One Texas Night

CHAPTER 8

Ranger McCord delivered the letter to the Quaker in charge of the territory. He stood, forgotten, as the man read suggestions from the governor of Texas. McCord could tell by the way he folded the letter away that the Indian agent didn’t plan to put any new policies into action. The Indian Wars, which had been raging for thirty years in Texas, Kansas, and New Mexico, would continue. He’d ridden all this way and risked his life for nothing.

Thorn and his men wanted the trouble to continue, so they could play off both sides. Now they had won, not by interfering, but by the indifference of one man.

The Quaker looked up as if just remembering Wynn was in the room. “Thank you for delivering this,” he said in a tired voice. “I have no reply.”

Wynn backed out of the office and walked to his horse. He’d planned to find a meal and a bed for the night, but all he wanted to do was get back to Anna. She’d never left his thoughts. The possibility of asking her to marry him crossed his mind more often than he wanted to admit. He had a good-sized spread from a land grant his father bought fifty years ago. They could settle down in south Texas where things were calm and be hundreds of miles away from the fort line where trouble blew in with every new wind. Behind the line of forts a man could raise his family and worry about crops but here life was never easy.

He didn’t want her to just let him in when he came back. He felt a hunger for something that might fill a hole in his heart that he’d been ignoring since the war. For the first time in more years than he could remember, Wynn wanted to stay.

Smiling, he wondered if she wouldn’t mind wearing a ring and a gag. He’d never get used to that accent of hers. If he could just keep the woman quiet, she’d be darn near perfect. He didn’t even care if she could cook. Hell, he’d been eating his own grub for so long, any food that didn’t crawl off the plate looked good to him.

McCord swung into the saddle. He’d trade mounts at the edge of camp and make a few hours of hard riding before he slept. With luck he’d be back to Anna in two days.

As he always did, his mind focused on his goal and he rode hard with little food or sleep. Only this time he didn’t feel like he was running away from something. This time he was riding toward her.

He was three hours out of Camp Supply when he saw soldiers riding fast. Wynn knew who they were by the way they sat their saddles. Seasoned soldiers, Cunningham and the two other Texans.

The men pulled their mounts up when they reached McCord, but only Sergeant Cunningham stepped down.

McCord slowly swung from the saddle, knowing something was wrong when his friend didn’t smile. “What is it, Dirk?”

Cunningham didn’t waste words. “From the markings, two men, probably part of Thorn’s gang, took Anna and Private Clark at gunpoint two nights ago. We’ve been trailing them since dawn yesterday.”

McCord didn’t move, but inside he felt his entire body take the news like a blow.

“Captain’s had every man out on patrol looking. We got lucky and picked up fresh signs this morning. Spotted a woman’s footprint out back behind the infirmary yesterday as we left. About the time we figured we’d lost them for good, we spotted her print again near a creek bank. From there it was easy to follow the trail of four horses. Every time they stop, your Anna must be stomping around leaving footprints everywhere.” He stared at his friend as he told the whole truth. “Along with fresh blood. They’re heading due south.”

“No body?” McCord said as he checked the cinch on his horse. “Clark’s still alive.”

Cunningham nodded. “That’s my guess.”

“Then we’d better get to them fast. Clark’s not the one they want, so they’ll kill him as soon as possible. I’m surprised he’s lasted two days.”

“I figure the men who kidnapped them don’t do much without orders. So we’ve got till they get to camp, where the boss is.” Cunningham reached for his saddle horn. “Looks like they’re heading toward Red Rock Canyon. Once they’re there, we’ll never find them.”

Both men mounted and rode without another word.

It had been a long time since McCord had felt anything, including hate, but he felt it now. He’d kill every one of the outlaws if even one touched Anna. He might have given up on ever being able to love anyone or anything in this lifetime, but he could still hate.

They rode until almost dark before they spotted movement ahead of them. Then, without a word, Cunningham signaled and the four men spread out, leaving no trail of dust big enough to notice if one of the outlaws glanced back.

McCord took the center, riding in the open, daring them to look back. He rode fast, but not full-out; he had to give the others time to move into place. As he climbed, he closed in on four riders, one in what looked like a blue dress. Anna, he thought. His Anna.

One outlaw led the line, pulling the two captives behind him. The other outlaw rode drag, but he wasn’t on guard like he should have been. Not once did he look back, and from what McCord could see he held no weapon at the ready.

The captive next to Anna slumped in his saddle. It had to be Clark, but he was either asleep or hurt.

