Comanche Cowboy (The Durango Family) (45 page)

There was nothing to do now but keep moving forward, even though he realized that the path was rockier, more dangerous than he had anticipated. His horse kicked a loose rock and it went over the edge. He listened and heard it clatter a long way down. The fall alone was enough to kill a man if his horse made a misstep.

Mackenzie shivered in the cold, shifting his slight body in the saddle. He couldn’t remember when he’d had a good night’s sleep or a hot meal. A horse whinnied at the bottom of the canyon and he held his breath, afraid the column’s horses would whinny back, alert the sleeping Indians now that the first rays of dawn made the moving column faintly visible in the lavender haze of morning.

He thought about Quanah again. He wouldn’t tell anyone how much he admired and respected the Indian leader. If things had been different, the two men might have been friends.
Duty,
Mackenzie thought grimly,
duty
.

The buffalo hunters had started this dirty war, and like all wars, innocent women and children on both sides lay dead because of it. And yet, because of last year’s financial panic back east, some of those hunters had been desperate to do anything that would feed their own families. The whole thing was too complex to think about in black and white terms of who was right or wrong.

All he knew—and even Quanah must know—was that the Indians’ way of life was doomed. The growing country would take by force, if necessary, the land it needed for all the immigrants crowding into the cities. Could the country afford the luxury of letting savages roam thousands of unused, fertile acres when millions of hungry whites waited in the teeming slums, only hoping for a chance to turn the rich plains into producing farms to better their own lives? He’d let the politicians worry about the morality of this Indian war. Colonel Ranald Mackenzie would simply do his duty, follows his orders.

But had he made a mistake?
Would he get his command killed? He looked around as he neared the bottom of the canyon, staring back up at the long line of troopers still on the steep canyon trail behind him. The canyon was breathtaking, walls hundreds of feet high, banded in pale pinks and mauves and purples. Who would have ever guessed that the gorge lay hidden through these flat plains? No wonder war parties could raid and disappear with such safety!

And then an Indian sentry spotted the column moving down the sheer rock wall and sounded the alarm. There was no more time to enjoy the beauty of the canyon. Shots rang out, echoing and reechoing as braves came awake, running out of tepees.

“Sergeant,” Mackenzie brought his rearing, frightened horse under control, “we’ve got to provide a covering fire until we can get the rest of those men off that canyon trail!”

“Yes, sir!”

“And for God’s sake,” he signaled frantically to his officers, “keep those Indians away from that big horse herd! On foot, they’re helpless! Mounted, they’re the best light cavalry in the world!”

His ears ran with shouts and curses and echoing gunshots. Screams ran out as men were hit, went down. For a few minutes, Mackenzie didn’t think the whole column would make it to the bottom with the warriors shooting at the helpless men on the trail. But then the soldiers were off that ledge and the Indians were scrambling up into the rocks, firing down at them.

The young captain panicked. “Look! They’re up above us now! How’ll we get out of here? We’re trapped!”

Mackenzie dismounted, grabbed the boy, and slung him down behind the shelter of a boulder. “I got you in, soldier,” he snapped with more assurance than he felt, “I’ll get you out! Now get your fool head down!”

The tide began to turn slowly, Mackenzie realized as he fired. The Indians were intent on escaping, providing a covering fire for their women and children running away down the canyon. “Let them go!” he shouted. “Just stay between them and those horses, those supplies!”

The young captain protested. “I thought we came to kill Injuns! Let’s ride after them and—”

“No!” Mackenzie snapped grimly. “We didn’t come to kill Injuns, Captain, we came to do our duty! Our orders are to put them back on the reservation, that’s all!” The acrid smell of gunpowder choked him as he turned to look for his trusted old sergeant. “Murphy, take some men, set fire to all those tepees and supplies. The tribes are helpless without them!”

The Indians were on the run now toward the other end of the canyon, maybe expecting Mackenzie’s troops to chase them, to lead the cavalry into a trap somewhere along the twisting route. But Mackenzie signaled his men to let them go as he watched Murphy’s troopers set the tepees and the tons of food and guns ablaze.

