Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (12 page)

They traveled for several days only in the darkness until they were deep into the Cherokee Outlet of the Indian Territory. They kept a remote politeness between them as they rode, and each spread his own blanket for sleeping. He made no more moves to touch her, and sometimes when she lay watching him sleep, she longed for his embrace, his caress. But she knew nothing would come of it, that their worlds were too far apart, so she did not reach out to him.

I’m going to put my baby in your belly.
She wondered curiously if he’d made good that promise, thrilled with the emotion of carrying the big half-breed’s child, then realized it was an impossible dream. Even if he survived the showdown with the trio back home, the two of them could never have any kind of a life together—not unless he finally forgot his vengeance and stopped this restless search for that mysterious man he’d vowed to kill.

Sometimes as they rode across the flat, hot prairie, she wondered about that doomed man-who he was, what had ever happened to him. It had been a long time. He might not be on the frontier anymore. He might even be dead. But when she thought about it, she, like Maverick, felt a surge of contempt and hatred for the man who had left his wife to the Indians. She wondered idly why Maverick’s “squawman” father had not helped her? Then she recalled he’d said something that indicated to her his father had died when he was quite small, leaving him at the mercy of the others. Well, no doubt they hated him because of his white blood. Had they mistreated his Indian mother, too? ? But she was dead also; he’d said that.

Once as they rode along, she absentmindedly whistled the old folk tune! . . .
Maxwell’s braes are bonnie, where early falls the dew
. . .

Maverick looked over at her and she broke off. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’d forgotten what the song meant to you.”

“It’s all right,” he shrugged. “Somehow, when it comes from you, it doesn’t hurt. It just brings back the good memories. Go ahead and whistle.”

Had Annie been his woman or only his unfulfilled love?
Even though he’d left the Comanche at fourteen, she’d heard the Indians mated early.
Annie Laurie.
Cayenne felt helpless against this ghost. Annie would always come between them until the day that Maverick was willing to let go of her, let her fade away in peace. Jealousy bedeviled. Cayenne because she couldn’t bear to think of any woman in his arms but herself.

So they rode across the Cherokee Outlet. Once Maverick spotted signs of a war party—a broken blade of brass, an almost invisible hoofprint of an unshod horse. But they kept riding. And everywhere were dead buffalo. Flies and buzzards flew up from the stinking carcasses as the pair rode past.

Maverick shook his head and muttered, “Used to be the hunters at least stayed above the ’Dead line’ that marks the Territory because there were plenty of buffalo still on the Kansas plains and the hunters were terrified of the tribes catching them on Indian lands. But they’re getting bolder and greedier as the buffalo thin out.”

Cayenne tried to keep track of the days as they rode but it was hard to do. She figured it must have been late in the evening of the last week of June when the pair came upon the three supply wagons camped on the prairie a few miles above the Cimarron River.

“Hello the camp!” Maverick shouted from a distance, not wanting to risk getting shot at by nervous teamsters.

Four white men armed with rifles stood up, inspected the pair at a distance, and waved them on in.

Cayenne felt relief at finally seeing other civilized people. They rode into the camp and dismounted. There were four giant freighter wagons loaded with goods. Teams of big mules grazed contentedly on the sparse buffalo grass among the red Indian Blanket blooms that Cayenne knew as “Firewheel.”

The big bearded leader waved the pair in by the campfire. “Howdy, folks, get down and set a spell; I’m Pat Hennessy.”

Cayenne smiled gratefully. “It was getting mighty lonely out here; glad to see some human faces. I’m Cayenne McBride and this is Maverick Durango.”

Maverick touched the brim of his hat with two fingers and dismounted. He started toward her but one of the young drivers rushed over and helped her dismount. The half-breed frowned but said nothing as he knelt by the fire, and it came to her suddenly that his displeasure was created by the other man’s hands on her waist.
Why, he thinks he owns me!
she thought defiantly.

The good-natured leader introduced the other three drivers. “This is Rand, Byrd, and Fleming.” He handed Cayenne a cup of steaming coffee and she sipped it gratefully.

