The lieutenant looked at her portion, then at Trent’s, and got up to leave. He could take a hint.
He moved about his part of the camp, putting out the fire, cleaning utensils, and stowing away his gear. Katie was unashamedly licking her fingers, as she used them to clean the last of the grease from the wooden plate. Her eyes hadn’t left him since she came to the camp, a fact that made him more apprehensive by the minute. “Why?” He finally asked.
She didn’t act very surprised. “What?”
“Why are you watching me all the time?”
Katie let her gaze wander over him a moment—long enough to make him uncomfortable. “I like to watch you. You don’t waste any movement. You’re sure-handed, and quiet. I like that.” She grinned as she held the wooden plate out to him. “You’re also going to make some lucky woman one hell of a good cook.”
He smiled as he bent to take the plate. “I’m just used to doing for myself.” He looked at her pointedly. “That’s something you should consider. I’ve been doing for myself a long time. I’m set in my ways. Likely, some younger man might be better for you. After all, I am probably twice your age.”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
His smile was slow in coming. “Now, that would be plain crazy on my part. I just want to lay it out so there are no misunderstandings.” His face slowly colored up under her frank scrutiny.
“You are worried, aren’t you?” She laughed, then held her hand over her mouth to suppress a grin. “Are you afraid I’m going to get,” she searched for the right word, “amorous?”
“You do that here, you’ll get spanked.” He tried to be serious, but it was a losing battle.
“See,” she said with dancing eyes. “That’s what I like about you older men. You have more imagination.”
“And just how many older men have you had?”
He wasn’t ready for her serious answer. “None—yet.”
He laughed and changed the subject. “Did you have any trouble coming up the trail?”
“No, none to speak of.” Katie said soberly. “But I got some brewing here.”
As he raised his eyebrows, she hooked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the soldiers. “One of the Green Jeans has been staring at me a lot. He even tried to talk to me a couple of times. I think he’s working up to something, and I’m going to be the main attraction.”
Trent looked out over the men. “Need me to speak to him?”
“Nope. I am a big girl. I’ll handle it. Of course, you might stay close….”
He nodded as he walked off to see the lieutenant, leaving Katie to stew in her own juices.
8
This one screamed.
She was tough and strong, and he hadn’t meant to do this again—not this soon. But there she was and she was young and pretty, her shiny black hair pinned into a bun in the back, and she looked scrubbed and clean, and the virginal innocence was an aura around her… and he could not stop.
She was fast. He had to run her down, and her long black skirt kept tripping her, making her easy prey. Even then, she almost got away. She struggled and fought and lost the funny little white cap she wore on her hair, the lace soiled with dirt and grass stains. He stuffed it in her mouth to shut her up. Finally, he tied her to the stakes he hammered into the ground, smiling at her reassuringly. He pulled flint and tinder from his pouch and started a little fire. With reverence and gentleness, he placed the end of the small branding iron in the fire, the one with the cross on it that would become cherry red in moments.
Pulling up his pants a few minutes later, he looked at her scornfully. She’d stopped crying and her black eyes followed him everywhere he went. Just like the other, she enjoyed it.
Contemptuously, he pulled out his hunting knife. Eyes wide in terror she started panting and screaming, her mouth a red rictus of pain.
9
The gelding moved restlessly under Trent as he sat in a clearing in the forest, considering his options. Lieutenant Spencer had casually mentioned that Gunny was overdue, and then promptly ignored the situation. You don’t leave a man behind, not in this country, so Trent had left immediately to back trail the squad of soldiers, hoping to run into the missing man. Following the trail was easy, at least until now.
The soft earth in the clearing showed tracks of more than one band of horses, making any particular sign impossible to find. It looked like a regular parade of people had gone through this clearing since morning. Over one track he saw a wet brown spot. He could picture the native hill people stopping to look at the tracks, gazing after the patrol, probably shifting their cud of chewing tobacco from one cheek to the other, then spitting a long brown stream at the tracks. Their contempt shown, they would disappear back into the forest. One thing was certain. The patrol was not fooling anyone. By nightfall, the news would be all over the hills. They might as well have brought a brass band with them.
Seen from the last ridge he crossed, a small cluster of buildings nestled at the bottom of the next hill. He turned his horse that way. Gunny was probably there, swilling moonshine, telling lies, and sampling the local women.
Topping a small rise in the dirt road, he reined in the gelding. The small hamlet spread out before him, a few rundown buildings on both sides of the path they called a road, or more likely, in this part of the country, they called it a trace. No one was visible along the street, not surprising considering the heat.
Sweat trickled down his sides as he took off his hat and ran fingers through his hair. Drying his hands on his shirt, he slipped the loop off his revolver and pulled the rifle from its boot on the saddle. Clucking to the horse, he rode down to the buildings.
The slow-walking gelding was tense as a spring as he neared the largest of the buildings. Muscles bunching and nostrils flaring, the horse came to a stop in front of the only building sporting a sign. Ziler’s Mercantile. Holding his rifle in one hand, he was starting to climb down off the horse when a voice startled him from behind.
“Better not.”
The level of suppressed anger in the voice spoke reams about what would happen if he didn’t obey. The tone surpassed any language barriers.
Several doors along the walk began to disgorge a ragged band of people, mostly women and kids. Glancing behind him, he found the men. They were all armed, and looked to be ready for target practice, with him as the bullseye. His rifle was in his right hand. Swing and fire it? Fatally slow. To draw and fire his pistol, he would have to shift the rifle, or drop it.
They had him. Stone cold.
Time to see if he could talk himself out of this one.
He turned in the saddle to confront the men. Most were just holding weapons, not pointed in any particular direction. The sallow faced young man standing in front of the group, however was pointing his double-barreled twelve gauge right at Trent’s middle.
Persuasive.
“What’s the problem?”
The shotgun barrel came up a bit. “Like you don’t know?”
“I don’t, or I wouldn’t ask.” He was more relaxed, now that he had gotten a better look at the man’s weapon. He knew he could draw and shoot before the man pulled the trigger on the shotgun. It was an old piece—real old, with individual hammers for each barrel, neither of which the man had cocked. He could fire by pulling the triggers, but that was a hard pull. That fraction of a second it took would cost him his life, if it came to that.