In only a few minutes it was over. On a rainy, cold morning in late September, hundreds of Indians were walking out of Palo Duro Canyon in defeat. It was a long way back to the reservations around Fort Sill on foot, with no food, no supplies.

Mackenzie swallowed, feeling the bitter taste of pity, the sweetness of the victory, when only a few minutes before he’d thought he might be leading his troops into death and defeat.
The last great Indian battle of Texas,
he thought.

The young captain had recovered himself and now snapped his commander a smart salute. “Sir, as you can see, following your orders, most of the supplies the Indians left are going up in flames. But what are we to do with all these horses they left behind?”

Mackenzie abruptly felt weary and sad at the duty of command. Sometimes the decisions he was called to make seemed to prey upon his mind. He loved horses but he knew what he must do. He had learned a bitter, expensive lesson in a former campaign where he’d had the warriors on the run, having captured their big pony herd. But then the Indians had sneaked around in the night and stolen their horses back. A walking Indian was vulnerable. An Indian with a good horse under him was a dangerous, deadly fighting machine.

Duty
. Mackenzie could not chance the possibility that, if he tried to drive the hundreds of horses back to his camp, the Indians might not raid him tonight and recapture the mounts.

He sighed, knowing what the decision must be. “Drive the head out of here, into that nearby little canyon we call the
Tule.
Inspect them there,” he said. “Then pick out a couple of hundred to replace our own exhausted mounts, let our Indian scouts have a few as rewards for their help.”

The captain looked at him a long moment. “That still leaves a huge herd, sir. What am I to do with them?”

Mackenzie ran his tongue over his lip, tasting the salt of his own sweat though the morning came on cool and rainy. He looked over at the red-faced sergeant who nodded understandingly at him. Murphy was an old Indian fighter; he understood what must be done.

“Shoot them,” Mackenzie said.

The captain stared back at him as if he hadn’t understood. “Sir? Shoot fifteen hundred horses? I don’t think—”

“It’s not your duty to think, Captain!” Mackenzie snapped. “It’s your duty to obey orders and it’s my duty to put those Indians back on the reservation. Sometimes I don’t like what I’m required to do but I never flinch from doing my duty!”

The old sergeant smiled. “Amen!” he said softly.

He gave Murphy a withering glance for his impudence. Because they had ridden together so long, he allowed the old Irishman liberties that no one else took. He must remember to speak to Murphy about things like that.

Mackenzie turned back to the captain. “Much as I hate it, my order is this. Take out a couple hundred of the best ones, then shoot the rest! We can’t take a chance on the Indians recapturing them! That’s our duty, Captain, to bring a fast, painless end to this Indian war!”

He went over by himself and sat down on a rock for a long time, not wanting to think about hungry, cold women and children walking the long distance back to Fort Sill. The black smoke from the burning food and tepees snaked upward into the overcast sky. From a long way off, he heard the echo of rifle fire as the troopers carried out his orders to destroy the luckless horses.

Quanah had made it out
. Mackenzie smiled grimly, thinking of the big half-breed. Maybe he was a traitor, but he was glad that at least for a little while, the big half-breed chief and his people still rode wild and free.

Duty.
Sometimes the weight of command seemed to cloud his mind, make him doubt his own sanity. Mackenzie closed his eyes, accepting the cup of steaming coffee Murphy placed in his crippled fingers. Duty. He had done that and won a victory, yet it gave him no pleasure; he felt no pride in it. Probably, his West Point classmate, Custer, would be remembered forever and maybe he himself would be forgotten.

Mackenzie sipped the strong brew, warming his fingers around the tin cup. The stink of burning leather and dried meat choked him and he shivered in the damp mist. The echo of faraway gunfire came to his ears as the troops killed the hundreds of horses.
Maybe he would be lost in the pages of history,
he thought grimly,
but none would ever say that Colonel Ranald Slidell Mackenzie ever shirked his duty.

On the afternoon of that September day that Colonel Mackenzie rode into Palo Duro Canyon, Maverick Durango married Cayenne Carol McBride.

