Colt (20 page)
Authors: Georgina Gentry
“Certainly.” Olivia turned back toward the door. “Will a dollar be enough?”
“Not hardly,” Hannah snapped. “I want five dollars.”
Olivia gasped. “Five dollars. Why, that's highway robbery.”
Hannah shrugged and opened the door as if to dismiss her. “Then let Maria bake the cookies and tea cakes.”
Olivia gasped and her face turned angry. Evidently she was not used to anyone opposing her. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I'm trying to gather enough money to leave the fort,” Hannah said.
Olivia smirked. “For that, I will pay five dollars. Very well, the tea is at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon and all the officers' wives will be there. See that the sweets arrive on time.” She turned and started out the door with a grand sweep of skirts.
Hannah held out her hand. “I'd like to be paid in advance, please.”
“You don't trust me? Do you know who I am?” The patrician nose went up in the air.
“I'd still like to be paid in advance, please,” Hannah said again.
“Of all the nerve! Very well, I'll send Maria down with the money as soon as I get back to my quarters.” She stepped out on the porch. “Odd. It's dusk and there doesn't seem to be anyone around. Where do you suppose all the soldiers are?”
So Olivia hadn't heard. Hannah wasn't going to be the one to tell her.
“Don't forget the money,” she said and closed the door behind the woman.
Hannah leaned against the door and sighed. Even now, the fight was probably starting and there was nothing she could do to help Colt. Damn men for their pride.
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As Colt walked over to the barns in the growing dusk, Captain Van Smyth was waiting for him behind the barn with a group of his friends. Colt nodded to him and looked around. Soldiers were coming from every direction. The camp gossip had traveled faster than the telegraph. A clandestine fight between officers was a rare and noteworthy experience and not to be missed.
Grizzled old Mulvaney walked up just then.
Colt said to him, “Since you've got a fiver on this fight, will you be my second?”
The other rubbed his lined jaw and nodded. “You know I will, boy.”
The men gathered in a large circle behind the barn, the late-afternoon sun throwing long shadows around them.
Captain Van Smyth said to Colt. “Captain Dever will be my second.”
Colt flexed his hands and then pulled off his jacket and shirt. “Any time you're ready.”
The other nodded and turned to the crowd. “This is a fight between men, not officers. No matter who wins, this fight never happened; you understand?”
He peeled off his own tailored jacket and shirt as a murmur ran through the crowd, which made a close circle. They could all be in trouble if Major Murphy got wind of this.
Captain Van Smyth sneered at Colt as he adopted a fighter's stance, fists doubled. “I suggest the Marquis of Queensbury rules.”
“I never went to West Point,” Colt growled, “so I don't know what you're talkin' about. I learned to fight in the corrals and saloons of Texas.”
“I expect you to fight like a gentleman,” the captain snapped as he crouched in boxing position.
“Let's get one thing straight; I'm no gentleman and you aren't either or you wouldn't have tried to take advantage of a lady,” Colt said and moved in closer as the ring of men around them yelled encouragement.
“Pishposh. She's no lady.” Captain Van Smyth sneered. “She's just some savage buck'sâ”
Colt hit him then, coming in under the captain's fists and slugging him hard in the face, sending him stumbling backward into the weathered barn door. “Watch your mouth!”
“No fair! You gave me no warning!” And the captain struck a boxing pose again.
“I told you I learned to fight in saloons, not gentlemen's clubs,” Colt yelled and charged the other man, grabbing him around the waist and taking him down into a pile of horse manure.
The crowd roared and crowded even closer as money exchanged hands, and Sergeant Mulvaney shouted, “Get him, lad! That's it, rub him in the horse shit like he deserves!”
It was a warm day, even though the two were stripped to their waists and the sun would soon sink beyond the far horizon. They were both sweating now as they fought and the other men shouted and cheered them on. The captain's body was muscled, with no scars. Colt's body had dozens of scars from old fights and battle wounds. Otherwise, he thought they were fairly evenly matched. And then he realized his arm wound was starting to throb. He'd have to ignore it.
The captain was light on his feet, too, dancing in a circle now, his hands clenched in classic boxing mode.
Colt knew nothing of fancy footwork and boxing. When he saw a weakness, he dived in, caught the other around the waist, and they went down, rolling and tumbling in the grass.
“You low-class bastard!” the captain snarled, but Colt came out on top and hit the other in the mouth. Blood ran down the perfect, handsome face and into the wispy mustache.
Colt stumbled to his feet as the other stood up and went into boxing stance again. The soldiers were all shouting and waving their fists, urging their favorites on. Colt could feel sweat breaking out on his big body, and his arm ached.
Blood trickled down Captain Van Smyth's face and dripped onto his chest as he stood up and faced Colt. “All right then, we'll fight like your Texas barroom brawlers, if that's what you want!”
He was angry, Colt could tell by his distorted red face, and with his anger, his reason and caution disappeared. He charged Colt, swinging wildly, and Colt stepped aside deftly and caught him with a right jab to the ear as the captain lunged past.
The captain swore and staggered, then moved in close, swinging hard. This time he caught Colt above the eye.
Colt gritted his teeth to hold back a cry of pain. He knew from the feel that the captain must have opened a cut above his left eyebrow, and then blood trickled into his eye, blinding him. He heard a low moan around him as he stepped back and shook his head, throwing blood on the men nearest him.
Sergeant Mulvaney stepped up. “I say we stop this fight now, Lieutenant, you can't even seeâ”
“Not a chance!” Colt cursed and slung his head to clear his vision.
