Comanche Rose (33 page)

"They're lying about that, too," Hap told her. "They don't want the soldiers coming into their villages."

By the time the campfire was buried, and the Indians moved on, the sun was a white-hot disk in the cloudless sky, and the heat rose in undulating waves from the ground. It had to be near ninety, and it was only April. If they hadn't been facing another river, Hap would have liked to wait until it was cooler to travel.

Then he wondered why the war party had gone on, because most of the Indians he'd tracked traveled at night like Clay. Despite their seeming friendliness, he had to wonder if they'd double back and attack come nightfall. But if they'd wanted to kill him and Annie, they could have done it easily, he reminded himself.

He wanted to wash up, to cool off before he got back into the saddle, but if things were as bad as the Indian had said, he couldn't afford to waste any water. Reluctantly, he threw the packs back onto the mules, tied them down, and gathered up the outraged cat. Tonight, if they pressed on, they might make it to a cedar-fringed shelter where they crossed through the mountains, but that'd be pushing it. Still, the notion of lying with the smell of cedar surrounding him was an inviting one.

It was nearly three o'clock by the time they reached the sinuous, low-banked North Pease River. He could smell it even before he saw it, and he knew the Comanches had told the truth about the water at least. Winding alongside it was a thick line of reeds, willows, and stinking sedge grass. The ground, where he could see it, was crusted with more gypsum than he'd ever known it to have.

To make matters worse, if possible, a herd of buffalo had passed through, leaving an equally strong stench of urine and excrement. He knew he wasn't going to camp there. Hell, he wasn't even sure he wanted to swim across it. And looking over at Annie, he could see she was revolted by the smell.

"Want to go upriver awhile and look for a better place?"

"No. When it's like this, there isn't."

She looked too tired, but he knew she wasn't going to give in. By the time they got across, they were both going to smell like an outhouse. No, they'd just have to go on and pray that the Indians had been wrong, that there was a spring somewhere in the gap. Before, when he'd traveled with men, it hadn't mattered so much, but now he had a wife. He guessed if worse came to worst, he could strip and roll in the dew-soaked grass tonight to take part of the stink off.

"All right." Knotting his rein over his fist, he got a good grip on the cat, wondering how the hell he'd get Spider across without looking like a nearsighted berry picker by the time he came up the bank on the other side. Knowing it was going to hurt like hell, he thrust the frightened creature inside his shirt. "Reckon I'd better go first," he muttered. "If I get into any trouble, don't come after me. I'll yell if there's quicksand."

With a whoop he eased the reins and kneed Old Red. The horse plunged into the water, then tried to drink. He kicked it with his spurs, urging it on across, dragging a fighting mule behind him. At the moment he'd hit the water, the cat popped out of his shirt, took a look at the predicament it was in, and promptly dug every claw it had into Hap's neck and shoulder. Hanging on, it howled all the way over, then let loose and bounded up the opposite bank, its leash trailing behind it. Cursing, Hap tried to grab it, but it was gone.

When he looked back, Annie was having a devil of a time getting her mule out of the water. Nearly mad with thirst, it wanted to drink the foul stuff, founder, and die. Holding his nose, Hap slid from his saddle, hit Old Red on the rump, letting it drag his pack animal on up, then eased down the slimy sand back into the water. It wasn't deep, just nasty. Grabbing the mule's lead, he pulled it, thrashing and kicking across the shallow, sandy riverbed. When it nipped him, he drew his Colt and hit it hard with the butt right between its eyes. As he slogged up the marshy bank, Annie was waiting with Old Red.

"I hate this damned river," he muttered, struggling to stand as his wet clothes sagged. "Never got across it easy yet." Sinking down for a moment in the crusted mud, he caught his breath, then remembered the damned cat. "Spider's gone, Annie," he managed. "Couldn't hold him."

"He's right here."

He looked down, seeing the blood on his shirt where the animal's claws had ripped his skin, and he didn't know whether to be glad or not. She followed his gaze, then decided, "I'd better get the balm."

"Yeah."