He would never forget standing at the front of that little weather-beaten church with the plump minister and handsome dark Trace at his side as best man. The weather had turned cool and rainy as the first norther of the season blew into west Texas, but in his heart the sun shone and birds sang.

He looked at the congregation as the organ played. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” he whispered.

For a moment, Trace’s dark face mirrored disbelief, then seemed to understand. He looked out into the audience at his own wife as if remembering.
“Si,”
he whispered with a nod, “there’s no day so beautiful as the day your bride comes down the aisle and into your arms!”

The plump preacher cleared his throat as the music swelled and Maverick looked out at the congregation. Don Diego caught his eye and smiled. Old Sanchez winked encouragingly. The church was full. Everyone from the Triple D Ranch had traveled here to attend the ceremony and the whole town had turned out for this wedding of their beloved preacher’s child.

First down the aisle came little Angel, carrying her flower basket and throwing petals as she toddled toward him. Maverick smiled in spite of himself. At least she couldn’t suck her thumb and throw flowers at the same time.

Next down the aisle came Steve, with her pigtails askew, and Gracious, both full of self-importance with their roles as bridesmaids. He didn’t have to look to know that in spite of everything Cayenne could do, Gracie’s sash would be untied. All three children took their places at the front of the church.

Maverick licked his lips nervously, whispering hoarsely to Trace. “I’d rather face a hanging than go through all this in front of all these people!”

His voice carried over the organ and the audience tittered good-naturedly. Even the minister’s jowls nodded with understanding.

Now came the maid of honor, her little wire-rimmed spectacles sliding down her nose, but she pushed them back up and kept walking primly. As Cayenne had said, it might be unusual to have a nine-year-old maid of honor, but this was after all Cayenne’s wedding and she’d do what her heart told her. If it hadn’t been for Lynnie’s letter, Cayenne wouldn’t have met her future husband.

Now the music swelled again, the big doors at the back swung open, and Cayenne started down the aisle on Joe McBride’s arm. She had to support and guide him gently as they started walking, but the pair smiled so happily that Maverick saw two ladies reach for handkerchiefs to wipe their eyes.

His bride
. His heart filled so as the wheezy old organ played that he had to blink hard to keep the tears from coming. Who would have ever believed that instead of killing the man Maverick had hunted all these years, he would instead marry the man’s daughter, become part of Joe McBride’s family?

If only Annie could be here and know there’d been a happy ending just like the stories she always told him.
A hand seemed to pat his shoulder reassuringly. He looked around. There was no one there . . .
at least, not that he could see.

Never was there a more beautiful bride than his,
he thought proudly, watching Cayenne walking slowly down the aisle, assisting her blind father. Her red hair swirled around the shoulders of the white lace dress. It was all he could do to keep from running down the aisle and gathering her into his arms.

Trace must have read his thoughts because he reached out, caught Maverick’s arm, and gave him just the slightest shake of his head.

The church smelled of autumn wild flowers and something else. Maverick grinned as his bride moved closer.
Vanilla.
It would always be his favorite scent. Joe and Cayenne stood before them now, and Maverick looked around at the family as the organ stopped.
Red hair and freckles,
he thought with a grin. I’m destined to spend my life surrounded by red-haired, green-eyed freckled people.

“Dearly beloved,” the minister said, and Maverick came back to the ceremony with a start.

He tried to listen to what the minister said, but he could only stare into the beautiful face of his bride.

“. . . who giveth this woman?” the minister intoned.

Joe hesitated a moment, almost as if he couldn’t bear to hand her over to another man’s keeping. Then his sightless face smiled and he said, “Her family and I do.”

His job done, Joe turned with difficulty as if to move to a front pew to sit down.

“Wait, Joe,” Maverick said impulsively, reaching out to catch his sleeve, “if it’s not too improper, I’d like you to stand up here with us through the ceremony.

Cayenne smiled at Maverick, her heart too full to speak as she watched him grasp her father’s arm. She looked into Maverick’s gray eyes.
I love you,
she told him silently.
Oh, I love you so!

