Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (32 page)

Maverick could almost pity the Indians. “If the army had kept all those damned buffalo hunters off the tribes’ hunting grounds, this Uprising wouldn’t have happened.”

The smaller man took a deep pull of his cigar. “Don’t give me that ’bleeding heart stuff’ about breakin’ treaties, Quanah. Sooner or later, the whites are gonna take all this land, no matter what kind of treaties we sign! The buffalo hunters are doin’ America a favor by killing off all the game so we can starve the tribes back onto the reservations.”

Maverick gave him a long look. “And you call us savages?”

That night, the troopers loaded the unconscious Cayenne in the wagon, forced the resisting and still bound Maverick onto his gray stallion, and started east. The fact he had to mount the gray from the right side only seemed to further convince Baker that Maverick was really an uncivilized Indian. Maverick watched closely every time the officer rode close to the wagon and stared down at the helpless girl. The expression on the pitted face gave away his emotions. Sooner or later, Baker might try to take advantage of her unconscious condition.

Maverick noticed the big black, O’Bannion, watching with sympathetic eyes. Here might be someone who would help him. But that first night, he never got a chance to visit with the sergeant.

They found a spring to camp near at dawn and spent the day there. Cayenne seemed to be feeling much better, Maverick noted with relief. She never became completely conscious, but she did rouse enough for Maverick to feed her and take care of her needs. The captain let him, seeming amused by the sick girl’s dependence on the half-breed.
She didn’t seem aware that the soldiers existed or that anything was wrong,
Maverick thought as he sponged her face.

Well, there was no use in alarming her. The passage of time was to her advantage, since she seemed to be getting stronger and Maverick had not yet come up with a plan to escape from the patrol. When she finally did rouse enough the second night to ask about the soldiers, Maverick lied, telling her they had picked up an army patrol escort all the way through west Texas. He didn’t tell her they were really headed southeast toward Fort Sill in the Indian Territory.

And Baker couldn’t have been more charming, more solicitous to Cayenne as she drifted in and out of consciousness. But the New Yorker seemed preoccupied with being deep into hostile Indian country. Maverick figured it was only a matter of time until that officer felt secure enough to halt the patrol and enjoy the sick girl while the black troops looked on helplessly. Maverick struggled with the ropes that bound his hands behind him until his wrists were raw and bleeding, but he couldn’t escape. He had a feeling that when the swaggering, pimply-faced man finally raped the helpless, half-conscious Cayenne, he’d enjoy making Maverick watch. And of course he’d deny it if Cayenne told on him when they got back to the fort. What white man would listen to or care about any woman who’d been sleeping with an Indian or a ’breed? He thought of Annie again and gritted his teeth.

The third night, the horses were exhausted from being pushed too hard by the inexperienced officer. He made the decision to let the patrol sleep a few hours and move on in the middle of the night. The big sergeant, O’Bannion, stood guard duty that evening. When the camp was quiet, Maverick jerked his head at him.

The coffee-colored man crossed through the sleeping forms around the small fire, coming over to where Maverick lay trussed on the outside edge of the circle. “What you want, Renegade?”

“Can’t you loosen these ropes a little?” Maverick whispered. His arms ached from being tied behind his back and he could feel dried blood from the rope cutting into his wrists.

The sergeant squatted down and made a clicking sound of sympathy. “That Baker is a sonovabitch,” he whispered, and he untied the ropes and offered Maverick a small sack of tobacco, and a paper.

Maverick took them, nodded his thanks, and rubbed the circulation back into his raw wrists before rolling a cigarette. “You’re okay, O’Bannion. You know I’m not Quanah, don’t you?”

The black man nodded. “It don’t make no sense even if you are a gray-eyed half-breed riding a gray horse. Why would a chief be out in the middle of nowhere lookin’ after a snake bit white girl?”

Maverick smoked and studied the young man. “Where you from?”

“Tennessee. A big plantation called Shannon Place on the Mississippi.”

“Your daddy a white slave owner?”

