Lone Star 05 (10 page)

Jessie felt his chest rising and falling as their faces met. Their bodies were covered with a sheen of perspiration. They kissed. It was a soul-quenching kiss. They both needed it.

Later, when they found the strength to separate and put on their clothes, she said, “Thad, you're very good for a girl. Very good.”

Thad brushed his lips across her eyes as she now lay beside him again. “Thanks. You make a man feel—different. I've never known it could be like that, Jessie.”

“Well, you've been deprived. It ought to be like that all the time, as far as I'm concerned.”

“Miss Starbuck, you amaze me. And by the way, I've canceled any doubts about helping you and your man Ki deliver the kid to Provo. It's the least I can do.”

“Thad! You don't take this—us together here—as a bribe?” She brought herself up on her elbows, her proud face flashing anger.

“No, gal,” said Thad. “If we hadn‘t, I'd have gone along just on the possibility that we'd come together. And besides, I like you.”

“I want you to know that I don't bed down with every man who crosses my path. But somehow I knew it was right—for us.” As she spoke to him, Jessie gazed up at the diamond-bright stars. It had been good; Thad Hill was a gentle and considerate man.

“Hell, Jessie,” he grumbled, “I know that. I knew that when I first saw you. You're quality stock—I mean, anybody could see that.”

She laughed at his characterization. “You sound like my father. He would talk about people in terms of cattle or other animals. He once told me my mother—I don't remember her—was a ‘thoroughbred.' That was a mighty high compliment from him.”

“You must be a lot like her.”

“I suppose, in some ways. There's a portrait of her; it hangs in my father's library back at the Circle Star. She was beautiful.”

“What happened to her?” he asked. The moment the words escaped his lips, he knew he should not have asked the question. “I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it—”

“Believe it or not, it doesn't get easier. She's been dead for over twenty years—and it's still difficult. Father never got over it. Sometimes I would find him alone, standing in front of the portrait, looking at her lovely face. It tore him up inside, killed him a little bit every time he thought about her—which was often.

“She was killed. In Europe, where she and Father were traveling on business. The authorities called it an accident, but it wasn't. She was walking across the street and a carriage ran her down. It took her a while to die. My father was there. He told me about it. He told me he would never forget—and that one of the few things that mattered to him was avenging her death. He knew who did it—the cartel, those greedy, murdering bastards. Businessmen, they call themselves; I call them scum.”

Jessie futilely cursed the tears that rolled down her cheeks. The night breeze cooled her flushed face. She reached for Thad's hand and squeezed it to her breast. She was glad she had this man—even for a little while. She sensed that he was a good man, a man much like her father—not as powerful or as straight and tall, but a good man. God, how she missed Alex Starbuck!

“And now it's my job,” she went on, “avenging his murder and hers. I don't care how long it takes me, Thad, but I swear I will. I won't rest until I put those men in their graves.”

“Just who are they?” Thad wondered.

“This Mueller is a good example. Conniving, ruthless men—Prussians, a lot of them. He works for the same outfit, I know it in my bones. It's mighty strange that he is here in Skyler. A strange coincidence—or else part of a plan I don't know about. But I'll find out. And I think the boy is the key to the whole thing.”

At the Skyler Emporium & General Merchandise Store that evening, Ki, under the pretense of stocking up on some supplies, moved quietly among the local people with his eyes and ears open for any tidbit of information that could help Jessie in her quest. The store itself was a low, wide structure crammed full of everything from cloth to Colt .45s, from grain to Greener scatterguns, from hairbrushes to Henry repeating rifles. And the narrow aisles were populated by Mormon men and their families, in town for their weekly or monthly shopping trips. They were a subdued lot who kept to themselves and threw suspicious glances in his direction.

Ki purchased some ammunition, a half side of bacon, some coffee for Jessie, and a length of rope that he could use to tie the prisoner to his horse if need be. He wished that he and Jessie would not be riding out in the open when they took the kid to Provo.

In fact, Ki did not like the entire arrangement. Like Jessie, he did not believe, that Thomas Starbuck was Alex's son. Nor did he trust the host of bounty-seekers who had gathered in this town to get their money-grubbing paws on the boy. Nor did he think the local leaders were interested in justice; they'd probably just as soon let a lynch mob take care of the problem.

There was danger and suspicion in the air; Ki felt it as surely as he breathed. Inside the general store, the busy folk went about their business as usual—but he sensed their sidelong looks in his direction. He knew he cut an odd figure in whatever American town he passed through, especially when he and Jessie rode together, but he could never get used to the ignorant, hateful stares he encountered wherever he went.

He paid for his goods and, not picking up any useful information, made his way through the throng to the front door and outside. Already the feeble sun had slid behind the saw-toothed summits to the west, the clouds had retreated, and the streets of Skyler were darkening. It had been a gloomy day, relieved for Ki only by the prospect of meeting with Jessie later tonight. He would deliver his purchases to their hotel and wait for her.

But as he emerged from the store, he heard a commotion just ahead of him out on the street. At a quick glance he could see that it was just some local people engaged in a dispute. As long as it was not Jessie, he relaxed a bit. On a closer look, though, he saw that one of the Mormon men—a big man with a flaming red beard—was flailing away at a young woman who stood with her arms raised to shield herself from his blows. At the woman's feet was a sack of flour that had split open and spilled in the dirt.

“Devil's woman!” the red-bearded man roared. “I curse the day I took you as my wife.” He drew his arm back and slapped her across the face, sending her reeling. He caught hold of her dress and steadied her, only to slap her hard again. This time she fell to her knees beside the offending sack of flour.

