Texas Drive (13 page)

But in the morning, it was deathly still. There was never a footprint in the dew, never a bent blade of grass. He’d been alone, as he knew he had, but …

And Cookie kept an eye on him, the way Rafe had always done. He’d try to teach him things without lecturing. Sometimes Ted listened, and sometimes he saw through the old man’s intention. When that happened, he’d pretend to listen, to
spare Cookie’s feelings. He wasn’t sure he was getting anywhere, and there were times when he felt that he might just as well be locked up in a jail cell somewhere. He found walls no matter which way he turned.

But on the fourth day, he got lucky. Smoke on the horizon brought him at a full gallop. It was no cooking fire. The smoke was too thick for that, and too black. It rolled up like a small thunder-head, then spread out on the wind. Something big was burning out of control.

He cut across the plains at an angle to the road, trying for the most direct route. As he narrowed the gap, he heard gunshots. A second funnel of smoke ballooned up alongside the first. He broke over a gentle rise, and he could see the flames, a hungry orange licking at the bottom edges of the black smoke. A house and a barn had been torched.

Charging down the slope, he saw horsemen, as many as a dozen, burst through the smoke and head toward the road. He was close enough to hear the pounding hooves now. A couple of gunshots cracked from somewhere behind the smoke, but the riders ignored them.

Ted was torn. Obviously, someone was still alive, somewhere in the middle of the inferno. He didn’t want to lose the trail of the raiders, but he couldn’t let anyone stay in that raging holocaust. He charged for the larger of the two burning buildings.
The squeals of terrified animals coiled up with the smoke. Ted dismounted in the open yard between house and barn.

“Anybody there?” he called.

No one answered, but it dawned on him that anyone inside might be afraid he was one of the raiders come back. He charged to the house and ripped open the front door. A wave of heat slammed him in the face. He could feel his skin withering and he backed away. Dropping to the floor, he tried to look in under the heavy cloud of smoke belching from the open door.

He crawled close, poking his head through the doorway. He could still feel searing heat on his head and shoulders, but it wasn’t as bad as the first time.

“Anyone there?” he called again.

Again he got no answer, but as he was about to back away, he heard a thump from somewhere deep inside the boiling cloud. He tried to crawl inside, but the heat was too much for him. The smoke was thickening and slowly lowering toward the floor.

Backing out, he ran around the side of the house, looking for a window. He could see nothing through the first one. At the second, he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving, but he couldn’t be sure.

Ted tried to raise the window, but it wouldn’t budge. Standing back, he planted a foot on the
glass and pushed. The glass cracked, then fell into the house. Another wave of heat spewed out through the broken glass. Ted used the butt of his Colt to knock more glass from the frame, then leaned in. The smoke wasn’t as thick here, but it soon would be.

On the floor, partially wreathed in smoke, he saw what might have been a bundle of rags. He stared at it for a moment, uncertain whether he had seen it move. As he was about to pull away from the window, he heard a moan. It might have been the bundle, but he wasn’t sure. Ted knocked the rest of the glass loose, then hoisted one leg in through the window. He could feel the heat through his dungarees.

Inside, he dropped to the floor and bunched his handkerchief over his nose and mouth with one hand. Using his free hand to grope ahead of him in the thickening smoke, he felt his fingertips brush the cloth. Stretching out full length on the floor, he was able to grab enough of the cloth to tug on it with his fingers. It resisted, and he pushed deeper into the cloud. This time he was able to close his hand over part of the bundle. It was too heavy for a pile of rags.

Pulling it toward him, he rose to his knees, still covering his nose and mouth. The acrid smoke made his eyes water and he was afraid he’d lost his sense of direction. Jerking the bundle against his knees, he let the handkerchief go and lifted with
both hands. Ted staggered toward the window, now just a gray smear in the smoke. The heat swirled around him, and smoke billowed, and he could feel the rush of hot air pass him.

Ted found the window again, but his lungs felt as if they were ready to burst. Leaning against the wall, he dumped the bundle through the opening, then leaned forward. He gulped for air, but there was too much smoke and he fell forward. He was conscious of landing hard, then his head started to swim.

