Текст книги "The Black Jacks"

Автор книги: Jason Manning

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I have found her. Meet me at the Caves of the Colorado in a fortnight.

There was no signature, but then there didn't need to be.

Within the hour McAllen was ready to go. Joshua had the horses saddled, and Bessie had put some provisions in a gunnysack. Before mounting up, McAllen handed Jeb a piece of paper. Jeb looked it over—McAllen had taught him to read. But Jeb couldn't believe he'd read it right.

"As you can see," said McAllen, "it's been witnessed by Dr. Artemus Tice. Whether I come back or not, Jeb, you and the others are free. I've sent a copy to Robert Mills, my factor. You know him. If I die, you'll get your own section of land. If I come back, I'll pay everyone who wants to stay a percentage of what we make off the crops."

"You'll come back, Marse John," said Jeb. "And I reckon we'll all be right here waitin'."

McAllen nodded, climbed into the saddle on the gray hunter, and with a wave to Bessie and Roman, who stood on the porch, rode down the lane with Joshua following. Jeb joined the others on the porch and read them the letter.

"Lawdy, lawdy," moaned Bessie. "Dat mean he don't think he be comin' home."

"He'll come home," said old Roman, and settled resolutely into a rocking chair. "And I'm gwine sit right here till he do."

"You a crazy old man. You gwine sit dere, day and night, for who knows how long? Bessie shook her head. "Leastways, I won't have to worry 'bout you killin' yourself by workin' in dat garden all day."

Rocking back and forth, Roman didn't say anything, his eyes glued to the lane that led down to the river road.

"Ol' fool," muttered Bessie, and turned to go inside. She paused at the door and glanced back. The fondness in her eyes as she gazed at the old man belied her words. She knew he would do it. He was stubborn enough, and devoted enough to Marse John, to see it through. And tonight she would come out after he was asleep and put a blanket around him and touch his weathered face and say a little prayer.

Chapter Thirty-two

The caverns had been formed millions of years ago in an uplift of limestone. Water had done the work, leaking through cracks and crevices, dissolving the limestone; the flooding which followed heavy rains roared through these passages, widening them. Dripping water formed stalagmites, stalactites, columns, and flowstone. Blind albino fish swam in underground streams. Some of the main openings into the underground labyrinth were sinkholes ranging in size from ten to hundreds of feet across.

The Indians of the region had always known about the caves but seldom used them, believing they were inhabited by spirits and were a gateway to the realm of the dead. Located two or three days' ride northwest of Austin, they had sometimes been used by outlaws who sought to be beyond the reach of the law but didn't care to venture too deeply into Comancheria.

McAllen didn't have to ask anyone where to find the caves. He had come across them two years earlier, during a pursuit of Penateka raiders who had stolen some horses and burned a few cabins in the Brazos River country. He and Joshua arrived a few days early for the rendezvous with Antonio Caldero. He hadn't expected Caldero to be waiting for him—the Mexican bandit couldn't risk lingering in any one place too long, especially north of the Nueces. No, the waiting was McAllen's job. And it was a hard one.

In one of the larger sinkholes they found a game trail, a route taken by deer and other creatures to reach the bottom, where a pool of cold springwater was available year-round. McAllen and Joshua led their horses down this steep trail and camped at one of the many entrances to the caverns. There was plenty of firewood from cedar and scrub oak trees that had been uprooted at the rim of the sinkhole and washed down to the bottom by floodwaters. A damp, cool draft wafting up from the black depths of the caves would have been a pleasant respite from summer heat, but a cold front, the first of the year, blasted through on the day of their arrival, bringing rain and chilling gusts of wind with it. All McAllen and Joshua could do was huddle in the mouth of the cave with blankets draped over their shoulders and watch the rain fall from a low gray sky.

Exactly fourteen days from the delivery of the note to Grand Cane plantation, Caldero appeared. He was not alone. In fact, the first McAllen knew of his arrival was the sudden appearance of five bandoleros at the rim of the sinkhole.

Caldero came down the game trail alone, on foot. McAllen went out to meet him. The bandoleros watched him like hawks, while from the mouth of the cave Joshua kept a close eye on the Mexicans, his rifle ready. McAllen had explained the situation to the half-breed, but he didn't expect Joshua to let his guard down; regardless of the circumstances, these men were still bandits, and they hated Texans. One wrong move on anyone's part and all hell would break loose.

