The Texas Ranger's Daughter Read online

  “We need fresh horses if we’re riding on.”

  Laurie turned to face the station. “Do you think there’s anyone here?”

  “Let’s see.”

  The wind picked up as they crossed the yard, blowing cold, pelting them with grit and lifting dirt devils that beat against their backs and legs. Laurie shielded her face as Boon retrieved the saddlebags and took his Colt Lightning from the rifle sheath. Then he clasped her hand and ran with her across the dusty yard, past the well, ringed by crudely made brick with bits of straw sticking out. A bucket sitting upon the rim, suspended from a rope and pulley, fell into the well as they passed. Boon headed for the reddish-orange hut speckled with large patches of missing plaster that exposed the stacked clay brick. There was no window, just a scarred wooden door with so many nicks and chinks upon the surface that it looked as if it had been used for some sort of knife-throwing contest. There was a peek hole, closed and also shuttered, at about eye level.

  She held down her skirt with both hands as Boon tried the door and found it barred.

  He kicked with his boot heel. “Open up.”

  “Tarnation!” came a shout from inside. “Who’s there?”

  The peek hole flapped open, but Laurie could see no one there.

  “You the stationmaster?” asked Boon.

  “No, I’m the gal-dern president of Mexico. What do you think?”

  “This here is Laurie Bender, daughter of Captain John Bender of the Texas Rangers.”

  The business end of the rifle emerged from the slot in the door, directed at Boon.

  “And you are?”

  He didn’t answer that directly. “I’m bringing her back to her father. We was to meet here. He should have arrived already.”

  “Well, he ain’t. Nor have I received any word on the last stage to expect him, so you two are trespassing. Only ones allowed here are those traveling with C. Bain & Company and the U.S. mail. So water your horses and skedaddle.”

  “But the storm,” said Laurie.

  “Wait it out in the stable if you like.”

  She and Boon exchanged a look.

  “We need horses,” he said.

  The door flung open as a lightning flash preceded the boom of thunder.

  “Changed my mind. Come inside.”

  Laurie glanced at Boon, who nodded, so she scooted in before him.

  Boon followed her, closing the door against the blowing sand.

  Laurie rubbed her eyes, succeeding only in working the grit farther in.

  The interior was so dark that it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, but she located the stationmaster. A scruffy, disheveled man stood clutching his rifle to his cheek.

  Boon bolted the door then turned.

  “Can’t have you stealing my mules. They’re good for nothing, but they’re all I got.”

  “I’ll trade our horses. Two three-year-old quarter horses and a scrappy mustang. Sound, but spent.”

  The stationmaster lifted a brow at that and lowered the barrel of the rifle.

  “Why you in such a hurry? You just said yourself a storm’s coming. Looks like a whopper, too.”

  The stationmaster resumed his seat, set the rifle beside him like an honored guest and lifted a forkful of beans to his mouth. He was not a neat eater, Laurie saw. She glanced away, surveying the low roof and exposed beams. Beside her lay a bench with a battered tin basin of dirty water and a cake of soap that seemed to have been rolled on the dirt floor judging from the flecks of grime that dotted it. The nail above the basin held a length of string long enough to allow a guest to use the comb attached to the other end, as if she would.

  “We got company behind us,” said Boon. “George Hammer and his men. We need the cover of the station or we got no chance.”

  “George…” This news rendered him speechless. His jaw clacked up and down a few times as his face turned scarlet. He rose to his feet so fast he upended the bench, sending his rifle tumbling over. He drew his arms through his sagging suspenders as he grabbed the gun. Then he hustled across the room, pausing to retrieve his hat and rubber slicker from the peg beside the door.

  “Damn you both for bringing him to my door.”

  “You’re leaving?” asked Laurie, but the answer was obvious, as his hand was already on the latch.

  “The Apache robbed this station last year. Killed the last stationmaster. Would have got me, too, but I made it out the kitchen window after dark and hid in them cliffs out back.”

  “I could use another man,” said Boon.

  The man snorted. “And I could use a fast horse instead of a mean, pig-eyed mule. But you’re crazy if you think I’m waiting for the Hammer to come a-knocking. You two have any sense, you best run on those spent horses. That’d be your only chance.”

  “But my father—”

  “Will find you both dead.” With that he threw open the door. The wind blew it open so that it crashed against the outside wall, sending more plaster to the ground. The yard had taken on the strange green color of an imminent storm as the wind howled like a living thing. Lightning flashed purple, blinding Laurie for a moment. Before she could even blink, the thunder crashed.

