Nan Ryan (12 page)

Stopping a few yards away, Diane watched in stunned horror as the great power of the water gushing forth from the big fire hose pinned the Redman at the center of his cage. He stood with his feet apart, fists clenched at his sides while the driving force plastered his shoulder-length black hair to his head, caused his eyes to close, turned his bronzed face to the side, and beat on his bare chest and belly with a thrust that would have brought a lesser man to his knees.

Not this beautiful beast. The defiant creature was so tightly coiled he seemed to be straining against his own flesh, as though he were wearing invisible chains. But he didn’t knuckle under. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t try to escape the brutal assault of the water.

Diane’s heart raced in her chest as she watched the proud savage stand there silently enduring this cruel, unnecessary punishment.

She shouted a warning. The roustabout shut off the hose. The savage’s wet-lashed eyes opened.

“Drop that hose and get out of here!” she snapped at the thoughtless workman. The man shrugged, laid the hose down, turned and walked away, shaking his head.

Diane moved up to the cage. To her surprise and puzzlement, the silent savage who had suffered so impassively—who had not so much as raised a hand to shield himself against the stinging water—became abruptly, inexplicably enraged.

And his fury was directed right at her.

Astonished by his reaction to her intervention on his behalf, Diane stared in mute terror as the Redman grunted like an animal and clawed at the wide beaded band encircling his throat. His eyes were fierce and mean beneath the water-matted dark lashes. His teeth were bared like a wolf’s, feral and frightening.

He advanced and retreated toward the cage bars. He gripped the cold steel cylinders and tore at them with superhuman strength, his bronzed biceps bulging, a vein throbbing on his forehead, his dark face scarlet with fury.

His barbarous behavior affected the mighty mountain lion caged beside him. The great cat went into a frenzy. He snarled and pounced and thrust furry, lethally clawed paws out through the bars. He raced wildly about the cage, throwing himself up against the walls, keening and hissing as if he wanted to tear Diane to pieces.

Diane couldn’t move.

She stood there rooted to the spot, entranced. She was seeing the pair completely unveiled. Raging out of control. Totally wild and unthinking. She looked again at the Redman’s sharp, predatory eyes. Those dark animal eyes flashed with menace, and she was positive it was her presence that had set him off.

Even as she studied him, the Redman’s raging ceased. He withdrew to the far side of his cage. There he slowly lowered himself to the floor. He sat with his knees bent, his back against the wall. Rivulets of water and sweat trickled down his dark face, his sleek body. Beads of water clung to his long eyelashes, the tip of his once-broken nose, an earlobe.

The silver bracelet flashed on his right wrist as he lifted his hands and swept the thick, wet hair back from his face. He moved no more. There he remained, sullen, silent, impenetrable.

The mountain lion gave one last teeth-baring growl, turned majestically, and leisurely pranced away. He lay down at the back of his cage, paws out before him, head held high, diamond patch of dark fur under his throat exposed. His golden eyes were fixed on the silent man in the next cage. He purred plaintively, low, and very softly in the back of his throat, as if he were offering solace to the brooding, silent savage.

Diane backed away, shaken.

She turned and hurried off. She walked fast. She headed straight for the custom-built rail car her grandparents shared. Her mind was made up. She would tell the Colonel to release the Redman of the Rockies. It wasn’t right to hold him.

Diane now saw it all clearly, how much the show had fallen. It was bogus, stale, warmed over. A self-parody. The bizarre chase of the Redman had been concocted and staged out of desperation, not choice. Too pathetic to be worthy of the show’s honored past. She’d tell the Colonel as much. Tell him this very morning.

She knocked loudly at her grandparents’ quarters. The door opened, and her grandmother stood before her.

“Good morning, Granny.” Diane smiled at the tiny white-haired woman. “I know it’s early, but I must talk to the Colonel!”

From inside boomed the voice of the Colonel. “It’s Diane? Good, good. Come on in here, Diane! I want to show you something.”

