Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) (47 page)

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While Jeremy, Jim, and Lee stalked the raiders, Walkman and Blaine pursued Melanie. “She's keepin' a good lead on us, but we've got her headin' away from town,” Walkman said. “Sooner or later that pony'll tire out or she'll break its leg or lame it. Then I'll have her.”

      
“It's gotten on to dark ‘n my men er waitin' fer me, Seth. I gotta be there ta handle Gall ‘n his braves,” Blaine whined nervously, scanning the brushy landscape around them. “Yew shore she ain't got a gun?”

      
Walkman's cold gray eyes didn't waver from his tracking, but his voice was contemptuous as he replied, “Head for your meet with Gall ‘n take care of that herd. See to the ranch buildin's bein' burned, too. I can handle that little bitch by myself. When I get through with her, they'll think it was Comanche that done for her!”

      
Melanie was scratched, bruised, and aching from the hours she had spent clinging to the back of her small mount. Her head ached from the blow Blaine had given her, and she was faint from thirst, not to mention hunger; but her life depended on escaping her pursuers. She must also keep them from heading near Lee's ranch house. Lame Deer probably had had time to warn Kai by now.

      
Lee might have posted extra men to protect the house before he and Jeremy went after Gall. But she could not be certain and had to divert her pursuers long enough for the trap to be sprung. “If only I can stay alive to do it,” she rasped hoarsely to Prancer. Lame Deer's pony was small and young, without the stamina of her larger stallion.

      
After several hours, Melanie was thoroughly lost, having left familiar trails to ride in circles through brushy, boulder-strewn country in an attempt to elude Walkman and Blaine. God! Don't let me stumble onto those Comanche in the dark, she prayed silently as the dusk thickened. She struggled to get her bearings, hoping for some familiar landmark that would enable her to take an indirect route back to San Antonio. The main road was far too open. It would be easy for Walkman to ride her down or ambush her.

      
One stand of scrub pine looked like a familiar configuration. Was it on the northernmost boundary of Night Flower? As she mulled that over, a dim sound of gunfire echoed from beyond the low, jagged hills ahead of her. Could it be Lee's men and the raiders? She decided to take the desperate chance. Exhausted, hurting, and disoriented, she could not evade a skillful tracker like Seth Walkman much longer. She headed toward the sounds of conflict.

      
Lucas Blaine lay flattened to the ground, pinned in a crossfire between his men and a force of militia volunteers, Lipan scouts, and that damnable new ranger, Lawrence. He'd even seen Velasquez at one point. The whole thing had been a trap, and his renegade friends had led the lawmen right to him and his men! Luckily, when the shooting had begun, he'd been near an outcropping of rock where he could take cover.

      
He'd crawled from there on his belly through prickly pear and Spanish dagger until his clothes were torn and his skin raw, but he was pulling away from the screeching yells of the surrounded Comanche, who fought like cornered demons. They were mostly afoot, the worst thing that could happen to Comanche warriors; but they would never surrender. Of course, given what they had done in the past years, it was unlikely they'd be given the option of surrendering anyway. But Blaine vowed not to be caught. Somehow, he'd get away and get to Laban Greer's ranch. Greer owed him—at least a couple of fresh horses and enough gold to get across the Red River to Indian Territory.

      
He raised himself up just enough to observe the carnage as rangers and their Lipan allies clubbed and shot Gall's braves and his own Comanchero friends. The raiders were only slightly outnumbered, but the lawmen had such an element of surprise on their side that the battle's outcome was inevitable. If only he could get to a horse.

      
Melanie could see better as the moon rose full and dazzlingly bright. Terrified horses neighed and raced hither and yon as Comanche and Texian hacked at each other between their flailing hooves. Everything was chaos. Where was Lee? She must find him before Walkman found her. At one point, she caught sight of a group of Lipans and Jeremy Lawrence with them.
Oh, please let Lee be safe
, she prayed as she pulled Prancer behind a boulder to wait.