  The stationmaster charged toward the stables, heedless of the weather, but his hat blew off and he lit off chasing it. Then he staggered as if pushed from behind. Laurie shielded her eyes to watch him, for he no longer ran but straightened, standing motionless for a moment. Then he dropped his slicker.

  “What’s the matter with him?” she called, trying to be heard above the whistling wind.

  The man fell to his knees and Laurie now saw a crimson stain welling through the pale mustard-yellow flannel.

  “Shot!” called Boon, shoving her backward so hard she fell to her backside as the top of the door frame exploded into chunks.

  Wood splinters showered the floor as Boon slammed the door closed and lifted the beam into the metal holder, barring the entrance.

  “Hammer!” called Boon.

  Laurie wasn’t sure if she heard gunfire or rain lashing against the walls.

  “Stay down,” Boon called as he went to the door, threw back the small latch and opened the peek hole, staying low as he slid the barrel of his rifle out the window. “There’s nine riders in the yard.” He squeezed off a quick shot. “Eight.”

  He ducked down as bullets whizzed through the opening and thudded into the wall opposite.

  Boon rose again, firing in a rapid series of shots as Laurie crawled toward him.

  “Seven. They’re making for the stables. Six.”

  His rifle clicked, indicating he had emptied his weapon. Laurie scrambled to find ammunition and located two boxes on the shelf next to the flour. She brought them, but they were the wrong caliber.

  Boon gave her a look. “Still got Freet’s pistol?”

  “Yes.”

  “You any good?”

  “I can kill a stewed tomato can from forty paces.”

  “Good enough,” he said.

  Beyond the door, gunfire sounded, sharp beyond the hum of rain beating on the roof. He set aside the rifle and drew his pistol. Aiming it out the small flap door, he fanned the hammer like a gunfighter.

  “I can reload for you,” she said. “Where are your extra cartridges?”

  He rummaged in his vest pocket and retrieved two rounds. “These for the rifle,” he said, passing them to her with the gun. “All I got left are on my belt,” said Boon, now flattened against the wall as he reloaded his revolver from the dwindling supply of bullets on his gun belt.

  Laurie quickly slid the bullets into the rifle and held it ready.

  The pistol replenished, Boon peered out the flap again. He fired once out the window.

  “They’ve taken cover.”

  Laurie’s eyes widened at that. “What shall we do?”

  “I figure maybe they’ll try to sneak around back while they draw fire from the front. When I’m out of ammo, they’ll come through the roof or wait out the rain
and burn us out. We have to make a run for it now or we’ll be trapped in here.”

  “Where?”

  “Out the kitchen window like the stationmaster said, and up those cliffs.”

  “They’ll see us.”

  “The rain might cover us same as darkness. But we got little choice. They’ll be around back soon. Best be gone before they take down that door or come through the roof.”

  “Without horses?”

  He stared at her. “Maybe I can circle round to the stables and steal those mules.”

  “No.” She was certain that was suicide. “We stay together and wait for my father.”

  Boon’s face was grim.

  “You don’t think he’s coming.”

  He drew a long breath and then stroked her cheek with his gloved hand. “If you were mine, I’d be here unless I was dead. Something happened. Something bad. Guess we’re on our own.”

  His answer sent a chill down her spine.

  He set the pistol to half cock and opened the loading lever. The cylinder dropped into his palm. He handed it over with a fistful of bullets. Laurie had never loaded a Remington, but she slid the bullets into place and handed it back. Boon snapped the lever into place.

  Laurie held out Freet’s gun to Boon.

  “Four shots,” she said.

  He nodded and tucked the weapon in the front of his holster, beneath his belt buckle.

  “We’ll make for the cliffs, but if they come for us, if I’m not alive to protect you, Laurie, you got to use my mother’s gun.”

  Laurie retrieved the little pistol from her skirt pocket, gripping it in her open hands as a cold sweat broke out all over her body.

  “You understand? Don’t let them take you alive.”

  She wrapped her icy fingers around the smooth hardwood grip and pressed the weapon to her bosom. Icy certainty settled in her heart. She would not be taken alive.

  She met his troubled stare. “I understand.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Laurie retrieved Boon’s oilskin slicker and put it on as he instructed, then tucked the derringer into the pocket sewn into the side seam. The pistol thumped against her leg, reminding her of her final means of escape.

  Boon had placed Freet’s pistol in his empty holster and now clasped Laurie by the elbow and they dashed to the small window above a dingy table. Boon carried his empty rifle. He hesitated at the shuttered window.

  “If they’ve surrounded us, we’re finished,” he said.

  “And if we stay here?”

  “Might last until the Rangers come.”

  She leveled a steady gaze upon him and shook her head.

