Authors: William W. Johnstone

A Good Day to Die (22 page)

BOOK: A Good Day to Die

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He spoke excellent English. His and Lorena's English was a lot better than Sam's smattering of Spanish.

“The pleasure is all mine, seÃ±or,” said Sam.

“A sublime thrill, Lorena, no?” Diego murmured.

“No.” Lorena shrugged, taking a sip of brandy, content for now to let Diego do the talking.

“You must forgive my father Don Eduardo for not being here to greet you in person. A slight indisposition has confined him to his bedchamber, alas,” Diego said.

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Sam said.

“Not at all, thank you. I am sure he will make a full recovery presently.”

Presently? Most likely as soon as I leave,
thought Sam, remembering the Don hated Anglos.

In the assumption that all Anglos were eager to rob him of his vast holdings, Don Eduardo was far from mistaken. His ownership, well documented by deeds, titles and Spanish land grants, was upheld by a small army of well-armed, hard-riding pistoleros. It was a signal mark of favor that an Anglo such as Sam Heller was even allowed under the Castillo roof.

Sam had rendered the family several important services in the past and might again in future, so the patriarch allowed him into the hacienda, while shunning direct contact with him, letting such encounters be carried out by his son and daughter-in-law.

“SeÃ±ora Castillo,” Sam said, “I regret we're not meeting under happier circumstances.”

“Always a happiness to host a friend of Rancho Grande,” Lorena said diffidently. “We saw your arrival through the window. The young one who was with you, who is she?”

“A friend, Lydia Fisher. A brave girl.” Sam briefly outlined the circumstances that had thrown them together on the plateau and afterward. Diego smiled politely throughout his narrative. Lorena alternated puffs on her slim dark cigarillo with sips of brandy.

“A most remarkable account,” Diego said when Sam had finished. “Yes, remarkable indeed.”

“And every word of it is true,” Sam said.

“Oh, I don't doubt that you crossed paths with some Comanche bravos. Since the end of the great war between your North and South, the savages have become emboldened, once more venturing on their old raiding trails. We have heard of packs of them striking out on the Llano. Some band or two may even be in the county, but surely not in the numbers you claim.”

“Looks like the Rancho's getting ready to fightâand a good thing, too,” Sam commented.

“That is none of my doing, I assure you. My father Don Eduardo has a long memory. The days of his adventurous youth, when the Comanche often tried their strength against the ranchero, is still fresh in his mind. He takes the path of greater caution. It was his order that the ranch be made ready in case of attack.” Diego made a show of smiling tolerantly, as if amused and indulgent of the oldster's foibles. “In all honesty, I confess I do not share his alarm and in his place I would have done differently.”

“I thought you might feel that way. Seeing is believing.” Sam set the gun case flat on a drum-shaped side table to free his hands and unrolled the dark garment he'd brought with him, holding an end in both hands and letting it fall free in front of him. It smelled of sweat, smoke, and blood. “Take a look.”

Diego's finely formed nostrils quivered in delicate disgust, expressing repugnance. Fascinated, Lorena moved closer for a better look. “What is it?”

“It belonged to the Comanche known as Black Robe. I took it off his dead body not long ago. He took it off a priest he killed. The story of how he got it is well known throughout the West. I reckon word of it might even have reached inside Rancho Grande,” Sam said dryly.

The macabre trophy, with its elaborate beadwork, fringe, and other trimmings, was a masterpiece of barbaric splendor. His pose of supercilious hauteur temporarily forgotten, Diego stared at it despite himself. Lorena eyed it with awe and unease.

“If you don't believe me, ask Vasquez or any of the vaquerosâI'm sure they know the story. They'll tell you that Black Robe is the lieutenant of Red Hand, the fiercest Comanche war chief in the territory. Red Hand, Mano Rojo. I'm sure you've heard of him.”

Wide-eyed, lips parted, Lorena nodded in agreement. Diego had a worried look; a little twitch fired off in the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it is better for us to be prepared,” he reluctantly conceded. “Though I find it hard to credit that even Mano Rojo would be so foolish as to try his strength against ours.”

Gaining confidence as he spoke, he continued. “Let them come! They will break against the stone of our walls and the fire of our guns!”

“I'm sure,” Sam said. “And now that I've said my piece, I'll be on my way.”

“You're leaving? Where will you go?” Diego asked, surprised.

“I've done my bit here. I'm going to town. Hangtree's got to be warned that Red Hand and his Comanches are coming.”

“Better to stay, safe behind the walls of the ranchero,” Lorena said.

“Gracias, but if I don't spread the word, who will?” Sam said.

Lorena shrugged. “You are loco, gringo.”

“Mebbe,” Sam said, grinning. “I've kept one step ahead of the braves all day. With any luck, I'll stay that way. I'd like to ask a favor, though.”

“With the service you have rendered us, we are hardly in a position to refuse,” Diego said with ill grace.

“My horse Dusty is plumb worn out. I'd like to borrow a pair of horses, fast ones.”

“Why two?” Diego asked.

“If I get chased, a fresh horse might give me that extra burst of speed to get clear.”

“It shall be done as you wish.”

“The girl, Lydia ... I can't take her with me. I'd be much obliged if you'd let her stay here until the danger is over.”

“
Claro
, SeÃ±or Heller. Of course,” Lorena said quickly. “I will look after her until you return.”

“Can't ask more than that. Thanks. I've got to warn you, though, she's a handful.”

Lorena's thin smile showed her confidence in managing the girl.

