C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-THREE
Hank Lowery's throat had been cut and a folded piece of paper had been forced between the dead man's teeth . . . his murderer revealing a grotesque sense of humor.
Carrying Peter into the cabin from outside, Frank heard Kate's frantic calls for Moses Rice and her girls, but he heard no answering cry, nor would there be one, as the bloodstained note explained.
THANKEE FER THE MONEY AND GRUB.
WE'LL LEAVE YOOR BRATS AND THE NIGER AT
THE ROONED MISION AT JAKE PIKE DRAW.
DON'T FOLLER OR THE BRATS DIE.
PS. WERE KEEPING THE MEX WOMAN.
Frank walked through the ransacked cabin. The tin box where Kate kept money for day-to-day ranch expenses had been forced open, emptied, and thrown on the floor. Suppliesâflour, coffee, bacon, and canned goodsâhad been stripped from the kitchen shelves and even the peppers had been taken from the rafters.
Kate stepped around the corner of her new house, a worried-looking Barrie Delaney at her side, when she caught sight of Frank. “How is Hank?” she called when she was still a distance away.
Frank stepped closer to her and said, “Kate, Hank is dead.”
Disbelief and then horror crossed her face. She brushed past Frank, hiked up her dress, and ran for the cabin. Frank gave her a few moments and then followed her inside.
She stood at Lowery's bedside, pale like a woman formed from alabaster. She stretched out a hand and pushed an errant strand of hair off the dead man's forehead. Blood had stained his pillow scarlet and his hands were cut, slashed to ribbons as he'd tried to defend himself.
“This was on the table,” Frank said, a lie to save Kate from further horror. He handed her the note.
She read it slowly, and then it read again. When she looked up again her beautiful green eyes were as cold as winter. “WhoâdidâthisâFrank?” she said with a pause between each word, her voice sounding like a death knell.
“I don't know,” Frank said.
“We'll find whoever did it and kill him,” Kate said.
A yell of protest from outside was followed by Delaney's harsh order to “Shut the hell up!” Then Hargate Webbe was hurled headlong through the open bedroom door.
Delaney was right behind him. “Caught this scurvy swab skulking among the trees.” His eyes moved to the dead man. “Lord have mercy on us. Kate, what happened?”
“Hank Lowery was murdered,” she said.
Delaney removed his hat. “Poor gentleman. May the Good Lord rest his soul.” He drew his cutlass and brandished it murderously in Webbe's face. “By God, if you had anything to do with this, I'll cut you into collops.”
“I wasn't skulking. I was hiding,” Webbe said.
“Same thing. Damn my eyes, there's treachery afoot, Kate. I have a nose that can sniff it out.” Delaney glared at Webbe. “I have a mind to ram three feet of Sheffield steel through your belly, stonemason.”
Kate said, “Let us respect the dead by stepping outside. Mr. Webbe, you will explain yourself to my satisfaction or I'll hang you.”
Webbe was a thoroughly frightened man when Delaney dragged him away from the cabin and threw him on the ground.
“Who took the two young girls and the black man? And where is Jazmin, as fair a filly as ever trod the earth and a fine cook to boot? Where are they, Webbe? Tell me or I'll cut your heart out.”
“I told you, I don't know,” Webbe said, looking miserable. “All I can say is that afterward they headed south.”
Frank said, “Webbe, get a grip of yourself and then tell us what happened.”
Webbe took a deep breath and steadied himself. “In my spare time I'm something of an entomologistâ”
“I knew it,” Delaney bellowed. “There's treachery for you. He's an ento . . . enta . . . whatever the hell he says he is. It sounds like he's aboard with some heathen, murdering crew o' scallywags to me.”
“It means I collect butterflies and moths,” Webbe said.
Kate said, “Quickly, Mr. Webbe. There's no time to be lost. What happened here?”
“I saw a fine specimen of
Vanessa cardui
âPainted Ladyâamong the oaks and went after it, hoping to add it to my collection. No sooner had I begun my hunt when I heard rough men yelling and then gunshots.”
Kate said, “My daughters!”
“They were not harmed, dear lady,” Webbe said. “The miscreants shot into the air. Unfortunately, Moses did not have his pistol with him and could not make a fight of it.”
“How many were there?” Frank said.
“Four, four of them.”
“Then I'm glad Mose didn't have his pistol,” Frank said. “Describe these men.”
