Bittner, Rosanne (9 page)

"You
awake?" he asked quietly.

Tess
swallowed. "Yes."

He
climbed inside. "Hold out your hands."

Hesitantly
she did so. Using the same knife with which he had just killed Chino, he
quickly sliced through the ropes. Then he shoved a gun into her hand.
"That's Chino's. You see me in trouble, you use it. Don't hesitate."

Tess
nodded. "Are you... going to kill
all
of them?"

"Do
you see any other way of getting out of this?"

"I'm
not sure."

"Chino
told me more men are supposed to be meeting him here. We have to get this done
and get the hell out of here. When the bodies are found, whoever is meeting
them might try coming after us. I think once we get over the border, we'll be
all right."

She
nodded. "Who are you... really?"

"My
name is John Hawkins. Come to the back of the wagon and be ready to help."

He
climbed back out, and Tess thought a moment. John Hawkins. She remembered a
woman talking about a Ranger Hawkins when she attended a meeting in El Paso for
women interested in bringing a Protestant preacher to the area, where there
were plenty of Catholic churches and missions but nothing for Protestants.
Somehow the gossip after the meeting had ended up involving the Texas Rangers,
and the woman had said that some men were a disgrace to the Rangers. It had
been Harriet Caldwell, the wife of one of the wealthiest ranchers in the area.
She'd said a heathen man like John Hawkins should not be representing the
Rangers. Later that day, when shopping, her father had nodded toward a
mean-looking man with long, black hair who'd been standing outside a saloon talking
to the town's most notorious prostitute. Her father had said, "There's
that John Hawkins. He's a real loner, they say." Tess had seen him again
in the mercantile, but she'd looked away as soon as he'd noticed her, so she
never had got a thoroughly good look at him.

She
looked out the back of the wagon, heard more voices, this time in the darkness.
John Hawkins was talking to the man on watch. She saw one of those sleeping by
the fire stir. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, looked at Chino. She could tell
he thought something did not seem right. She quickly climbed out of the wagon,
her mouth so dry from lack of water she struggled not to make a choking sound.
She nervously clutched the six-gun John had put in her hand, not sure she could
truly shoot a man point-blank if necessary.

The
test came quickly. She heard a grunt in the darkness, and only a moment later
the man at the fire darted over to Chino, probably noticing blood on the man's
shirt. "Chino!" he cried out. "He is dead! Chino is dead!"

Now
the other four were awake and scrambling for their guns. Tess saw the flash of
fire from the barrel of John's six-gun, jumped at the report. The man who had discovered
Chino fell into the fire. He began screaming, too wounded to get himself back
up. Tess's eyes widened as he just lay there burning and screaming. Another
shot rang out, and a second man went down. By then the other three were
shooting in the direction from which the shots had come and had run out of the
light of the fire so they could not be seen.

Tess
stood there, feeling helpless. Where was John Hawkins? The first man had
finally stopped screaming, and there was suddenly only silence. She was sure
John had killed the lookout, but now nothing was happening. Had John been shot?
What in God's name would she do way out here in the middle of nowhere without
him, even if she did get out of this?

She
jumped when she suddenly heard one of the three remaining men call to the other
two in Spanish, and she backed up close to the wagon, waiting, watching. The night
air seemed heavy now, close, thick. One of the others answered in Spanish, and
it was difficult to tell how close they were. She could not understand them,
but she supposed they were checking with each other to see if they were all
right, planning what they should do next.

"...Señora
..." she
heard. They were talking about her! Perhaps they thought if they could get hold
of her they could use her for some kind of bait "John Hawkins, where are
you?" she whispered. She clutched the blanket around her with one hand,
held out the gun in the other, aiming into the darkness, turning this way and
that.

Suddenly
she was grabbed from behind, and she screamed when a strong arm was wrapped
around both her arms so tightly she could not move them. She felt something warm
and hard pressed against her cheekbone, and she knew instinctively it was the
end of a recently fired handgun.

"Come
out where we can see you, Hawk, or I will kill the woman!"

It
was the Mexican Tess knew was called Henrique. The remaining two men, a Comanche
called Estano and another Mexican, stepped up beside Henrique. They exchanged
some words in Spanish, and then Estano walked around and yanked the gun from
Tess's hand. He grabbed her from Henrique and held a huge blade to her throat.

"You
must have come for the woman, whoever you are!" Estano called out with his
strong Spanish accent. "Perhaps you would like to see her head cut off!
Her neck is slender. My knife would cut through it easily!"

Tess's
blanket fell away, and she stood there trembling with terror, knowing these
were men who would do exactly as they promised. The iron blade of the knife was
pressed to her throat and she could feel it nicking her skin. Her heart pounded
harder when she heard the now-familiar deep voice behind Estano.

"Go
ahead," John said. "The minute she goes down, you'll be headless,
too."

Tess
was astounded at how quietly the man had snuck up on the remaining three men.
Henrique was breathing hard now, obviously afraid.

"Who
are you?" Estano asked carefully.

Tess
felt the knife at her throat drop away just slightly.

"I
am John Hawkins, Texas Ranger. Now, you decide whether or not you want your
head blown off!"

"No
Ranger would come all the way down here," Henrique said, standing frozen
in place.

"This
one
did."

Suddenly
Estano yanked Tess sideways, literally tossing her away. Tess heard a gunshot.
She stumbled and fell, as there came yet another shot, then a third report, a
fourth, all in rapid succession. By the time she turned and got up, Estano lay
on the ground, the knife still in his hand. The Mexican sprawled near him.
Henrique was also down. He was grasping his belly and writhing in pain. She
could not see John Hawkins.

