The Shadow Man (19 page)

“I'll do that,” replied Borkan. He spurred his mount from the pack of Texans.

Jacob crested the last range of high hills. The green valley of the Rio Pecos lay three miles ahead to the east. Beyond the river, the immense Llano Estacado, perfectly flat and shimmering with heat, stretched away forever. Far to the southeast, thunderheads were building. He pulled his view back from the great plain and spotted the Solis hacienda, a tiny brown dot on the bench above the river.

The horse also saw the familiar land and, sensing the end of the day's labor, increased its pace to a swift gallop. The ground, still damp and soft from a rain during the previous night, muffled the fall of the hooves to a low mutter.

A hidden smile drifted across Jacob's heart as the distance between him and the hacienda narrowed. Soon he would be at the gate, and Petra would come with her bright smile to greet him. He'd hug her female softness and breathe in her sweet woman smell.

Jacob's smile broke to the surface as he remembered that at first he had thought of Petra merely as a woman. But over the months his mind, unbidden, silently began to call her by name each time she gave him pleasure. Petra had grown to have infinite value to him.

He tightened the reins of the horse suddenly, dragging it down to a slow walk. Something was out of kilter, somehow wrong. He scanned the terrain in all directions. He saw the tall, wild grass, heavy with seed heads, rippling on the hill slopes and in the hollows as a quick wind passed by. Where were all the cattle and sheep?

Jacob brought the horse to a standstill. His sight jumped to the hacienda. There was no smoke from cook fires, nor were there children's voices. In the evening, after the heat of the August day had lessened, the children should be out and running about playing. He'd be able to hear them easily across the few hundred yards to the hacienda.

Jacob lifted his pistol from its holster to inspect the caps and the set of the balls against the powder charge. He guided the horse to the north. Shortly he struck the road that came from Sante Fe. The road held no tracks of either horses or livestock. Nothing had trod here since the rain the previous night. With his worry swiftly intensifying, he rode toward the hacienda.

The gate stood open. The courtyard was empty except for two saddled horses tied to the hitch rail at the front entrance of the hacienda. The heavy main entry door gaped wide.

Jacob rode partway across the compound. “Hello, house,” he called. “May I spend the night? It looks like rain again.”

As he waited for a reply Jacob quickly scanned the courtyard. To his left, thirty feet away on the ground, there was a dark patch as big as a man's hat. A section of the wall of the house near the door was stained with the same brown. The color of dried blood. Men, maybe women, had died here. Looking more closely at the thick adobe wall, he identified fresh bullet marks among the old ones from past battles. The rancho had been attacked.

A cold wind of fear whistled through Jacob's mind. Was his family still alive? Was Petra alive?

Jacob swung to the ground. He must search the house.

A heavily bearded white man stepped from the hacienda. “Stop where you are. I didn't say you could dismount.” He spoke loudly in a harsh voice.

Jacob halted. The gringo acted as if he owned the rancho. Damn him. He must be one of the men responsible for the blood spilling. Jacob felt his anger—cold, hard, and determined. He would kill the bastard. But first he needed information. Where was the owner of the second horse?

“I thought nobody heard me call out,” Jacob said. “I could use a night under a roof and out of the rain.” He hiked a thumb at the thunderheads moving in.

The suspicious eyes of the man ranged over Jacob's tight leather pants and high-peaked, broad-brimmed hat. “You're dressed like a Mexican. Where are you from? What are you doing here?”

“I've been in Santa Fe. I trap fur in the winter and then ride as a vaquero in the summer for the Mexican ranchers. I'm looking for work.”

A second man, very slim, came from the inside of the hacienda and stopped beside the big man. Jacob noted the smooth quickness of his movements.

“What were you looking at on the ground?” asked the slim man. His tone was hard. Without waiting for an answer, he spoke angrily to his cohort. “I think he saw the blood you didn't cover. Now he'll have to join the others.”

Jacob saw the men shift their stances in readiness for gunplay.

The game had ended. The time for killing was now. There were two against him. Why give them a chance?

