Heart of Thunder (29 page)

“No,” he replied reluctantly.

“Then—” Her eyes widened suddenly. “He didn’t sell to someone else, did he? I mean, oh, Lord, Hank would have been furious if someone other than his cousin bought the land. That would explain—”

“No.” Lorenzo interrupted her speculations. “The clerk I questioned remembers the buyer. It was Antonio Chavez.”

“I…” She started to voice her confusion again, but suddenly she wasn’t confused anymore. “That son of a bitch! He did this on purpose!”

“Who?”

“Hank! Rufino!” she stormed. “He never intended to let my father know where to find me. Don’t you see? He’s done this for spite. He’s probably long gone, with his cousin, laughing because he’s left me and my father waiting.”

Lorenzo shook his head, frowning. “I cannot believe that of him.”

“Why not?” she asked furiously. “You don’t know him the way I do!”

“But you are his wife.”

“What has that got to do with it? He didn’t want to marry me any more than I did him. He had to force me to agree to it.”

“I cannot believe that,” Lorenzo replied stubbornly.

Samantha lost all patience. “Lorenzo, he’s not the man you seem to think he is. He may have saved your life, but that doesn’t make him honorable. He threatened to kill my father if I didn’t marry him. Do you really think I wanted to? Do you really think marriage made all right everything he did to me? He gets what he wants in whatever way he can.
That’s
the kind of man he is.”

“
Basta ya!
” Lorenzo snapped angrily.

“It’s not enough! You still don’t believe me, do you? But Hank’s got what he wanted and he’s gone. You can’t deny that. I should have been released two days ago. But I’m still here—you’re still here. He’s left you in the lurch just like me—and without a care!”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed darkly. “Get your things! We go now!”

“Where?”

“I will take you to your father,” he replied brusquely.

“And the others?”

“They will go their own ways now. It is over.”

It
was
over, really over. She was going home to her father. In just a few more hours, she would be with him….

The water splashing up his nose choked Hank back to awareness. A bucket of it had been thrown in his face. It was not the first time, but he forgot and tried to shake the water out of his eyes. The pain stopped him, shooting through his head like the explosion of a thousand tiny lights.
That
made him remember—everything.

One eye was shut tight, the other blurred from the water and stinging as his sweat ran into it. He hated to think what the rest of his face looked like. He could
barely open his mouth. Both sides of his jaw were probably puffed out grotesquely from repeated blows. Blood was caked to his lips.

There were things he could be thankful for, however…so far, at least. His nose had bled but it wasn’t broken. And he still had all his teeth, though they had shredded the inside of his mouth.

He wasn’t sure about the rest of him. There were two ribs he knew for certain were cracked, but the pain in that area was deceiving. His whole rib cage felt crushed. His whole body felt crushed for that matter—except his hands. There was no longer any feeling in his hands at all, not even in the first two fingers of his right hand, which had been pulled back until the bones snapped.

How long had he been strung up now, rawhide cutting into his wrists, causing the numbness in his hands? A day? Two? It was night. He could see that much through the blur of his one open eye. Lanterns were burning brightly inside the old barn and it was dark outside the open door. It was left open because of the stink—his stink. He had not been fed, or let loose to relieve himself. But the shame of that was the least of his worries. For Hank could see no way out of this.

How could things have gone so wrong so suddenly? He had met Hamilton Kingsley, as hoped, the second day in town. He hadn’t seemed to suspect anything at all, and had accepted Hank’s reason for being there. Hank hadn’t even offered to buy the land. He had waited for Kingsley to broach the subject. He had soon enough, and the deal had been settled, the papers signed late that afternoon. Hank had the deed, had it on his person right then, in his coat pocket. The land was his, legally—but a damn lot of good it was doing him just then.

He had asked himself over and over again if it was worth it, and was slowly deciding that it wasn’t. There was little patience left. His tormentors were getting
tired of his continued resistance, and who knew what was next?

And Kingsley? Was he still here? How that man had fooled him, up until the deed was in his hands. Then he had seen the rancher talking with two of his hired men and felt the first inklings of uncertainty. Shortly after that, those two men had come to his room at the hotel. They had invited him to join Kingsley at his ranch. When he refused, they insisted, at gun point.

