Dashing Druid (Texas Druids) (26 page)

Del
shrugged. “I figured you had a hand in it when Frank showed up at our place last fall and started paying attention to her. Have to admit Rebecca and I kind of encouraged him, too, but Lil had already met Devlin. It was at a dance back then when he and your boy first locked horns, as a matter of fact.”

“Mmm, and now Frank’s got the bit between his teeth. Well, I’ve kept him close to hand since he paid you that last visit, and I’ll make sure he stays that way ’til we’re clear of your outfit.”

“Glad to hear it. You’d best keep an eye on him when we hit
Wichita
, too, and I’ll do the same with Devlin.”

“That’s a deal. You’ve got my word Frank won’t be the one to start trouble,” Judd promised, extending his hand to
Del.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

As he herded longhorns across the shallow Cimarron River, Tye watched Lil re-enter the water from the north bank. She was tireless, or so she wanted them all to think.

“Kirby,” she called, “help Dewey pull that steer out before the quicksand sucks him under.”

On the far side of the herd from Tye, young Kirby rode forward, threw a second loop on the mired steer, and helped Dewey drag the animal to safety. The river was down, and the treacherous bottom had already claimed one animal. Clearly, Lil didn’t mean to lose any more.

Tye smiled. She was proving herself a capable
segundo
. The men accepted her orders without question. As Jack had said, she knew cattle as well as any of them, maybe better, and she had earned their respect along the trail. She also knew how to handle trouble, not only with the herd, but among the crew. Just the other night she’d prevented a fight between Dewey and Alabama.

Dewey had tolerated the other man’s superior attitude and derogatory jibes for as long as he could. Night before last, Alabama had gone too far, telling a nasty joke about coloreds, and Dewey had exploded, calling him ‘no-good white trash’. If Lil hadn’t stepped between the two, fists would have flown for sure.

“There’ll be no fighting while you’re part of this crew,” she’d fiercely decreed. “We stick together out here or we die.” Then she’d told Alabama to button his mouth from now on. Tye had silently applauded. He’d also caught Del’s surge of pride in his daughter.

Lil twisted in her saddle now to look over the herd’s progress. Seeing her breasts thrust against her faded calico shirt, Tye instantly hardened. He nearly groaned with need.

“Fool,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away from her. “Why torture yourself so, when you’ve sworn not to touch her again?”

When the drive ended, he should leave, for both their sakes. He’d been telling himself that for weeks, yet the thought of parting with her was agonizing.

A few hours later, Tye rode forward with Del and Lil to meet a small, well-mounted band of Indians.

“Cheyenne,” Lil said grimly. “Must be some of the ones you heard about, Pa.”

Del
nodded, never taking his eyes off their visitors. “I’m surprised they want to parley. Could be a good sign, but I doubt it.”

Tye had a feeling he was right. These warriors were nothing like the starving Comanches they’d met back near Fort Sill – or the other groups they’d encountered since. He doubted they were out to beg a toll for crossing their land; more likely they’d
take
what they wanted. Proud and fierce-looking, they rode their ponies with fluid grace, dressed in breechclouts and moccasins.

The man in the lead also wore a fringed buckskin shirt painted yellow and splashed with symbols. A buffalo-horned headdress crowned his head, with eagle feathers fluttering in the wind. The other riders sported long, fur-wrapped braids; one displayed a topknot bound in red.

Tye counted seven in the party, three armed with rifles, the others with lances, bows and arrows. Glancing behind him, he was glad to see Jack and Luis gallop forward. A show of strength seemed in order.

With a casual lift of his hand, the Indian leader motioned his companions to halt, while he walked his brown and white paint a few paces closer. His black gaze flicked from Del to Tye, then settled on Lil. Tye tensed and felt Lil’s sudden burst of alarm.

Del
signed a greeting, and the Cheyenne shifted his haughty stare back to him. He sketched a rapid series of signs in reply.

“No. No ponies,” the trail boss said with a firm shake of his head. “Wohaw.” Raising two fingers, he indicated how many cattle he would give.

