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He’d had to browbeat Jack Lang into letting him join the party. The Easterner had been hell-bent on going alone with his few men, and Thorn had a sudden mental image of the older man lying dead in the Arizona dust.
His conscience had burned him raw over his assumptions about Trilby. He’d done enough damage to her reputation that he hadn’t felt right about going back over to the Lang place. He knew Jack and the rest of the family despised him for what he’d said to Trilby, although, miraculously, she seemed not to have told anyone what really happened during that ride on the desert. It was better than he deserved, he admitted. Now at least he could help keep her father alive. Perhaps that would atone a little for his actions.
Samantha had been asleep, and he hadn’t woken her. The child was so withdrawn and quiet lately that he worried about her. She was thin and pale as well, not a healthy child in any way. He wished that his emotions weren’t locked in steel so that he could communicate with her on some level. But since Sally’s death, Samantha had drawn into her own mind. He didn’t know how to reach her anymore.
He watched Jack Lang ride up, his expression preoccupied.
Jack, in turn, studied the Westerner, feeling suddenly overdressed and out of place. Thorn looked grim, Jack thought, and even under the circumstances, he was able to appreciate how very Western and dangerous the other man looked in his jeans and blue-checked Western shirt and red bandanna. He had on wristbands, as Jack did, but Vance’s were scarred and worn dark with age. His boots had small rowels on the spurs and he was wearing wide, bat-wing leather chaps. His hat wasn’t a new one like Jack’s. It was weather-beaten and warped, but it suited him somehow. A rope was looped over his saddle horn and he was carrying the usual saddle roll that most of his men’s gear sported. A colorful Mexican poncho was thrown over one broad shoulder and he was smoking a cigarette with lazy disinterest. For a man going to war, he looked magnificently unaffected.
Jack had to bite back angry words. He hadn’t really spoken to Thorn since his conversation with Curt Vance. It was difficult to have to deal with a man who’d been instrumental in very nearly ruining his daughter’s reputation.
“Ready to go?” Thorn drawled when Jack reached him. “I can add ten men to the party.”
“I’m sure we have enough,” Jack replied stiffly. “I brought six.”
Six men, plus himself and Vance, to hunt down a party of bandits. Thorn could have chuckled at the man’s innocence. The Mexican revolutionaries probably boasted fifty men. Fighting across the border was growing stronger by the day as the resistance to Díaz’s rule mounted. Several different small bands of insurrectionists were raiding local stock from the northern Sonoran province of Mexico—and they weren’t averse to taking local cattle over the border to sell as well as feed hungry men. Of course, they didn’t exactly pay for the local cattle they took. Things in Mexico were definitely building to war, Thorn thought privately, and he was worried more by the day about the grim possibility of American intervention if fighting migrated over the border. Intervention would mean war with Mexico, and no one wanted that.
“I’d feel more comfortable with my men along,” Thorn said. He looked straight at Jack as he spoke and he didn’t blink. The look was as vivid as a curse.
“As you wish, of course,” Jack said austerely. He hadn’t mentioned Trilby, and neither had Thorn. But both men were having trouble acting naturally.
Thorn had heard about Jack’s visit to his cousin and what had been said. He and Curt had argued for the first time in memory. But at last, Curl had convinced him that his shadowy paramour was not Trilby. The revelation had left Thorn confused and brutally ashamed. He’d savaged Trilby, all because Sally had accused her. But why had Sally lied? That was the only piece of the puzzle he couldn’t fit in.
However, there was no time for it now. Thorn put his hand to his mouth and let out a fierce, piercing whistle. Immediately ten mounted men rode out and joined the small party.
They looked a lot like their boss, Jack thought. Most of them wore weather-beaten clothing and they were armed to the teeth. One or two of them looked absolutely roguish. There were two Apaches in the group; one short, aging one and another who was tall and well built with oddly intelligent black eyes. He looked positively grim.
“You’re not taking the Indians?” Jack asked under his breath.