“Die!”
Jacob cried out as he drew his pistol.

The slim man would be the quickest. Jacob shot into the center of him. The man crumpled and fell.

The bearded man moved faster than Jacob thought he could. His pistol came out of its holster and rose to point where Jacob stood.

Jacob was moving to the side as he fired, and his second adversary had to alter the aim of his gun to compensate. Which wasted a precious fraction of a second.

Jacob exploded the outlaw's pounding heart with a speeding lead ball.

The slim man groaned and rolled his head. Jacob sprang to his side and yanked him to a sitting position. The man had been hit hard in the chest. His lungs would fill with blood. Answers had to be gotten quickly before he died.

“Where are all the people of the rancho?” Jacob demanded.

The bandit stared at Jacob, and his mouth twisted in a sneer. His hand came up to feel at the wound in his chest. “You shoot me and then ask me questions. Well, go to hell.”

Jacob slapped the man left and right, rocking his head on his shoulders. “Answer me, damn you!”

The bandit feebly pulled at the strong hand that held him upright. He coughed as his lungs filled with blood. The bright red liquid sprayed into the air. The man saw the blood, and his eyes began to tremble with fright.

“Where are all the Solis people?” Jacob demanded again. “Tell me and I'll help you die quickly.”

“All dead,” the outlaw gasped. “All dead and buried, and you'll never find the graves.”

“The woman with a scar on her face, what about her? Is she dead?”

The Texan knew he was dying, and his eyes lost their fear. A sly thought came to him: So your woman was here. Then suffer with me.

“She is dead. De—” said the man as his throat and mouth filled and gurgled with his blood.

Jacob let the slack body of the outlaw fall to the ground. He rose weakly to his feet. Petra dead! Damn the cruel God that would allow that to happen.

He pivoted to look at the new adobe walls Petra had made to build their home. For a moment he could hear the haunting echoes of her voice calling out happily to the children at play in the courtyard. Then there was nothing. Never again would she press close to him and flood his being with delight. All the loneliness that had been banished from Jacob these past weeks came pouring back. The core of him dissolved into brittle emptiness.

Jacob hastened from room to room in the hacienda. The possessions of the occupants appeared to be in place, except for the silver and other small, valuable articles. He found several places where an attempt had been made to hide puddles of blood. If he hadn't known what to look for, they would have gone unnoticed. Not one body did he discover.

He circled the building, looking everywhere. Many men and horses had been in the compound earlier in the day. He followed the tracks to the gate. The horsemen had ridden south on the wagon road.

Jacob, feeling the pain of his horrible loss, leaned against the wall of the hacienda. His family was gone, dead and buried according to the raider. The men responsible for the deed had spent the night at the rancho. Apparently the sheep and cattle had been driven away before the rain. But the loss of the livestock had no significance to Jacob.

He felt his rage building to a white heat in his brain. He hurried to his bedroom. His vaquero clothing was ripped away and flung into a corner. Swiftly he donned his buckskins, a pair of thick moccasins, and his flat-crowned trapper's hat. Extra powder, firing caps and lead balls, and a small quantity of food were added to the pack on his horse.

He would travel lightly, for he had men to catch and they had a long head start. But he would catch them and kill every one. All he had left now was his savage revenge. He would take that revenge any way he could.

He paused half a minute to jerk the saddles and bridles from the bandits' horses. Let them fend for themselves.

He led his horse across the courtyard to the bodies of the outlaws. He cursed them as he leaned over the corpses and, with swift, deft cuts of his knife, loosened their scalps and ripped them free.

One strong pull of his arms yanked him astride. The horse tossed its head in disapproval as it was guided in the direction of the gate. Then it felt the sure, purposeful tension of the reins and its master positioning himself over its shoulders to help it carry its load more easily. The steed broke into a run from the courtyard.

Jacob did not look back at the rancho. There was nothing there for him.

* * *

The shadows grew long as the steed ran swiftly. On the far-off horizon the Gallinas Mountains devoured the crimson sun. The world turned black.