“Thanks,” she sighed.

“You two are sure taking a chance,” Hennessy said. “We are too, I reckon. They warned us not to try to come from Fort Supply, but we got food that’s got to be delivered down to the Kiowa at their reservation near Fort Sill.”

Maverick shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I told the lady the Territory was workin’ alive with war parties, but she’s stubborn.”

Hennessy pulled at his beard and smiled. “A mite headstrong, is she?”

Maverick favored her with a slight smile. “You might say that.”

Rand, the driver who had helped Cayenne dismount, winked at her. “The best women are like good mustangs—a little wild and headstrong until broken by the right cowboy.”

Silence fell over the group. Maverick looked at the flippant driver with an expression that made Cayenne shiver. “Don’t ever try to break a filly out of another man’s string.”

Cayenne felt the tenseness in the air as the two men eyed each other like fighting dogs.

Rand was a little too handsome, a little too sure of his charm. He smiled at Cayenne and looked at her left hand. “I don’t see no man’s brand on her.”

Maverick put one hand on his thigh, within easy reach of his pistol. “That don’t mean she’ll be willin’ to wear yours,” he said so softly. Cayenne barely heard him but there was no mistaking the cold threat in his gray eyes.

“My,” she said, a little too brightly to break the awkward silence, “aren’t we glad we stumbled onto you all! We’re headed to the Texas Panhandle, south of Palo Duro Canyon. Where’d you say you’re headed, Mr. Hennessy?”

The big man nodded toward the wagons. “We hope to make it into the Darlington Indian Agency by July 4.”

Rand rolled a cigarette. “There’ll be a big Independence Day celebration there probably, dancing and all.” His eyes looked Cayenne over, desire evident.
You two got no business out here traveling alone. You should go along with us to the agency.”

Maverick sipped his coffee, glowering at the man.
Why, he’s jealous,
Cayenne thought, and heady with her suddenly discovered power, she couldn’t resist flirting a little.

“Why, Rand, that sounds like fun. I’ll bet you two-step beautifully”

Maverick glared at her but she ignored him.

Hennessy cleared his throat. “We may not be there long enough to party, Rand. If we don’t get this food to those starving Kiowa down in the Wichita Mountains, they’ve sworn to join the Uprising.”

Maverick sighed. “You can hardly blame them for that. The plains tribes are all starving because of the damned buffalo hunters.”

“Let ’em starve,” Rand sneered. “The sooner we get the buffalo killed off, the sooner we can corral all those damned savages, pen ’em up like the animals they are.”

For a moment, Maverick’s face darkened and she wondered if there would be a fight, knowing there was an unspoken rivalry here for her favors. She had never been one to keep her mouth shut when she disagreed. “You should be ashamed,” she said to Rand. “I got good reason to hate the Comanche myself, but I can’t really blame the warriors for putting on war paint. Any man’d do the same if his family was starving.”

Rand colored and ducked his head at her scolding.

Maverick smiled thinly. “Like the mustang, she’s got spirit,” he chided his rival.

The tension in the air was too heavy to bear. Cayenne jumped up. “How about me cooking up some supper for all of us? How’d that be?”

The freighters nodded eagerly.

Hennessy said, “I shot a half-dozen quail an hour ago. Could you fry them?”

“Sure,” Cayenne nodded. “And if one of you will pick some of those wild sand plums off those bushes over there, I’ll make some fried pies.”

Byrd and Fleming rushed to pick the plums while the good-natured freighter boss cleaned the quail. Maverick and Rand both sat by the fire, smoking and glaring at each other while she got out flour to dip the quail in and mixed up some corn dodger batter.

“You two aren’t doing anything,” she scolded. “I needed more fuel for my fire; go find me some prairie coal.” Both men rose reluctantly, going to search the treeless plains and coming back with dried buffalo chips for the fire.

Then she watched with satisfaction as she handed out the tin plates, watched the men gobble the succulent golden brown quail, the hot corn dodgers. But Maverick bit into the fried quail hesitantly.

Rand sneered, his mouth full of food. “What’s the matter, Injun? The lady’s cookin’ don’t suit you?”

