it did happen, we pretended it didn’t affect us. It was someone we didn’t like. It was someone who was too weak to survive out here. We had a thousand reasons. And now we have a thousand corpses and not one of them deserved to die.”