Diane stepped inside, saw the Colonel seated at the table, poring over a stack of account books spread out before him.

“Honey,” he said, lifting blue, sparkling eyes to her, “I’ve got wonderful news!
Colonel Buck Buchannan’s Wild West Show
has drawn larger crowds here in Denver than we’ve pulled in years! Three matinees and four nights in a row playing to standing-room-only crowds!” He laughed and clapped his hands like an excited little boy. “And it’s all because of you and the Redman of the Rockies. The Beauty and the Beast. It’s you and that savage the folks turn out to see.” Chuckling happily, he looked closely at Diane, saw that she wasn’t laughing with him. “What is it, child? What is it you came to ask me? What do you want? Tell the old Colonel and he’ll get it for you.”

Diane smiled weakly at her dear grandfather. And she said, “Nothing, really. I just wondered if it might be a good idea to add a horse race to the show’s program. Cowboy McCall against Iron Shirt and Mexican Bob and—”

“Yes! I like it! We’ll throw in a Cossack and an Arab for good measure! Ruthie, did you hear that? Our little grandbaby is a chip off the old block or my name’s not Colonel Buck Buchannan!” Gleefully he added, “At this rate Pawnee Bill will never get his hands on my show!”

The Denver engagement was rapidly drawing to a close. Crowds continued to jam the fairgrounds. Members of the troupe were thrilled; they were actually being paid again. A holiday mood prevailed, and cast members congratulated one another and laughed more than usual.

Even Shorty joked good-naturedly, “The Colonel don’t pay me much.” He drug his bootheel back and forth through the dust. “Twenty dollars a week and all the manure I can take home.”

Diane laughed and thought it a shame that Shorty was unable to show more of his humorous, fun-loving side to Texas Kate. If only he could unwind a little around the constantly joking, wisecracking Kate, he might get somewhere with her.

Diane was still smiling as she and the Kid left Shorty and wandered on aimlessly through the grounds. Accompanying them were a couple of the Rough Riders and their most recent sweethearts. One of the women casually suggested they visit the Redman’s cage.

Immediately annoyed, Diane glanced sharply at the redheaded show girl. She said nothing, however, and went along with the group. As they approached the cage, Diane’s violet eyes narrowed as she searched anxiously for the Redman.

His wild black shoulder-length hair billowed while he roamed his cage like a wounded animal. He sensed their presence, stopped his pacing, and stared coldly at them.

The redhead moved up close to the bars. “My goodness. His face would scare little children, but that body …” She laughed nervously, then added, “His thighs must be made of bronzed steel.”

“Never you mind his thighs,” warned her Rough Rider escort.

The Redman’s cold black eyes were riveted on the fawning redhead.

But not for long. Diane deliberately—perversely— danced by the Redman’s cage. The leaded hem of her skirt flew above her knees as she swayed her hips seductively. Without looking at him, Diane knew those black eyes now rested entirely on her.

The Kid clapped his hands as she strutted about, and the others joined in the fun. Soon the entire group was mocking and making fun of the caged Redman, Diane as guilty as the rest. She childishly teased and taunted him, just as she did the ferocious mountain lion caged beside him.

But even as she goaded and teased the tall Indian behind bars, she felt shame and remorse. Guilt over her mean and unforgivable behavior grew after they’d left him. She was conscience-stricken and miserable. She kept seeing his eyes. Couldn’t get them out of her mind.

There was a brain behind those dark, wild eyes!

Diane’s misery increased with that night’s sold-out performance. She couldn’t keep from watching what she knew would make her feel worse than she already felt.

She sat on the arena fence and watched the Redman’s crowd-pleasing portion of the show. Pity and a deep sense of guilt mingled in her breast. Disgustedly she watched as the cage was wheeled around the arena and laughing women came down to stare and poke at the Redman. Then sadly she watched as the cage was thrown open, and the magnificent savage—prodded and baited—again tried a futile escape.

Her eyes closed in agony when the Cherokee Kid and his Rough Riders thundered into the arena to ride the Redman down.

