“She's over at the Novak place now,” he said, rubbing his chin sadly. “She kind of figured that maybe you'd come back here. She wanted me to tell you to come to Virginia as soon as you get a chance.”
I looked at him. “Virginia?”
“She's selling the ranch and moving back there with her people. Runnin' a ranch is too big a job for a woman. And since your pa...”
His voice trailed off, but I knew what he was thinking. Now that Pa was gone, and I couldn't stay here to help her, there was nothing else for her to do. It hurt me at first, thinking about giving up this ranch that Pa had worked so hard for. But Ma had never really liked it. She only wanted to be where Pa was. It was the best thing, I thought, for her to move back with her own people until I could clear myself with the Texas courts.
I said, “Tell her I'm all right, Bucky. Tell her not to worry about me, and I'll see her in Virginia as soon as this thing blows over.”
Bucky said, “Sure, Tall. Now I'll get that horse for you.”
He went in the barn and in a few minutes he came back with Red, all saddled and ready to go. I slapped the horse's glossy rump. “You ready to travel, boy? You got your belly full of corn?”
Red switched his head around and nuzzled the front of my shirt. I thought wryly, That's the first sincere gesture of welcome I've had since I got back.
Chapter 6
I didn't try to go to the Novaks' and say good-by to Ma. That would be pushing my luck too far. I got on Red and we headed west again, crossing the Bannerman wagon road just in case the cavalry was up in that direction, then we went north, cross-country, until the big ranch house and barns loomed up in the darkness. I didn't have any guarantee that there weren't any soldiers in one of those barns just waiting for me to pull a fool stunt like this, but that was a chance I had to take. As I got closer, I saw that there was a light in the back of the house, in the kitchen.
I left Red at the side of the house, and the back door opened.
“Joe, is that you?”
Then I stepped into the light, and Laurin gasped. Her hands and arms were white with flour, and there was a pale powdery smudge on the side of her nose. She was just beginning to bake the week's supply of bread.
“Tall!” Her voice was frightened. “Tall, you can't come here. The cavalry left only an hour ago, looking for you.”
“The cavalry can't keep me away from you,” I said. “Nothing can.”
Quickly, she dusted her hands and arms on her apron and came down the steps. I put my hands on her shoulders and I could feel her shiver as I drew her close and held her tight. “Oh, Tall,” she cried, “it's no good. Meeting this way, in darkness, afraid to be seen together.”
I kissed her lightly and we stood there clinging to each other. I pressed her head to my shoulder and the clean smell of her hair worked on me like fever. “I'll come back,” I said. “It won't always be like this.” Then I asked the question that I was half afraid to ask. “Laurin, will you wait for me? Will you trust me to straighten things out in my own way?”
For a moment she didn't say anything. Her body was rigid against me and I knew that she was crying.
“You know I'll wait,” she said at last. “Forever, I suppose, if I have to. It's just that I'm afraid... something awful and wrong is happening to us.”
I knew she was thinking about those three men.... She didn't know about the fourth. “Can't you see, I had to do it?” I said. “I couldn't just stand by and let them get away with it—doing what they did. You see that, don't you?”
“I don't know,” she breathed. “I just don't know.”
“I'm not going to get into any more trouble,” I said. “Don't be afraid of that. I'll join a trail herd and go up to Kansas until the bluebellies are out of Texas courts. Then I'll come back and stand trial.”
She raised her head and looked at me for a long tune. And at last she began to believe it.
“I'll wait,” she said quietly. “If you'll do that, I'll wait as long as I need to. It won't be too long.”
That was the way I remembered her, the way she looked as she said, “I'll wait.” And then her face softened, and for a moment it seemed that she was almost happy. “I'll get you some bacon,” she said, “and some fresh bread. You'll need something to eat while you're traveling.”
“We'll get supplies,” I said. I didn't want to go, but the time had come and I couldn't put it off any longer. Then I kissed her—hard enough to last as long as it had to last. “Don't you worry,” I said. “I'll come back.” It seemed that I was saying that more often than was necessary to convince her. Maybe I was trying to convince myself.
I looked back once as I rode away, and she was still standing there with the lamplight streaming out the door and falling over her like a veil of fine silk. She half lifted her hand, as if to wave, and then let it drop. After a while, she went back into the house and that was the last I saw of her.
It was a quiet trip riding back to the shack. There was no sign of soldiers or police anywhere, and I made up my mind to get out of this part of Texas as soon as I got back to where Pat Roark was. I was afraid that we had stretched our luck about as far as it would go.
I judged that it was about midnight by the time we reached the hills. I nudged Red down into the gully that was Daggert's Road and stopped for a moment to listen, but there was still no sound except the faint night wind and the faraway bark of a coyote. We had almost reached the cabin when Red started shying away from something in the darkness.
I pulled up again and listened. There still wasn't anything that I could see or hear, but that didn't mean that there was nothing out there in the darkness. I felt of Red's ears. They were pricked up, stiff, his head cocked to one side. I reached far over and felt of his muzzle. It was hot and dry.
That worried me. Normally a horse's nose is cool and moist; it's only when he senses danger that it gets that hot, dry feel. Then I felt little ripples of nervousness in the long muscles of his neck. I knew something was wrong. But before I could do anything about it, a voice shouted:
“Throw up your hands, Cameron. We've got you surrounded!”
Instinctively, I drove the steel in Red's ribs and he jumped forward with a startled snort. I didn't know who was doing the shouting, but I could guess. I dumped out of the saddle as we neared the cabin, and Red spurted on like a scared ghost, heading for higher ground. I hit the ground hard, rolled, and scrambled for the door of the shack. If I had stayed on Red, they would have cut me down before he could have taken a dozen jumps, and besides, that gully of a road led to a dead end about a hundred rods up in the hills.
A rifle bellowed in the darkness, another one answered it, and then the whole night seemed to explode to life. Carbines, I thought as I crawled the last few yards to the doorway on my hands and knees. Cavalry carbines. Why the hell doesn't Pat shoot back?
Then my foot hit something soft and wet and sticky, and I had my answer. Pat Roark was dead. I didn't have to make an inspection to know that. I tried hurriedly to roll him over and it was like rolling a limp sack of wet grain. I let him stay where he was, got the door closed, and fumbled in the darkness for the window.