“Big men, dressed in buckskins,” Webbe said. “They had red hair to their shoulders and beards down their chests. That's all I saw or cared to see. I hid in the brush until you and Mrs. Kerrigan arrived.”
“Sounds like the Garvan boys,” Frank said.
“Who are they?” Kate said.
“Four outlaw brothers spawned in hell, Kate. As I recall, their names are Merrill, Jud, Andy, and the oldest brother is Josiah, the worst of them. Merrill is the fastest with a gun, but Josiah does deadly work with the knife. A couple years ago up in the Indian Territory, he fought a duel with a cavalry sergeant over the affections of a fallen woman. They met on the pine trunk that had dropped across a creek. The sergeant was armed with a saber, but Josiah Garvan cut his heart out.”
“Oh my God,” Kate said, horrified.
“Kate, I didn't mean to scare you,” Frank said.
“Well, you did. We'll change horses and sack up whatever supplies the Garvan brothers left us. Captain Delaney, I want you to mount every one of your rogues who can ride a horse. We'll meet force with force and if my daughters are harmed, I'll hang them all from the same tree.”
One of the hands, a round-shouldered man named Dusty Bates, said to Kate, “Where are we headed, boss?”
“Frank, what's the name of that place?”Kate said.
“The ruined mission at Jake Pike Draw. According to Webbe they headed south.”
“I know that place, camped there one time when me and another feller was hunting antelope,” Bates said. “The mission was burned by the Comanche close to a hundred years ago. All that's left standing are parts of its mud brick walls.”
“Can you lead us there, Dusty?” Frank said.
“Sure I can.”
“Then get ready to ride,” Frank said. Then to Kate, “What about Pete?”
“Jolly Jakes had sons of his own,” Delaney said. “He'll stay behind and take care of the tyke.”
“Make sure he feeds him,” Kate said.
“Feed and wash him and find him something to wear,” Delaney said. “Jolly has done all that before.”
“I hate to leave him,” Kate said.
“Kate, me darlin', if you plan to raise him your own self as a Western man, then he'll need to get used to life's little inconveniences. You can lay to that.”
C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-FOUR
Kate Kerrigan's home had been invaded, her children taken, and that was an outrage she'd avenge with equal savagery. As she rode out of the KK Ranch her men behind her, Kate was determined on a war to the finish. There would be no negotiation, no mercy shown . . . only the reckoning.
Barrie Delaney had brought along six of his scoundrels who could be counted on to stay on a horse during a running fight and were not averse to throat cutting if the need arose. Kate had her three toughest hands along with Frank, Trace, and Quinn, giving her a strength of thirteen fighting men. She made fourteen and thus an unlucky number of riders was avoided.
The evening was starting to crowd out the day when Dusty Bates told Kate that the ruined mission was close.
Frank scouted ahead and returned through the darkening twilight. “I saw the girls, but there's no sign of Mose or Jazmin.”
“Could it be a trap?” Kate said.
“I don't know. That's why I came back. If the Garvan boys have laid an ambush, I wouldn't last long going it alone.”
“Quite right. We'll do this in force.” She slid her Winchester from the boot, took a green ribbon from the pocket of her coat, and tied back her hair. She wore a split canvas riding skirt, a Colt belted around her waist. There was no softness in her. She levered a round into the rifle and said, “Spread out, boys. We go in at the gallop.” Then Kate yelled her war cryâan ancient Kerrigan battle shriek from the mists of her clan's historyâand kneed her horse into motion. The others followed, galloping headlong toward the dark ruin.
* * *
Ivy and Shannon were unharmed but scared. They kneeled beside Moses Rice, who'd been badly beaten. Kate joined them there.
Moses's face was bruised and cut, and the shirt had been torn off his back. His ribs on the left side showed signs of having been repeatedly kicked.
“Mose, can you hear me?” Kate said.
The old man nodded his gray head. “I can hear you Miz Kerrigan, but I think they done for me.”
Kate looked at Shannon. “What happened?”
“Mose tried to stop them from taking Jazmin and they beat him. Ivy and me tried to stop them, but the man with the knife told us to get away or he'd cut our hearts out.” She pulled up the sleeve of her dress and showed purple bruises. “The man with the knife grabbed me and threw me to the ground.”
Kate's chin jutted and her eyes blazed with emerald fire, a mother wolf seeing one of her cubs mistreated. Later, Shannon would say that she'd never seen her ma look like that before and hoped she'd never see her look that way ever again.