Thorn mentally counted to ten. “Naki and Tiza are my trackers,” he told Lang. “The best in my outfit. I can’t even find the signs they can.”
“Look here, I don’t trust Indians,” Jack snapped. “The stories I’ve heard about them…”
“I don’t imagine you’ve heard that in the old days some whites kept the Apaches as slaves?” he asked quietly. “Or that soldiers often attacked Indian villages and killed women and children?”
Lang cleared his throat. “Well…”
“I’ll vouch for my men. All of my men,” Thorn said quietly. “Let’s ride.”
“Yes, of course.” Jack raised his arm and motioned for his men to follow. He tried to fall in alongside Vance, but the man put his spurs gently to his horse’s flank and went like the wind. Jack Lang knew for a fact that he couldn’t have managed to even stay on the horse at the speed Vance was going. He fell back, riding with his own group as Vance and his men outdistanced them. Jack refused to let himself ask who was leading the party. It was apparent that Vance was.
Despite the faint color breaking over the mountains, it was mostly dark. But the Apaches dismounted from time to time and stared around at things like boulders and stony ground. Lang was certain no man could track over rock, but the Apaches were able to. They led the men across the broad, white river that separated Jack’s land from Vance’s, and off to the west of Douglas.
“Vance, this is near the border. Damned near the border,” Jack said, voicing his concern. “We can’t go over into Mexico without permission.”
Thorn leaned his wrists over his pommel and gazed at Jack Lang. “Listen, there’s no question that the raiders have crossed the border. We only needed to know where, not if. They’ll be down below Agua Prieta, and we can find them if we’re quick. If we wait until we get permission, you’ll lose half your herd. Besides that, we can’t risk the army coming down here after us.”
“But, man, if we’re caught…”
“We won’t be.” He signaled to his men and rode forward at a quick clip.
Jack hesitated, but in a minute, he followed.
They trailed the Mexicans to a valley just below the San Bernadino Valley, careful to keep plenty of distance between them and the U.S. Army troops that were bivouacked there along the border. The bandits were so confident that they’d settled down to a nice, leisurely breakfast with one of Jack Lang’s steers being butchered as the main course.
There were only six of them. That convinced Thorn that they were only renegades, not part of any Maderista forces. These men were acting on their own, he was pretty sure, but they didn’t look quite smart enough to be acting without guidance. He wanted to know whom they were working for.
He signaled to his men, forgetting that it was Jack Lang’s party, and rode into the camp, unfurling his lasso at the same time. He threw a loop over the man who looked like the leader and jerked him down. The others had drawn their weapons, but finding themselves outnumbered and outgunned, they quickly threw up their hands, crying out in garbled Spanish.
A rapid monologue of Spanish exploded from Thorn, who stepped gracefully out of the saddle to hog-tie the leader. But as he began to question the man, one of the Apaches, the tall one, approached him and, with a cold look at Jack Lang, began to speak in his own tongue.
“We’re not alone here.”
“Speak English,” Thorn snapped.
“Not in front of him,” Naki replied, indicating Jack Lang. “I’ve heard what he’s been saying. If he insults me once more I’ll tie him bare-legged to a cactus. You tell him that,” he added, with a cold scowl in Jack Lang’s direction that made the older man look uncomfortable.
“Will you tell me what you found out?”
“When you tell this stage cowboy that he’s headed for a stake and some firewood, I will.”
Thorn glared at him. “It was the Iroquois in the Northeast, not the Apaches, who burned people at the stake!”
Naki glowered as he eyed Jack. “Are you sure?”
“Damn it!”
“Oh, very well! There are about a hundred Federales headed this way.”
“Why didn’t you say so?!” He turned in the saddle. “Federales,” Thorn said sharply. “We’ll have to clear out. Get those cattle moving!” he called to his men.
They fired into the air to stampede the milling cattle, and Thorn quickly threw his roped quarry across his own saddle before he mounted and lit out for the border.