“. . . and will you take this man to love and comfort until death do you part?”

She spoke in a spirited voice loud and strong with conviction. “I certainly will!”

“And will you, Maverick Durango, take this woman, Cayenne Carol McBride, to love and to cherish as long as you both shall live?”

Maverick looked deep into her eyes. “I sure as hell will!” he said. “And as a matter of fact, sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to include the whole family!”

The minister cleared his throat and a buzz of chatter ran through the little church.

Lynnie frowned up at him. “You mustn’t swear!” she admonished.

Maverick grinned down at her. “I guess, little sis, you got a long time to teach me some manners!”

Someone in the crowd tittered with delight and old Mrs. Rumsley with her ear trumpet shrilled, “What’d he say? What’s that about reaching for banners?”

The minister raised his eyebrows, giving it some thought. “A little unusual,” he said, and his face broke into a smile. “But I like the thought behind it. Yes, indeedy, I do! All right then, all of you join hands in a circle.”

Cayenne reached out and took one of Angel’s little hands in hers, pretending not to notice the thumb was wet. Cayenne’s other hand was held by Maverick and he took Joe’s hand in his and Joe reached for Lynnie’s, who reached for Gracie’s, who grabbed Steve’s and then Angel’s little fist. They all stood holding hands in a big circle and she looked at Maverick, sent him a message with her eyes.
Thank you for accepting my family. Thank you, dearest.

The minister seemed to be puzzling over what to say next. He cleared his throat. “A ring always seems to be part of every wedding and here we have a living ring, an unbroken circle more precious than gold. Now then, Maverick Durango, will you take this family to be your family forever and ever, through sickness and health, through good times and adversity? Look after them and love them as I’m sure they will love you as their only son and brother?”

Maverick nodded solemnly, clasping her hand and Joe’s. “I will, sir. I promise that ’long as I got a biscuit, they got half!”

Somewhere in the audience, Cayenne heard old Rosita begin to weep.

Mrs. Harrison’s high voice carried in the silence. “Isn’t that the sweetest, most sincere vow you ever heard?”

And Mr. Billings said out loud, “Looks like Joe finally got that son he always wanted!”

Little Angel turned toward the crowd and yelled in triumph. “And we got us a brother, too!”

Cayenne looked down at her, aghast. “Angel, hush! You aren’t supposed to say anything!”

Even the minister joined the audience in laughter then. “This has been a very unusual wedding,” he grinned, “but I wouldn’t have missed being part of it for the world!”

Cayenne tried to follow the rest of the ceremony, but all she could do was stare into Maverick’s eyes until she heard the words she had asked the minister to say. “I now pronounce you man and wife and expect you to live happily ever after just like in the fairy tales! Amen! Maverick, you may kiss your bride!”

Maverick did. He grabbed Cayenne and kissed her as if he would never let her go and she clung to him, thinking how close they had come to losing each other.

They kissed until the crowd whispered and tittered in good humor and Trace reached out, touching Maverick’s shoulder with a chuckle. “Little brother, you got all the rest of your life to do that! Let’s get to the food!”

Maverick looked around at the big crowd of townspeople who had crowded into the McBride ranch house to share the celebration. All around him people chatted and stuffed their faces with barbecue and cake, coming up to him to offer congratulations.

He caught Cayenne’s eye across the crowded parlor and she winked at him, touched her lips, and blew him a kiss. How he longed to have her to himself, to hold her and kiss her. But he realized they must be polite to all the company. He watched the little sisters in the crowd, thinking how much they looked like Cayenne. Someday, those four would take four young men’s hearts as their big sister had taken his. In the meantime, they were as untidy as usual, with pigtails askew, sashes untied. He was afraid to check and see if Angel might have wet her drawers.

Prim little Lynnie stood by Rosita, helping serve the stack cake. It was an old Texas custom that all the visitors bring a layer of cake and stack it up to show their love and approval of the bride. The higher the cake, the more popular she was. Maverick smiled. The cake had reached such a height that Cayenne feared it might tumble, so they’d made two stacks of it.

