the Shadow Riders (1982) (17 page)

"I am, and was with him only two days ago or so. The man who escaped works for him. By now he will be well on his way, and he can be," Kate lied, "at his home within the hour."

If a fast horse would not get her away a fast tongue might. "The Vanity," she said, "has eight guns and a Long Tom ..." she had that from a story she'd read, "and he can be at sea in a matter of minutes."

Masters swore bitterly. "What's your name?" he demanded.

"Kate ... Katherine Connery." Masters swore. The men were uneasy, glancing around, then toward the sea.

He turned to her. "Did Colonel Ashford know who you were?"

"He knew, but he is not a man of the sea. So he knew yet he did not know."

Masters paced, swearing softly, bitterly. "Will that boy only hurry?"

Chapter
Seventeen.

Sometimes a half-truth is better than none. When one deals with the enemy one uses what tactics one may, and she was not being actually dishonest. She simply said, "Captain Connery said anyone who bothered me he would personally see skinned alive."

"He'd do it, too!" the blond man exclaimed.

"He knows you are here?"

"I rode back with Colonel Ashford to see the other girls freed; then they took me prisoner."

"What of the others?"

"They are gone, taken off to Refugio, and by now the people there know what is going on. There should be a posse leaving Refugio by now," she added.

Masters swore again, and the blond man said, "Mr. Masters, sir? Running guns is one thing, even slaving, but who wants to challenge Martin Connery? Who, sir?"

"Be still!"

The morning wore on, and there was still no word from the forest. Masters sat on the sand, paced, swore, and looked off to sea.

Masters was wishing he was back aboard ship and standing out to sea. Whenever he got off a ship's deck he got himself in trouble. At sea he knew he was, as a seaman, one of the best. Ashore he always seemed to stumble into trouble. But no man in his right mind went crossways of Martin Connery, and there were stories by the dozen of men who for one reason or another tried to get the better of him. Not one of them was now afloat.

The blond man stood up. "They're coming, sir! The captain's coming back!"

"Thank God!" Masters said. At least, the burden of decision would no longer be his.

Hammond was a thick-set, heavy man who walked over the sand without effort. He glanced at his men, then at Kate.

"Captain, sir? This young woman is Kate Connery."

Hammond was irritated. "I am not interested in her name, Masters! As far as I am concerned she is a piece of merchandise. Very pretty merchandise, I might add."

"Sir, you did not hear me. She is Kate Connery, Captain Martin Connery's niece."

There was a moment of deadly silence - then Hammond turned on Ashford. "What kind of a trap is this, Colonel? I agreed on guns for women. Then it turns out you have only one woman, and now she turns out to be Captain Connery's niece!"

"I've seen Connery. There's nothing about him to be afraid of!"

"You've seen Connery? Like Hell you have! The man's a devil! Follow you to Hell an' gone if you cross him! Did you ever hear of the Dead Man's Chest, Colonel?"

"Something in an old sea ballad, isn't it?"

"It's that, and more. It's a rocky bit of island without water, without trees, without anything, and it sits right under a tropic sun!

"There were some men who believed themselves tough enough to challenge him, so he put them ashore on the Dead Man's Chest and left them there. Told them they'd soon discover just how tough they were, and he'd come back for them, sooner or later.

"He went back, all right, but there wasn't much left. What thirst and the sun hadn't done they had done to each other!

"There was another time a man tried to doublecross him and have him murdered into the bargain. It failed, an' Connery followed him to sea, put a couple of holes in his ship's hull, then took the crew off as she was sinking. When their captain, who'd tried to have Connery murdered, started to leave with them, he sent him back.

" 'A captain is supposed to go down with his ship. Isn't that the tradition? Let's see you live up to it!' Then he sailed away."

Hammond turned away. "I've had my sail for nothing, Colonel Ashford, but never try to make any gun deals with me, or any kind of deals. Before you start stealing girls, you'd best find out who they are!"

The wind from off the sea had a taste of salt. Ashford stood, staring at the ship that was to have brought him arms. Over there on the shore, men were getting into boats. Others, who had been waiting in the sand-hills, followed.

Frank turned and walked to the wagon. Several others, guessing his purpose, followed. Ashford turned sharply. "Here, you! None of that!"

Frank stopped, spat, and said, "Go to the devil!" And walked on.

Kate stood very still. There was a horse over there, bridle reins trailing. She started toward it, walking slowly.

"Kate! Where are you going?"

"I'm going home, Colonel."

"You're leaving me, too?"

"I was never with you, Colonel. It looks to me like you'd better find yourself another world. You will get no credit in this one."

She walked on.

"Kate! Stop!"

Several of the men, scattered out en route to the wagon and its whiskey, stopped. Kate kept walking. Only a few steps more. Just a few steps ...

"Kate, damn it, I said stop!"

She had almost reached the horse. Just another step or two, and once in the saddle, she would ...

"I'll make her stop, Colonel." It was Frank. Suddenly he lifted his rifle and shot the horse dead.

Frank lowered his rifle, then reached in the back of the supply wagon and took out a bottle. He tossed it to the man nearest him, then another to the next man. He took a bottle for himself, and then they started walking toward Kate.

She turned to face them. There was no place to run to, just nowhere to go.

"Dal," she said aloud. "Dal, where are you?"

Without turning her eyes from the advancing men, still some fifty yards off, she said to Ashford, "Toss me your pistol!"

"What?"

"Toss it to me or use it! If you won't stop them, I will!"

He hesitated, then suddenly drawing a pistol he tossed it to her. She caught it deftly.

The men stopped, irresolute. She stood quietly, facing them, waiting.