Had
he been hit this time? Carefully she crawled over to Estano and pulled his
six-gun from its holster. She darted into the darkness then, listening. She
heard someone breathing. "Mr. Hawkins?"

She
waited, until finally his dark silhouette stumbled back into the light and
stood over Henrique. To her surprise, he leveled his six-gun at the man's head
and fired, then went to his knees, putting a hand to the side of Henrique's
head.

Tess
stepped closer. "Mr. Hawkins? Are you hurt?"

He
did not answer right away. He rocked back to rest on his heels. "Just a
little dizzy," he finally told her. "I think a bullet just creased my
skull."

Never
had Tess suffered such a maze of feelings—shock, horror, gratitude, revulsion.
John Hawkins had ruthlessly killed every man here, as far as she could tell in
the darkness. One of the bodies still lay over the fire, and the air was filled
with the sickening stench of burning flesh. In her wildest imagination she
never could have imagined the terrible things she'd seen and experienced since
these renegades first attacked her ranch. Now she was desperately in need of
help, yet perhaps John Hawkins needed her to help
him
at the moment.
"I'll look for some gauze or something," she told him. "You stay
right there. I... I have to find water first. I can't go on much longer without
water."

She
started past him but was stopped by a man who seemed to step out of nowhere.
She recognized yet another one of Chino's men, called Dade. He was holding a
six-gun, and blood covered the front of his shirt. Apparently he'd been hurt in
the first gunfight, but had recovered enough to try to get to Hawk. Tess saw
him raise his six-gun and point it at John Hawkins, who was still holding his
head, not even aware the man was there! Tess knew instantly what she had to do.
She raised the gun she was holding and fired point-blank into the man's chest.

John
looked up to see the man fall. He turned and through blurred vision saw a naked
Tess Carey stood nearby with a six-gun held in both hands, still pointed
outward. The woman had just saved his life. He'd managed to down all seven men,
but one had apparently survived long enough to try to come back at him. If not
for this redheaded woman...

Their
gazes held, both feeling a gratitude toward the other that was left unspoken
for the moment. "We have to get out of here," John finally told Tess.
He groaned, feeling warm blood trickle through his fingers as he still held his
hand to his head.

"I
don't think you can ride, Mr. Hawkins.

"Yes,
I can. Find something in the wagon to put on. I'll get my horse and get another
one for you. Can you ride?"

"Does
anyone live in Texas without knowing how to ride a horse?"

Damn,
you're something, John thought. "I suppose not." He reached back and
used the wagon to pull himself up. "This is the second damn head wound
I've had in less than a week."

"Both
bullets? You're a lucky man, Mr. Hawkins."

He
leaned over for a moment with his eyes closed. "First one was just a lump
from... Never mind. Just do what I said and let's get out of here."

Tess
felt entirely removed from her real self as she obeyed his orders. She took a
lantern that hung at the side of the wagon and carried it inside, rummaging
through the various supplies meant for trade on the coast. Inside a trunk she
found women's clothing. Warm as it was, dirty as she was, it still felt
wonderful to pull on a calico dress and cover her nakedness. She even found a
pair of drawers. She pulled those on, moving a little more quickly now. She
grabbed another dress and another pair of drawers, found a pair of high-button
shoes. She tried one on. It was a good enough fit, but it hurt to pull them
over her sore, cut feet. She would save them for later.

She
wrapped the clothes and Estano's six-gun into a blanket and tied it into a
bundle, wondering where on earth she found any strength at all. She wanted to
collapse, but she couldn't—not yet. She searched through the trunk a little
more to find a lacy slip. She ripped it up, thinking to use it for bandages.

By
the time she climbed back out of the wagon, John Hawkins was standing there
with two horses. "I had left mine saddled," he said. "Figured I
might need it to get out of here fast if something went wrong." He led the
other horse, a roan gelding, closer to her. "I found this one still
saddled. Must have belonged to the lookout." He handed out a canteen.
"Don't drink too much at first."

Blood
poured down the side of his face from the deep cut the stray bullet had dug
into the side of his head.

Tess
took the canteen. "How can you possibly ride?" she asked, uncorking
the container.

"A
man does what he has to. I know a place where we can go to rest up a couple of
days and get our strength back. I saw it on my way here. If we ride in the
river itself, it will make it harder for anyone to follow if they decide to
try. Where we're going, there is pure rock leading up to a cave. It might be..."
He grimaced. "It might be big enough to put the horses inside where they
can't be seen. I stashed some of my gear there so they wouldn't find any of my
things that show that I'm a Ranger. There are even a few Army supplies there, a
little food. We'll be all right."

Tess
gulped some of the blessed water as he spoke. She wanted to guzzle it all, but
he'd warned her not to drink too much at first, and if anyone knew about those
things, John Hawkins would. She handed back the canteen, and he took a swallow
himself and corked it. He hung it over his saddle horn. "Let's go."

"Not
until you let me tie something around your head to slow the bleeding."

"Don't
worry about me."

"I'm
not—not personally, anyway. I need you to show me the way home. What would I do
out here if you passed out on me or died from loss of blood? I wouldn't even
know how to find that cave you were talking about."

His
eyebrows arched in surprise at her authoritative attitude. The average white
woman would probably have fainted dead away by now, or would certainly be
crying and blubbering. He suspected this was one of those women who under
normal circumstances took the bull by the horns and quickly informed a man who
was boss. The little viper probably would have found a way out of this
eventually even without his help.

"I
don't think I need to guess that you might have some whiskey in your supplies,
so get some out," she ordered, "and I'll pour some over that wound
and wrap it."

John
sighed and turned to fish around in one of his saddlebags, pulling out a small
flask. He handed it to her grudgingly. "I really don't need—"