When they crossed over a ridge, McCord saw that the outlaws were moving toward two men camped out near a stream in the bottom of a shallow canyon. Both men were waiting, watching the riders approach. If they’d looked beyond the riders, they might have seen McCord in the long shadows, following.

He waited as the day aged and the outlaws slowly wound their way around rocks and streams toward the camp.

In the campfire light McCord swore one of the men had to be the gambler. He even noticed the flicker of gold from the watch chain on the gambler’s vest. The other man in camp was tall and dressed in black. If this was an outlaw camp there would be one, maybe two men in the shadows on guard, but the Ranger had no time to worry about them now. Anna’s and Clark’s lives might be measured in minutes.

McCord knew his part. He could go no closer without the men in camp seeing him, and when they did he needed to be ready. He drew both his Colts, not bothering with the rifle, circled the reins around his saddle horn, and kicked the tired horse into a full run. With Anna and Clark halfway between him and the camp, Wynn knew he’d reach her long before the outlaws could make it to the others watching from the shadows.

The minute the outlaws, with their captives in tow, spotted him, McCord opened fire. He hit the man leading the two prisoners with his first shot. The other outlaw grabbed at the rope on Anna’s horse. Clark shouted something as he tumbled off his horse, hands still tied behind his back. A second later, Anna also tumbled and rolled from a horse gone wild from the noise.

The outlaw with Anna was so busy fighting to control the horses he didn’t notice that he’d lost his captives. Both men at the camp grabbed their weapons and shouted orders.

Suddenly, shots exploded from every direction. The men standing at the camp jerked in a fatal dance with bullets. The outlaw on horseback tried to ride away.

A dozen more shots rattled across the sky and then the night fell silent. Both men at the campsite lay dead. The mounted outlaw screamed as his horse bolted, and tumbled. One of his feet remained in the stirrup dragging him behind his horse. One shot from somewhere left of McCord silenced the screams, but the outlaw’s body still bounced over rocks as the horse ran.

The screams and the last shot echoed into the canyon until they were only whispers on the wind. McCord took a deep breath. He’d felt the peace after a battle many times. One more time he’d survived, but tonight his thoughts were for another.

McCord holstered his guns and headed toward Anna. He found her sitting beside Clark, wrapping what was left of her apron around the kid’s arm. Both of them smiled as he neared.

“She said you’d come,” Clark groaned. “Drove the two fellows crazy with her threats of what you’d do to them when you came.”

McCord didn’t look at her; he couldn’t, not yet, not till he knew it was over. “You all right, kid?”

“I’m fine. They shot me in the right arm this morning because I told them I was a crack shot. But Anna made them let her bandage it. She says I’m lucky the bullet went right through.”

McCord saw Cunningham and his men moving into the campsite, making sure the others were dead.

Clark’s voice shook a little. “They told us they were going to hang us tonight, then gut us like we was fresh game. They knew you’d be coming and they figured when you found our bodies, you’d be foolish enough to do something stupid.”

Anna stood. “Which you did.” Fists on her hips, she faced him. “You rode straight in here like a madman. It’s a wonder you don’t have four bullets in your chest.” Her voice was fired with anger. “When I saw you barreling straight toward us, Wynn McCord, I almost had a heart attack.”

McCord finally looked at her. “Startled men don’t take the time to aim. I knew I could kill one, maybe two before they’d get a shot close to me. I was giving the sergeant and his men time to step out and open fire from other directions.” He hesitated, fighting down a smile over her finally using his first name. Damn, if she wasn’t adorable all covered in dirt and twigs. “Glad to see you, Anna.”

When she straightened up as if planning to give him a lecture on being careful, he raised his hands in surrender and closed the distance between them. He couldn’t very well grab her and kiss her in front of the other men, but he could at least get close.

The click of a rifle cocking sounded from somewhere in the night. It had to be the lookout the outlaws posted. The outlaw McCord had forgotten might be hidden in the night.

He dove at Anna, knocking her down a second before the bullet meant for her blasted into his back. He felt her beneath him, then pain exploded all other thought. The last thing he heard was another round being fired. He waited for the second bullet to hit, but before he realized it hadn’t been meant for him, blackness washed over him, carrying him under like a huge wave.

In the silence of dying, he drifted back to the battlefield years ago when he’d fallen. The arms of the nurse who’d stopped to help him circled him and whispered, “You’re going to be all right, soldier. You’re not going to die.”

Only this time McCord knew she was wrong. He’d finally drawn the short card.