Wild Winds Page 32

  “And biscuits. I purchased a few when I ate in Sante Fe earlier. My stars, was that only a few hours ago? So much has happened today that it seems ages ago.”

  “Now that I can see your beautiful face, touch your soft skin, and hear your sweet voice and laughter, woman, so does the fear I was riding with this morning. I’ve never been that scared in my life, Maggie, scared I wouldn’t reach you in time to….”

  Touched by the emotion that choked his voice, she pressed her fingers to his lips and pointed out, “But you did, my love.” She leaned against his virile body and murmured, “Speaking of fire, my brave husband, since we can’t have one to keep us warm, I’ll depend on you to ward off the night chill.”

  Hawk’s arms encircled her body and held her close. “All I can do is share my bedroll and arms, woman, because I’ll have to stay on alert for trouble. Just remember, you owe me later.”

  Maggie quivered in anticipation as she jested, “Owe you for what?”

  “All of those lonely nights I spent without you nearby.”

  She nestled her face against his hard chest. “It won’t happen again; I promise, and I’ll gladly pay my debt whenever you’re ready to collect it.”

  “As soon as possible, woman, but it can’t be tonight. In fact, I won’t ever get around to collecting it if I don’t release you and clear my head. Berk and Ben aren’t the only threats to us in this area. There are wild animals and renegades and other dangers in these parts.”

  “Then, you see to the horses while I … rustle up some grub,” she quipped as he kissed her forehead. “I’ll keep quiet so you can concentrate on your guard duty. Just for tonight, I’ll even sleep in my own bedroll so you can keep a clear head and relaxed body.”

  “Ouch,” he teased, “that’ll hurt but I’ll tend that wound later.”

  They broke camp a little after sunrise the following morning, relieved the ominous storm that had threatened the Sante Fe area yesterday had struck the landscape many miles east of their location.

  They traveled past the Sandia Mountains, skirted Albuquerque below its southern flood plain boundary, crossed the Rio Grande River, and journeyed over terrain similar to what they’d covered yesterday.

  As Hawk stayed on constant alert with one hand gripping his reins and the other grazing the butt of his left pistol, Maggie rode a short distance behind him and did nothing to distract him. Yet, his broad back and agile physique were enormous distractions for her as she trailed him, forcing her to struggle to concentrate on their work and surroundings.

  At three o’clock, they reached a tragic sight and reined in their horses. Two scruffy prospectors halted them and gazed at Hawk’s badge, then at Maggie’s, as the couple dismounted.

  “Afore you go to thinkin’ wrong, Marshal, my partner and me didn’t do this bad thing. We came upon him tied to that tree over there. We cut him loose and was gonna give him a decent burial with our picks and shovels. From the way he’s cut up, we figured it was Injuns. We heard there’s renegades ridin’ these parts, prob’ly from over San Carlos way. Maybe some of Geeroneemo’s bunch; heard he’s kickin’ up his heels again.”

  As Maggie stayed with their horses and averted her gaze from the sad scene, Hawk hunkered down and studied the bloody body. “Nope, this isn’t the work of Apaches.” He stood and said, “I’d be obliged if you boys would carry his body into Albuquerque and turn it over to the undertaker there. Tell him to place it in a nice casket so it can be sent home for burial in Tucson. He’s from a good family over there. You should notify the sheriff before the casket’s sealed so he can identify him. His name is Ben Carver, and there’s a big reward out for his recapture, dead or alive. Since you boys found him, I guess you can lay claim to it.”

  “You don’t want no share of the reward, Marshal?” “I’m afraid lawmen don’t qualify for them, but thanks for the offer.”

  “We ain’t never seen no female deputy afore, ma’am.” Hawk chuckled and said, “As far as I know, boys, she’s the only one that’s been hired. And by me; she’s also my wife and a good partner.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Marshal.”

  “So are we, Clem. How much is Carver worth?”

  “Last I heard, two thousand dollars, unless it’s been raised.”

  “Yep, this is our lucky strike, Amos; we got us a new grubstake. Let’s git him loaded and hauled into town. I guess who done shot him took his horse and gear, or he spooked and run off durin’ the ruckus.”