It was early evening. No one had seen him being escorted out of town. He hadn’t even had the chance to have the message delivered to Kingsley, to let him know where he could find Samantha.

But that wasn’t what Kingsley was interested in. He took it for granted that his daughter was on her way back to him, now that he had done exactly as instructed. No, Kingsley wanted El Carnicero—or the bandit he thought was El Carnicero. He was as hell-bent on revenge as Samantha had ever been, and he was convinced, or had let his men convince him, that Hank could lead them to El Carnicero.

Hank’s only consolation was that no one had even hinted that he might be El Carnicero. Everyone knew that bandit was a short, fat Mexican. But Hank was assumed to be one of his gang.

He couldn’t really blame Kingsley for this. If he were in the same position, he would do everything in his power to keep what was his. And the old man wasn’t even aware of the lengths his hired thugs had gone to. Kingsley had been disgusted when he saw Hank’s condition, but Nate Fiske, the spokesman for the men, had defended the treatment.

“You want a confession, don’t you? Evidence that’ll get you back your land?” Hank had heard him asking Kingsley. “And El Carnicero? If we don’t get him, he’ll be doing things like this again. This Mex is one of them.”

“But what if he isn’t?” Kingsley had revealed the doubt he still harbored. “What if he’s telling the truth?”

Nate Fiske laughed. “You didn’t feel that way yesterday, Mr. Kingsley, when you turned over your land to him. You were sure then that he was involved.”

“I let you convince me, but—”

“Maybe I need to point out certain facts again,” Nate had said impatiently. “Your trouble didn’t begin until after this fellow came to see you, wanting to buy your land. You refused and suddenly you had bandits after you, demanding you get out of Mexico. When that didn’t work, they took your daughter and
he
showed up again. By chance? Maybe. Except you made the mistake of telling him your plans. The bandits made a new demand then. You either sell or kiss your daughter good-bye. And who should conveniently show up in El Paso,
still
eager to buy your land?

“It don’t wash, Mr. Kingsley. Chavez either hired those bandits himself or he’s one of them. Either way, he’ll tell me where to find El Carnicero. And that’s what you’re paying me for. Getting your land back, through a confession, will cost you more, but you’ll be willing to pay for that. Won’t you?”

Hamilton Kingsley had reluctantly nodded. And he had said nothing further, giving Nate Fiske silent consent to do whatever was necessary.

The only thing that might help Hank was to hold out, continue to insist on his innocence, and pray that one of these hardened men might finally believe him. Or Kingsley might relent and stop them. That was a long shot, though. Kingsley had showed his sensitivity. He would probably stay away until it was all over.

Escaping was out of the question. There were seven of them, the worst sort of brutal men. Hank knew their kind, men out for easy money, capable of anything, even murder. He had come to hate every one of them—Nate, who had seen through Hank’s scheme, and Ross, the big Texan who had cracked two ribs with only one blow of his fist. Then there was the one called Sankey, who had laughed as he snapped Hank’s fingers, and who
kept insisting that more torture was the only way to get a confession.

Hank didn’t know all their names. Three of the men stayed in the background, keeping watch while the others slept, not taking part in the beatings and questioning.

There was one man Hank found himself hating the most, and that was Camacho, the flat-faced Mexican. A short, two-faced, weaselly son of a bitch. He was the worst, whispering Spanish words, pretending concern, his voice working soothingly when Hank was in the most pain.

His bearded face moved in front of Hank now. “You awake,
amigo?
The
gringos
grow impatient. I cannot help you unless you tell them what they want to know.”

Hank tried to shut out that wheedling voice, but he couldn’t. He could see more clearly now. A few of the men were sleeping, but Sankey wasn’t one of them. He squatted by a fire in the center of the barn, holding a long-handled knife over the flames. Wondering what he would do with that knife was torture itself.

“Confiesa usted sufatta?”

“What—guilt?” Hank managed to grit out stubbornly.

“
Estúpido hombre!
” Camacho said in disgust. “Nate, he grows angry. He will let Sankey have his way with you soon. Why not confess now? If old man Kingsley can get his land back through such a confession, that means more money for these desperados.
Comprende?
They want more money. So?”

