Ralph Compton Comanche Trail (18 page)

From behind a nearby bush appeared a third form, smaller than the men but also smiling. “It's me, Ma. Jakey.”

As if weightless, she floated across the creek, over the water, hurrying to welcome them.

“What it means, I can't say,” July said, “but I choose to view it as a sign that good things are to come.”

“As I think you should,” Joy said as she stood and hugged her friend. “Perhaps it is the Almighty whispering in your sleep to tell you that you can cease your worry, that He has a plan for a happy ending to all your troubles.”

July nodded, suddenly embarrassed by the enthusiasm with which she'd shared her fantasy. “Best we get to baking,” she said.

It was later in the day, after the pies were cooked and lined on tables to cool, when Joy called her away from the other women. “In your dream,” she asked, “was there no sign of my father?”

•   •   •

To avoid being seen in Waco, Barclay and Taylor chose a slow, looping route that took them across the Brazos and onto flat farmland where cotton would soon be planted. They saw a few cabins and farmhouses in the distance but quickly passed them by until they had reached the bend in the river where they'd earlier camped.

“I think we can best get our bearings if we start out from here,” Barclay said.

Taylor looked across the water toward the overhang where
they'd hidden out, where they'd found Huaco Joe dead. “Fine with me,” he said, “but I'd prefer not to return to our old campsite.”

“Nor would I,” Barclay grunted. “We'll find us a place to pass some time. Then after nightfall we'll head toward the ranch. We'll wait till daybreak to set the fires. That way Guinn's men will be able to see the smoke and we can make our escape without our mounts steppin' into a prairie dog hole or runnin' into one of them wire fences.”

Soon the horses were taking drinks from the river while their riders sat beneath a willow, sharing the biscuits Mrs. Donovan had prepared. Barclay's ribs no long pained him as he drew deep breaths, and Taylor was pleased that the swelling in his jaw was gone. “I'm proud to say I can almost chew right again,” he said.

“And I consider bein' able to breathe properly my latest blessing,” Barclay said.

There was nothing more than small talk left to share as both men contemplated the dangers of what lay ahead.

Kole Guinn moved from his chair to place another log in the fireplace, a portion of his drink spilling onto the rug. He was pleasantly drunk. Seated nearby was Kate Two, watching silently as sparks flew up the chimney. She twisted one of the stolen rings on her finger while she compared the massive room to the dirt floor of her Comanche teepee. As she considered her new situation, she smiled.

“It'll be Thanksgiving soon,” Guinn said. “I hope you'll still be here to share it with us.” That Kate had given no hint of how long she would stay before continuing her journey to reunite with her family had frustrated the rancher. “I generally invite some folks out for the day and Juanita cooks up a big meal. Turkey, dressing, bread pudding. It's always a good time.”

When she failed to respond he continued. “Down in that thicket by the creek,” he said, “there're turkeys so big they ought to be branded. I always ride down there and shoot a few for Juanita. Sometimes I bring back a deer as well. Maybe you'd like to accompany me.”

“I'm afraid I know very little about guns and shooting,” she said.

“I'd be pleased to teach you.” He reached for the whiskey bottle that sat on the floor next to him.

She had no intention of leaving. Men were searching for her; she needed the safety and protection she could depend on Guinn and his ranch hands to provide. Too, the luxury of living on the ranch was something she'd never dreamed of. Though she didn't particularly like the drunken old man seated across from her, he had been gentlemanly and generous. Beneath all the fascination he clearly had for her, however, was a ruthless man to whom the comfort of wealth was his only true love. That was the part of Kole Guinn she admired.

“I'd be pleased to spend Thanksgiving here if you like,” she said. “Winter traveling isn't something I'd really care to do.”

More whiskey sloshed from Guinn's glass as he raised it in a salute. “We'll need to buy you a new dress for the occasion.”

“That would be nice,” she said. “Perhaps Juanita can find one on her next trip into town.”

“You wouldn't prefer shopping for one yourself?”

“No, I'd rather stay here. Now I think I'll retire if you don't mind.” She left Guinn staring into the fireplace, still smiling long after she had made her way up the stairs.

•   •   •

So taut was the barbed wire strung that with each cut it gave off a pinging sound as it recoiled away from each post. As he walked along the fence, Taylor cut the strands while Barclay remained on horseback, shotgun across his saddle, keeping watch. Once there was a sizable hole in the fence, they would move on to create another opening through which the cattle could escape. Thad cut wires until his hands ached and the shears grew dull.

It occurred to Barclay that Kole Guinn must be a man of great arrogance, so sure that none would dare steal his stock that he didn't even bother to have his pastures watched over at night.

