Colt (13 page)

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Authors: Georgina Gentry

BOOK: Colt
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“Brave warrior,” the child said proudly.
Colt swung up on the Comanche pinto horse and the mustang snorted a welcome. He had put Hannah on Rascal because his little horse could be depended on to get her back to the fort, no matter what. “Okay, Hannah, follow the stars. The fort is right under the Dog Star, remember that.”
“I'll remember.” She nodded as they started down the steep ravine at a walk.
He felt himself sway in the saddle and forced himself to sit upright. “If something happens, if I should go unconscious and fall, you must keep riding. You promised.”
She was not going to argue with him. “All right.” But she knew she could never leave him to die.
“You must be a strong Texas woman and save your child. Anyway if I should fall off, you're not big enough to get me back up on my horse.”
She nodded agreement, but she thought if he collapsed, she would try to fashion a travois and drag him back to the fort. She would not leave him for the Comanche to torture.
They rode mostly at a walk, sometimes at a slow lope.
“We've got to spare the horses,” Hannah explained.
However, he knew that if they broke into a gallop, he would not manage to stay on his horse, and that was why she was riding slowly. “With any luck, we ought to be there by daylight.”
“Suppose the Comanche are between us and the fort?”
She heard him sigh. “Then we ride like hell and hope they don't ride us down. Remember, you must say I took you and your son against your will.”
“All right,” she said to placate him, but she knew she wouldn't. She would go down fighting and clawing, killing as many warriors as she could and save the last bullet for Colt because she would not let him be tortured.
Sometime during the long night, Grasshopper nodded off to sleep in her arms. When she looked over at Colt, he appeared to be unconscious, but still in the saddle. “Whoa.” She reined in and the pinto stopped, too. She dismounted and lay the sleeping child on the soft buffalo grass and looked up at Colt. “Colt? Are you all right?”
He didn't answer. She reached up and touched his hand, and it was sweaty with fever. He was so sick, and only his strong will was keeping him in the saddle. She got a length of rope, ran it around his hands, and tied them to the saddle horn. He was right about one thing: if he fell off, he was too big for her to lift back on his horse. She looked around the dark prairie. There was nothing but grass moving like a dark sea for miles, nothing she could use to fashion a travois.
“Now, mustang,” she whispered to the pinto, “don't you step into any holes or shy from anything. He's got to stay on your back.”
Rascal nuzzled her as if urging her to move on.
God, it was late and she was bone tired, but they must reach the fort by daylight because they were so visible out here on the flat plains. It was a good thing it was a moonless night.
Hannah picked up her sleeping child and remounted.
Follow the Dog Star, the fort is under it
, she remembered and started off that direction, leading Colt's horse. They were either both going to make it or neither, because she would not sacrifice him after everything he had done for her. If worse came to worse, she would tie Grasshopper onto Rascal, give the little horse his head and let the savvy mustang find his own way back to the fort. She at least wanted her child to grow up to be a Texan, not a Comanche.
It was such a long night, Hannah thought it would never end, and yet she prayed it wouldn't because she was not certain how far they had come and how much farther it would be. She must not be caught in broad daylight out on the open prairie, where the pair could be seen for miles.
Colt had not spoken for hours except to mumble now and again, and she knew he was delirious and out of his head. She prayed he did not start screaming or shouting. Grasshopper was awake now, but she whispered to him in Comanche to be quiet and he obeyed. Every muscle and bone in her body ached, and she was exhausted and hungry. She stopped a few times and managed to get some water into Colt, but he spilled a lot of it. The rest she gave to her child. Now the canteens were empty and she could see a pale glow in the eastern sky that promised that soon the first gray light of dawn would creep across the prairie and then the golden sun would loom large over the far horizon and expose the pair riding across the vast Texas plains.
She was defeated, she knew. It was almost daybreak and she had not made it to the fort. The horses were so tired, they were stumbling and Colt was reeling in his saddle. At any moment, he might fall to the ground. She was distraught, but she did not weep. Weeping would not solve anything. Anyway, that was for weak women and she was strong. Circumstances had forced her to be. If she didn't make it to safety, at least she had tried her damnedest.
The sky slowly turned pink and lavender in the east and in a few minutes, the sun would come up over that far rise. Already gray light spread across the vast plains.
She heard a triumphant shout and looked behind her.
“Oh, my God! Colt, wake up!” The war party, a dozen painted warriors on pinto ponies, had appeared on the rise behind her, and they had spotted her, although they were at least a half mile away.