Slashing a refusal, the Indian eyed Lil again. He pointed at her and made a guttural demand that needed no translation.

Lil gasped at his boldness, and raw fury surged through Tye. Nudging his horse closer to her, he glared at the Cheyenne.

“No! She ain’t for trade,” Del barked. Not bothering with sign language, he aimed his Winchester dead center at the warrior’s fancy yellow shirt. “Get moving or eat lead.”

Mouth hard and eyes spitting hate, the Cheyenne slowly backed his mount away. His gaze lingered on Lil a few seconds. Then he wheeled and rode off with his followers.

“Damned, arrogant son-of-a-buck! We ain’t seen the last of him and his bunch,” Del said. “We’d better keep a durn close watch tonight, or we’ll lose the horses, maybe the herd too.” His gaze shifted to Lil. “I don’t want you alone for a minute, you hear me?”

“Yes, Pa,” she replied without any argument.

Ty suffered the cold fear that lay behind her surprising meekness. Glad she had enough sense to be afraid of that Indian and his friends, he silently swore he wouldn’t let her out of his sight until they were well clear of Cheyenne territory.

* * *

The second supper shift had just begun when a low, thunderous noise rolled over the prairie. It halted Lil as she left the grub line. Behind her, Tye was having his plate filled. They ate separately as a rule these days, one of them always needing to be on point, but Luis had agreed to cover for them tonight. Tye was determined to stick close to her, and Lil couldn’t stop him with her pa backing him up. She resented their protectiveness, despite recalling the Cheyenne brave’s dark gaze upon her.

“What the . . . ?” her pa muttered, fork poised over his plate. He stood eating with Dewey, Choctaw Jack, and young George Schumacher. Like Lil, he and the others turned to stare at the western horizon, where the rumbling sound came from.

“Sounds like trouble,” Jack said around a mouthful of food.

The noise grew louder. Then a wave of dark bodies swept over a distant ridge, headed right for the herd.

“Buffalo!” Dewey cried.

George uttered a choked sound, a couple of the men cussed, and Lil stared in horror at the approaching disaster. Her father dropped his plate and ran for the horses, firing off orders.

“Get mounted, men! Lil, stay here and help hitch the wagons. It could be those Cheyenne. I don’t want ’em to catch you alone. Devlin, stay with her.” Springing into his saddle, he set spurs to his horse, followed by the other men.

“I will,” Tye called after him.

“Tarnation, I’ve got a gun,” Lil protested. “I can take care of myself. I wish you and Pa would stop acting like I can’t.”

He sent her a sharp glance as he strode to help Chic hitch up his mules. “Save your breath, woman. Your father gave an order and I intend to carry it out. Now give Jubal a hand with his team.”

Lil ground her teeth, wanting to tell him she was the
segundo
, not him. But this was no time to argue. They had to get the wagons out of here. If her father and the men couldn’t stop those buffalo before they hit the herd, this camp would be overrun for sure.

They’d just gotten the two teams hitched up when a fearsome whoop made Lil whirl around. Three Cheyenne warriors were riding hell-bent for leather toward camp. One was the yellow-shirted devil who’d wanted to buy her. They approached from the opposite direction of the buffalo stampede, which their friends must have started as a distraction. These three had been out there waiting, watching the whole time. Watching
her
!

“Chic, Jubal, get moving!” she shouted. “We’ll be right behind you!”

“Lil, wait,” Tye said, grabbing her arm. “I think we should take cover and –”

“No! I’m not gonna wait here like a sitting duck.” Shaking off his hand, she dashed to her horse. She heard him mutter, but he followed her quick enough. Within seconds, they were chasing after the wagons.

A gunshot cracked behind them, and Tye let loose a curse.

“Are you hit?” Lil cried with the wind whistling in her ears. She darted a swift, sideways glance at him, but saw no blood.

“No. But the bastard nearly took off my ear.” As he replied, he drew his rifle, twisted and fired. “
Damnú!
Missed him.”

Lil pulled her carbine, took aim behind her, and let fly. One of their pursuers cried out and toppled off his pony.

