The Lone Texan

CHAPTER 4

DRUMMOND LISTENED AS THE RANGERS WENT OVER the plan one more time in detail. He didn't really need to know everything. He just had to know who to shoot.

"We'll meet back here in half an hour.” Captain Harmon said. "I want all men sober and ready to ride. Have weapons fully loaded and fresh horses saddled. We'll ride hard through the night.”

A half-grown kid stood between the desk and the stove. Fear and worry blended among the streaks of tears on his cheeks. The captain put his arm on the boy's shoulder and told him he had to eat and drink something, or he'd never make the ride with them. The boy nodded and dropped on the chair behind the desk, but he didn't seem to notice the food before him. He stared at the men in the room, searching each one's face as if looking for one who might save his family.

The Rangers collected their gear. Not one spoke to Drum. He wasn't one of them; he never had been. They respected him, spoke to him when they had to, but not one invited him to join them. He was an outsider they sometimes needed. He signed on for the same dangerous missions they did. He risked his life, like each one of them, but not one would mourn him if he didn't come back alive.

Drum told himself he didn't care. Friends had never been a luxury he could afford. Words like family or friend or loved ones were not part of his world. He'd do this job and be paid well if he lived. Then he'd go on with his life the only way he knew how: alone.

After the captain dismissed them, Drum slipped through the back alleys of Galveston unnoticed. If he only had a half hour left in town, he didn't want to waste it. The moon sliced between the buildings, leaving most of the alley in total darkness. He didn't slow; he knew his way well in the shadows and moved without a sound.

Within minutes, he'd stepped out onto the roof of the Patterson Grand Hotel and swung along the ledge to Sage's room. He knew where she'd be: the best room in the place. Not because she'd asked for it but because her brothers would have demanded it.

All the lamps were out, but there was enough moonlight to guide him through the window to the only third-floor room that faced the gulf. He stepped into what looked like a little living area. Trunks and scattered clothes lay atop most of the furniture.

Drum swore he could smell Sage in the air: the hint of honeysuckle she used in her hair, the lavender soap. He crossed the room, the rug muffling any sound.

The tall woman who'd been traveling with Sage slept in the first bedroom. He could see the top of her head with hair twisted into rag knots. Her clothes were neatly organized in rows on the other bed in the room. A huge black cat slept on one pile.

Drum silently moved on. A washroom came next, with porcelain glowing in the light and ladies' underthings hanging on thin strings crisscrossing the room.

He walked on down the hallway. The door to Sage's room was open only a crack, but he could see her asleep.

Moving silently closer, he drank in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst. She wore the same kind of white nightgown he'd seen her wear when she was eighteen. It buttoned all the way to her throat and had puffy sleeves that covered her as completely as a nun's habit. Her hair was braided in one long braid resting over her shoulder. As always, she slept soundly and at peace.

He grinned, remembering how she used to sleep with her hair free and wild all over her pillow. After he'd met her. he'd returned from time to time to Whispering Mountain just to check on her. He told himself it was just to see her, to make sure that the girl who'd let him outrun the law when he'd been fifteen was still safe. In truth, he risked his life just to stand near and watch her sleep. If her brothers had caught him, they would probably have taken turns killing him. But it had been worth it. Sage looked like an angel when she slept.

In those years, when he felt like he fought against all the world, those few moments watching her sleep were the only calm he'd known.

Drum fought the urge to touch her now. She'd always been a sound sleeper. Would she wake if he just brushed her cheek?

When she'd left for Boston he'd still been a boy; but he was a man now, and Drum knew touching her cheek would never be enough. He leaned over Sage and kissed her softly on the lips.

She moaned as if talking in a dream.

Smiling, he kissed her again, this time letting his mouth explore the curve of her lips.

She opened her mouth and sighed. Every muscle in his body fought to pull her up to him. "Someday.” he whispered in promise. "Someday we'll finish this kiss." He'd made up his mind a long time ago that they'd go slow, drinking in passion a drop at a time, so they'd never get their fill. He planned to still be making love to her when both their hair had turned gray and their grandchildren were sleeping upstairs. He didn't want to own her, or take her, or have her, he wanted to be with her so completely that one of them couldn't fall asleep at night without touching the other.

He frowned. It wasn't easy telling a woman how he felt about her when she was busy yelling at him.

A movement in the corner caught his attention.

When he stepped away. the dog she'd saved slowly stood from his bed in the corner. Drum knelt and patted the mutt. "Take care of her until I get back," he whispered to the dog.

He crossed the little room and slipped out the same window he'd entered. For a few minutes his mind was at peace. Sage was close. He knew he meant nothing to her, but it didn't matter. His thoughts were on her as he saddled up with the half dozen Rangers and rode out along the shoreline. For once, he didn't feel the loneliness of the ride. He had the taste of Sage on his lips, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn't cold as stone.