“Miz Kerrigan, I couldn't stop them,” Moses said. “They took Jazmin.”
“You were very brave, Mose,” Kate said. “I'm proud of you.” Frank passed her a canteen that she held to the old man's lips.
He drank a little and then coughed. “It's all up with me.”
“Indeed it is not. Once we get you home to the ranch, plenty of bed rest and Jazmin's good cooking will soon get you back on your feet. How can I run the KK without you?”
“You're very good to me, Miz Kerrigan.”
“No I'm not, Mose,” Kate said. “I take you for granted and sometimes I don't even notice that you're there. I won't make those mistakes again.”
Kate unbuckled her suede coat and made a pillow for Moses's head. Then she said to Quinn, “Stay with them until we get back . . . and keep your rifle handy.”
Quinn's face showed his disappointment. “I'd rather ride with you and Trace, Ma.”
“I know you would, Quinn, but I want you here. If, God forbid, something happened to Trace and me, you'd be the owner of the KK. I don't want to put all my eggs in one basket. Do you understand?”
Frank said, “Quinn, if you see us galloping back here hell for leather with our tails between our legs, you'll be able to put your rifle to good use. Trust me on that.”
Frank's words helped, but as Quinn watched Kate and the others ride away from the mission into the ominous dark, he looked devastated.
* * *
The Garvan brothers made no effort to cover their tracks across the grassland that lay south of the mission. For a time, they'd taken the old
Camino al Cielo
wagon road that had been laid by the Conquistadors, but left it when it petered out into an overgrown barrier of prickly pear cactus and thornbush.
Frank had good tracking skills and even in the dark, he didn't lose the hoofprints left by four horses, one of them carrying double. Around midnight, a small herd of pronghorn emerged from the gloom and crossed directly in front of Kate, startling her as she rode through the cool night with a blanket across her shoulders. The coyotes were up on the ridges talking to the rising moon and once they heard the mournful howls of a hunting pack of gray wolves in the distance. No one talked much, but Barrie Delaney hummed “Brennan on the Moor” to himself, a ballad dear to his heart since it was about an Irish highwayman caught and hanged in County Cork in 1804.
Trace's young eyes were the first to see the red glow of a campfire staining the dark sky ahead of them and he told Frank.
Frank's eyes squinted into the distance. “Are you sure?”
“I see it plain, Frank,” Trace said.
“I see it, too. Directly ahead of us, Frank.” Kate threw up her arm and drew rein. “Anybody else see it?”
One of the hands said, “Yeah, boss. It's there all right. Big blaze, a white man's fire.”
Frank caught the distant glow and estimated the distance, no easy task in the dark. A mile away. Maybe a little farther.
As always in life-and-death situations, Kate deferred to her
segundo
. “How do we play it, Frank?”
“Kate, you and the others stay here. I'm going to scout ahead and take a look-see.”
“Be careful, Frank,”Kate said.
“I always am, Kate.” His lopsided grin made his fine-cut features look ten years younger.
C
HAPTER
F
IFTY-FIVE
On silent feet, Frank ground tied his horse and advanced on the camp. He had no doubt it was the Garvan boys, but there was always the possibility that the fire had been lit by other travelers.
A projecting wedge of limestone rock gave him cover while he viewed the camp from a distance. The moonlight helped visibility, as did the fire, its smoke heavy with the smell of mesquite and greasewood. Four men squatted by the fire, all of them big, red haired, bearded and dressed in greasy buckskins. Each held a rifle across his legs and wore a holstered Colt. Josiah, recognizable by the huge bowie knife stuck into his belt, sat in shadow beside Jazmin. He was trying to make the Mexican woman drink from a bottle and roared with laughter as she choked, the whiskey running down her chin.
In the space of a moment, Josiah Garvan changed from man to raging animal. He tore the front of Jazmin's dress apart, exposing her breasts. Snarling, he drew his knife. His brothers cheered him on, cursing and laughing, urging him to unspeakable violence.
Frank liked Jazmin Salas. She was pretty and a real nice lady. On top of that, she was a wonderful cook. Even more, she was part of the KK Ranch. To Frank that made her within hollerin' distance of kin.
A lesser man would have figured the odds were too steep, turned away, and run for help. Frank Cobb was not such a man. In the West, a man measured his manhood by his readiness to do what needed to be done and by doing it well, without a backward step. If he turned away and left Jazmin to her terrible fate, he would be much less than a man. He would be a craven creature unfit to ever again enter male company.