  Hawk nodded as if he concurred, but surmised Berk took the paint to have a second mount so he could travel faster. “Just tell the sheriff you talked with U.S. Marshal Hawk Reynolds. His father’s name is Newl Carver. Everybody in Tucson knows him and he’s got plenty of money, so he’ll pay whatever charge there is for the casket and railroad delivery.” Since he didn’t have any implements with which to write the information—or even a scrap of paper—he repeated those names so the prospectors would remember them. “I appreciate your help in this sorry matter, boys, and we gotta get riding. So long.”

  “Good-bye, Marshal, and-thanks. Good-bye to you, ma’am.”

  Maggie forced out a smile and nodded before she mounted Blaze and followed Hawk until he stopped out of their sight. His voice was tender. He said, “I’m sorry about you having to see that, love.”

  “So am I. Newl is going to be heartbroken when he learns his son is not only guilty of that crime but also dead, and in a horrible manner. Do you think Berk is responsible?”

  “Yep. Only a skilled gunfighter could wing a man in both hands like that. Those cuts were made after he was bound. Berk must have tortured the truth out of him, because he’s still riding toward Prescott. The only reason he didn’t turn around to go back for you is because he knows where the money is hidden and he figures you’ve been found by now.”

  “By whom? That cabin was secluded.”

  “By that friend of Newl’s who been hiding and supplying Ben.”

  “I suppose you’re right. What do we do now? How can we arrest Berk for murder when Ben was wanted dead or alive?”

  “We can get him on kidnapping and threatening a federal officer: you. We can also get him as an accomplice to that stolen money he’s going after. But my motive is mostly personal, Maggie: I have to catch up to him to see if it was him or Ben at my family’s ranch that day. Now that Ben is dead, only Berk knows the truth.”

  “Then let’s get moving while we can still catch up to him,” Maggie suggested before they headed out to ride their last wild wind together.

  At five o’clock, Hawk and Maggie reined in once more as three men appeared before them as if by magic, and two others fell in to their rear.

  No one had to tell her they were Apaches; their native garments and markings exposed their identities. With rising alarm, she watched Hawk exchange signals with them before he spoke with them in their language, one she didn’t know.

  Hawk pointed to himself and revealed his name and Cheyenne blood, “Biishe. Heevaha-tane.” He motioned to Maggie and said she was his wife, “Ghaasdza.” He then related his friendship to other Apaches and training by a legendary medicine man years ago in Arizona.

  Maggie observed the interchange with great interest and was surprised when her husband. withdrew a knife from his saddlebag and gave it to the foremost brave, perhaps as a bribe for sparing their lives. Yet, somehow she had a strong feeling the Indians were not a threat to them.

  “Ixehe, ch’uune’, “ the Apache thanked Hawk and called him a friend.

  Hawk spoke with the group for a while, telling them he was seeking a white man who helped murder his family and who rode a white horse with brown splashes and had another with opposite markings with him.

  The Apache band leader revealed they had seen such a man, but he was riding hard and was far ahead of them. After he offered to help track the killer, Hawk reminded him of his training by an old Apache friend. The brave nodded and bid him good hunting and farewell.

  Maggie was amazed at how fast th
e five men vanished into the surroundings. “Who were they? What did they want?”

  “Apache from the San Carlos Reservation, just seeking a place to be free and to hunt. I’ve known many Apache in my day, Maggie, some were friends, good friends, one helped trained me in desert ways. I should have told you by now that I carry Indian blood in me: my mother was Cheyenne.” He went on to quickly tell how his parents had met, married, and dealt with prejudice. “Does it bother you I’m what’s called a half-breed?”

  “No, Hawk, it doesn’t, not at all. I love you, the man you are.”

  “That’s a relief, and my last secret.”

  “One you never needed to worry about or keep from me.”

  “We’ll talk more about it later; I’ll tell you all about me and my parents and Mother’s people, but right now, let’s get moving again. They saw Berk pass earlier, but didn’t approach him. Said he’s riding fast.”

