Magnificent Passage (20 page)

Hawk checked the tracks again. Their trail was easy enough to follow, but the spore was cold, the men still some distance ahead. James must have been knocked out for several hours. Urging the big roan faster, he pushed into the night, driving himself mercilessly. The full moon rising over the craggy peaks lighted the rugged terrain, making his job easier. Faster and faster he moved the big roan over the landscape.

“Glad to see ya liked the grub, little lady.” The stocky man in the dirty red-checked shirt appeared by her side. His unwashed smell caused her stomach to roll.

He adjusted the dirty black patch over his eye and ran a hand through his greasy brown hair.

“Yes, ma'am, you're gonna need all your strength for the little show you're gonna put on fer us.” Cutting the rope that bound her wrist, he jerked her unceremoniously to her feet and shoved her toward the campfire. The other three men sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the fire. Each grinned knowingly.

“Now, start takin' them clothes off, little lady, real slowlike,” Gutterman instructed, “one piece at a time.” He said the last words slowly.

“I'll do no such thing!” she said, turning her attention toward the men seated on the ground. “You'd better leave me alone if you know what's good for you. My father is powerful. You do anything to hurt me, and he'll see you men are hunted down and killed. You'll never get your money then.” Backing slowly away from them, she felt thick fingers bite into her shoulder, then spin her around.

Gutterman slapped her hard across the face, the crack resounding against the granite walls of the canyon as the blow hurled her into the dirt. She touched her fingers to her split lip, already swelling and throbbing angrily. The metallic taste of blood mingled with the salt of her tears.

“You'll do exactly what I say. Besides, what we got in mind ain't gonna hurt ya none. Ya might even enjoy it. Right, Jake?”

“Right you are, Max. I heerd you high society gals go'round beggin' for what yer about to get.”

Mandy thought she might faint. Where were Hawk and James? Maybe they found her gone and thought she'd run away again. Maybe this time they wouldn't come after her.
Oh, God, please help me. A gunshot sobered her. A little puff of dust rose at her feet where the bullet just missed, the terrible sound ringing in her ears.

“Now, do as the hombre tells you, señorita
hermosa
. Start with the shoes.” The harsh Mexican accent brooked no argument. She could barely make out a dark-skinned, thickmustached man behind the fire.

Ever so slowly, she removed first one dainty slipper, then the other. Sick with fear, she felt fresh tears stinging her eyes, but hadn't the will to stop them.

“Now the dress, little missy,” came Pete's anxious nasal voice. She felt rough hands behind her, then heard a rending of the cloth. The lovely yellow dress fell in a heap at her feet.

Again a shove.

“Now the petticoats,” came several voices, their tones more insistent.

Through her tears, she mercifully saw the men only as a blur. She could barely hear their voices for the buzzing in her ears. She fumbled with the knotted ties, purposefully clumsy, stalling for time. Finally, reluctantly, she dropped the last petticoat, and another shove forced her to step from the fluffy folds.

She stood before them clad only in her corset and thin embroidered pantalets, which outlined every curve of her body. Standing in the flickering firelight, she could see something next to hunger on the men's faces. She knew it would only be moments before they would fall on her, pushing into her soft flesh like rutting animals.

Shivering, she felt the cold steel blade of Gutterman's knife slice through the strings of her corset, one by one.

Icy rage ran through Hawk's veins like water beneath a frozen stream. Only a small tic at the corner of his mouth betrayed his emotion. As he watched the scene below, three men sat in gleeful anticipation, awaiting the end of the lewd display, while a fourth man, his face all too familiar, forced the girl to remove her clothes. Hawk felt a tightening in his chest, but subdued it quickly. No matter what happened in the clearing below, he would have only one chance to save the girl. He must wait until exactly the right moment. If he failed, neither of them would survive.

Circling the camp, his moccasins treading soundlessly, he reached a position behind the horses. He sliced through the remuda lines, freeing the animals, then threw several stones against a limestone wall to create just enough disturbance to attract the men's attention.

“What was that?” a yellow-toothed man questioned without turning his head. His gaze remained riveted on the near-naked woman standing in front of the fire. Gutterman had unbraided her chestnut hair and draped it across her shoulders, where it gleamed compellingly in the flickering firelight.

“There . . . behind the horses,
mis amigos
, I also heard it.”

“Pete, you and Juan go check it out. Jake an' me promise not ta start without ya.” A wolfish gleam in the man's lone eye said it was a promise not likely to be kept.

“Shucks, Sergeant, we wanna watch.” Pete's yellow teeth jutted forward, the hole in front making him lisp.

“Hurry back, boys,” Max Gutterman taunted. “We ain't gonna wait long.”