“We've got to set the fires on the back side of the herd since it ain't likely even cows are stupid enough to go runnin' straight into the flames,” Barclay said as they rode onto the ranch. While they waited on the river he had fashioned torches from short limbs and dried moss, soaking them in the coal oil.

In the darkness the riders could make out only silhouettes of hundreds of longhorns. In some areas the brittle grass was still so high that only the horns of the steers were visible. A curious few slowly rose as the horses passed, but most chose to ignore the predawn trespassers.

“They got no idea how excitin' things are gonna get here in a few minutes,” Barclay said. He handed a torch and a jar of coal oil to Taylor and pointed in the direction of another group of cattle. “Once you get behind that bunch, light your fires—spread 'em out at a good distance—then hightail it toward that opening you cut up the way. With luck we can be gone and hid before anybody gets here.”

•   •   •

As the flames reached into the darkness, the cattle stirred, listlessly at first, and then they began to move about aimlessly, snorting and pawing. Only when Barclay fired several pistol shots into the air did they began to move more swiftly, headed toward the fences. Soon a stampede was under way, the longhorns escaping through the openings, some even trampling fence that hadn't been cut.

Barclay saw Taylor riding in his direction, torch still in hand. “Time we take our leave,” he yelled.

The shots had wakened the bunkhouses, and the hired hands, still in their long johns, rushed out into the cold night air. On the southern horizon, in the direction from which the shots had come, was an orange glow.

“We got ourselves a fire,” Buck Lee yelled. “Everybody get your britches on and mount up.”

Ruben de la Rosa ran toward the house to alert Guinn. He found him sleeping in his chair, the bottle perched on his chest empty and the fireplace faded to embers. He shook the rancher awake, he said, “Boss, we got troubles. There's a fire burning down in the south pasture.”

Guinn wiped his hands across his face. He'd been dreaming of a turkey hunt, and for a second he didn't understand why his foreman was standing next to him.

“Fire, boss,” de la Rosa said, raising his voice as if addressing someone hard of hearing. “And there were gunshots.”

“Rustlers?” Guinn asked, awake and sobering.

“Most likely.”

By the time he had his boots pulled on, Guinn was alert and in command. “You're sending the men to check it out?”

Ruben nodded.

“I'll ride with them. Have a couple of the boys stay back and load water onto a wagon, then hurry along.” As Guinn spoke he glanced toward the staircase. Kate, awakened by the commotion, was standing at the balcony. Wearing a white cotton nightgown, her hands to her face, she looked frightened. Then Juanita appeared from her room adjacent to the kitchen.

Guinn hurried toward the doorway and reached for his coat and rifle, Ruben at his side. “I'll lead the men,” he said
as he put a hand to his foreman's chest. “I want you to stay here to watch over the women.”

“But, sir . . .” De la Rosa's argument faded into the night as Guinn bounded down the porch steps. One of the hands had already saddled his horse and held the reins out to him.

•   •   •

Barclay and Taylor quickly distanced themselves from the pasture and were hiding in a grove of trees when the wranglers appeared, whipping their mounts through the tall grass until they reached the fast-spreading fires. In the glow of the flames, only a few bewildered and bawling calves could be seen, the straggling remains of the herd.

“They might be chasin' those cattle all the way to Mexico,” Barclay said as he watched the frantic activity through his field glasses. “First, though, they got to figger out what to do about puttin' out the fire 'fore it takes the whole pasture.”

Taylor had already turned Magazine and was moving farther into the shadows of the tree line. Barclay followed. As the rode they could hear the clattering of the water wagon hurrying to join the others.

While his men pounded the burning grass with dampened burlap sacks, Guinn found a spot where the fire had burned down and forced his horse through the lingering heat and smoke, following the escape route of his cattle. When he reached the fence, he dismounted and carefully examined several of the smoldering cedar posts. He swore loudly when he found the cut wire.

•   •   •

The sky was turning early-morning gray as Barclay and Taylor reached a small rise from which they could see the dim outline of the ranch house.

“I wish we could have gotten here while it was still dark,” Barclay said.

Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed.

“We riding in or approaching on foot?”

“Depends,” Barclay said as he pointed toward the stone entrance to the ranch. “A man who ain't got sense enough to keep watch over his cattle might not feel any need for a lock on his gate. If we can pass through, I say we ride. That'll allow us to make our exit quicker.”

“By what we seen back in the pasture, it appears everyone's gone.”

“Not everyone, I hope.”

Kate Two had dressed quickly after Guinn left and was pacing the kitchen as Ruben sat at the table, drinking coffee. He was still angry at being ordered to stay behind.

“What's wrong?” Kate said.

Ruben didn't bother to look up. “I never hired on to stand guard over no women,” he said.