He coughed and his head ached as he tried to crawl away from the burning house. Ted dragged the bundle behind him, but his eyes hurt too much to open, and he still wasn’t sure who or what he had dragged from the flames.

Lying on his stomach, he felt his guts heave, and he turned to one side, waiting for his breakfast to spew out. Convulsions racked him, but nothing came up. He gulped air through his mouth, swallowing it like cold water. Every mouthful burned, but he kept on, coughing and hacking to clear his lungs.

He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to, he felt as if he were spinning slowly on some kind of revolving platform. The sky swam across his vision, and the black smoke pulsed toward him, backed away, then came down as if to swallow him again.

His hands hurt, and the skin of his neck and face
felt like it had been peeled away with a skinning knife.

Slowly his head started to clear. He became conscious of a low moan somewhere near him. He reached out with a hand, still having difficulty opening his eyes. He found the bundle and realized it was a small person, probably a child. With a roar, the rafters of the barn gave way and the roof collapsed. He turned to look, but saw only a blur. The nearest wall sagged inward, and as Ted watched through watery eyes, it fell, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

He wiped at his eyes with a sleeve. Turning on his stomach, he looked around, hoping to spot a well. He found a horse trough, over near the barn. It was close to the flames, but he thought he could get to it. Staggering toward it, he ripped off his shirt. At the trough, he plunged the shirt into the water and wrapped it around his head. The water was warm, but it soothed his skin. He let the water run down over his chest and shoulders, then scooped a handful to rinse his eyes. He could see a little better now and spotted a pail at one end of the trough.

Scooping a pailful of water, he staggered back to the crumpled bundle. Ted emptied the pail of water, and the ball uncurled. He could see it was a girl about twelve or thirteen years old. She lay on her back now, and Ted knelt beside her.

Mopping at her with the soaking shirt, he patted
her cheeks. “Come on, honey, wake up,” he whispered.

The girl moaned, and he patted her cheeks again. She stopped moaning, then darted straight up. The scream cut through him like a razor. It started high and went higher still, in one long, shuddering shriek.

“It’s alright, honey, it’s alright,” he said.

“Papa, where’s Papa, where’s Papa?” She turned to him, blinking away the water streaming from her hair. “I want my papa.” She broke off in a fit of coughing. He thought for a moment she was going to gag, but she fought it off.

She screamed again, then buried her face in her hands.

“What happened, darlin’?”

She shook her head, mumbling something into her hands. Ted didn’t catch it, and she wouldn’t repeat it when he asked.

“Is your father here somewhere?”

She lowered her hands, tilted her head toward him in spasmodic jerks, like some sort of wading bird. Her eyes were bulging and her mouth moved in silent terror.

“Where’s your father?” Ted repeated.

She pointed to the house.

“Your father’s in the house?”

She nodded. “In the house.”

Ted shook his head. There was no way in hell he could get back inside. The roof was already sagging
on its beams. Smoke poured from every window, leaving thick clots of soot on the outside walls above them. Flames already licked at the window frames from inside.

The girl tried to get up, and Ted reached out to hold her down. She turned to him. “I have to get Papa.”

“Honey, you can’t go in there.”

“I have to.”

“It’s too late.” As if to underline the truth of his words, the roof caved in with a shudder. The girl screamed again, scratching at Ted’s hands to get loose. He held on and she stopped struggling. Looking into his face, she seemed to be asking him what had happened.

Ted noticed that one cheek was badly bruised, and a lip had been split. A thin trickle of blood, almost dry, ran from a corner of her mouth and down her chin. She seemed to realize what he was looking at and wiped at her chin with a torn sleeve. The blood came away in flakes.

He realized all her clothing had been torn. Her dress, now soaked from the trough water, had been ripped down the front. She grew conscious of his gaze and tugged the tatters around her. Hugging herself tightly, she started to rock back and forth.

“What happened in there?” Ted asked. “Before the fire?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ted snapped. “Did they hurt you?”