"Con permiso, señor," said Caldero, pausing two-thirds of the way down the game trail, and McAllen gestured for him to come the rest of the way.

"You've found her?"

Caldero nodded. "She is with the Quohadis, in the Canyon of the Palo Duro. Do you know of this place?"

McAllen shook his head.

"Not many white men do—and live to tell of it. The place is very far from here."

"How far?"

Caldero shrugged. "Ten days. Maybe more."

"You mean you've never been there?"

"Once. Many years ago."

"Then how do you know that Emily is there?"

"My friends, the Comancheros, tell me."

McAllen grimaced. He did not consider Comancheros to be very reliable sources. "How can you be sure it is her?"

"I know the Quohadis took her—it was a Quohadi arrow which you showed me. I know the Quohadis have only three white captives: a young woman, a little boy, and a little girl. She is the one. But if you do not want to go and see for yourself. . ." Again Caldero shrugged.

"I'll go. Just tell me how to get there."

"Señor, I could have told you that in my letter. No, I am going with you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because you would not get into the canyon alive."

"But why? Why are you doing this, Caldero? We are enemies, you and I. So why are you helping me?"

Caldero strolled past McAllen, scanning the sinkhole, looking at Joshua, at the horses over by the spring, at his men on the rimrock above, silhouetted against the sky. Finally he turned, his expression grave.

"I will tell you. Thanks to you, Sam Houston will become president of Texas, and that is a good thing for my friends, the Comanches. It is good, too, for Mexico. It means there will be no war—at least for the time being."

"I didn't realize you were such a peace-loving man."

"I know there will be a war. I know that eventually the Comanches will be destroyed, and your land will spread like a plague to the west. You will even try to take Mexico. But now that Lamar is out, this will not happen right away. I will have time to prepare for the war that is coming, because, my friend, you will build your towns on the banks of the Rio del Norte over my dead body. And the Comanches, too, will have time to prepare. In a few years they will have rifles with which to fight you. They have learned a lesson, you see. And the Comancheros will sell them the rifles. Time is what your enemies need, Captain, and thanks to you they will have it." Caldero smiled at the look on McAllen's face. "You haven't thought about what you have done in that light, have you?"

"No."

"Well, es verdad. It is true. So you have done me a great favor, and I will repay it by helping you find the woman you love. And there is one other reason I help you. I am a romantic at heart, as Houston said. You would die for this woman, wouldn't you?"

"I'd rather live."

"But you would give up your life to bring her home, and I admire that. So we go now, eh?"

"The sooner the better," said McAllen, and headed for the mouth of the cave, where his gear was located.

McAllen wasn't sure how far he could trust Antonio Caldero. If you did not believe a man's motive, then you could not believe in the man. Was Caldero telling him the whole truth? Not that it really made much difference in the final analysis. McAllen wasn't about to turn down Caldero's help.

He couldn't imagine why the bandit leader would go to all this trouble just to betray him to the Comanches. The fact remained, however, that his life was in Caldero's hands. His and Joshua's. McAllen wished there had been some way to keep the half-breed out of this. They had survived many dangerous situations together, but none quite so perilous as this one. But he knew there was no hope of stopping Joshua short of breaking both his legs—and maybe not even then.

From the caves of the Colorado, they traveled north by northwest for two days, and then turned due west for two more. The rolling hills became flatlands interspersed with barrancas, and then, beyond the Cap Rock, they arrived at the Llano Estacado, that limitless sea of grass where only the rattlesnake and the prairie dog, the buffalo and the Comanche Indian felt at home.

On the fifth day they crossed the trail of more than a hundred men on iron-shod horses. Horse droppings told Joshua that the sign was a day old. Caldero came to the same conclusion.

"Who are these men?" Caldero asked McAllen. "Who would venture so far out onto the Staked Plains? They are not mesteneros or Comancheros. There are no wagons, no extra horses, and these men come from the east, not the west. No, these men travel light and move fast, like a war party. But they are white men, not Indians."

"There can be only one answer."

Caldero nodded grimly. "Texas Rangers." He scanned the featureless prairie. "They are looking for the Antelope band."

I've got to reach the Quohadis first, realized McAllen. If I don't, Emily will be in grave danger. Even if the Rangers knew there were white captives in the Comanche village they would not hesitate to attack. And if Emily got killed, well, that would be a damned shame, but no Ranger would lose sleep over it.