Colt must not have been conscious, because he did not answer. For a minute, she wavered, staring at the triumphant brown faces marked with scarlet and yellow paint as they galloped toward her. Colt was right; she could save herself by telling the furious Indians that she and her child had been kidnapped.
No, she wasn't going to do that. She wouldn't go down without a fight. “Colt, damn it, wake up! Colt!”
He seemed to rouse at the same time Grasshopper began to whimper as she kicked her horse hard in the flanks and started loping. She glanced back at Colt. He was awake now, but looked uncertain as to where he was. “Ride, Colt! Ride! The Comanches have spotted us!”
She pushed Rascal into a gallop, dragging the pinto along as Colt seemed to stir into semiconsciousness.
She must win this race. Colt seemed to rouse and hung onto the saddle horn as she pushed both horses into a gallop. The mustangs were exhausted from traveling all night, but they broke into a run.
Behind her, she heard the Comanches' triumphant shrieks as they gained on the fugitives and kicked their horses into a gallop. They would overtake the pair, she knew that, but she wasn't a weakling to surrender. The two horses were blowing and lathered, but she urged them on, hearing the hooves behind gaining on her. Her heart was in her throat as she rode. If they'd only had another hour, if it had kept raining, if ... then she topped a rise and there lay the fort ahead of her, with a Cavalry patrol riding maneuvers on the prairie just outside the gates.
“Help!” she shouted. “Comanches!” And she took off at an even faster pace toward the patrol. Colt was awake now, but weaving in his saddle and struggling to stay on his horse as they galloped toward the Cavalry.
She saw a glint of brass as a bugle went to a soldier's lips and a charge sounded out in the coming dawn. Hannah thought she had never heard such beautiful music. Then the Cavalry thundered toward them.
Behind her, she heard the shrieks of surprise as the Indians spotted the patrol, realized they were outnumbered, and reined in their rearing, neighing horses. She didn't look back, intent on reaching the blue uniforms galloping toward her, stirring up dust as the bugle sounded again. She heard the shouts of the Comanches turning and racing away behind her as the soldiers now surrounded her, firing at the enemy.
At that moment, Colt slid from his lathered horse and lay in the dirt, unconscious. Hannah reined in, handed her child to a surprised bugler, and dismounted, running to Colt's side. He lay in the dirt, his injured arm bright with fresh blood. His green eyes flickered open as she struggled to protect him from the dust the churning Cavalry horses kicked up as they reined in.
“Did we—did we make it?”
“Yes, we made it! Give me a canteen!” She ordered a soldier as he dismounted beside her. She pulled Colt into her lap and splashed water on his fevered face and then gave him a long drink. “We're all right! The Cavalry is here!”
The elegant Captain Van Smyth, who led the patrol, dismounted and walked over to her. “Good Lord! Who is this?”
She realized then that Colt still wore the disguise of buckskin and moccasins. “It's Lieutenant Colt Prescott. He's a hero; he rescued me and my child.”
“Wrong!” snapped the elegant young officer. “He's a deserter and out of uniform. He'll probably be shot!”
Chapter 9
In his fevered mind, Colt was a small boy again, traveling with a wagon train through north Texas. The trip had been uneventful until the morning they woke up and discovered they were surrounded by a large war party of Cheyenne warriors.
The wagons were circled, but the settlers saw the size of the war party and the leaders knew they would have to negotiate with the Indians because the whites were outnumbered. Colt's father offered to walk out and find out what the Cheyenne wanted.
Colt remembered being very much afraid for his dad as the man took the long, lonely walk out to meet with the chief, a handsome big fellow on a fine black horse and wearing bright face paint and a luxurious eagle-feather war bonnet.
The two men talked for a while and then his father walked back to the circled wagons.
The curious settlers gathered around him. “Well, what does he want? Food? Weapons?”
Colt remembered now the look of worry on his father's tanned face. He was, after all, a farmer from Indiana. “No, that's not what he wants, but if we don't give him what he wants, they'll attack our train and wipe us out.”
The older Prescott turned and looked toward a young, yellow-haired beauty traveling with the train, Texanna. “He wants her.”
“What?” A gasp ran through the whole crowd.
The preacher drew himself up. “Why, we can't do that, turn a white girl over to a savage for who knows what.”
But all the men knew what; young Colt saw it in their faces.
“That's what I told him, but he wants Texanna and if we don't give her up, his war party will attack us.”
And then the whites began to argue. Some wanted to fight the Cheyenne, although they had no chance against them. Some wanted to give up the girl to save the train. The arguing went on most of the day, with friend turning against friend, women crying and fussing and everyone staring at the beautiful Texanna with her long yellow hair streaming down her back. She looked terrified, and young Colt felt so sorry for her because he knew she did not want to be the sacrifice.