      
Walkman, too, had heard the shooting and come to investigate, reasoning it would draw the woman. Once he observed the fight, he could see the trap laid for Blaine and Gall. Swearing, he considered. If he could find Blaine and kill him before the blubbering old drunk told Velasquez about him and Greer, the situation might yet be redeemable. He scanned the battle, awaiting his opening as he pulled a Sharps rifle from his scabbard.

      
Melanie finally caught sight of her husband wrestling on the ground with a Comanche. They were only a few hundred feet from her. She watched in horrified fascination as Lee rolled on top of the savage and slashed his throat in one quick, clean motion. Instantly, he was up, bloody knife in hand, turning to face another foe.
He needs a gun,
she thought frantically, realizing his Dragoon Colt must be out of ammunition. Close to her hiding place, a dead Lipan lay sprawled grotesquely, his body partially concealing a rifle.

      
Looking to left and right, Melanie made a dash for the gun. She knew how to shoot and would cover Lee.

      
Blaine saw a flash of waist-length, gleaming black hair and a white shirt. Velasquez's woman was here! Of course, the bitch knew about the trap and had come to help her husband! She was close by but obviously unaware of his hiding place. He'd grab her and use her as a hostage to get away from here. Slade and Lawrence wouldn't shoot a woman, and she was that greaser's wife—a perfect shield. He could see she was trying to get to the rifle beneath that dead scout. Quickly, he scurried down between the rocks, pulling his pistol from his belt.

      
Melanie struggled with the dead weight of the Lipan and almost had the rifle free when an arm grabbed her in a choke hold from behind. “Drop th' rifle, little squaw,” Blaine hissed, tightening his cruel grip on her windpipe until she complied. He held a gun to her head and began to back toward the rocks. “Now, let's jist find us yore horse 'n' git outta here.”

      
Walkman watched from his vantage point across the clearing, sighting his rifle on the fool Blaine, whose usefulness to him was ended, and the meddling woman who had earned his undying hate. He could kill them both and get away in a trice!

      
“I wouldn't, Walkman,” Jeremy Lawrence's voice said in a low growl that cut through all the screams and shots around them. A .44-caliber Walker Colt was pointed at his captain's back. He had seen Walkman and had dismounted to sneak around and catch him from behind. Walkman gestured over to Blaine and Melanie as he lowered the rifle. “My friend there has some business with the pretty lady.”

      
Seeing Melanie struggle as Blaine dragged her off, Jeremy's face whitened in shock. “My God, how did she—you bastard!”

      
In the split second Lawrence's eyes took in the struggle, Walkman struck like a rattler, swinging his rifle up and firing at the other ranger. The shot went wild as Lawrence deflected the barrel, but his own shot also missed its mark when he fired at Walkman. He lunged at the renegade ranger and the two men went down in a thrashing tangle, rolling across the rocky ground, punching and gouging.

      
Lee was drowning in blood once again as the battle raged furiously around him. He had shot, stabbed, and clubbed countless Comanche until he was covered with gore and sickened by it. Despite the clear autumn air, the earth stank of death in the cold, dead moonlight. Slowly, he hacked his way across the melee to where Sangre waited. The Comanche who had dragged him from the horse was dead, and the superbly trained stallion would let no one but Lee ride him. The big blue roan shied and danced as his master dispatched another Comanche with his knife and then mounted up.

      
Lee had hoped to catch Blaine but had not seen him yet. Then he saw Jeremy Lawrence lunge at Seth Walkman. A piece of real luck to find him here! Surely his whiskey-dealing
compadre
must be nearby. He kicked the roan into a trot and headed to help Lawrence. Just as he drew near, Walkman pulled a small pistol free from his boot and shot Jeremy in the side. Before he could aim the deadly little weapon for another more accurate shot, Lee leaped from Sangre and landed on the renegade, knocking him clear of his victim. The gun clattered uselessly out of reach across the rocky ground.

      
“So, the greaser who set this trap.” Walkman grinned evilly, as if he knew something Lee did not.

      
Lee already had his knife poised as he rolled onto his feet. So did Walkman. The two men circled, ignoring the unconscious form of Lawrence. “This is one greaser you won't walk away from,
rinche
,” Lee gritted out as he parried a wicked thrust.

      
“You're already so bloodied I can scarce figger where to stick you,” Walkman panted as he dodged several exceedingly close thrusts.

