“They hollered an’ I said nothin’, but when they moved again I put a bullet at one’s head. Sorry it was, but I missed. Burned him. Maybe got his ear – I saw some blood on the ground after. Anyway, they taken off.
“I’d had a chance to bunch my stock into the brush, and they could see nothin’ worth takin’, and they decided it was no use gettin’ somebody killed.
“Later, I fetched my horse an’ scouted your place. The tracks told me there was a passel of ’em and sure enough, they’d caught your folks by surprise. They shot up your pa real bad and left him for dead. Your ma’s taken him to the doctor in Austin. They wounded Jesse, too, but took him along, and they got your sister, Gretchen. They just threw ’em in the back of a wagon with other girls they’d been pickin’ up in their raidin’.”
Aunt Maddy glanced at Dal. “They had Kate, too. Frank Kenzie tried to put up a fight, but -”
“Kenzie? How’s he figure in this?”
“Well,” Aunt Maddy glanced at him, “you was reported dead. Ever’body said you’d been killed. Kenzie started comin’ around. He’s got himself a nice place over east of here, and he was huntin’ a wife. He was sparkin’ Kate.”
Dal swore and spat.
“You can’t blame her. You’ve been gone four years and was supposed to be dead. What’s a girl to do?”
“She could wait. She could have give me a chance to get home.”
“A dead man? No woman who’s as much woman as Kate is going to want a ghost. She wants a man. Not that I’d say Frank Kenzie shaped up alongside of you, but around these parts a girl can’t pick an’ choose.”
“What happened?” Mac demanded.
“Kenzie tried to stop ’em, and one of them slapped him with a six-shooter alongside the head. He taken it an’ kept comin’, so he was hit a couple of more times. They broke his arm and laid his scalp open and just rode off with Kate.”
“Can you take care of Susan for us? She’ll tell you what happened. She’s the girl of a man I fought alongside.”
“Susan? You just bet I will! Mighty lonesome around here sometimes. Susan, you just get down and come in. I got a special room for you, and I’ve got a barrel of cookies in yonder. Well, most of a barrel, anyway.”
Mac caught Susan’s hand and squeezed it. “You help Aunt Maddy now. We’ll bring your mother back or know the reason why.”
Mac led the way south at a spanking trot. It was a country of rolling hills, the grass green with springtime, and the hills were dotted with clumps of oak.
Later, when watering their horses at a stream, Dal commented, “Wished I had me one o’ them Blakeslee Quick-Loaders like you’ve got. The two of us could fight a war.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open. Maybe we can find some soldier bound for home who needs a dollar or a drink.”
Since the renegades had kept from main trails, hiding in the hills and moving steadily south, they saw travellers only occasionally. Each time they came upon a camp, Mac and Dal studied it with care.
“Six or seven, maybe eight women along,” Mac said, “and they keep ’em bunched up and under guard. Whatever he plans to do with them he’s not letting them be molested now.
“See here?” Dal indicated several tracks around a separate fire. “Their tracks are plain enough. See the heels? And over here’s where a guard was settin’. You can see his heel marks there and where his rifle butt rested on the ground.”
“We’ve gained on ’em,” Mac commented. “I figure we’re less than three days behind them. Maybe only two.”
“Ashford’s a soldier, we can’t be forgettin’ that. He will be havin’ a rear-guard out, especially as he will expect to be chased by somebody. We’ve got to ride mighty careful. Be just like him to set up an ambush.”
“That there,” Mac commented, “looks like Jesse’s track with the women. See here? He had that busted spur, always hung a little lower than the other. There’s the mark of that spur.”
“It’s been four years,” Dal said, “but that surely looks like his track. At least he’s up an’ around. He’ll be watchin’ his chance – we know that. I just hope he doesn’t take too much risk until we get close up to help.”
In the gray of morning they rode west along a deep draw and topped out several miles from the trail. From the ridge Mac used the field glasses he’d brought back from the War.
“Nothin’,” he said, “but I say we ride wide of the trail.”
They made coffee over a small fire in a hollow under some trees. Neither felt like talking. “I’m dead for sleep,” Dal said. “You take first watch?”
Mac Traven was tired. He added a few small sticks to the fire and taking his rifle walked up on the knoll to look around. The night was very still, not a breath of wind. He looked off to the south. Sound could carry a long way on such a night but they were much too far away. Still …
The stars were very bright. He listened, ears straining for the slightest sound.
Somewhere off to the south a coyote talked to the night, protesting his loneliness to the stars. Mac got up and walked to a leaning tree, standing beside it.
He reviewed in his mind what they knew of the attack on their family and ranch. There was more to this than had appeared. The man who had wounded Dal had been riding Ranch Baby, and Dal had said the man who shot him had known he was shooting at Traven, so he must have taken part in the raid on the ranch.
Perhaps the man had had a falling-out with Ashford and had set off on his own when his trail crossed Dal’s. There might be others splintering off from Ashford and his crowd, other men eager to kill any Traven who could connect them to the attack on the ranch.
There was trouble in Texas. Further east the Regulators and the Moderators were killing each other, with almost nightly shootings. The Comanches had been raiding, and bandits along the border and from the Neuces country had been raiding ranches, stealing horses and cattle, and generally taking advantage of the fact that most of the young men who might oppose them were still not home from the War.
The Rangers, and there were too few of them, would have their hands full.
Asking help from the sheriff would have been a waste of time, as he did no more than he had to and was no friend to the Travens, anyway. Whatever was done they must do themselves.
On cat feet, he scouted around the camp, pausing to listen several times, and then glancing at the Big Dipper to see what time it was, he went back into the hollow. The pot was on the fire, and he poured a cup. The night was growing cold. He sipped his coffee slowly. This was the time they should all be working, trying to get the place in shape and brand what cattle were running loose. Times were bad, and they were not going to become financially secure without a lot of hard work. There was no way pa and Jesse could have kept up with the increase in cattle. Branding on the open range was a long, hard job, with much riding. If Kate was still free she and Dal would be setting up for themselves, and Dal would have a share coming.
Mac walked back to the fire and sat down in the shadows facing it. He did not stare into the flames, knowing it would take too long for his eyes to adjust to sudden darkness if someone came up on them. He leaned back against a tree, the Spencer across his lap.
What about pa and ma? He would have felt more comfortable if he and Dal could have taken the time to ride up to Austin to see how pa was recovering. It had to be tough on them, the attack on the ranch, pa getting shot up, not knowing what would become of Jesse and Gretchen, and them thinking Dal was dead too. But he knew that they had made the right decision to keep following Ashford’s trail.
The first consideration was to free the captives before they reached Mexico, if possible. Yet what could the two of them do? The camp would be well guarded, and some of the men in that camp were probably as good at scouting as either he or Dal.
“We could use some help,” he muttered, half aloud. “We surely could.”
But who would help? Maddy had said Kenzie had a broken arm and did not seem too eager, anyway. None of the others had acted like they wished to be involved in any way. Some of them did not like him because he had elected to fight for the Union, and a lot of the people around town now were strangers. Newcomers had been drifting in since the War, without ties to the community. In the old days one man’s trouble was trouble for all, and all pitched in and helped no matter whether it was an Indian fight, a barn raising, or a buffalo hunt.