The argument had turned ugly, men yelling and swearing, a few blows exchanged. The women looked furious with Texanna because her beauty had brought this trouble down on them. Half the pioneers wanted to tie her up and give her to the chief; the other half wanted to fight to defend her.
In the end, Texanna, without a word, walked out between the wagons and toward the warriors. She was gone before the arguing white people even realized she had sacrificed herself. Colt saw her leaving and called after her to come back, but she did not heed and she did not stop. She walked up to the chief, who reached down and lifted her up before him on his fine black stallion, and the whole war party galloped away.
Colt would never forget how her golden hair had glittered in the last rays of sun as she rode off. The next morning, the wagon train continued on its way and no one ever spoke of Texanna again. The men must have been ashamed of their cowardice and the women were ashamed too, that they had been willing to sacrifice the young, innocent virgin to save themselves.
The Prescotts settled in east Texas and began to grow cotton. Colt hated the poor subsistence and the grubbing in the dirt. He was still a boy when he ran away from home, was captured by the Comanche, and later, joined the army.
Now in his fevered mind, he once again saw Texanna of the golden hair as his eyes flickered open. “Come back,” he whispered. “Come back.”
The blond girl leaning over him put a cold rag on his forehead. “Are you all right? Doc and I have been worried about you.”
Texanna. No, it was not Texanna. It was ... it was Hannah. The events of the last several days came flooding back to him and he remembered he and Hannah and her little boy were being chased by Comanches when, suddenly, a blue-coated troop of soldiers had sounded the charge.
He tried to sit up, wondering where he was.
“Take it easy,” she said, and he realized how tired she looked. “You're going to be all right. Doc says.”
He looked around and realized he was in the infirmary, then relaxed. Whatever happened now, at least he and the girl and her little boy were safe from torture.
“I've got to go see about Grasshopper,” she said and smiled as she stood up.
Why had he ever thought her plain? When she smiled with those big, blue eyes, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met.
No, the most beautiful woman was Olivia and he was engaged to her. Even as he tried to speak, Hannah said, “I'll be back later,” and left.
Doc came in just then with a bowl of stew. “Dag nab it, I'm glad to hear you're awake. You've been out several days.”
“I don't remember much,” Colt admitted as Doc piled pillows behind him and handed him the stew. He took a bite. “This is really good.”
“Hannah made it from some of the vegetables in her garden.” Doc sat down in a chair by his bed. “She's hardly left your side.”
“Oh? What's going to happen to her?”
“We found her an empty shack down on Suds Row. I think she can make a living like some of the other women by washing and ironing for the soldiers.”
“Has anyone heard from her husband?”
Doc shook his head. “I don't know. She hasn't mentioned him, so I haven't either.”
“She won't want to go with him,” Colt murmured as he gulped the hot stew.
Doc wiped his handkerchief across his balding head. “Dag nab it, Colt, let an old man give you some advice. She's married and you're engaged, and that makes for a mess if you don't back off.”
“I know.” He looked out the window, not meeting Doc's gaze.
“You'd better be thinking about yourself,” Doc cautioned. “You went over the hill, deserting. You could be shot or court-martialed. Right now, you're confined to the infirmary and probably then to your quarters 'til some action is decided.”
“I'd forgotten about that.” Colt laughed without mirth. “What is this? The middle of May? I'm due to leave the Cavalry June fifteenth unless I decide to reenlist.”
“But right now, you're still a Cavalry officer and you could be shot or thrown in prison for desertion,” Doc reminded him. “Frankly I think they ought to give you a medal for rescuing Hannah and her child, but then that would be common sense and the army ain't long on common sense.”
Colt finished the stew. He heard the door open and both men turned to look. The elegant Olivia came through the door, her dark hair up in ringlets around her beautiful face. She wore a fine pink dress that would look more at home on a street in New York City than at this frontier fort.
“Oh, darling, you're awake.” She rushed to his side, big tears in her dark eyes. She pulled out a lace hankie and wiped them. “Goodness gracious, I've been so worried about you!”
Doc stood up and took the soup bowl, frowning. “I think I have work to do in my office, so I'll leave you two alone.”
Colt heard his footsteps and the door closing as Olivia knelt by his bed.
“I'm all right,” he said.
She kissed his forehead. “That loose woman, the one that slept with the savage, has been hovering around you for days. Why I could hardly get in to see you.”
“Hannah? She couldn't help it that she had a child by that Comanche. It wasn't as if she was given a choice.”
“That's not what all the women around the fort think.” Olivia sniffed disdainfully.