McAllen studied Caldero's face. "I hope you're not even thinking about quitting on account of this."

Caldero smiled. "What makes you think a hundred Texas Rangers scare me?"

"They scare me. And it's more like a hundred and thirty. Two companies."

"What will they do if they catch you riding with us, Captain?"

"What Rangers always do. Shoot first and ask questions later."

"What are they doing so far from home, I wonder?"

"My guess is that Lamar sent them. If they can bring him a bushel of Indian scalps he can tell the voters he's paid the Comanches back for the big raid."

"Then I must warn my Quohadi friends." Caldero was watching McAllen closely. "What do you say to that?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

Caldero nodded. "Muy bien. Then we go. With luck, we can reach the Canyon of the Palo Duro before the Rangers do. I presume they do not know exactly where it is."

"If they don't," said McAllen, "they'll find it. You can count on that."

The next three days were very anxious ones for McAllen, so that when at last they reached the mouth of the canyon where the Antelope band lived and found no sign of the Rangers having been there before them, he was greatly relieved. That night they camped on the edge of the badlands and built no fire.

"Tomorrow," Caldero told him, "you and I will ride in alone."

"Not alone. Joshua's coming along."

"It must be just the two of us."

"Forget it. He's coming with us. If your men try to stop him he will kill them."

Caldero glanced curiously at the half-breed. "You have a high opinion of him, Captain."

"Yes, I do. I've seen him work. Also, he just looks like a kid. He's as old as you are, Caldero, and every bit as dangerous, believe me."

Caldero shrugged. "Sí. He will come with us."

McAllen didn't get a wink of sleep that night. Tomorrow was the moment of truth. What would it bring? Would his long search for Emily finally be over? What would he do if it turned out that she was not in the village of the Antelope band, after all? What if it turned out that she was no longer alive? These things he could not bear to contemplate. She had to be there. She just had to be. The dawn seemed to take forever.

When it finally did come he was in the saddle and entering the Canyon of the Palo Duro with Caldero and Joshua. They followed the fork of the Red River. The canyon gradually narrowed. McAllen had the distinct feeling they were being watched. But for over an hour they rode ever deeper into the canyon without seeing any sign of the Comanches.

McAllen abruptly checked the gray hunter, causing Caldero to stop as well.

"Have you changed your mind, Captain?" asked the bandit leader.

"There's just one thing. You don't tell your Indian friends about those Rangers until I've gotten Emily back. I don't understand much of the Comanche lingo, but I'll know by their reaction if you tell them. And if you do, I'll kill you."

Caldero studied McAllen's face for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I believe you. Vamanos." He angrily kicked his horse into motion.

Then, suddenly, the Indians appeared, materializing on all sides of them, a dozen of these warlords of the Llano Estacado, on their painted ponies, with their red lances and buffalo-hide shields. Caldero called out to them in their own tongue.

"Our welcoming committee," he told McAllen.

"They don't look too happy to see you."

"It is you, Captain, that they are not happy with."

They continued on, encircled by the twelve watchful warriors. Soon McAllen could see the skin lodges among the trees on both sides of the river, scores of tepees, hundreds of Indians gathering to witness their arrival. He searched the congregation for Emily. So consumed was he by his quest that he gave scarcely a thought to his situation, which was not one any sensible Texan would want to find himself in. There was no welcome on those Quohadi faces. They knew he was Tejano, their mortal enemy.

A warrior approached and grabbed Caldero's bridle. He and the bandit leader engaged in a brief and spirited dialogue. Then the warrior walked away, pushing through the crowd.

"That was Red Eagle," Caldero told McAllen. "War chief. He remembers me from when I rode with the Comancheros. He was angry that I had brought a Tejano to this canyon. I told him we were here to find a white woman. He seemed interested to hear that."

"So what now?" asked McAllen. They sat on their horses, surrounded by the grim, silent crowd.

"We wait for the council to be called. The council will decide two things. Whether you will be permitted to trade for the woman, and whether you will be allowed to leave this canyon alive."

Chapter Thirty-three

The Quohadi council was convened immediately. McAllen, Caldero, and Joshua were brought before the chiefs, and Caldero was permitted to speak, presenting McAllen's case. McAllen half expected the bandit leader to warn the Comanches about the Texas Rangers, in spite of his threat. But Caldero kept to the topic at hand. When he was done, the chief named Red Eagle rose to speak. He angrily harangued the council. Antonio Caldero could be trusted, but the Texans—McAllen and Joshua—could not be allowed to live. They would go back and tell others how to find the Canyon of the Palo Duro. If they only knew, mused McAllen, that a force of Rangers is on the brink of finding this canyon anyway. Of course, if they did know, he would be the first to die.