“Don’t spare the horses!” he called to Jack Lang. “We can’t let ourselves be caught on this side of the border!”
“As I said myself before we sashayed down here,” Jack muttered to himself, but not so that Thorn could hear him.
They made it across the border just minutes ahead of the Mexican soldiers, cattle and all. In the ensuing rout, all but the Mexican thrown across Vance’s saddle managed to escape while the cowboys tried to salvage the cattle. They did lose a few head in the process, but not enough to make any great difference in Jack Lang’s fortunes.
With Thorn in the lead, they rode hell-for-leather for Blackwater Springs Ranch. Trilby heard them come up and ran to the window. Jack Lang and Thorn were just riding up to the front of the house. She was so relieved to see her father that she instinctively ran out onto the porch.
Thorn saw her just as he tossed the trussed Mexican to the ground and loosened his rope, leaving the freed man lying there. He looked utterly ruthless as he turned to her.
“Get in the house and stay there,” he said, with icy command.
She began to disobey just as the Mexican looked at her and laughed. He said something in Spanish to Thorn.
It was obviously something insulting, and about her, because Thorn went for him on the spot. The Mexican pulled a knife, which Thorn was too furious to notice. But Naki saw it. As the smaller man raised it to strike, Naki’s hand flashed down to the big hunting knife he carried in a sheath on his belt. He whipped it out and flung it, handle first, with frightening speed and accuracy, knocking the Mexican’s knife right out of his hand.
“I say!” Jack Lang exclaimed from where he was sitting beside Naki.
The Apache slipped out of the saddle gracefully and retrieved his knife. Thorn and the Mexican were mixing it up roughly now, knocking each other about with little care for which bystanders they knocked over.
“Heathen savages,” Naki remarked as he swung back into his saddle.
Jack Lang stared at him incredulously, diverted from the fight.
“That!” Naki emphasized, waving one arm toward Thorn. “God in heaven, man, don’t you even care that they’re in danger of bashing each other’s brains out? I thought you white people were civilized!” He managed to sound disgusted and superior.
“You speak English!” Jack gasped.
“Yes, but it leaves a foul taste in my mouth. Mixed metaphors, double negatives, alliteration…”
He turned his horse and rode off, still muttering to himself. He could barely contain his laughter as Jack Lang sat with his mouth open, gaping after him.
Thorn and the Mexican were drenched in sweat and covered with dust and blood. Thorn was tall, but the Mexican was broader, and his pride had been damaged by the indignity of his treatment.
But Thorn eventually beat him into a dazed submission and, dragging him up, began to question him in curt Spanish. The man answered reluctantly, but he did finally answer. Thorn let him go with a shove.
“Give him a horse,” he told Jack Lang. “I’ll reimburse you.”
“We’re letting him go?” Jack gasped. “But he should be arrested, tried for his crime!”
“I said, let him go,” Thorn told the older man in a way that defied protest.
Jack motioned to one of his men and sent him after a suitable mount. Trilby had gone back into the house at the beginning of the unpleasantness, but she was hopelessly drawn to the window as she heard the sickening thuds abate. What she saw made her run for the back porch, where she was violently sick.
While she was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping hot, sweet tea to calm her nerves, Thorn came in with her father. He was bare-headed, his face cut and badly bleeding, like his knuckles.
“Can you do something for Vance, Trilby?” her father asked curtly. “Your mother is in the bedroom and she won’t come out.”
Trilby didn’t blame her. “Of course,” she said, bucking up. She could hardly contain her nausea. The smell of blood was overwhelming. She got a pan and went to the sink, adding a clean cloth to the water she pumped into it. She sat down at the table beside a weary Thorn and slowly began to clean his cuts. She didn’t look into his eyes. In fact, he didn’t lift them; he acted oddly subdued. Perhaps, she thought bitterly, he was in pain. She had to fight the urge to leave the room and let him stay that way, but her soft heart outweighed her outrage for the moment.