He laid his wet gun down and stood up, smoothing his soaked clothes downward, squeezing the excess water against his skin. He knew he smelled so bad that a polecat wouldn't want to be around him. Stripping his clothes, he flung them on the ground, then looked around for anything to clean himself with. Annie'd been a whole lot luckier, and when her horse had hit the water, she'd brought her knees up, keeping everything but the hem of her dress dry.

As he stood there, buck naked, she let the cat down, and it dragged its leash between his legs, rubbing against his wet legs affectionately. "No need to come around now," he growled. "Reckon I've got a good notion of what you think of me, you little varmint." But even as he said it, he bent down to pick the sorry black mess up. "Here now," he said gruffly as it began washing his face with the sandpaper tongue. "You'll make yourself sick."

"He's probably trying to make up," Annie observed, carrying the jar of balm over. Taking off the lid, she dipped her fingers into it. "This may smart a little, but cat scratches get infected."

"Yeah, well, the river water doesn't help much." Turning his head away, he spat on the ground, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. "Must be ten tons of gypsum in there."

"At least. Here..." Instead of doctoring the scratches, she handed him the jar, then went to the packs where she found a dry cloth. Pouring a small amount of the precious drinking water on it, she rubbed a bar of lye soap into it. When she came back, she held it out. "It's strong soap, so maybe it'll help."

Scrubbing himself, he got most of the crusty stuff off, then found a clean shirt and pants. Pulling the shirt on, he left it open so she could treat all the holes and gouges. As she worked, he squinted up at the sun, measuring its position in the sky. "I was kinda hoping to make it into the gap before we bedded down." Turning back to her, his smile was lopsided, reminding her of a little boy's. "I can make a real soft bed out of cedar."

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, she had to look away. "By tonight I probably won't need it. I'll probably be able to sleep anywhere."

Disappointment washed over him; then he reminded himself that he was further ahead already than he'd expected to be with her. For a man who'd never had a woman with any regularity before, he was getting damned greedy. It seemed that all he had to do was look at her to get the notion.

He took a deep breath, then nodded. "They kinda brought it back to you, didn't they? Those Indians, I mean."

"Yes." She closed her eyes briefly, then dared to meet his gaze. "I think it was the war paint."

"You were real brave, Annie—you didn't show it."

"But I thought it, Hap. When the first one came riding down on me with that lance, I thought it." Taking one last dab at his neck with the balm, she closed the jar. "I thought he'd kill you, and—" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Then why the hell'd you go running out there like that?" he demanded. "I had a good bead on him."

"I had to. I wanted to know where the Quadahis are. And I had to prove to myself I could look them in the face," she added soberly. "In my mind I was sure they wouldn't hurt me, but in my heart I was afraid. And I knew if you killed him, they wouldn't listen to anything I said."

"You'll never know how much I wanted to pull that trigger, Annie."

"Believe me, if you ever have Two Trees in your sights, I won't stop you. It'd almost be worth dying just to see him pay for what he did to Gretchen."

"And to you."

"And to me. But I've always hoped he died somewhere, that somebody made him pay before now. I know it's not right, but I've prayed for that since the day he took me away."

The pain in her eyes was so real that he wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, but he knew if he did, they'd never get on down the trail. And they had to. Right now they were sitting ducks on the riverbank, and there was no guarantee the next Comanches would be friendly.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get away from this smell," she murmured.

"The balm?" he teased.

"The river."

Bending down, he retrieved the Peacemaker and spun the cylinder, removing the bullets from the chambers. "Soon as I get this dried out and a little oil on it, I reckon I'm ready. I can't afford to let it get fouled up." He scanned the open area around them, then made up his mind. "I'd better check the Henry, too, 'cause I reckon you'd better carry it from here on. You know how to use it, don't you?"

She closed her eyes again, remembering the urgency she'd felt firing Ethan's, and she nodded. "Yes," she answered low.

"I'll get it. Then we'd better get around. I never did like this place."

Later, riding beside a silent and decidedly sober Annie, he thought a lot about how hard it was for her to forget, about how no matter how passionate she was in his arms, there were still times when he saw fear in her eyes. There were still times when all he could do was hold her through her nightmares.