O’Bannion’s round face broke into an amused grin. “My Daddy’s half white, but he wasn’t sired by Mr. Shawn, no Suh! My daddy’s mama was raped by some big cracker back in Georgia and Mr. Shawn O’Bannion bought her when she was sold down the river. Finest man who ever drew breath, Mr. Shawn is; got rich in the California gold strike.” The quadroon paused. “My older brother’s just a little crazed, you know, like maybe he inherited a streak of loco meanness from that white man. If I can find him and have a chance to straighten him out, take him back home—”

Maverick smoked a long moment. Should he tell? End the black’s quest? It seemed a merciful thing to do. “O’Bannion, you been kind to me, so I’m gonna tell you something so you won’t spend the rest of your life worryin’ about your brother.”

The strong dark features studied his a long moment. “You got bad news, don’t you? The Indians get him, torture him to death? He was always talkin’ about oppressed people, how we ought to join together, rise up against the whites.”

Maverick smoked, remembering the black bugler sounding the charges at Adobe Walls. “Your brother was a brave man, a very brave man. He did join the Indians.”

O’Bannion didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I was hopin’ he finally found the freedom he was looking for, a little happiness.”

“He did,” Maverick said softly. “I think those weeks he spent with the Indians must have been happy ones if he was willing to fight on their side. They at least accepted him, treated him like an equal.”

“You’re telling me he’s dead?”

Maverick tried to think of something comforting to say. His heart went out to the young black man. Finally, he nodded. “Yes, he’s dead. Killed in a charge. Never knew what hit him. To die bravely and quickly is all a real man, black, white, or red, can aspire to.”

The other ducked his head so Maverick couldn’t see his brown face, made a choking sound for a long moment. A slight breeze blew the scent of campfire smoke toward them, a cricket chirped somewhere, a horse snorted and stamped its feet. The heat of the night enveloped Maverick as he waited and smoked, the tobacco abruptly bitter to his mouth. Without thinking, he reached over, put his hand on the big black’s shoulder, and felt him shaking with sobs a long moment.

The sergeant finally seemed to get control of himself. “Thanks for telling me that. I can let Pa know now. We won’t have to wait and wonder what happened to him. Did you bury him?”

Maverick nodded. He wouldn’t tell him that the hunters had mutilated the bodies in a frenzy of revenge after they drove the Indians off, that the brother’s head was even now impaled, rotting and stinking, on one of the posts of the fence in front of the settlement’s store. “He died bravely and without pain,” he murmured again.

“Thanks.” He rubbed his face against his sleeve. “If you never had to wait to find out if someone you love is dead or alive, you don’t know what real pain is.”

Maverick wondered suddenly if Joe McBride had wondered and worried all those years over Annie. Of course not, otherwise he would have figured out a way to ransom her like he did those women and kids at the church outing. But would the kind of man he thought Joe McBride was do something as brave as what Cayenne had described? The whole thing was becoming more and more confusing to him.

“There’s a worse pain,” he whispered, remembering, “and that’s being the instrument of that loved one’s death.” He saw Annie’s plain little face all twisted in agony, begging him, begging him. . . .

They smoked in silence. Finally, O’Bannion said, “You love that girl, don’t you?” He nodded toward the wagon where Cayenne lay sleeping peacefully.

Did he? Maverick struggled with an agony of indecision. When he’d started out to kill her father, she had been part of his revenge. He had imagined throwing her down before her father, all dishonored and shamed, her belly swollen with Maverick’s child. He had intended to gloat over it a few minutes before he tortured Joe to death. Then he would ride out, leaving her weeping and abandoned the way his mother had been abandoned. But now, as he thought about it, he realized he wanted the girl badly, wanted her by his side for all time, wanted to sire her children, raise them.
Eagles mate for life
, he remembered.

“I reckon I do,” he answered grudgingly. “I’ve been afraid that damned captain of yours would rape her before we get to the fort.”

“He might do it yet, the rotten bastard!” O’Bannion drawled. “I’ve been tryin’ to figure what to do. . . .”

“Help us escape,” Maverick said, tossing the cigarette away.

The black sergeant looked at him a long moment. “My brother hated the captain. I suppose that’s why he run off and deserted. Tell you what,” O’Bannion wiped his eyes. “I’ll load up a packhorse with supplies and unhobble those two horses you rode in on.”

Maverick looked toward the wagon. “She’s in no shape to ride. I’ll have to hold her in my arms to get out of here.”