He didn't want to talk about Hannah. He had come to admire her. She had all those rare qualities of a true Texas woman. But she was married and her husband would be coming to get her. And Colt was engaged to the beautiful Olivia and facing court-martial.
“You know, Olivia, I'm in trouble now and maybe you might want to rethink being engaged to me—”
“Oh, but I've already decided,” she said. “You don't think I would desert you now in your hour of need? Besides you are what I've always wanted: tall, handsome, gallant. Now, Colton, you've been at death's door for a few days and you aren't thinking straight, so we won't discuss this anymore right now.”
He was suddenly very tired and not wanting to argue with her. He only wanted her to leave. “I reckon you are right,” he admitted. “We'll talk later when I'm up and around.”
“That's my dear boy. Why goodness gracious, I've already been planning the biggest society wedding Philadelphia ever saw. You'll be so handsome in your uniform.”
“Olivia, I'm not sure I'm gonna reenlist.”
“Well, that's all right, too.” She smiled at him and patted his arm. “You'd make a successful businessman, and I'd have a fine home and the best carriage in town. All the women would envy me.”
He was too weary to deal with her anymore. “I'm tired, Olivia. I think I want to sleep.”
“Of course.” She kissed his forehead and he smelled the scent of expensive perfume. “Now my brave little soldier just needs to rest and I'll be back to see you later.”
He sighed with relief as he heard the rustle of her fine dress going out the door. She was beautiful, he reminded himself, and she was his. Half the young officers in the country would envy him. Then why was he having such doubts?
 
Olivia headed for her father's office. It was up to her to save Colt from his desertion charge, and her parents always gave her everything she wanted.
Captain Van Smyth was just coming out the door as she entered, and he took off his hat and bowed low, his beautiful curls so carefully combed.
“Good afternoon, Miss Olivia. You're looking lovely as usual today.”
He was a dandy, she thought as he fingered his wispy little mustache. Funny, she used to think he was so grand until she met a real man, Colton Prescott. “Thank you, Howard. Is my father in?”
“Yes, ma'am. Miss Olivia, if I'm not being too bold, perhaps we might go riding some afternoon.”
“Why, Captain, you shock me. I thought you knew I was engaged to Colton Prescott.”
“Well, but there's no ring yet and after all”—he fingered his mustache again—“we are more from the same class than he is. Why, he'd probably drink out of a finger bowl and have no idea what to do with a shrimp fork.”
She flushed because that was probably true. She doubted if Colton had ever seen a shrimp fork or a finger bowl, but she could turn Colton into a polished gentleman. “I'm in a hurry, sir, and I do not want to discuss my fiancé.”
“You do realize he's facing a court hearing?”
“I'm sure Colton will come out of this just fine. We'll be announcing our wedding date soon.”
“All right.” He smiled at her. “But I don't know what you see in that rough-hewn country lout. You and I are from the same background, Miss Olivia, and we would make a splendid couple. If you change your mind, I'd love to take you riding.”
“I'll remember that.” She curtsied and pushed past him and into her father's office.
Daddy was sitting at his desk doing paperwork as she entered, went behind him, and draped both arms around his neck. As usual, he smelled of whiskey.
He patted her hands absently. “Oh, hello, dear. What brings you in here?”
“Goodness gracious, do I have to have a reason to come in and see my own dear daddy?” She kissed his gray hair, went around the desk, and settled herself into a chair.
“Well, you usually do.” He smiled at her. “How's the lieutenant doing?”
At this she began to cry, pulled a lace hankie from her sleeve and dabbed at her beautiful eyes. “He's conscious, finally. Oh, Daddy, I was so afraid he wouldn't make it.” She began to sob.
He frowned and reached for his pipe. “Maybe he'd have been lucky not to. You know he's probably facing court-martial for deserting.”
Now a flood of tears. “After the brave thing he did, rescuing that—that woman and her half-breed brat? Why half the people at the fort think he should get a medal.”
He leaned back in his chair and put tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. “I'm afraid that's not how the system works, dear.”
More tears. “I love him so much, Daddy, and how can I marry him if he's disgraced and shot or sent to prison?”
“Saint Mary's blood, why is this my problem?” he murmured and then lit his pipe. “I hate to make you so unhappy, dear, but—”
“Just suppose he hadn't deserted?” She looked up, dabbing at her dark eyes. “Just suppose you had really sent him on a secret mission to rescue Mrs. Brownley and no one else knew about it?”
He frowned and reached into his desk drawer for a bottle of whiskey. “Now, dear, you know I can't do that. Why, my whole career—”

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