She couldn’t watch anymore.

She turned, dropped to the ground outside the arena, and walked away. She felt mentally exhausted and wished she had no after-show engagement with the Kid. With feet of lead, she trudged toward her quarters while screams and loud applause from behind signaled the recapture of the Redman.

It was then, hearing those deafening shouts of approval, that Diane made her decision.

She
would release the Redman of the Rockies.

Chapter 11

Diane reluctantly joined the Kid for a late supper after the show. But she cut the evening short, pleading a headache.

Actually it was more like a heartache.

She was troubled. She’d made up her mind to release the Redman, and with the decision came an unsettling mixture of serenity and distress. She was sure it was the right thing to do, so she felt good about it. It would be a terrible setback for the Colonel and his troubled troupe, so she felt bad about it.

She’d come out from the District of Columbia for the sole purpose of helping her aging grandfather save his beloved show. When she threw open the Redman’s cage, she would be slamming the door on the Colonel’s dreams.

Diane lay awake in her narrow berth, restlessly tossing and turning. It was very late; she’d left the Kid hours ago. It had to be nearing three or four in the morning. In the bunk across the room Texas Kate, lying flat on her back, snored softly, making strange little whistling sounds through her nose. They were getting on Diane’s already frayed nerves.

Sighing, she sat up, looked over at Kate, and ground her teeth. She threw back the bedcovers, rose, and lifted the silk robe from the foot of her bed. In the darkness she tiptoed to the small sitting room, pulling the compartment door closed behind her.

Diane drew on the blue silk robe, lifted her long, tousled hair free, and moved toward the front door. She opened it, poked her head out, and looked around.

It was so late the moon had gone down and the stars were rapidly fading. It was very dark. Every rail car in the long show train was dark as well.

The entire troupe was sleeping.

Tying the robe’s silk sash loosely at her waist, Diane stepped outside. The August night was surprisingly cold, and Diane wore almost nothing. Her pale blue gown and robe were of the softest silk and lace. A strong breeze from out of the east knifed right through the flimsy fabric. She pulled the robe’s lace-trimmed lapels tightly together and shivered.

Diane knew she should turn around, go back inside, and get into bed, where she belonged.

She stepped down off the stoop and sprinted on bare feet toward the northern end of the big arena looming before her in the darkness. She never once looked back, completely comfortable that everyone else was sound asleep.

Almost everyone was.

But in a darkened rail car near the very end of the train Ancient Eyes was wide-awake. In his favorite chair before an open window the old Ute chieftain sat in the chill morning darkness, staring out at the past. His broad, ugly face was expressionless.

Suddenly his glazed black eyes widened, then focused when a slender dark-haired woman dashed across his line of vision. He gripped the worn arms of his easy chair, leaned forward, and squinted.

Then murmured soundlessly, “Little Buck!” He swallowed hard, watched in disbelief as she made her sure, swift way around the circumference of the big arena and disappeared into the thick darkness. Again he whispered, “Little Buck!” and argued with himself about going after her.

He rose from his chair, pulled the colorful blanket more closely about his naked shoulders. But he sat back down. Little Buck was fiercely independent and possessed a volcanic temper. She would be furious if he followed her. She was no longer a child. She was a grown woman. A grown woman who was going somewhere in the middle of the night wearing only her nightclothes.

Ancient Eyes’ barrel chest tightened. He’d seen what was going on. Little Buck was constantly in the company of the Cherokee Kid. Likely she was going to him now. The old Ute shook his head sadly. It was painful to stand quietly by while the girl he loved as if she were his own flesh threw her life away on a man like Philip Lowery. Lowery wasn’t worthy of Little Buck.

Ancient Eyes sighed wearily. He’d told the Colonel— right from the beginning when Philip Lowery had first joined the troupe—that he thought Lowery was ambitious and unprincipled, would cause only trouble. But the Colonel liked Lowery, had refused to listen. Now the Colonel seemed fully approving of the growing relationship between Little Buck and the Kid.