  They made camp around eight o’clock that night, ten miles west of Los Lunas in sheep country, though Hawk selected a secluded location. That time, he scouted the area for threats before they ate and slept, both aware they were still on Berk’s trail and closing in on him steadily.

  On Wednesday afternoon, they overtook Berk as he halted to rest on the bank of the Rio Salado which meandered in a valley between the desolate Ladron and forestcovered Gallinas mountains.

  Hawk had noted from Berk’s tracks that one of the horses had picked up a stone and was limping, and Berk had slowed his pace. From higher elevation, he studied the area ahead with his fieldglasses and sighted his target lazing on lush grass beside the river near a copse of trees.

  “We’ll dismount here and move in by foot,” he told Maggie. “I have to know the truth. You keep a rifle aimed on him while I walk into his camp and have a chat with him. Maybe I can bluff information from him. I’ll put your pistol in my belt behind my waist, because he’s sure to demand I drop mine.”

  Maggie knew how important the truth was to Hawk and for the right man to be punished for those crimes, and it was the same for her. Yet she had heard how dangerous Berk Barber was. She couldn’t forget what a man on the Sante Fe train had told her; it was said by many that Berk was the best gunslinger alive. Was Hawk, she fretted, fast and skilled enough to win a showdown with such an expert?

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  Maggie was worried about Hawk’s illogical plan. In a gentle tone, she pointed out, “Won’t it look suspicious to him if you walk up on foot? He might think you have friends or a posse hidden nearby.”

  “You’re right, and I just realized that flaw myself.” After Hawk related a different strategy, she asked several questions to make sure she understood it fully, as she wanted no mistakes to imperil him. Blaze was concealed before she rode doubleback with Hawk for a certain distance. When he put her down, she secreted herself among trees and rocks and positioned herself where she had total balance. She leveled her rifle at Berk’s chest, confident the site on the Winchester was accurate. She prayed her aim was true if her help was required to save her husband’s life. Her suspense mounted as he appeared to ride casually along the riverbank his badge in a shirt pocket to prevent spooking his reclining target. Once more she prayed; that time for Berk to stay calm and not start shooting wildly.

  She watched Berk leap from the ground and draw his right pistol the instant he saw Hawk’s leisurely approach. Her finger quivered on her trigger and her apprehension increased. Steady your hands and clear your wits; this could be the most important shot of your entire life.

  Hawk sat nonchalantly in his saddle as he confronted the man, Berk’s weapon pointing at him. He smiled, nodded, and used an embellished Texas twang to disguise his voice on the chance Barber might recognize it from their encounter days ago, “Howdy, Barber. Hope you don’t mind me joining you for a spell.” He saw Berk’s steely gaze rake over him, assessing him for any threat. Maggie had told him that Berk had only glanced out the cabin door; so the varmint shouldn’t know he was the man who had spoken with her; too, he was wearing different garments and wasn’t the only man with a black horse.

  “You know me, stranger?”

  Hawk chuckled, and kept his hands resting on his saddle horn to keep Berk at ease. “Everybody recognizes you, don’t they?”

  “Who are you? Why are you trailin’ me?”

  “Two reasons. First, I was hoping to get my hands on that money. I saw Ben’s body back there, so I’m guessing he told you where to find it.” Hawk noted that Berk’s only reaction to that news was a blink of his eyes, which told him Berk had himself under rigid control.

  “Yep, he squealed like a stuck pig, but I ain’t tellin’ you where it is. Git rid of them pistols, real slow and easy, and git off of that horse.”

  Hawk obeyed those surely commands, dropping his two revolvers to the grass after he dismounted. He had practiced retrieving and firing a gun hidden behind him, so he knew he could do it if necessary. He also had practiced hitting the ground quick, seizing a discarded weapon, and firing it. What he didn’t know was if he could carry out either trick swifter than Berk could react and shoot. “Well,” Hawk questioned, “where did that sorry snake hide the money after he tried to cheat the others out of their shares?”

  “Who are you? And why are you interested in that loot?”