Diego fidgeted, restless. “I must confer with the segundo to make sure our defenses are in order. Lorena will see to the horses and anything else you might need, SeÃ±or Heller. Your service to Rancho Grande is most appreciated and will not be forgotten. Now if you will excuse me, I will take my leave.”

“Many thanks, seÃ±or,” said Sam.

Diego hurried across the room, into the corridor, and out of sight.

“I'll keep this to convince any other Doubting Thomases,” Sam said, rolling up Black Robe's cape. He picked up his gun case off the drum table, holding it by the suitcase-style handle. “I ain't had much to eat today. It would be a kindness if the cook could fix me up a cut of beef between two slices of bread.”

“I think we can do better than that,” Lorena said.

“That's all I want. I want to travel light, not be weighed down.”

“Come with me.”

They went out into the corridor. “I got to tell the girl I'm going. From what I've seen of her, she won't much care for staying behind,” Sam said.

“She would like losing that yellow hair of hers to a Comanche scalp hunter even less.” Lorena led Sam to the kitchen, where she gave orders to the cook. “I'll go tell one of the boys to get the horses ready.” She turned and left the kitchen.

Lydia sat at a wooden table in a side room of the kitchen, picking idly at her plate. It was loaded with food, but she hadn't taken more than a few bites. A big glass of milk seemed equally untouched. Sam didn't blame her, he hated milk. Lydia's rifle stood propped upright in the corner.

She looked troubled by Sam's leave-taking. “I don't want to stay here, let me go with you.”

Sam shook his head. “You've risked your neck enough for one day.”

“I don't want to be alone with strangersâ”

“LorenaâSeÃ±ora Castilloâwill look after you.”

“She's a stranger. Anyhow, I don't need looking after.”

“I believe it. In that case, you look after her.”

“Men!” she said scornfully, wise for her age.

“Now don't go getting any ideas,” Sam cautioned.

“You like her, don't you?”

“She's a friendly acquaintance, that's all.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“I like lots of folks. I like you,” he pointed out.

“Sure, but not in the same way,” Lydia said.

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the cook, a stout moonfaced woman. She handed Sam a brown paper bag with a couple sandwiches inside. He thanked her and she went back to her chores.

“Got to be moving on, Lydia. I'll be back for you when the Comanche is whupped,” Sam said.

Lydia sat with elbows on the table, tight little fists pressed against the side of her head, pouting.

“Ain't you gonna say good-bye?” Sam asked lightly. “No? Well, that's all right. We sure had ourselves some ride, coming off the plateau and across the flat. You done real good. Your folks would be proud of you. I'm proud of you. Proud to know you.

“See you soon,” he said, starting toward the corridor.

“Mister Yank!” she called after him. He turned, looking back.

“Take care of yourself,” Lydia said.

“I'll do that,” Sam said, smiling. “And, Lydiaâdon't be too hard on the seÃ±ora. For a great grand lady, she's ain't so bad.”

He went into the corridor. Lorena came into view at the far end of the passageway. He went to her. Rounding a corner, they entered a narrow hallway connecting two corridors. It was empty, with no doors or windows.

Lorena turned, leaning into him, pressing herself against him. His hands were full, but he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him.

They had an understanding. Soon after they'd first met, they both knew that eventually they'd get together in a physical way. Lorena's position as honored widow of the beloved dead elder son and the tight supervision under which Don Eduardo kept all females under his roof had thus far prevented Sam and Lorena from consummating their relationship. The wanting heat of desire kept Sam on the boil on the few occasions they were thrown together, but he was careful to hide his true feelings from prying eyes, keeping strong passions hidden behind an easygoing manner.

Crushing her red-lipped mouth with his, Sam kissed her hard. She kissed him back, putting her whole body into it. Her mouth was warm, moist, and spicy-sweet. He tasted it, tongue probing, demanding.

Sam's senses reeled. Reluctantly he disengaged, easing out of the embrace.

Lorena stepped back, her eyes shining. Moist lips parted, they quirked upward at the corners in a secret smile. “Now you know what you are fighting for,” she murmured. “Stay alive, hombre.”

“That's a promise,” he said, somewhat out of breath.

“Otherwise you will leave two women unhappy.”

“Two? How so?” he asked, puzzled.

“Me and your little friend.”

“Lydia? Don't be silly,” Sam scoffed. “She's only a kid!”

“They grow up fast at that age. I did.”

“She's done enough growing up for one day. Look after her, will you? This is a big place and I'd hate to see her get lost. Especially if the Comanches come.”

“Stay with us. We can use your gun.”

Sam shook his head. “I've got to warn Hangtown.”

“Why?” Lorena asked.

“Why? So they can protect themselves.”

“They're Rebels, you're a Yankee. They hate you, you told me so. Is this not true?”

“Some of 'em ain't so bad. Besides, I've had my fill of seeing innocent folks massacred today.”

“Strange hombre!” Lorena marveled, shaking her head in mixed exasperation and wonderment.

Enterering the opposite corridor, she looked cool and composed. Sam's forehead was beaded with sweat. He wiped it on his sleeve before entering the corridor.

They turned left, the corridor taking them to a side door. Lorena opened it and they stepped outside, into the sunlight. The door opened on the east side of the hacienda.

A vaquero waited patiently nearby, sitting his horse. A lead rope hitched around his saddle horn trailed behind him to a string of three horses, all saddled and ready to go.

Sam knew him: Latigo, a pistolero with plenty of sand.

“Latigo will go with you,” Lorena said.

BOOK: A Good Day to Die

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