They rode until almost dawn before anyone said a word. Drum knew they were close when Captain Harmon pulled his huge bay up beside him.

"Work in as close as you can, son” he whispered to Drum. "You have to take out both the leaders, or we'll have a full war on our hands. There aren't enough Rangers within riding distance to fight all the raiders if they get pissing mad and have someone to direct them in a fight. Our only hope is to take out Franky Bellows and the man they all call Scar, then hope the others aren't smart enough to organize before we have them rounded up and tied down.”

Drum nodded. Captain Turner Harmon was a law-abiding man; he wouldn't order a man to shoot someone if there weren't other lives at stake. Drum had enough details about each man that there would be no question who his targets were.

Turner hesitated. "If the other border raiders fight, there's a chance you'll be caught in the crossfire. I'm hoping the hostages will huddle down, but if we hit them as the sun comes up, the boys won't be able to tell you from the raiders”

"I know” Drum had been in this situation before. The Rangers needed a good shot to start the battle-a very good shot-but if he were close enough to shoot the leader in the middle of his men, he'd be among the raiders when they started to run. "Don't worry about it. Cap." Drum grinned at the captain. "Just take care of my horse. I don't much like the idea of having to walk back to Galveston."

"I've got to make sure the boy stays well out of the fight. Holding your horse should keep him busy." The captain nodded and moved on to the other men.

Ten minutes later, the sky was about to color when Roak slipped silently around one of the outbuildings and climbed into the rafters of a lean-to. He had a clear view of the rundown settlement. The homestead looked more dugout than ranch house. A few small sheds, maybe slave quarters for a dozen men, maybe smokehouses, and the skeleton of a barn still smoldering from the raid that probably happened less than twenty-four hours ago.

He pulled his weapons, checked his loads more from habit than need, and waited.

The place reminded him of a few camps he'd stayed in when he'd been little. His mother traveled with outlaws. He'd been born in one of the camps, though she'd never said where. She'd had several miscarriages and stillbirths after him. He'd often wondered if the babies had died or if she just hadn't bothered to wake them up at birth. She couldn't take care of herself or him, much less another child.

A boy of about four or five opened the door to the dugout and walked across the shadows to the well. For a moment, the place looked peaceful in the dawn, except there were too many horses and saddles in the makeshift barn, too many still-smoking campfires around for a family. Bloated remains of a cow lay thirty feet away. Drum smelled whiskey in the air along with urine. If any family lived here, they were long gone or dead by now.

If the raid happened yesterday, the men would probably round up anything of value along with the stock and head south within a few hours. If the Rangers hadn't ridden all night, there was a strong possibility they wouldn't have caught up with the raiding party before the border.

Two men stepped out the doorway. One, slightly shorter than the first, half dragged a woman behind him. He wore gun belts across his chest with pearl-handled guns strapped into holsters. As he walked, he favored his left leg. "Franky." Drum silently checked off traits from a list and leveled his rifle.

The two outlaws walked toward his hiding place, both looking around as if they were seeking somewhere to talk. The pair stopped at the corner of the lean-to. Drum could see the crescent scar on the taller man's cheek: the final piece of identification.

Scar lit a cigar while the other pawed at the woman's blouse as if he were playing with a mouse. She made weak efforts to push his hands away, but she looked barely strong enough to stand.

"I say we kill her now," the one with the cigar growled as he pulled his handgun and pointed it toward her. "All she keeps doing is crying. The only men getting any sleep are the ones smart enough to bed down under the trees."

The other swore and shoved her to her knees between them. "She's the only thing we got to bargain with if that husband of hers comes back. Our orders are to kill Lloyd and his sons. I don't think she matters to the job."

"Her husband ain't coming back." The first man poked the woman with the barrel of his gun and laughed as she tried to move away. "He's probably glad to be rid of her. Noisy bother."

"No." The shorter one slapped the woman to the ground with the back of his hand and put his foot on her back. "He might come in shooting if he thought she was dead, but if he thinks she's alive, he might try to bargain. And when he does, he's a dead man.”

The other shook his head. "He'd be here by now if he was coming. Shoot her and be done with it. Then I'll shoot the boy, and we'll go after Lloyd and the other brat. They couldn't have gotten far.”

His partner pulled her up by her hair. "Yell!" he demanded. "Yell so that man of yours knows he needs to come get you." She shook her head, refusing.

He had to hit her hard twice with the side of his gun before she screamed, her voice hoarse with exhaustion and panic. Her cry echoed through the still dawn. One of the men wrapped in a blanket a hundred yards away yelled for someone to shut her up.