Maverick looked at the meat in distaste. “Comanche don’t eat birds or fish; it’s taboo.”

Arrogantly, Rand reached over as if to grab the quail off Maverick’s plate. “In that case, I’ll—”

Maverick’s hand caught his wrist in a steel grip, twisting until Rand screamed with pain. “A little dog doesn’t grab a big dog’s bone!”

Hennessy stood up. “Here! Here, boys! Rand, you’re out of line! You been looking for a fight ever since this pair rode in and I think you’d better back off! If it’s ’fight’ you want, you may get it ’afore we get where we’re going!”

Rand pulled away, nursing his injured arm. “Plain’s workin’ alive with redskins wantin’ to scalp folks and we got to feed one at our campfire!”

Cayenne paused in eating the juicy, crisp quail. “Mr. Hennessy invited us to eat.”

Hennessy nodded, glaring at Rand. “I beg your pardon for his bad manners, ma’am. We’re all a little edgy over all this Uprisin’ talk. You see any Injun sign?”

Maverick ate the quail reluctantly. “We buried a pair of cow hands up above the Territory border. Found a burial platform; seen a lot of unshod pony tracks.”

Hennessy frowned, wiping his greasy hands on his pants. “Cheyenne?”

Maverick nodded.

“How’d you know it was Cheyenne?” Rand challenged. “How you know it wasn’t, say, Kiowa?”

Maverick smiled grimly. “When the Kiowa take a scalp, they also take one of the ears as a trophy. Those poor devils had no hair left but they had both ears.”

The men looked at each other in stunned silence and Cayenne saw fear in their eyes.

Hennessy sighed. “We was warned not to make this trip; the cavalry says they can’t patrol the whole frontier. But if we can get all this food down to the Kiowa, maybe they won’t join the war parties.”

Rand looked at Cayenne. “You heard that, miss? Injuns everywhere! You’d be a lot safer traveling with us than with him.”

Maverick frowned at him. “No woman’d be safe with you, cowboy.”

“Boys, stop that!” Cayenne scolded sharply. “I—I’ll think about your offer, Rand. I know we’re riding right into a hornet’s nest but I need to get home. My—my papa’s sick,” she lied.

Paunchy little Fleming tilted his head to one side. “McBride? I don’t suppose that might be Joe McBride?”

“You know my papa?” she smiled warmly.

The man grinned, shaking his head. “Just heard of him. He the one they call ’the shootin’ preacher’? Heard he gave the cash prize to charity but kept the fancy rifle he won as first prize.”

Maverick looked at her. “What rifle?”

Cayenne stood up, brushing grass off her pants. “I told you Papa was the best rifle shot in west Texas.”
Or used to be
, she thought.

Fleming shook his head. “Man! Man! What I wouldn’t give for a fancy rifle like that! Guess that’s why so many tried to win it. Your papa must be some shot! A gun like that’d be a real treasure to give to a son.

Cayenne shook her head sadly. “Papa has no sons.”

Rand wiped up the last of his gravy with the corn bread. “If you’re in the market, ma’am, I’m not married and I’d be right proud—”

“She’s not in the market,” Maverick said flatly.

Rand looked at Cayenne. “That right?”

Her temper flared as she resented Maverick’s arrogant assumption. “No, that’s not right! You know, Rand, maybe I ought to ride along with you all to the Darlington Agency; it wouldn’t be much out of the way since it’s south of here. Suppose it would be a whole lot safer.”

Rand’s face lit up. “From there, I could escort you the rest of the way home, ma’am. I’d be interested in talkin’ to your pa about courtin’ you.”

“I don’t know. . . . ” She looked over at Maverick. His eyes were as cold as a Texas norther.

Hennessy scratched his head. “Well, you don’t have to decide right this here minute, Miss McBride. Let’s all bed down for the night, talk about it at dawn.”

Maverick glared at her in sullen silence as he went over, got her blankets, and tossed them to her. “Just keep it up!” he said. “You’re too innocent to know what you do to men. You had him prancin’ around as eager as some stud horse!”