The captain grinned. “Now, you Texas tramp, I'll show you how a gentleman fights!” He stepped in and hit two punches, hard and fast, to Colt's ribs. Colt, half-blinded by blood, staggered and grabbed onto the other man, stalling for time, but the captain punched him hard in the kidneys.
The pain was unbelievable, worse than his throbbing arm wound. Sweat and blood ran down Colt's face and dripped on his chest. He could smell his own rank sweat and the copper scent of blood as he backed away, stalling for time so he could recover from the blows.
The captain charged, and in a daze, Colt saw that grinning face, the wispy mustache, coming in for the knockout. In Colt's mind, he saw Hannah's terrified eyes and knew if he didn't whip him, the captain would go back later and attack her again. Colt had to make a believer out of the arrogant officer.
“Don't you ever touch her again,” Colt gasped between cut lips.
“Hell of a thing, to be fighting over an Injun's whore.” The captain grinned, his light curls now hanging across his forehead. “Why, she ought to be happy to take on any white man now.”
Colt had never felt such fury. She was not his to love and protect, but his anger boiled up inside him like a volcano as he charged in, forgetting pain and blood. All he could think of was Hannah. “You snooty sonovabitch! You ever touch her again, I'll kill you and anyone else who tries!”
He struck the captain with a right cross, then a left. The captain staggered backward, blood spurting from his mouth as Colt hammered him. But Colt showed him no mercy, not even when the captain threw his hands up in front of his face, backing away until he staggered and went down, Colt on top of him, pummeling him again and again. He wanted to kill the man for daring to touch Hannah, and that was all he could think of, pounding the man's sneering face.
Now two soldiers were pulling him off even as he fought to keep slugging the superior officer. Sergeant Mulvaney was one of those attempting to hold him back as Colt struggled to return to the fray.
“Lieutenant, the man's out cold!” the old man shouted in his ear.
Colt ceased swinging and took a deep breath, stepped back. He felt both blood and sweat streaming down his own battered face, but the captain looked in worse condition. The arrogant Easterner lay battered and bruised, his face almost unrecognizable.
“Someone get some water,” Colt gasped, leaning against his knees, breathing in gasps.
The captain's friends poured water over him and after a few minutes, he sat up, but there was no fight left in him. He sat there on the ground, one eye swollen shut, looking up at Colt.
“Want some more?” Colt stepped forward, his fists clinched, but the other shook his head, holding his hands up to protect his face.
His friends stood him slowly on his feet.
It was dusk dark now. One of the other captains made a dismissing gesture. “All right, everyone, show's over. Break it up, and everyone keep your mouth shut.”
Men nodded, and Colt saw money exchange hands and heard losers grumble. It was turning dark and Colt hurt all over. His injured arm felt as if it were on fire.
The old Irish sergeant grinned and handed him his shirt and jacket. “Good show, Lieutenant. I'll buy you a beer.”
Colt only grunted. He felt like one mass of pain and bruises, and he knew from the way the captain limped that Van Smyth felt the same as he gingerly slipped on his clothes.
Sergeant Mulvaney put Colt's arm over his shoulder to help him walk. “Ye hurt bad, Lieutenant?”
“Not as bad as he is.” Colt leaned on him as they limped away. “He won't be botherin' Hannah again.”
Behind him, he heard the men still talking as they broke into smaller groups and drifted away.
“Where to now, lad?” The old sergeant looked up at him, concern on his grizzled face. “The infirmary?”
“Oh, hell, no,” Colt swore. “Doc would feel duty bound to report this and the major would explode. He's got enough trouble without his officers tryin' to kill each other. Take me to my quarters.”
“That eye looks like you need some help,” the sergeant protested.
“I'll manage somehow,” Colt gasped as he gritted his teeth and hobbled across the parade grounds.
It was dark so maybe no one had noticed the men coming from behind the barn, two of them limping. Colt could only hope. Every step was painful, every muscle seemed bruised. He could only imagine what his face looked like. He grinned in spite of himself. He doubted Captain Van Smyth, or anyone else, would bother Hannah again; they'd be afraid to. At least he could stop worrying about her while he was out on patrol.
It was dark inside his quarters as the sergeant helped him to his bed and lit a lamp. Colt collapsed on the edge of his bunk and tried to suppress a groan.
The other man turned around and looked at him, frowned. “Holy mother of God,” he said, “you look like the dogs have been draggin' you around under the porch. Here, let me get some of that blood off.”
“I'll be all right,” Colt mumbled and fell back on his bunk. He felt the other yanking off his boots and putting his feet on the bed, then bending over him.
“I can wash the blood off a little, lad, but I think you need more than that, maybe some stitches.”
“Don't get Doc,” Colt closed his eyes. “I don't want the major to know about this.”
“All right.”
Then Colt heard footsteps and a door closing.
Colt opened his good eye. He was alone. Good, Sergeant Mulvaney had gone to his own quarters. Well, he couldn't blame him. Anyone who might have a connection with this fight could face big trouble if the major found out about it.
Colt stifled a groan and closed his eyes again. His mouth felt like dirty cotton and his split lip stung. He'd give a front seat in hell for a drink of water, but he wasn't sure he had the energy to get up and stumble across the room to the pitcher. Perhaps in a little while he would try. In the meantime, every muscle and bone in his body was hurting. Maybe if he could sleep a little while, he'd wake up feeling better.
He heard a door open.
“Colt? Oh, my God, Colt?”
A woman's voice. He opened his eyes slowly to see a dim form standing by his bunk.
And then a small, cool hand touched his forehead and he heaved a sigh of relief. “Hannah? You don't belong here.”
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