Driven by a hard, inflexible code, Frank did what he had to do. He drew his Colt and walked into the Garvan camp.
Josiah saw him first. He jumped up, yelled something that Frank didn't understand, and threw his knife, a backward hurling motion calculated to surprise. The Bowie had to cover about ten feet, a split second in time.
A draw fighter's hair-trigger reactions were strong in Frank and he flung himself to the side even as the knife left Josiah's hand. Frank thumbed off a shot while he was in the air. Later, he would say that his bullet and the outlaw's knife crossed each other in flight. Josiah's Bowie missed by a foot. Frank's bullet did not. Only when Josiah slammed onto the ground did Frank know he'd made a solid hit. For the moment, he ignored the big man on the ground and shot at one of his brothers, who stood in the flickering firelight, a rifle to his shoulder. The scarlet-slashed darkness was not good for aimed fire and the man hesitated. He screamed when Frank scored, his bullet hitting Jud Garvan in the belly. He jerked back, his Winchester spiraling away from him.
Josiah Garvan had been hit hard, a sucking chest wound he knew would be the death of him. He pushed to his feet and stumbled toward Frank. With his Colt at eye level, he shot wildly as he went. Frank did not return fire, knowing the man would be dead shortly. That was proven a moment later when Josiah staggered and fell flat on his face, entering hell with a curse on his lips.
From the shadows, the surviving Garvans were firing rifles.
Jazmin, sobbing and bleeding from a thin cut across the top of her breasts, ran to Frank. He had time to yell only one word, “Run!” His breath hissing through his clenched teeth from the pain of his wounded side, he grabbed Jazmin's wrist and dragged her after him. One of the Garvan brothers had found the range and bullets split the air close to Frank's head as he and Jazmin escaped into the darkness.
But not for long.
Frank had seen saddled horses backed up to a stand of stunted live oak and skeletal cottonwood and he knew the remaining two brothers would mount up and come after them.
His horse stood silvered in a shaft of moonlight, as though made of polished iron, and around it the night was vast. The animal raised its head when Frank got near but stood as he mounted, pulled Jazmin behind him, and kicked the bay into a gallop, striving to get a head start.
Frank heard the Garvan boys a distance away, but they were riding hard to catch up. Far off, thunder rolled above the Gulf and with it came a strong wind. Jazmin grabbed on to Frank's waist and buried her face in his back.
He turned his head and yelled above the noise of the wind and his galloping horse. “Not far. Kate is close with a dozen riders.”
Frank didn't know if the woman heard him, but she clutched his waist tighter, communicating her fear. His gaze reached out to the darkness ahead of him, probing its limitless depths.
Behind him, Frank heard the flat statement of rifles. He turned and looked. Crimson muzzle flares blinked like the eyes of a dragon. He thought about snapping off a couple shots in return, but Jazmin was already scared and the bang and flash of his Colt would only terrify her further and accomplish nothing.
The Garvans were gaining, firing from the saddle, and with its double load Frank's horse was tiring.
My God, where was Kate?
* * *
Kate waited until she saw the flame of firing rifles and the fluttering white skirts of Jazmin became visible in the gloom. She shrugged the blanket off her shoulders and drew her Colt. “Forward!” she yelled, putting heels to her horse.
Her line of riders charged, Barrie Delaney and his pirate brigands yelling war cries in some heathen tongue far from English. She was aware of Frank galloping through her ranks with Jazmin clinging to him for dear life. The way ahead was open but for two buckskinned riders who rapidly drew rein, shocked by the new development.
Then disaster struck under the bright, uncaring moon.
One of the Garvan brothers threw his rifle to his shoulder and snapped off a quick shot. Kate heard the bullet thud into Barrie Delaney, who was riding beside her. The old pirate grunted and swayed in the saddle, but he remained on his horse.
The reaction from Kate's men was immediate and deadly.
Everyone, Kate included, cut loose a barrage of fire that sheeted lead into the Garvans. Both men went down with their horses and for a moment the ground ahead was covered with screaming, kicking horses and cursing men. She drew rein to avoid a collision and yanked her mount to the right of the tangle. One of the fallen riders jumped to his feet. He'd lost his Winchester but grabbed for the Remington on his hip. Several of Kate's men fired at the same time. Hit again and again, the Garvan brother fell. A dying horse's steel-shod hoof crashed into the man's head and if there had been any life left in him, a shattered skull ended his career of rape and murder.