The two men headed toward the horses. One ranged left,
while the other ventured into the rocks at the right. Pete Varley glanced back through the branches to assure himself he wasn't missing his share of the evening's pleasures. Damn! Just his luck. Some damned raccoon makes a noise, and he has to miss all the fun. Well, maybe this way he'd be able to take his time, savor every minute. Take the girl two or three times. He stumbled, looked up, and a shot of fear snaked through him. He tried to call out as a cold steel blade plunged deep between his ribs. His cry for help died with him.

“Pete . . . Pete!
¿ Dónde está
?” came a hoarse Mexican whisper. Rounding a rocky outcropping, Juan Quintana passed below a narrow limestone ledge. The rowels of his spurs jingled, making him nervous as he carefully scanned the brush and boulders.

He felt the pressure of an arm around his neck, immobilizing him before he could turn to face his attacker. He could feel the stinging pressure of the blade as it sliced across his throat. His scream of terror was muffled by the blood oozing into his breathing passage.

Hawk moved on into the darkness, as silent as the shadows he used to his advantage.

Mandy cringed as Gutterman twisted his fingers in her tangled mass of hair.

“I'm tired of waiting for those two loafers,” he said. “They was gonna git third's and fourth's, anyhow.”

The lust in his good eye was growing every moment as he fingered the peak of Mandy's breast. He pulled her tighter against him, and bent to plant a sticky kiss on the
curve of her neck. His lips felt thick and moist. With a quick movement he landed her heavily on the ground, his bulky frame suffocating her.

“You hold her arms, I'll go first, then you can have her,” Gutterman instructed. “She sure is a beauty, ain't she? Don't believe I've ever seen a body more ripe fer the pickin' than this'n.”

Mandy felt her arms stretched roughly above her head and smelled the man's stale breath; the bile rose in her throat, and she prayed for blissful unconsciousness. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself for the ordeal ahead.

“What the? . . .” Gutterman felt a heavy weight slump atop his back.

“Jake, what the hell's . . . ” He pushed Wiley's body aside, letting the sentence die as he stared into the glassy eyes of his dead companion. He rolled off the girl and looked to a tall figure whose eerie shadow danced like a ghost in the flickering firelight.

Mandy fought to make sense of what was happening. She tried to sit up. Her mind reeled. She couldn't seem to focus, then her gaze fell on the body lying grotesquely twisted in the dust beside her. Blood dripped from a massive wound in Wiley's side, and his eyes stared straight ahead. Confused, she glanced up, trying to comprehend.

A sudden movement to her right, and she spotted the familiar brown eyes and sandy hair of the man she remembered so fondly. Standing with his moccasined feet apart, the muscles of his wide shoulders and corded arms tensed, and his huge curved blade gleaming silver and red in the firelight, Hawk had never looked more ominous.

For a moment she felt weak with relief. Then she realized the danger wasn't over—for either of them. She looked at Gutterman. He moved about wildly, panic making him clumsy and disoriented. He seemed to be looking desperately for something.

Mandy inched away from the men. She spotted her chemise, torn and dirty, and slipped it over her head, but her eyes remained fixed on the men. She wished there were some way to help, but feared her interference might only make things worse.

“Juan! Pete! Get back here!” the stocky man screamed. His good eye shot around the camp in a furious search for his companions.

“They won't be coming back, Gutterman. But don't worry, you'll be joining them soon enough, wherever they are.” Hawk's deep voice was little more than a whisper, but there was no mistaking its threat. He watched the man like a giant cat toying with its prey.

Turning, Gutterman spotted his revolver lying only a few feet away. He dove for it, landing heavily. He reached the pistol and fired just as Hawk hurled himself forward.

The two men rolled in the dust, fighting for control of the weapon. Scuffling inches from the fire, the searing flames a threat to both men, Gutterman broke free and struggled to his feet. Hawk stood up, punched Gutterman viciously, then lunged. Again both men sprawled in the dirt. Hawk's powerful shoulders and arms locked with another pair of equal strength, first one man on top, then the other.

Mandy pulled the pistol from Jake Wiley's dead body and
aimed it at the thrashing men, but the chance of hitting Hawk was too great. She was forced to watch helplessly, waiting for a chance to shoot, her stomach knotted with fear. Gutterman's thick arms flexed as the men struggled to their feet, hands locked around the weapon. A quick flash of blue metal reflected in the firelight. A shot rang out. Hawk grimaced. Mandy gasped as the victim's body muffled the sound. Unsure which man had been shot, she watched in horror. Then Gutterman closed his eye. Hawk let the body slump to the ground. Blood pumped in bubbly spurts from the wound in Gutterman's chest. Mandy sank to her knees, still clutching the weapon, and tearfully thanked God for Hawk's safety.