Even in the pale light, Drum could see her eyes were swollen and black, and her face was covered in dried blood. He wondered how many times in the past twelve hours the men had forced her outside and made her scream. She didn't look like she could take many more beatings. He didn't even want to think what might have happened to her inside the dugout.

When the short raider called Franky dropped her to the ground with a hard kick. Drum pulled the trigger, putting a bullet through the man's skull. A heartbeat later, he fired his pistol, sending the second man crumpling in a dead gurgle of pain. The gun in the raider's hand fired more from reflex than defense.

The dawn was silent, then he heard the woman whimpering as she crawled away from the blood pooling in the dirt and into the shadow of the lean-to.

He knew he should stay put-those were his orders-but he couldn't. Drum dropped from the rafters and lifted the woman out of the dirt. She feebly tried to fight him as he carried her back to the shadows of the lean-to.

"I've got to get you out of sight” he whispered. "You'll be safe soon. Until then. I'm here to help”

She nodded once in understanding as he lowered her into an empty water trough and tossed two saddle blankets across it for cover.

Men pulling on their guns exploded from the cabin; Roak slipped back up into the rafters. The men around dying campfires scrambled out in their long johns, strapping on their gun belts as they stood.

He watched the gang run around like headless chickens. They examined the dead bodies and shouted guesses as to what must have happened. Before anyone could take charge, the Rangers were on top of them. A half dozen men rode in hard with bullets flying and war yells like they were a hundred strong and not outnumbered.

When the firing stopped, half of the outlaws were dead, and the other half looked like they wished they were. One Ranger had been grazed in the leg.

Roak lowered himself from the rafters again. He pulled the saddle blankets off the trough and lifted the woman out. "It's over” he said as he carried her into the yard. "No one is going to hurt you again. The Rangers are here”

The youth he'd seen at the Ranger station ran up to him, but when he saw the woman's face, he seemed afraid to come closer. "Ma?" he whispered, as if he wasn't sure of her identity.

"She'll be all right," Captain Harmon said almost convincingly enough to be believed. "Your ma will be fine."

The other kid Drum had seen getting water ran out of the cabin. He would have run to the woman, but his big brother stopped him.

"Where's your pa?" Drum asked the older brother.

The kid shook his head. "He told me to ride for the Rangers. I started, but when I heard fire, I doubled back. My father was shooting at one of the raiders from the trees. He killed the man, but my father took a bullet in the stomach. It took him some time to die, but he never made a sound. I covered him with brush so no one would find his body."

Drum heard the hint of an English accent in the older boy's words, but there was no time to ask questions.

Captain Harmon gave orders to round up the outlaws and tie them to their horses. He'd been a Ranger for ten years and had hardened too much to offer the boys comfort. Times were harsh in this land. Words couldn't change that fact, he often said.

Drum didn't have to ask about what to do with the woman. Turner Harmon wouldn't know the answer. It wasn't his problem. If she'd been dead, they would have buried her, but his worry was getting the raiders to justice, not caring for the injured. He needed all his Rangers to move the prisoners.

Drum turned to the older boy. "You got family near? Or friends?"

The kid shook his head. "That's the reason we picked this place. No one for miles and miles."

"You got a wagon?"

He nodded.

"Then hitch it up." Roak looked at the younger brother. "You go get all the blankets and any canteens of water you can round up. I'll ride with you to Galveston and see if we can't get your mother some care. I know a doctor staying at the Patterson Hotel who might be able to help.”

Both boys seemed grateful to have something to do. They followed orders. Within minutes, the wagon was ready. Roak lowered the woman in among the blankets as the boys climbed in. The youngest carried a huge family Bible.

When he swung into his saddle, Turner said, "We can't wait on her, Roak. She'd be safer here than alone out on the road.”

He hadn't said the words, but Roak knew the captain thought she was already dead.

"I'll ride with them” Roak answered.

Captain Harmon shook his head, then turned and ordered the Rangers to mount up.

Drum tied his horse, Satan, to the back, knowing the wagon would never keep up, but he'd do the best he could. He handed the youngest boy his bandanna. "Keep this wet and covering her face. Maybe it'll help some. Give her water any time she'll take it."

One by one, the Rangers passed him without a word. He had a feeling they thought he was a fool. The woman had two small sons. Busted up like she was, even if she lived, her life would be one step above hell. It almost seemed kinder to let her die.

As the last man passed, he slowed and handed his canteen to Roak. "You might be needing this” the young Ranger said. "It's water laced with a bit of whiskey.”

Drum took the canteen. "I'll get the canteen back to you, Daniel.”

Daniel Torry nodded once and spurred his horse forward.