Hank did not reply, and Sankey called out, “Has he had enough, Camacho?”

“I do not think so,
amigo
.” The Mexican shook his head wearily. “He is very foolish.”

“Then get away from him.” Sankey stood up. “It’s my turn now.”

“Hold it, Sankey.” Nate stepped in front of him. “I
told you that was out. There ain’t no way he could survive.”

“Hell, they do it in them eastern countries all the time. The men survive—they just ain’t men no more.” Sankey chuckled. “Shoot, Nate, I wouldn’t really have to do it. I guarantee he’ll spill his guts the second this hot blade touches his skin.”

“There are other ways. The old man don’t want him dead, and we do it his way if we want to get paid. Understand?”

“Then how about this?”

Sankey pulled his gun and fired before Nate could stop him. Hank jerked as the bullet knifed through his thigh. But he didn’t cry out. After a moment, the pain lessened to a dull burning and his body relaxed, getting heavier and heavier, his mind losing its grip, playing tricks. He saw the miner from Denver before him, bullet-riddled, crawling away, but surviving. He saw Samantha with a gun in her hand, ready to pump more and more bullets into him, smiling triumphantly. He wouldn’t survive as the miner had, not at her mercy. It was his last thought before both visions dimmed into blackness.

Chapter 34

S
AMANTHA slid off Lorenzo’s horse before he brought it to a complete halt, tripped running up the porch steps, then swung around. She had almost forgotten Lorenzo.

“You’ll wait, won’t you?”

“I think not, Sam. Here. Rufino asked me to give you this before we parted.”

Samantha caught the bundle he threw at her. Even in the dim light she recognized the white lace skirt and blouse. A lump caught in her throat. Why would Hank want her to have these clothes? A reminder? Damn him, he was still getting his little thrusts in.

Well, she wouldn’t let it affect her. These clothes had no sentimental meaning for her. She tucked them under her arm and stepped back to the edge of the steps. Pale moonlight fell on her.

“You can’t just ride off, Lorenzo. Give me a chance to see my father, and then I’ll come back and bid you
adiós
. We’ve been through so much together.”

His horse stepped nervously, sensing Lorenzo’s tension. “It is not safe for me here.”

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “You don’t think I’d let anything happen to you, do you? You brought me to my father. He will be grateful.”

“No, Sam.”

“Very well, Lorenzo.” She sighed, and then added impulsively, “You know, whether you helped me or not, your presence gave me courage at times. For that I thank you.”

“
Adiós, amiga
.” His parting carried to her in a whisper.

“
Hasta la vista
, Lorenzo.”

For several seconds, Samantha stood there, watching him ride away. He was her last link with the ordeal. Her chest felt tight. But she wouldn’t think about it now. Her father was waiting.

She turned and quickly entered the old ranch house. It had been years since she had been there, but she remembered the place quite well. It was dark inside. Empty. She hadn’t expected it to be quite so empty, but then her father hadn’t been there long. The furniture probably hadn’t arrived yet. She wondered absently whether her father even had a bed to sleep in.

She approached his old room, her boots clicking and echoing over the wooden floor. This certainly wasn’t how she had pictured their reunion. But no matter. Once he was awake…

The door to his old room was ajar. “Father?”

Samantha stepped inside. This room was lighter, catching the moonlight through back windows, even though they were filthy. He wasn’t there. A blanket, a candle, and an old crate were in a corner, the only things in the room.

She frowned and called out again, going to the next room quickly and throwing open the door. It was empty, as was the next room.

Her heartbeat picked up tempo as she went to the front room. The whole house was empty. And Lorenzo was gone. Had she stranded herself here?

The gunshot made Samantha’s hand fly to her mouth to stifle her startled cry. The bundle of clothes fell to the floor. She held her breath, her eyes wide. Lorenzo? Oh, God, was this a trap? Had her father shot Lorenzo?

The gun Lorenzo had returned to her when they crossed the river was in her hand before she ran to the front door and threw it open. She strained, trying in vain to see into the darkness. There was nothing. Clouds
now blocked the moonlight, and she couldn’t see beyond the front yard.