“Nice shooting!” Tye yelled. He’d barely said it when an Indian rifle barked, and his roan shrieked and stumbled.

“Tye!” Lil screamed, sawing on her reins as his horse fell head over heels, sending up a spray of gravel and dust.

Thank God, he threw himself clear at the last second. He scrambled behind the wounded horse and urgently waved Lil on. “Keep going! It’s you they’re after, not me!”

A whimper of fear for him escaped her, but knowing he was right, she spurred her mount onward. If she drew the two Indians off, maybe they’d leave him alone. More gunfire sounded, followed by a scream. Heart thumping, she twisted to look and saw another Indian drop from his horse. Tye had shot him, but was
he
hit? She couldn’t tell.

The lead warrior pounded after her, edging closer, trying to ride her down.

“By damn, I’ve had enough of you!” she gritted. She started to target him; then a youthful cry pulled her gaze around to the wagons. Jubal’s had veered off from Chic’s and was out of control. Bouncing crazily from side to side over the rough terrain, it appeared ready to tip at any second. The boy could be killed.

Forgetting the Indian, Lil spurred her gelding into an extra burst of speed. She drew even with the runaway mules and leaned over to grab the checkrein. With a mighty effort, she slowed the team enough for Jubal to regain control.

“Miz Lil, look out!” he hollered, glancing past her.

She turned her head to see the Cheyenne race up beside her. He’d slung his rifle over one shoulder by a strap, and as she swung the muzzle of her carbine toward him, he wrenched it from her grasp. She snarled and grabbed for her six-shooter, but as she drew it, he snatched that away, too, and dropped it into a pouch at his waist. Quickly, he yanked the reins from her other hand, laughing at her shriek of dismay, and galloped off with her in tow.

Hands tangled in her horse’s mane, Lil clenched her knees in a command to stop. The gelding tried to obey, but gave up when the Indian jerked sharply on his lead. Desperate, Lil glanced from side to side as the ground flew past in a dusty blur. Should she jump? At this speed, she might break an arm or a leg, or worse. But wasn’t that better than letting herself be taken? She screwed up her courage and prepared to leap.

Then she heard another horse galloping hard behind her. She twisted to look and gave a joyful cry at the sight of Tye closing in atop a swift bay pony. It must have belonged to the brave he’d just killed.

“Let her go!” he roared at the Cheyenne.

Whipping her head around, Lil saw the warrior glower over his shoulder and start to take aim at Tye with
her
carbine.

“No!” she wailed. Stretching precariously over her horse’s neck, she got hold of one rein and yanked with all her might. The gelding lurched, the Cheyenne jerked backward, and Lil went sailing. Tye shouted her name; then the ground caught her and she saw stars.

By the time the pinpoints of color stopped bursting and she managed to open her eyes, Tye had dragged his Indian pony to a halt. Cautiously lifting her head, Lil saw that the Cheyenne had also hit the dirt. On his belly a few yards away, he raised himself to his elbows and shook his head as if to clear it.

“Lily! Are ye hurt?” Tye cried, flinging himself off the bay. He was halfway to her when he stopped short to stare at the fallen Cheyenne. “Lil, don’t move,” he said quietly.

She glanced at the Indian again. He was up on one knee. He’d lost her carbine, but still had his rifle, and it was coming up.

“Watch out, Tye!” she cried.

Tye dove aside just in time. The Indian adjusted his aim but missed. His bullet sheered the head off a thistle and kicked up dust while Tye kept rolling. In the process, he somehow got his Colt out. The Cheyenne’s rifle roared a second time, but he missed again, by a hair this time. Tye’s six-shooter blasted, and he
didn’t
miss.

The warrior bucked with the bullet’s impact and gave a startled grunt. Then he toppled face first to the ground. He took a gurgling breath once, twice and went still.

Thankful Tye was still alive, Lil sat up as he climbed slowly to his feet. He stared at the dead man a moment, then holstered his gun and rushed over to her. She reached out and he pulled her to her feet. Holding her at arm’s length, he looked her over.