thought that he should show her some mercy.
"Lieutenant, let me" -- "What's your name?"
"If you would just" -- "What's your name?"
Her eyes flashed with a silver-blue annoyance as she realized that he
was going to hold her until he chose to let her go.
"Tess," she snapped.
"It's Tess."
"Tess what?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"Tess Stuart."
"Where were you going and where were you headed f~om?"
"Wiltshire. We were bringing some cattle and a printing press. We were
heading home from a small town called Dunedin, nearly a ghost town now.
That's why we bought the printing press. They didn't need it anymore."
"You said we. Who were you riding with?"
"My" -- She hesitated just a moment, her lashes rising and falling
swiftly.
Tears burned behind her eyelids. She must know that everyone was dead.
She wasn't going to shed those tears. Not in front of him. "My uncle and
I. We were heading home to Wiltshire."
He eased himself up a little. He saw her swallow as his thighs tightened
against her hip, then she lifted her chin, determined to ignore him,
determined to be as cool as if they were discussing the matter over tea
in a handsome parlor.
She had inestimable courage. No matter how she was beaten, she would
never surrender but would fight it out until the very end. It was there
in her eyes. All the silver-blue fire a man could imagine. She was
either a complete fool or one of the most extraordinary women he had
ever met.
Despite her warm honey spill of hair, her large, luminous eyes and her
perfect fragile features, she had a spine of steel.
Courage could kill out here in the West. That, he told himself, was why
he held to her so tightly. She needed to learn that she could be beaten.
"You're lucky as hell that the Indians didn't see you, you know," he
told her hoarsely.
She lifted her chin.
"I told you--they weren't Indians."
"Who were they?"
"Von Heusen's men."
"And who the hell is yon Heusen?" He was startled when he heard a
curious rumble in someone's throat behind him.
Still holding her, he whirled around. He looked at the faces of the
young men in his company.
"Well? Does someone want to answer me?"
It was Jon Red Feather who drawled out a reply. "Richard von Heusen.
Calls himself a rancher sometimes, an entrepreneur at others. You never
heard of him, Lieutenant?"
"No, I never heard of him."
"You spend all your time on Indian affairs, Lieutenant," Jon said.
"You've been missing out on the shape of things down here."
It was true, Jamie thought. He hadn't wanted to know a lot about the
ranchers. He didn't want to se~ the carpetbaggers, or talk to them.
"You're telling me a guy named von Heusen did this?" he said to Jon.
Jon shrugged.
"I can't tell you that."
"I can tell you that he owns a hell of a lot of Texas," Monaban said
softly.
"It's a good thing it's a big state, else he might own a good half of
it."
Jamie looked curiously at the girl. Tess. Her eyes were upon him as she
watched him in silence, scathingly. Then she hissed with all the venom
of a snake.
"He's a carpet- bag get Yank. You ever heard tell about the
carpetbaggers down here? They're vultures. They came down upon a
defeated and struggling South, and they just kicked the hell out of us.
Bought up land the Southern boys couldn't pay their taxes on 'cause the
Union didn't want any Confederate currency. Well, Lieutenant, von Heusen
bought up Wiltshire."
"You're trying to tell me that a Yankee named von Heusen came out here
and shot your wagon train full of arrows?
In broad daylight, just like that?"
" No, not just like that," she retorted.
"And I doubt that he came out here himself. He had his men all greased
down and painted up like Comanche, just in case someone didn't die."
"So you did see Comanche attack the wagon."
"No. That's not what I'm telling you at all. I'm no fool, Lieutenant.
I was born and bred out here and I know a Comanche when I see one. And I
know a fraud when I see it, too."
"You're saying a group of white men came out here and did this to theft
own kind?"
"Yes, Lieutenant, how wonderfully perceptive of you. Why, you must have
studied at West Point! That's exactly what I'm telling you." Her lashes
flicked again.
"Von Heusen masterminded this whole thing. You need to arrest him,
Lieutenant. Arrest him for murder." "You said yourself, yon Heusen
himself probably wasn't even here."
Her eyes widened, her fury seemed to deepen, but she kept her voice low
and controlled.
"You're not going to arrest him?"
"I'm not a sheriff to begin with, Miss. Stuart. And if I were, I'd have
to have some kind of proof."
"I'm your proof!"
"It would be your word against his!"
"He wanted our land!"
"Lots of men try to buy land. It doesn't make them murderers I ' She
looked as if she wanted to scream, or at least gouge out another pound
of his flesh.
"You're a fool!"
"Thank you kindly, ma'am," he retorted.
She gritted her teeth. Tears stung her eyes again.
"Get the hell off me."
He realized he was still lying against her, still holding her down.
She wasn't trying to kill him anymore. She just looked as if she wanted
to escape him, the touch of him, the sight of him.
"I can't go bringing in a man for something without some kind of proof!"
he told her furiously.
"And not at the word of a half-crazed girl."
"Oh!" She raked out at him again. He caught her hand, then he rose to
his feet, dragging her up with him. His jaw twisted hard against the
loathing he saw in her eyes. "Lady" -- "Lieutenant!" Charlie called to
him, walking around from the field of corpses.
"Shall I start a burial detail?"
She was staring past Charlie, staring at the white-haired man who had
been hit by the arrow then shot through the heart.
"Oh, God!" she gasped. She stumbled forward, trying to reach the corpse.
The blood fled from her face, and her beautiful features became as ashen
as the smoke-charred sky. She paused suddenly, unable to go any farther.
"Oh, no, oh, God. Uncle Joe," she whispered, reaching out a hand.
She did not take another step. Even as she reached out, she was falling.
Her lashes fluttered over her beautiful eyes, and she began to sink
toward the ground. Instinctively, Jamie rushed forward. He caught her as
she fell, sweeping her into his arms. She was as cold as death itself,
and remained every bit as pale as he stared down at her.
There was silence all around him. His men looked on. "Charlie, yes!
For God's sake, yes! Get a damned burial detail going, and get it going
quickly!" The men turned around, hustling into action.
And Jamie stared at the girl, wondering just what in hell he was going
to do with her. He needed to set her down, to let her lie somewhere. She
was a slight burden, weighing practically nothing, or so it seemed.
Yet she was a burden. A definite burden.
He hurried toward her wagon, maneuvered up to the floor of it and laid
her on the bed. He meant to turn around and leave her and call for the
company surgeon, but for some reason he paused and found himself
smoothing out her sun and-honey hair and brushing her cheek with his
knuckles. He felt a sensation down his back and looked up quickly.
Jon Red Feather was just below him, looking into the wagon.
"She's still out cold."
I'll call Captain Peters. He doesn't have much hope, but he's still
checking to see if there is any breath remaining in any of the bodies."