"What if he's still alive, Annie? What if you come face to face with him again?" As soon as the words had escaped, he wanted them back. He hadn't meant to remind her again, not after what she'd said.

"I don't know." She sucked in her breath, then let it out slowly. "No matter what I said back there, I wouldn't want you to die for killing him. So I guess if I had to face him again, I'd ask him again to tell me who he sold Susannah to. I know he knows, Hap—I know he knows."

"Then I'll wring it out of the son of a bitch," he promised her. "Right before I kill him."

And he meant it. He didn't know how, or where, or when, but someday he was going to find and kill Two Trees. As slowly as possible. And even then that wouldn't be enough compensation for the hell the Comanche had put her through.

"He said it was a Quahadi," she said suddenly. "But he may have lied. At the time I didn't know one Indian from another, but later I learned there had been Noconis—and even some Kiowas—with the war party. But Two Trees said he sold her to a Quahadi," she remembered painfully. "Yet when I asked him who it was, he wouldn't give me any name. Dark Water taunted me that it was a Kiowa, and that he'd killed her, but I never believed it. She hated me, so she would say anything."

"Dark Water?"

"His oldest wife. He had two—they were sisters. The younger one was called Burns His Supper, but she was named that before he married her. She wasn't any better than Dark Water."

It was the most she'd ever said about her captivity. Hoping she'd tell him more, maybe get some of it out in the open, he didn't interrupt her. She'd kept it bottled up inside her too long, and maybe if she talked about it, she'd heal.

"If he'd let them cut me, maybe it would have been different, but he wouldn't," she said slowly. "He told them he was going to sell me for many horses because of my hair. He liked my hair—and Gretchen's—because it was pale. He used to terrorize Gretchen, telling her how it would look on his scalp pole. He liked to see her afraid. And she was."

"God."

"He kept me for a different reason, because I wouldn't show him I was scared. It became a game, I think, because he had to win, he had to make me give in. And then there was the obvious reason," she added tonelessly. "But no matter what he did, I made up my mind, I wouldn't scream or cry. I wouldn't let him win."

"Annie—"

It was as though she didn't hear him. "I think that's why Dark Water hated me so much. She was afraid he'd marry me, and I'd have the same status she and Burns His Supper enjoyed. To them it was inconceivable that I didn't want it. They made me lose a baby because they were afraid he'd want to marry me, but he wouldn't have. He hated me. But when it happened, as painful as it was, I was glad. I would have rather died than have his child."

Her voice was low, monotonous, devoid of emotion. And suddenly he was afraid to hear any more. The emptiness was worse than tears. It haunted him.

"Annie," he promised quietly, "I won't let you go through that again. If anything goes wrong, and it looks like I'm done for, I'm taking you with me. You'll get the next to the last bullet."

It was as though she came out of a trance. Recovering, she shook her head. "It'll be different this time, Hap. I'm coming to them, and I can speak enough of the language that I can make them understand. I even have a name to give them now—Saleaweah, Woman Who Walks Far. Without Two Trees or Dark Water and Burns His Supper to dispute it, I'll be considered
Nermernuh.
Just like Clay McAlester."

"It's different—you're a woman, Annie."

"No." She looked over at him, forcing a bitter smile. "If you survive long enough, most of them eventually come to think of you as one of them. Even the white women. Big Thunder's wife had been a captive, but after he married her, she was treated as though she'd been born Comanche. When she died in childbed, he wailed and carried on, and the women in his family cut their breasts and hair in mourning. Dark Water was the only Comanche I knew who complained she didn't deserve the honor." She considered for a moment, then allowed, "Not all of them were like Two Trees, you know."

"Big Thunder took a white woman captive," he reminded her harshly. "He took her away from her family."

"No. He was like Bull Calf—he didn't take captives because he thought they were a lot of trouble. He just bought her out of pity, because a Kiowa was mistreating her. And he was kind enough that when he brought her two horses, she took them, accepting his proposal. That was another reason why Dark Water hated me—Big Thunder tried to buy me from Two Trees."

"Remind me to write up a commendation for him," Hap muttered.