      
“You're pretty chewed up yourself, Comanchero,” Lee said scathingly, indicating Walkman's lacerated arm.

      
The bigger man grinned again. “Got this from your woman this afternoon, greaser.” He paused, sensing the coiled tension in Velasquez. Then he continued, “I caught her ‘n took her to Blaine's post. She used a broken bottle—tried to gut me, but all I got was this little scratch.”

      
“Where is she, Walkman? You've never seen what the Mescalero do to their captives, but I have—and I swear, I'll do it to you until you tell me. Ever peel a man's eyelids off? Put live coals beneath his fingernails? Take his cock—”

      
Walkman lunged and struck Lee a glancing blow across his ribs. The renegade's tale about Melanie filled him with a terrified rage. Deflecting what he knew could have been a deadly thrust, Lee forced himself to calm. He was too angry, and as his foe well knew, angry men made careless mistakes. He knew he must win and he must keep Walkman alive to tell him about Melanie. He kept up a steady stream of taunts, describing in sickening detail what he had witnessed in the
Apachería
, meanwhile opening several seeping wounds in Walkman's neck, arm, and thigh, wounds designed to weaken him and slow him down through blood loss without killing him.

      
Just when Lee was about to make his move on the glazed-eyed renegade ranger, a shot rang out and Walkman pitched forward into Lee's arms. Bill Ross rushed over with a smoking Colt in his hand.

      
“Are you hurt, boss? Jesus, I thought he had you—you're covered with blood!”

      
Lee ignored his would-be savior and bent over the inert form of Walkman, shaking him furiously. “Walkman, you son of a bitch, you can't be dead! Damn you! Where is she? Where is Melanie?” He turned pain-glazed eyes up to his foreman, who looked down with dawning horror in his face.

      
“He has Miss Melanie?”

      
Jeremy Lawrence groaned and called out weakly, “Blaine—Blaine took her away.”

      
Lee dropped Walkman's body and quickly moved over to the fallen ranger. “Melanie was here in the fight? You saw her?” He raised Jeremy up slightly while Ross checked the wounded man's injuries. “Over there, by those rocks—” When he tried to point, he coughed and nearly blacked out with the pain.

      
Lee's eyes followed to where Jeremy had indicated. “If Blaine took her off as a hostage, there's only one place left for him to go—Greer!”

      
Without looking at Ross or giving any further instructions, he lay the unconscious ranger back and reached for Lawrence's Walker Colt. Within seconds Lee had swung up on Sangre and spurred the stallion into a gallop toward Laban Greer's ranch.

      
Mellie, oh, Night Flower, if they've hurt you...
Lee forced his mind into a cold blankness in order to save his sanity. He must remain in control of his wits to save his love. Heedless of the battle din he was leaving behind, Lee rode alone into the still night at breakneck speed. The cold brilliance of the Texas moon lit his way on a mission of rescue and of death.

Chapter Twenty Four

      
“You goddamn fool! Why the hell did you come here and drag her with you?” Laban Greer was dressed only in hastily donned trousers and slippers, having been awakened from a sound sleep by the pounding on his door. His face purpled in rage as he looked past Lucas Blaine's shoulder at the quiet moonlit landscape. Nothing stirred.

      
“I wasn't followed, Greer. Them militia wuz so busy cuttin' up Gall's braves they never seen me,” Blaine replied as he supported Melanie's dazed, semiconscious body. When he had slipped up on her in the thick of the fighting, Blaine had struck her a blow to the jaw, dumped her across a horse and fled. By the time her captor brought her into Greer's front hall, she was struggling to focus her eyes and to overcome the rubbery weakness in her legs. She listened to the two men discuss her fate.

      
“You never should have let her get away from your trading post. Walkman's as goddamn incompetent as you.”

      
“But th' fire—” Blaine protested.

      
“Set by someone else who's probably alerted half of San Antonio by now,” Greer interrupted with a hiss of impatient disgust. He began to pace, stroking his jaw in consideration. He looked at Melanie’s drooping head, her face covered by the curtain of ebony hair. With one thick hand he raised her chin and inspected her face.