  “Name’s Hawk Reynolds. I been chasing Ben ever since I spotted him after he escaped from Yuma Prison hoping he’d lead me to it. Before I could get to him and make him talk, I got laid up with a broken leg after my horse was spooked by a rattler and tossed me off his back. By the time I found that cabin where he’s been hiding out, he was gone. I been trailing you two ever since I found your tracks in the woods. Course I didn’t know he’d hooked up with you until I spied you from a hill over there. While we were riding together in March, Toby Muns was the one who told me how Ben double-crossed the others and had it stashed someplace near Prescott.”

  “You’ve gone to a lotta trouble for no good reason; I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’. And you ain’t ridin’ outta here.”

  “If you’re going to kill me, why not tell me where the money is?”

  “Naw, ain’t good luck to go ajawin’ afore you plug a man.”

  “Don’t you want to know what my second reason was? Remember, I said I had two for riding into your camp today?”

  “Don’t make no never mind to me if it be one or ten reasons; I—”

  Hawk interrupted Berk to distract him, “That’s just about what Toby said before I plugged him. I would have gotten Coot, too, but your brother gunned him down before I found him. As for Pete and Slim, they won’t be needing any money where they’re heading soon, to the gallows. I got them stashed in the Tombstone jail.”

  “Ain’t nobody can get a drop on Pete; he’s near as fast and good as me; and there ain’t no way he’s gonna swing from a rope.”

  “That’s about what he spit forth after I captured him and turned him over to the Tombstone sheriff. He robbed the Fairbank train last Monday, but I got the money back and lassoed those snakes. The railroad and authorities were mighty generous to me.”

  “You’re a stinkin’ bounty hunter, ain’t cha?”

  “I’ve been called worse, but that isn’t why I was after Pete’s gang. It was personal, for revenge. I planned to hunt down and kill all of you, but I’ll settle for watching three hangings. You’re my last target, Berk, so I’m lucky you were the man I’ve been trailing for days.”

  “What in hell’s name you jawin’ about? I ain’t never met you afore.”

  “You and your brother’s gang murdered my family in Texas late last December. Remember an Indian woman, a rancher with sandy hair, and a dark-haired man around nineteen who favors me, down San Antonio way.”

  “Yeah, I remember; that squaw was a real looker. I was tempted to have a taste of her afore we shot ‘em, but Pete was in a big hurry that day. Somebody shoulda taught your little brother how to use that pistol he was wearin’, ‘cause he didn’t even cle
ar leather afore he hit the ground with a hole in him. Best I recall, we collected us a fat pouch full of money. Seems they just left the bank in town. That who you talkin’ about, Reynolds?”

  “You like to brag about who you’ve killed in cold blood, don’t you?”

  “Yep, and I never forgit a single event. I could tell you ever’ person I shot and where I done it and what I took from ‘em. You was a fool to ride into my camp and challenge me. You’re a dead man, just like your folks. Maybe you’d like to have this back afore you die.”

  Hawk watched Berk grin sadistically as he withdrew something from his pocket and tossed it to him. His hand darted forth and caught it in midair. He looked at what he was holding: his mother’s locket; it contained his and Stone’s picture as children on one side and his parents’ on the other. His body stiffened and fury consumed him as Berk taunted him.

  “Toss it back; you ain’t gonna be needin’ it where you’re headin’. It’s a real pretty trinket; that’s why I kept it.”

  “You sorry bastard,” Hawk muttered in a tone of icy hatred. “If you’re half the shooter you claim to be, why not give me a fair fight?”

  “Nope. That’s why I tossed you that necklace. You’re quick thinkin’ and actin’, never looked at it afore you caught it. I know a good gunslinger when I see one. Ain’t no need to risk you beatin’ me to the draw. You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me but a bullet. Say your prayers, Reynolds.”

  Maggie was almost frantic because Diablo was now standing between her and Berk Barber. If she tried to change locations, Berk might see her, panic, and shoot Hawk. Yet, if she didn’t make that attempt and succeed, she had no clear angle on him. Why didn’t Hawk realize Diablo was blocking her shot? What was Berk saying to make him look so angry? She’d taken a hasty peek at him through her scope and seen Berk throw something to him as Diablo shifted his position and obstructed her view of him. Could Hawk get to her revolver fast enough to—