“I don’t understand why you wanted the Mexican turned loose,” Jack said irritably.
“Keeping him would cause his men to come after him,” Thorn explained, wincing when Trilby wiped his cut cheek. “Some Mexicans are like Apaches when they want revenge.”
Jack was beginning to get the picture. “I see.”
“I doubt it, but you’ll just have to take my word for it. They make a habit of raiding north of the border for cattle and selling them to a big landowner in the southern province of Sonora. I told them if I caught them on this side of the border again, I’d have a little talk with their benefactor. I don’t think we’ll see them again anytime soon. But there are other raiders. This isn’t the end of it.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” He grimaced as he saw Thorn’s face. The man had helped him, despite the damage he’d done. “You look terrible.”
“Fighting isn’t pretty. Is it, Trilby?” he asked her, with a glint in his dark eyes as he suddenly looked up, full at her.
She averted her eyes. “No.” She had to choke the word out. “What did he say that made you attack him?”
“I’ll never tell you that,” he said solemnly. “He did it to provoke me, hoping he could catch me off-guard and put that knife into my belly.”
“Your Indian friend,” Jack said uneasily. “He’s not what I expected.”
“He’s not what anyone expects,” Thorn replied. “Thank God for his skill with a knife. I’d have been gutted but for him.”
“How fortunate for you that you weren’t,” Trilby said. Her eyes looked into his. “Am I to understand that you were actually defending me?” she asked, with quiet hauteur.
He caught his temper as it started to flare. When he spoke, his deep voice was soft. “Yes. No murderous bandit should be allowed to talk that way about a decent woman,” he said shortly.
She dipped the bloodstained cloth back in the water, noticing how pinkish the once clear water had become. She lifted it back to Thorn’s face. “But then, I’m not a decent woman, according to you,” she replied bitterly.
He caught her wrist tightly. His eyes were frankly apologetic. “Curt told me the truth. I’m sorry. More sorry than you realize.”
“Don’t ruin your image, Mr. Vance,” she said as she tugged her hand out of his grasp and continued her ministrations. “I hardly think apologies are part of your repertoire.”
Her father was hovering nearby. Thorn wished him in Montezuma. He needed to see Trilby alone, to see if he could mend the distance he’d put between them. She acted as if she despised him and he’d given her good reason. Even a blind man should have realized that her innocence was no pretense.
“Your man, the Apache,” Jack persisted. “He speaks English.”
“Does he, really?” Thorn asked, managing to look surprised.
Jack cleared his throat and walked out.
His absence gave Thorn the opportunity he’d wanted to patch things up with Trilby, if he could.
“Look at me,” Thorn said quietly. “Trilby…look at me.”
She forced her eyes down to his.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Did I frighten you that day?”
She flushed and turned away.
He got up, standing behind her. His lean hands caught her shoulders gently. “You’re upset. You’d never even been kissed, had you?” he said regretfully.
“No,” she said through her teeth. “And what you did…”
He let out a heavy breath. “Yes. What I did is something that belongs in a relationship between married people. You learned things about me that you’d never have known in the normal course of things.”
She flushed and was glad that he couldn’t see her face. “I’d better finish cleaning your face, Mr. Vance,” she said stiffly.
He turned her toward him, bending so that he could see her eyes. “Don’t hate me,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “I was wrong. I want to make amends.”
“Do you? Then please stay out of my way.” She laughed uneasily. “I want nothing to do with you.”
His face stiffened. He’d frightened and shocked her. She made him feel inadequate somehow. His hands fell from her shoulders and he sat back down again.
His attitude made her feel guilty. “You have my forgiveness if you think you need it, Mr. Vance. I’ll thank you for defending me, regardless. I’m sorry you were hurt on my behalf.”
“These little cuts?” he said heavily. “They sting, but they’re not much. I’ve had bullet wounds hurt worse. They tear the flesh when they penetrate.”