In the end, the council agreed to let McAllen make his offer to the captor of the white woman. Gray Wolf was summoned.

Gray Wolf was one of the few Comanches who was not already at the council gathering. Almost as soon as McAllen arrived in the village, he had heard that a white man had come in search of a woman who had been taken captive during the great raid. While it was possible that this man sought somebody besides Emily—perhaps the woman whose infant had been so brutally murdered, and who herself had perished at the end of a Quohadi lance, or even a woman taken by another band—Gray Wolf had a feeling that this was not the case. His heart was heavy when the council summons came. No doubt the white man had described the person he was looking for, and the council had known it was Emily.

With curt words and hand gestures, Gray Wolf told Emily to remain in the skin lodge. Emily was unclear about the words—during her months of captivity she had not been able to come to terms with the Comanche language—but she understood what Gray Wolf wanted her to do. Something important was happening, but it never occurred to Emily that it had anything to do with her.

When Gray Wolf reached the council circle and saw McAllen, he recognized the Texan immediately.

This was the man who had saved his child's life at Bexar.

"You have a young white woman in your tepee," Caldero told Gray Wolf. "She belongs to this man. He wants her back. He will trade."

Gray Wolf sighed. He would be within his rights to refuse to barter for Emily. He was under no obligation to trade.

"What does he give for her?" he asked, stalling for time, trying to think.

Caldero turned to McAllen and translated Gray Wolf's query into English.

McAllen indicated the gray hunter. "I will give this horse."

He did not have to elaborate on Escatawpa's many fine points. Anyone with eyes could tell that the gray hunter was second to none. It was easy for a Comanche, who knew horses better than most, to measure Escatawpa's worth. Caldero nodded his approval. McAllen's offer was an excellent one. The gray was worth ten ordinary mustangs. He relayed the offer to Gray Wolf.

Gray Wolf was silent for a moment. Though he tried to give nothing away, his expression betrayed him, and in an instant of indescribable elation McAllen knew without a doubt that his search had come to an end. This warrior did have Emily—and he was reluctant to give her up. I've found her. Thank God in heaven, I've found her. His heart was racing. What if the Comanche refused his offer? McAllen only knew that he would not leave without Emily.

At last Gray Wolf turned to Caldero and spoke. "I will give him back his woman, and he can keep his horse."

The decision created a stir among the Quohadis who overheard it. Caldero thought at first that perhaps he had misunderstood. He had never known a Comanche to give anything away in a transaction with strangers—especially of such value.

"You will accept nothing in return?" asked the bandit leader.

"Nothing. I owe this man the life of my son."

Caldero stared at McAllen. "You saved this man's child, Captain?"

McAllen nodded. "Unfortunately, I was too late to save the mother's life." He saw something new in Caldero's eyes then. Respect.

"Come," said Gray Wolf. "I will take you to her."

They walked to Gray Wolf's lodge, followed by a large portion of the village. Bidding McAllen and Caldero to wait outside, Gray Wolf entered the tepee. Emily was sitting right where he had left her. She was making a buckskin tunic in the way that Spotted Tail's wife had shown her. Shirts, leggings, and bison-hide boots were necessary winter garments, and it was her duty to make them for herself and Gray Wolf.

The look on the warrior's face caused her to put down her work and stand, suddenly afraid. He was so downcast that Emily could tell something terrible had happened. He gestured for her to follow him outside, and she obeyed with trepidation, knowing by the sounds from outside that a crowd had gathered.

The sight of John Henry McAllen stole her breath away.

"Emily!" He surged toward her, and she ran to meet him, blinded by tears of joy, flying into his arms.

"We'll never be apart again," he whispered, holding her tight, almost unable to speak. "I love you, Emily—I love you with all my heart. We'll be together for the rest of our lives. That's a promise."

"We'll take tomorrow as it comes," she said. "Today is what matters."

McAllen glanced at Gray Wolf. "Did he hurt you, Emily? Did he mistreat you?"

"No." She was laughing and crying at the same time. "No, he saved me. He was kind to me."