"Go ahead," one of them said. "She won't shoot nobody!"

"Where's Hayden?" she asked them suddenly. "What became of Cutler?"

"Come on, she won't shoot! Let's go get her!"

"You go," one of them backed off, pulling the cork from his bottle. "I helped bury Hayden!"

He took a drink and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Go ahead, Frank! You started this. Let's see you handle her."

Frank started forward, then stopped. He stopped and slowly began to back away. One by one the others did likewise.

Kate held the gun steady, never taking her eyes from them. "It's all right now, Kate." The voice was Dal's. "Just mount up an' we'll get out of here."

For a moment her relief was so great she thought she would faint right away. Her knees were suddenly weak, and slowly she lowered the pistol. Then without looking at Dal or Mac, she walked to her horse, gathered the reins, grasped the pommel, and putting a toe in the stirrup, hesitated.

They had found her. She was free. The other girls were free. It was over ... almost over. She swung into the saddle.

Only then did she trust herself to look at them. They were there, Dal with his pistol and Mac a little to one side with that Spencer rifle he carried.

She walked her horse over to Ashford and handed him the pistol. "Thanks, for that much." She reined her horse around. "If I were you I'd get out of here while the getting is good. When they have a few more drinks they are going to get mad, and you got them into this."

"I'll manage."

She walked her horse to where Dal waited, and he spoke softly. "This ain't over yet. Just walk your horse off an' be ready to make a run for it. We'll hold 'em until you get out of range."

"I want to be with you."

"You are with me. Now get goin'. I been to a lot of trouble to find you again, and I don't figure to get you shot."

Frank tilted the bottle. He was watching the Travens. To Hell with this! Ashford might let her get away, but he wasn't going to. Just wait, he told himself, I'll take some of those high an' mighty airs away from her. Before I'm through she'll set up an' beg!

Nevertheless, he waited, taking another drink. "This ain't over," he said to the man, Bolt, who stood near him, "not by a long shot!"

"Be careful! Those boys can shoot!"

"How many horses we got?"

"Ten, twelve maybe. What about the Colonel?"

"He's washed out. There's nothing to him."

Ashford stood alone on the white sand. He was empty. He looked off toward the bay, seeing the ship lying there. They were getting sail on her, heaving up the anchor. Soon they would be standing out to sea ... it was over, over.

He looked around to see Butler and Gushing walking over to him. "Colonel? I believe we should get out of here. Ransdale is holding horses for us over by that live oak. I think we should ride back to Kentucky."

Kentucky? He had never amounted to anything in Kentucky, and he would be nothing now. He felt sapped, drained of energy. "I don't know, Butler. I just don't know."

"Sir? There isn't much time. Some of those men have a real hate for you. Some are just renegades, prepared for anything. They are a rabble, sir."

"But they are our rabble."

"Not any more, sir. Come, we must go now. We're attracting too much attention."

Butler glanced toward the wagons, then turned away, Gushing walking beside him. After a moment of hesitation, Ashford followed.

Mac Traven let Dal and Kate ride away while he sat his horse watching. When they were a good two hundred yards off, he turned his horse and followed, riding rapidly to catch up, but he did not turn his back on the wagons.

When he topped a rise four hundred yards away, he pulled up and looked back. Three men, one of them Ashford, were walking away. A number of the others were grouped around the wagons.

"Dal, I want to go home!"

"We're goin', Kate, but well stop in Refugio long enough to pick up the girls an' Mrs. Atherton. There'll be some time in Refugio for some other business, too."

"What business?" she asked suspiciously.

"You an' me gettin' married, Kate. I come near losing you one time, and I don't want to risk it again."

"I suppose I should consider that a proposal?"

"I reckon it could stand for one. I never was very handy with words, and since I got wounded the first time I've had a stiff knee. If I got down you might have to help me up. There's still a bullet in there somewhere. Doc said he'd cause more trouble gettin' it out than the bullet would if it stayed."

Mac rode up beside them. He glanced back again. He was not at all sure they were free and clear. That was a bad outfit, and some of them were very tough men. After a moment, he fell back again. Dal and Kate were talking, oblivious to all but themselves, and he needed to listen.

If there was an attempt to follow them the pursuers would probably ride right for Refugio by the most direct route, while Mac had already decided to stay south of Mission River until he reached the main road into Refugio.

Nor must they linger in Refugio, but leave at once for Victoria.

The day was bright and clear. From the higher ground they could catch an occasional glimpse of the bay, and the ship could be seen approaching the passage into Aransas Bay. Mac took off his hat and mopped his brow. He was beginning to feel the let-down after an action, and it was too soon.

Home! Now he could go home. He could work around the place, repairing the pole corral, leaks in the shed roof, the doors and windows on the house. He wanted nothing so much as to be back doing the simple, everyday things.

He wanted to be riding the range again, branding the stock long left unbranded due to the War.

He turned again in his saddle ... nothing.

Why should he feel so uneasy? What was wrong? Yet the feeling persisted.

Dust ... he smelled dust! He called out. "Dal! Somebody's coming! Look alive now!"

Horsemen were coming, at least twenty of them, and seven or eight of them Indians. They drew up. Mac Traven pushed a little ahead, his Spencer across the saddle in front of him.

There was a tall man in a Mexican sombrero and a dozen very tough, capable-looking white men, Anglos or Mexican.

The tall man whipped off his sombrero and bowed. "Kate? Are you all right? These, I take it, are the Travens?"

"That's right," Dal said, "and who are you?"

The man smiled. "I am Martin Connery. Occasionally called Captain Martin Connery." He glanced at Kate. "You are all right? And the other girls? Are they also all right?"