“What's happening out in the back pasture? Indians? Rustlers? What?” Something, she felt, was not right. Why set a fire if stealing cattle was your intent? She knew it was not the Comanche way, and doubted even the most simpleminded of thieves would risk calling such attention to themselves.

She looked at de la Rosa with contempt. “I imagine,” she said, “that your boss would be most disappointed to learn that you're carrying out the duty you're assigned by sitting here drinking coffee, with not even a firearm within reach.”

In his haste to alert Guinn, Ruben had quickly pulled on his pants and boots before rushing to the house. His pistol was still back in the bunkhouse.

“I'm gonna go fetch it right now,” he said.

“If you see an extra rifle,” Kate Two said, “I'd appreciate your bringing it to me.”

Ruben laughed. “You'll find plenty of guns back in the boss's office. He collects 'em. Just be careful you don't go shooting yourself.”

•   •   •

As they slowly approached, Barclay held up a hand, signaling Taylor to stop. They watched as a figure left the house and walked in the direction of the bunkhouse. “Don't look like the Bender woman,” Barclay said. “It appears there're more folks here than we expected.” For a few moments he pulled at his beard. “Guess we'll need to split up and take our chances. I'll check out the bunkhouse and you go to the house. Remember the advice I gave you when we rode into that Indian camp a while back?”

“To not be bashful about defending myself,” Thad said.

“That applies in this case as well.”

Moving quietly, Taylor looped Magazine's reins around the hitching post and made his way up the steps. The only light he could see came from the kitchen. He looked through a window and saw a Mexican woman standing in front of the stove.

As he entered he pointed his Colt toward the woman with one hand and placed a finger over his lips with the other. She burst into tears. Thad rushed to her and placed a hand over her mouth. “Lady, I ain't gonna hurt you,” he whispered. “I'll remove my hand if you promise to be quiet. Who else is here?”

Her whole body was shaking.
“Lo siento . . . No hablo inglés.”

Taylor guided the woman to a chair. “Sit,” he said.
“Por
favor.”
He looked around the room for something he could use to tie her up with. There was no need. Her chin was already dipping toward her chest. She had fainted.

He slowly made his way into the main part of the house, squinting into the darkness as he went. In the dining room he let his free hand run across the smoothness of the large table, then moved through another door toward the faint glow of the fireplace. He was careful to avoid the empty bottle lying on the floor. After every few steps he stopped and listened but heard only the rhythmic ticking that came from a grandfather clock located against a far wall. There was a faint odor of stale cigar smoke and whiskey mixed with the aroma of the coffee that wafted from the kitchen.

Taylor moved along walls filled with paintings of majestic longhorns and mounted heads of deer. He stopped for a moment to look at a huge portrait of a young Texas Ranger wearing a white hat, a gold star pinned to his chest. There was a proud, almost boastful, smile on the subject's face.

As he climbed the stairway the house grew even darker. He could barely make out the row of doors along the upper hallway, each one closed. As he gently turned the knobs and entered each bedroom, he felt a combination of relief and disappointment when he found them empty and unused.

Opening the final door, his Colt pointed into the darkness, he was unaware of any movement. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was smaller than the other rooms. It had only a bed and a small chest. A quilt was rumpled into a heap and on the floor lay a discarded nightgown. The drawers of the chest hung open. Atop it in a small silver dish were several women's rings. The faint scent of lilac lingered.

From downstairs came the crashing sound of breaking glass.

“She's here,” Taylor whispered.

He made no effort to muffle the sound of his boots against the polished wooden stairway as he rushed down the stairs and into the main room. Looking about, he saw an open door to a room he'd not checked. In Guinn's office he found things strewn about, the drawers of his massive desk open. The glass front of a gun case had been smashed, shards sprinkled on the floor. Taylor didn't bother to determine what might be missing from the collection of firearms. He knew that Kate Two was now armed and aware of his presence.

He returned to the kitchen. The Mexican woman lay on the floor, blood smeared across her forehead. She was barely conscious. She raised herself on one elbow and, with a shaking hand, pointed.

Taylor ran to the door. Across the way was the barn.

•   •   •

Kate Two had instinctively known from the moment Ruben had arrived to alert Guinn of the fires in the pasture that a danger far greater than burning grassland and stampeded cattle was nearby. She was certain it had something to do with her and the men who had been tracking her.

She knew it was time to leave.

After Ruben left to retrieve his sidearm, she had entered Guinn's office and frantically searched for the key to his gun case. Unable to find it, she hurled a chair into the glass and chose a rifle that was so polished and well oiled that it looked as if it had never been fired. There was a box of shells in a drawer at the bottom of the shattered showcase.