Jacob believed he knew the destination of the raiders. If he was correct, their tracks would be easily found come first light. So he did not slow but plunged the horse onward into the murk of the Mexican night. The brute between his legs could run many more miles, for it had incredible stamina and determination. With its night-seeing eyes searching for obstacles on the ground, the horse would not fall and throw its master.

As the night aged the cayuse grew weary and gradually slowed its pace. It splashed into Carrizo Creek and halted of its own volition. Jacob allowed it to drink a moderate amount, then lifted its head with the bridle and reined it up the bank. In a patch of buffalo grass he staked the animal out on the end of his lariat.

Jacob unrolled his blanket under the thin hornlike curve of the dying moon. For a long time he sat in the darkness and listened to the rustling of the grass and the sighing of the wind. Finally he lay down, fretting, grudging the rest the horse must have and the time wasted.

He reached out and gripped the butt of his revolver. He would inflict terrible punishment upon the men who'd slain his tiny clan of people and forever deprived him of Petra and the children that might have been.

* * *

Petra saddled the gray mare in the early dawn. Jacob must be found at once. He would know what to do.

Conrado and the vaqueros had left for Santa Fe on the afternoon of the previous day. A soldier, one of Governor Armijo's personal guards, had come with a message from the governor requesting all males of fighting age to assemble in the plaza in front of the Palace. An American army with many cannon was marching from Independence, Missouri, to invade New Mexico. The gringo soldiers were traveling fast and were close to Las Vegas. The governor was telling people that although the garrison of Mexican soldiers might be few in number, now that they were bolstered by the local militia and other volunteers, they would fight the damnable Americans and drive them in a bloody flight back to the United States.

Petra had argued strenuously with Conrado that the men should not leave the rancho.
Banditos
and Indians would learn of the war and that all the fighting men were gathered in Santa Fe. These fierce enemies would launch savage attacks upon the defenseless ranchos. The land of the Pecos was the most isolated and exposed in all of New Mexico and would draw the first raids.

Conrado refused to listen to Petra's pleading. He wouldn't delay even to allow time for Jacob to return from the hills. He said that all the people in New Mexico must run the risk to defend against the invaders. The men armed themselves and rode north.

Leading the mare, Petra walked to the gateway and dropped the strong wooden plank that held the gate shut. She mounted, spoke to the horse, and went west on the path that led through the juniper forest and beyond to the hills.

Petra had passed the corner of the stone wall when the sharp crack of a rifle reached her. Instantly a hammer blow slammed against her ribs.

The lead projectile, striking a glancing blow, knocked her to the side. A wave of excruciating pain roared through the side of her chest. She teetered on the verge of falling from the saddle as her horse vaulted forward, frightened by the thunderclap of the gun.

Frantically Petra grabbed the pommel and pulled herself back into the saddle. She cast a fearful look behind.

A large group of horsemen had charged up over the edge of the bluff near the river. They were spurring hard for the open gate. Spears of smoke stabbed out from their guns. A bullet zipped past Petra, cutting away a swath of her hair.

She thought for a moment of spinning the mare and driving her back to the gate to bar it against the raiders. But the band of men had almost reached the entryway. For her to return now would be to let them kill her.

Two riders split from the group and rushed toward Petra. She looked to the front and spurred the horse in the direction of the juniper woods on the slope of the hill.

Pistol shots boomed close behind. The mare stumbled, then caught her footing. Petra knew the horse had been hit. But it must not falter now.

She slapped the mare on the neck and screamed into her ear. “Go! Go! Go!” The faithful horse took in the primal call, lengthened her stride, and raced on.

Petra flicked a glance to the rear. The pursuers were gaining on her. However, the dense juniper was less than a hundred feet away. She laid her face in the streaming mane of the horse, and her arm rose and fell as she swung her lash against the heaving flanks of her mount.

The mare plunged into the trees. Petra ran her straight ahead for ten yards, then whirled her left along a trail she knew. Before the
banditos
had entered the woods, she reined abruptly right and within a few feet had pulled the mare down to a quiet walk.