McAllen turned to Caldero. "Tell him—"

Distant gunfire from downcanyon reached their ears.

The sound triggered an instant reaction among the Comanches. They scattered, the women and children making for their lodges, the men heading for the weapons and horses. McAllen knew instantly what the gunfire signified. The Rangers had found the canyon and run into Caldero's bandoleros, who were waiting at the south end. He leaped into action, lifting Emily into the saddle on Escatawpa. As he prepared to get on behind her, she shouted a warning, and he whirled to see the warrior Red Eagle coming at him with knife raised. Joshua, though, had seen Red Eagle first. The half-breed drew his pistol and fired, hitting the Comanche war chief but not stopping him. Joshua lunged into the Quohadi's path, triggering the Colt again as they collided. Red Eagle's dead weight bore the half-breed to the ground. For a moment McAllen thought the warrior's knife, meant for him, had taken his friend's life instead. But then Joshua disentangled himself from the Comanche's corpse and ran to his horse.

Swinging aboard the gray hunter behind Emily, McAllen looked around for Caldero and Gray Wolf. Both men had vanished. The shooting was much closer now, and McAllen could hear the thunder of many horses running and the screams of Comanche women and children coming from the south end of the village. He kicked Escatawpa into a gallop and hurried north, followed closely by Joshua.

Having killed all but one of the bandoleros in a running fight from the mouth of the canyon to the village of the Antelope band, Eli Wingate and his Texas Rangers tore through the Comanche camp like a whirlwind of death, shooting anything that moved. One hundred and thirty Rangers armed with Colt revolvers could do a lot of damage in a very short time, and though the Quohadi warriors outnumbered them by almost three to one there was no stopping the charge.

Wingate was in front of his men, blazing away with his pistol, the reins clenched between his teeth, and guiding his horse with his knees. Seeing the Comanches fall like wheat before a scythe gratified him. This was the moment he had dreamed of, lived for, the reaping of his vengeance. He killed a woman, shot an old man in the back, dropped a warrior attacking him with a lance. Exterminate the vermin, young and old, male and female. He and his men had virtually wiped out a Penateka village two weeks ago, but Wingate's thirst for revenge had not been sated by that bloodletting. He had dared the Llano Estacado to find and punish the elusive Quohadis and now, at long last, he had found them. A clear trail from the site of the buffalo hunt had brought him right to the village, and he would not rest until life had been snuffed out of the last of these red devils. . . .

Armed only with a knife, Gray Wolf raced to Spotted Tail's tepee. This took him south, toward the Rangers galloping north, and as he neared his destination a Texan appeared out of the dust and powder smoke and headed straight for him, bent low in the saddle. Expecting Gray Wolf to run, the Ranger was Startled when the Comanche lunged straight into the path of his horse. Gray Wolf grabbed the bridle's cheek strap and threw his legs up and around the animal's neck. With one savage slash of the knife he opened the horse's throat. The Ranger could not get a clear shot in the split second that he remained in the saddle. Then the dying horse fell sideways, and the Ranger tried to jump clear. He landed poorly. Dazed, he was slow in getting up. Covered with the blood of the horse, Gray Wolf drove his knife to the hilt in the Ranger's back. Only then did he notice that one of the Ranger's boots had come off—it had been caught in one of the stirrups—and that the dead man's foot was missing. Gray Wolf rolled the Ranger over and gazed into the sightless eyes of Brax Torrance. . . .

Eli Wingate was the first man to reach the northern end of the Quohadi village. Checking his lathered mount, he jammed the barrel of his Colt Paterson between a thigh and the saddle, "broke" the pistol open, and began to replace the cartridges. As he prepared to make another ride through the Comanche tepees, he saw McAllen and what appeared by her clothing to be an Indian girl galloping north along the line of trees which marked the course of the river. With a snarl he kicked his horse into a gallop and gave chase. He recognized the gray hunter and the black jacket McAllen wore. Recognized, too, the half-breed who rode with McAllen. What was Houston's spy doing here among the Quohadis? No doubt conspiring against Lamar and the Republic of Texas, fraternizing with the red devils. McAllen was a traitor to his country, and now he would pay the price for his treason. Wingate raised the pistol and fired.

The sound of the gunshot turned McAllen's head. He watched in horror as Joshua slipped sideways off his horse. McAllen turned Escatawpa into the trees. A bullet smacked into a nearby tree trunk, throwing splinters. Sliding off the gray hunter, he swept Emily out of the saddle and pushed her to the ground.