Ki leaped from the plank walk in front of the store. He dropped his own things in the street as he made his way to the tall Mormon. Just as the man reached out to haul the woman up again, Ki grabbed his arm.

The man spun, his eyes blazing furiously. “Who the devil are you?” he demanded gruffly.

Ki didn't answer, but looked down at the woman, who was struggling to get to her feet. She was very pretty, with straight brown hair and a round face. Her eyes, filled with fear, were large and attractive.

“Well, state your business!” the red-bearded Mormon boomed. “If you cannot, then begone and let me punish this sinning wench to my satisfaction. Or else, by heaven, you'll wish you'd never stuck your nose in my affairs.”

Ki looked around and saw a number of other women gathered, watching. He figured they must be this man's other wives. They ranged in age from twenty to forty, with the bully himself somewhere in between. A glance from him cowed them, and they stepped back. Ki could not tell what their feelings were, concerning his treatment of this other young wife.

“No,” Ki stated quietly. “You won't harm the woman any further.”

His hands on his broad hips, the big Mormon said, “No one tells Solomon Morris what he can and cannot do. I obey only the will of the Lord God. Now you better move on, Chinaman, before I show you what I mean.”

Ki stood his ground. “If you promise me you'll not touch the woman, I shall go. Otherwise—”

“I'll otherwise you, you foreign devil. I'll otherwise your yellow head to a bloody pulp!”

Morris took one long step toward Ki, who was prepared for his move. The samurai deftly sidestepped the onrushing Mormon, who bulled past him, his great fists balled. Ki watched as the man pulled up short and turned around, confused, then came charging at Ki once again.

This time Ki stood his ground. Morris plowed at him, swinging his fists. Ki grabbed his right wrist and, twisting, took the huge man off balance. With a surprised grunt, the man actually threw himself to the ground, raising a considerable cloud of dust.

“By God, I'll break you in half!” he roared, scrambling to his feet.

At well over six feet tall and weighing close to two hundred fifty pounds, the Mormon was capable of breaking any ordinary man. But he had never contended with someone like Ki before. The samurai was well trained in the
te
arts, which valued quickness of wit over brute strength—which the Mormon possessed in abundance.

The warrior ducked under Morris's blows and extended a foot, tripping the big man, who crashed to the ground again, the air rushing out of his lungs. But Ki did not pin him there; instead, he waited for Morris to struggle upright again. It took a full minute for him to do so, his rage boiling hotter and hotter with every second that passed. How could this skinny foreigner, who looked as if he could be blown over in a breeze, stand up to his powerful attack? The Mormon got angrier the more he thought about it, and his anger fueled his fists.

Ki warded off a blow to his face and answered with a
shutouchi
strike with the edge of his left hand. He chopped at the big man's neck, stunning Morris. Then the lithe samurai brought his knee up into the Mormon's groin, doubling over the bearded man and again driving the air out of his lungs. Bent over in pain, Morris circled Ki, groaning and cursing. Suddenly he came upright, surprising even Ki, and delivered a backhand blow that snapped Ki's chin back with a crunch and sent him stumbling backwards.

A cry of triumph escaped the Mormon's lips and he advanced on his stunned opponent.

Ki recovered in time to step out of the way of the man's renewed attack. He worked his jaw, making certain it was not broken. The Mormon could hit hard, and Ki determined to avoid any further blows from the big man. He'd have to fight his own way.

Now Morris circled Ki like a
sumo
wrestler, his hands wide apart, his body crouched, his knees bent. Ki knew he could not let himself become locked in the bigger man's arms. He did not doubt that he could fight his way free, but he mustn't allow Morris to hurt him. It was time to end this fight, he decided.

Ki feinted to the left, drawing the Mormon in that direction. Then he directed a
yoko-geri-keage
sideways snap-kick that caught the bulky man low in the abdomen, pushing him back. Ki leaped toward him then, and shot his open hand forward, catching Morris on the chin. The heel of Ki's hand shut the man's mouth and, as Ki heard, cracked a few teeth.

As Morris's head was wrenched back and the Mormon contemplated the newly emerging stars in the sky, Ki moved in to finish him off.

Springing off the ground gracefully, he executed a perfect
tobi-geri
flying kick, smashing his foot into the center of the Mormon's ribcage. With a painful howl, the big man collapsed onto the street and lay there panting, the fight knocked out of him, at least for now.

By this time a good-sized crowd had gathered to watch the strange exhibition. All eyes were now locked on Ki, the odd, powerful figure who had just toppled a much larger opponent with apparent ease. Several women rushed to the fallen Mormon, probably some of his other wives. But the pretty girl whom Morris had slapped around stood awestruck, staring at Ki. She stooped to pick up the spilled flour that was the cause of all this violence.

Ki took a deep breath. The last thing he had wanted on this night was to become involved in a fight with one of the local citizens. He and Jessie had discussed how important it was to avoid drawing attention to themselves while in town—but now all that was by the boards. Before midnight, everyone in Skyler would hear of the mysterious warrior who had bested the powerful Solomon Morris in hand-to-hand combat. Ki turned away from the fallen man and went to recover the supplies he had bought at the general store.

He hadn't taken three steps when he saw two figures approaching the scene. One was the lame but energetic man who ran Skyler with an iron hand, the other the dapper blond-haired foreigner who, like Jessie and many others, had an interest in the prisoner Thomas Starbuck.

Before she had gone to the jail, Jessie had met with Ki and told him of her confrontation with Carpenter and her subsequent brief encounter with Mueller. He was not looking forward to dealing with either of them. But he could not run away now; he must face them. And perhaps he could pry some useful information out of one or both of them.