He watched Lynnie. She was a smart one, all right. Maverick would have a sizable inheritance from the old Don. He’d send that one to college. She’d probably end up leading a bunch of those crazy suffragettes trying to get the right for women to vote!

The afternoon was a blur of people, of congratulations, of gifts, little old ladies kissing his cheek, men pumping his hand and commenting on the beauty of the bride.

And finally, it was evening and they’d all departed except the closest friends, the McBride family, and the visiting Durangos. Old Rosita called supper.

Maverick had never really noticed the dining room of this house, and how as he entered, he stopped and looked around. The long oak table. Just as Annie had promised.

Cayenne caught his arm. “What’s the matter, dearest?”

He swallowed hard. “If Annie could only know. . . ”

Joe paused next to him, patting his shoulder. “She does, Son, I assure you, she does.”

And then it was just like he’d envisioned it a million times when he was a starved, lonely boy in a tepee. Joe took his arm, placed him at one end of the table, and sat down in a chair at one side.

Maverick protested, “But, Joe, this is your chair!”

He shook his head and smiled. “It’s yours now, Maverick. I hand over both the reins and the welfare of this clan to your hands.”

Maverick saw Cayenne blink back tears as she seated herself at the far end opposite him. All up and down the table were relatives, friends. Somehow, he suddenly felt Annie’s presence. She would be with him always, in spirit and through his children. Without thinking, Maverick whispered, “God moves in mysterious ways. . .”

“Amen!” Joe nodded. “Amen! And now, I’ll bless this food, this family.”

Family
. Maverick bent his head, struggling with the lump his throat.
His family
. The first of many meals at the long table Annie had talked about so many dreams ago. He looked up as old Rosita brought in steaming platters of fried chicken and chocolate cake. Yes, this was all the way the two of them had dreamed it would be.

He looked down the table at Cayenne and she smiled at him. A great peace came into his heart as he thought of Annie Laurie and the flame-haired girl he loved.

Later they all sat before the stone fireplace, the fire crackling merrily on scented mesquite wood, driving away the chill. He snuggled down next to his bride in a big chair, staring into the fire and remembering a cold, shivering kid who always hoped for and pictured a room like this.

Cayenne leaned closer. “What are you thinking about?” she whispered.

He thought of Annie but the memories weren’t painful anymore. “Some time, I’ll tell you,” he said softly, patting her hand.

And finally, it was late enough for the bridal couple to excuse themselves and go up to the big bedroom at the top of the stairs, leaving the rest of the family and visitors still chatting before the roaring fireplace.

Cayenne put a dab of vanilla behind each ear after she had changed into a pale green nightdress. Then she brushed her hair until it shone like burnished copper and went into the big bedroom where her husband sat smoking, looking into the cozy fire. He had not undressed.

“Come here to me, baby,” he said, pulling her down on his lap as he tossed the cigarette into the fireplace. She lay her face against his wide chest as he stroked her absently, both content for the moment to hold each other, hear the other’s heartbeat.

After a while, Cayenne stood up, caught his hands, and pulled him to his feet. She looked up into his adoring eyes as his big, rough hands came down to cup her small face, turn it up to his, kiss the tip of her nose. “And to think I almost rode off without you!” he whispered.

“My stars! You don’t think I would have let you do that!” She stared up into the wide gray eyes, and when he smiled, she realized how his face lit up, how handsome he was.

“You mean I didn’t have any choice, you feisty little terrier?” His lips kissed her eyelids as she swayed in his embrace.

She grinned, winking at him. “They don’t call me Cayenne for nothing!” she reminded him.

“By damn, I hope you can pass that kind of spirit on to children,” he laughed under his breath, tangling his hands in her long hair. “I’d like little Sam to be as fiery, as peppery as his mama.”

Her green eyes widened in shock. “Sam? Sam?” She pushed him away. “Why, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I name one of my sons after that ornery old rumpot!”

“Now, Cayenne, I thought we agreed—”