"Why is he shooting at us?" asked Emily.

"It's Eli Wingate, and it's personal. Stay down."

Drawing both Colts, he moved away.

As McAllen emerged from the trees, Wingate checked his horse and dismounted. A man could shoot better on foot than in a saddle, and Wingate wasted no time in proving it. "McAllen! Time to meet your Maker!" he roared, and fired.

Wingate's bullet caught McAllen in the fleshy part of the leg. The impact staggered but did not stop him. He kept moving forward, firing first one Colt and then the other. The Ranger captain fired again. This time the bullet tugged at McAllen's shell jacket. McAllen kept walking and shooting. Squinting through the acrid powder smoke, he saw Wingate shudder and drop to his knees. "You bastard," groaned the Ranger, and tried to lift his Colt for one more shot. Ten feet away, McAllen stopped, took dead aim, and put a bullet between Wingate's eyes. The Ranger's body jackknifed, twitched, and lay still in the sun-browned grass.

McAllen went to Joshua. The half-breed was unconscious and his breathing was ragged, shallow. The bullet had hit him squarely in the back, and McAllen knew the wound was fatal. Sadly he carried Joshua into the trees, returning to the place he had left Emily. He laid Joshua down gently and sat beside him and watched him die as Emily applied a makeshift dressing to his wound, using a strip of soft buckskin from her dress to stop the bleeding. . . .

Reaching Spotted Tail's tepee, Gray Wolf saw his lame friend emerge with his wife. She carried a papoose—his son. Gray Wolf gave silent heartfelt thanks to Our Sure Enough Father that they were still alive. Then he shouted a warning as a Texas Ranger stumbled around the skin lodge into view. The Texan's horse had been killed under him, and he had hurt his leg in the fall.

As the Ranger raised his pistol, Gray Wolf lengthened his stride, but he could not reach the man in time. The pistol barked, and Spotted Tail staggered, shot in the back. Somehow the lame Quohadi kept his feet and shielded his wife from the Ranger's second shot. The second bullet killed him outright, and he fell.

The Ranger aimed again at Spotted Tail's wife, who stood staring in horror at her husband's body. That she had a baby in her arms did not deter the Ranger. Nits made lice. But then he saw Gray Wolf and turned his pistol on the warrior, and Gray Wolf saw the hammer fall and knew he was going to die. But he would not die before the Ranger—before the threat to his son—had been dealt with.

The pistol misfired.

Gray Wolf caught a glimpse of the fear in the Ranger's eyes as he closed the distance between them and drove his knife into the Texan's chest, turned so that the blade could slip between the man's ribs and pierce his heart.

Before the Ranger's body hit the ground Gray Wolf was turning to Spotted Tail's widow.

"Come," he said hoarsely. "We must go."

She handed him the papoose and knelt beside her husband. "I will stay."

The Rangers had swept into the northern part of the village, but Gray Wolf knew they would return. That was the Ranger way, to make several runs through a village at full speed. She knew this, too, but she was exercising her right to die alongside her husband, and Gray Wolf did not try to talk her out of it or force her to come with him. Sadly he walked away. The baby was crying. He wrapped his bloodstained fingers around its little hand and the crying stopped.

Luck was with him. He found a horse near the river—a Ranger's mount, saddled and iron-shod—and the animal let him approach and take up the dragging reins. He rode south out of the village, trying not to look at the all the dead who lay sprawled in the pale dust. . . .

Not long after the last gunshot's echoes faded and the canyon fell deathly silent, Joshua breathed his last. McAllen ignored the pain of his wound and piled river stone on top of the body to deny the wolves and the vultures. Emily helped him. The half-breed's horse had been trained not to stray, so McAllen put her in his friend's saddle and mounted the gray hunter.

"Let's go home," he said.

"Yes. Home. What a wonderful word." She smiled. It was the most beautiful smile John Henry McAllen had ever seen.

They skirted the village, inhabited now only by the spirits of the dead. The long shadows of day's end were creeping across the canyon floor. The Quohadi survivors had scattered. The Rangers were gone. McAllen wondered if Antonio Caldero had escaped. He had a hunch the bandit leader was a hard man to kill. Perhaps someday he would find out if that was so. But for now he had only one thing on his mind—going home to Grand Cane and starting his life anew with the woman he loved.