One of the hands dismounted and shot the injured horses. He then checked on the brothers and looked up at Kate. “Dead as they're ever gonna be, boss.”
“Where are the others?” Kate said.
Frank rode into the circle of riders. “They're dead, Kate. I killed them both.” Jazmin still clung behind him. “She's in a bad way.” He helped her down.
Kate stepped out of the saddle and took her in her arms. “Jazmin, are you all right? Did theyâ”
Jazmin lifted her head, her pained eyes free of tears. “Yes. All four of them.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and all the saints in heaven help us.” Kate hugged Jazmin close, her own eyes filling with tears. “Oh, my poor darling.” She looked down at the woman's bloody chest. “My precious girl, what did they do to you?”
It was a time for the women to be together.
Frank called the men away and pointed to the dead Garvans. “One of you men throw a loop on that carrion and drag it somewhere where the coyotes eat. We'll do the same with the other two.”
Kate overheard. “Not all of them, Frank. I want the oldest to hang.”
“His name was Josiah, but he's dead, Kate. I shot him.”
“I know,” Kate said, her arm around Jazmin's shoulder. “Carry out my order, Frank. And Trace, see to Captain Delaney. He was hit.”
“I'm here.” Delaney rode out of the gloom holding an old-fashioned iron breastplate in his hands. He put his forefinger though a hole in the armor and waggled it at Kate. “A rifle bullet did that. Dead center in the dark. Now that's good shooting.”
“Are you wounded?” Kate said.
“No. The bullet bruised my chest is all. But for a moment there I thought I was a dead man.”
“Captain, where did you get that contraption?” Trace said.
“Well, sonny, I'd like to say I took it from a Portugee sea captain on the Spanish Main or I'd like to say it I inherited it from my old grandpappy, a seafaring gentleman of fortune like meself. But truth to tell, I bought it in a general store in Boston town for three dollars and ten cents.” Delaney tossed the punctured breastplate into the darkness. “I was told it would turn any bullet and maybe a cannonball and that was a damn lie. I was robbed, and there's the truth of it.”
“You were lucky, Captain,” Trace said.
“Aye, lad, I was.” Delaney looked around him, his eyes lingering on Jazmin. “But there are some who were not as lucky as me this night, lay to that.”
* * *
Kate Kerrigan hanged a dead man from a branch of the skeletal cottonwood close to where he died. Jazmin insisted on being there and watched the body strung up. Kate's riders gathered around and watched Josiah Garvan rotate slowly in the breeze. His eyes were wide open, staring into eternity.
There was a profound hush about the place, making Kate's voice clearly heard. “This man was a rapist, a murderer, and a thief. He invaded my home, and I can neither forgive nor forget any of those things. That is why his body will hang here until it rots.” She looked around at her men. “Is there anyone who wishes to say something in this man's favor or say a prayer for his soul? In my heart I cannot bring myself to do either of those things.”
Her question was met with silence.
“Frank?”
“I have nothing to say,” Frank Cobb said.
Barrie Delaney, not the most sensitive of men, spoke. “I have something to say ... may the souls of him and his brothers burn in hell and be damned.”
Frank's smile was faint. “Captain, you have a way with words.”
“Aye, the only words the scoundrels deserve.” Then Delaney did something that surprised everybody. He reached into a capacious pocket of his blue coat and produced a little medal on a silver chain. He leaned from the saddle and handed it to Jazmin. “It's a Miraculous Medal, me darlin', blessed by a priest back in the old country. Wear it around your neck and it will help bring you peace.”
Without a word or a change of expression, she did as he suggested.
Kate fought back a tear. “Now we'll leave this terrible place and return home to the KK.” She smiled at Delaney. “God bless you, Captain.”
The old pirate nodded. “He's always done that, Kate me darlin'. By His holy grace I became the most feared buccaneer on the Seven Seas and He helped me send many a lively lad to a watery grave with a musket ball in his bowels.” Delaney crossed himself. “And there's the honest truth of how the Good Lord has oft times favored me.”
“When I say my prayers tonight I will have words with Him about that.” She urged her horse into motion. “Now to get Mose and the children. Tonight we'll all pray that they make a speedy recovery from a terrible ordeal that was thrust upon them.” She smiled. “And Frank, the good words include you.”