The buffalo soldier nodded as he got up. “Baker sleeps like the dead. I’ll give you a couple of hours’ start, and along about dawn, I’ll jump up like I’ve been layin’ unconscious all night and shout that you’ve escaped.”

Maverick gave him an admiring look. “There’ll be the devil to pay.”

The sergeant sighed. “I reckon I can be as brave as my older brother, and I’m much obliged for your kindness to him.” He held out his big hand hesitantly and Maverick shook it.

“O’Bannion, you’re as brave as any black lion hunter in your native Africa. I appreciate this. Maybe someday our paths will cross again. . . .”

O’Bannion waved his thanks aside. “We got things to do . . . friend.”

“Sure . . . friend.”

Moving stealthily, they saddled up the horses, got supplies. Two black troopers raised their heads and the sergeant motioned them to silence, so they put their heads down, pretending to sleep. “We’re all loyal to the government,” O’Bannion whispered, “even if it don’t always treat the black troops right. But we wouldn’t do a thing to help old Baker get his promotion even if it would get him outa our outfit!”

And so Maverick gathered up Cayenne, unconscious and feverish though she was, and placed her on the saddle before him. Leading her roan and the packhorse, he sneaked out of the dark camp and headed back southwest. Her body burned with fever as he held her close against him, but he knew they must escape before this white officer decided to rape her or maybe kill Maverick.

He walked the horse until he was safely away from the sleeping camp, waving back at the black sergeant. Then he took off at a gallop, Strawberry and the packhorse struggling to keep up with the gray’s powerful long legs. Her small body burned into his as he cradled her in his arms. Once she stirred as they galloped and the green eyes flickered open. “Maverick?”

“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, holding her feverish body close to his chest. “I’m here; I’ll always be here. Everything’s going to turn out all right.”

He was lying, of course. How could it turn out all right when she found out too late that Maverick had used her to find Joe? She would hate him and curse him when she saw her father’s dead body. The image of her tearful face upset him. To dispel it, he remembered another tearful face—Annie’s face the night Pine da poi and the warriors had tortured her. . . .

A stiff wind blew sand like sharp needles as Maverick rode southwest. He tried to protect her small form with his body, only grateful that the shifting sand would cover their tracks so the patrol couldn’t track them.

By dawn, he had found his way back to a small spring where they had rested yesterday. He dismounted, hid the horses in straggly brush, and carried Cayenne into the lea of the bushes for shelter. Her body still burned with fever. As the wind died to a feeble whisper, he decided that cool water would help. Maverick carried her into the small pool, staying there with her until his muscles were cramped and aching. But finally, her body seemed to cool and her eyes flickered open.

“Maverick? What happened? Oh, the snake—”

“I killed it, baby.” He could only sigh with relief that she seemed to be conscious, clearheaded. He carried her, naked and wet, to lay her on a blanket, and got her some canned milk from the pack horse.

Away off to the north, he saw a faint smoke signal. There were war parties in the area. The blood froze in his veins a little. Did he still speak enough Comanche to pass himself off as one? He’d better dress the part. Quickly, he stripped his clothes off, stuffing them in his saddlebags. In minutes, he was naked except for moccasins and a breechcloth, beads and war paint hastily applied to his face. If nothing else, he’d say he was Quanah’s brother. The
Quahadis
were such an isolated band staying way out on the
Llano Estacado
that the chances were small any of the other bands would know what Quanah’s brother looked like. And surely if he crossed the trail of the Comanche’s allies, those tribes wouldn’t have met Quanah’s brother.

He thought about Pat Hennessy as he lay down next to Cayenne and watched her. It was ironic that the Kiowa would now take the war trail because Hennessy’s wagons of food for them had been destroyed by some of the other rampaging tribes, the Kiowas’ own allies who hadn’t even realized where the food was bound for.

Cayenne opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “Have I been out long?”

“Long enough.” He put his hand on her forehead. It was cool to the touch. “Thank goodness the fever’s broken.” She’d recover rapidly now and be able to ride again so they could move on toward their final destination. Suddenly he dreaded reaching that place. “We’ll rest here through the heat of the day and ride out tonight. Remember, I’ll be a Comanche warrior, and if we run across a war party, I’ll pretend you’re a captive and I’ll try to talk our way out of it.”