She seemed confused by the question. Staring at him with wide eyes, she shook her head again, this time with less conviction.

“They did, didn’t they?”

She looked at the ground.

“It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault”

“They …”

“Never mind, darlin’. It’s going to be alright. They’ll pay for it, I promise you.”

She shook her head again, this time vigorously.

“Does anyone else live here with you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Where’s your mother?”

“Dead.” She looked at him again. “Like Papa.”

Ted stood, then reached down to help her up. She refused at first, cringing away from his hand. He dropped to one knee and put an arm around her shoulders. She tried to shrink away, but he held on, pulling her close. She collapsed suddenly, throwing herself into his arms and sobbing.

“Come on,” he said. “We have to get you somewhere safe.”

“There is no safe place. Not here. Not without Papa …”

“We’ll see about that,” Ted said.

TED TRIED TO
get the girl to talk to him, but she just ignored him completely. Nothing worked, small talk, stern interrogation, pleading. No matter how he tried to break through to her, she just stared back at him from eyes that seemed to grow deeper by the second as she retreated further and further into herself. She watched the world, but no longer cared to be part of it.

When they reached the mess wagon, he filled Cookie in, and it was the old man who suggested Ted take her to the O’Hara farm. “They got no kids of their own, but it would be best for the girl to have somebody around her. You cain’t stay here and watch her all day. She don’t want an old geezer like me around here, neither. Maybe Mrs. O’Hara can get her to open up a little.”

Rather than ask them, Ted decided to bring the
girl, in a way giving them no choice. They seemed decent enough people, and it was hard to think they might turn her away. At least it was worth a shot. Ted threw a spare saddle on his second horse and boosted her into the saddle. It was a two-hour ride, but there was nothing else he could do, not if he considered the girl’s condition and the reality of his own life at the moment.

As they left the wagon behind, Ted chose not to say anything. The girl knew what he was planning, because he knew she heard everything that was said. She was terrified, and he understood that, but she was a liability he couldn’t afford.

She frowned at him now and then, but said nothing for the first hour. She watched him from the corner of her eye, never looking directly at him, but never letting him out of her sight for a minute. Once, he heard something off the road ahead and told her to stay put while he checked it out. It was nothing but a stray cow caught in some brambles, but when he rode back to her, the stark terror on her face was unmistakable.

And every time Ted looked at her, his heart broke. Terrible bruises on her cheek and forehead had turned an ugly purplish black. Her hair was matted, and there was no brush to pull the burrs and knots loose. Even five feet away, Ted could smell the fire on her, an acrid stench, ashes and smoke, smelling like death smelled. The way the killing fields of Shiloh smelled.

Ted chewed at his lower lip until it was raw. He kept working his tongue over the skinned flesh, almost enjoying the sting of it. It made him feel alive, at least. And on that one point, he needed constant reassurance.

For the rest of the ride, the kid kept glancing at him, as if she wanted to say something, but didn’t know how. Ted waited patiently. He thought about prompting her, giving her an opening, but he didn’t know how. Finally, he decided that someone else, someone she didn’t associate so directly with the fire and her father’s death, would have to make the breakthrough.

When they reached the O’Hara place, the yard was quiet. O’Hara heard their horses and came out of the barn. He had a shotgun with him this time and carried it cradled in his arms. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with the weapon. And equally obvious was the fact that he wouldn’t stand a chance against anybody who knew how to use a gun.

He recognized Ted when he got closer, and the anxious frown relaxed a little. He looked at the girl, then at Ted, as if to ask who she was.

“Cotton,” he said. “See you’re still here.”

“That surprise you?” Ted asked.

“I wouldn’t be, if I was you.”

Ted nodded.

“Come on down.” He walked toward the porch and Ted walked his horse to the hitching post,
slipped out of the saddle, and helped the girl to the ground. He tied both horses and started onto the porch, but the girl grabbed his arm.

“What’s the matter with her? And who is she?” O’Hara asked.

“I don’t want to answer the first question right now, and I can’t answer the second one.”