  He nodded. “Only chance is to get into those rocks and hide.”

  Laurie opened the shutter. Boon peered out into a gray curtain of rain so heavy he could just make out the hill some fifteen feet beyond. Someone pounded on the front door.

  “Boon! Open up!”

  “Cal, Hammer’s second,” he said and fired two shots through the center of the door. The third time he pulled the trigger, his rifle clicked uselessly. Boon laid aside the gun. “Can’t waste any more bullets on him.” He sounded remorseful at this. He looked down at Laurie and nodded, his decision made. “Let’s go.”

  Boon jumped up on the table and then lifted Laurie up and out into the torrent. She landed in an ankle-deep lake that formed against the back wall. The rain pelted down, stinging her face, soaking her hair and sliding down the collar of the overlarge slicker. It was a deluge, a Biblical flood falling from above, sending newborn streams running all about her. Puddles splashed with the new raindrops. Laurie used one hand as a visor, searching for the outlaws, but seeing no one, while the other hand clutched the smooth grip of the derringer.

  Two shots. Only two.

  She turned to see Boon following her. He clasped her hand and they ran, blindly, splashing through the downpour. They stumbled up the incline that rose before them, dodging around rocks and past prickly pears, saw grass and muddy water pouring down from above in rivers. Scaling the white gypsum bluffs hand over hand, Laurie’s skirts became a tangle, but he pushed from behind and shoved her up before him.

  Behind them came the sound of gunfire, or was it just the pounding rain?

  Laurie’s sodden skirts weighed her down and the slicker flapped against her, impeding her steps, making her stagger. Boon righted her again. She was slowing them. And so she did an unladylike thing, lifting her skirts and the slicker all the way up to her waist, baring her legs to the cold stinging rain, and ran like an antelope up the steep incline. Boon stayed behind her, helping her, shielding her. The upward slope ceased so abruptly she fell onto the bluff above the stage station.

  “We’re on the top,” she called, trying to be heard above the beating rain.

  “Keep going.”

  Laurie looked back and noticed men behind them, dark outlines scrambling up the trail. Boon saw her panicked expression and turned, firing three rounds from his pistol. The men dropped to the ground. An instant later, return fire sounded above the torrent.

  The Hammer had found them.

  Boon grabbed her hand and dragged her along, running with her to the nearest cover, then pushing her behind a clump of rock that jutted from the top of the butte. The men closed the distance between them by half.

  How had they noticed their escape so fast?

  Boon fired again. Laurie’s brain clicked off the tally. Two shots left.

  Laurie drew the other pistol from Boon’s holster and took aim, waiting for a man to appear.

  “Reload,” she ordered.

  She watched them coming, three men spread wide, and aimed at the center man. The flash and kick shocked her, hurting her wrist, and she nearly dropped the weapon. Her target staggered and fell.

  “Oh,” she cried, feeling the pain in her own chest as she realized what she had done. Had she killed him?

  Boon had his pistol reloaded and took aim beside her.

  The outlaws scrambled for cover, firing from behind rocks.

  Boon fired all six shots. He removed his cartridge belt and handed it over, accepting the pistol he had given her and using it to hold them back as she reloaded. It was a tactic that could not last long.

  “This is the last,” she said. “Three rounds.”

  Boon accepted the pistol and they waited as the shots pinged off the stone above them. Boon peered around the rock.

  “They’re coming.” He fired all three shots then ducked for cover again. “I think I got Cal.”

  Laurie offered the derringer.

  He pushed it back toward her. “You keep it.”

  Their eyes met and held. He didn’t have to remind her of what to do with that last shot.

  Laurie drew the pistol against her frantically beating heart.

  “I’m so sorry, Laurie. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

  “You did. You kept them from hurting me. I’ll never forget that.”

  She reached for him and he took her up in his arms as their mouths met. The kiss was swift and full of the longing for what they would never have. Boon drew back, pushing her behind him.

  The rain no longer swept in dark curtains, the storm now racing past them. The sky brightened as the rain continued to fall, gently, as if in apology.

  She could hear the outlaws shouting back and forth.

  Gunshots sounded again, but none pinged off the rocks before them. Her ears must have been playing tricks because the gunfire sounded as if it came from farther down the bluff.

  Laurie peeked over the rock outcropping to see George Hammer running toward them, a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. He was looking back over his shoulder instead of at them, and that was why he did not see Boon launch himself at Hammer. Laurie noticed three other outlaws charging at them. They did not stop to help their leader, but dashed past them, disappearing in the maze of irregular rock formations. What in the world?

  More gunfire sounded.

  Another man appeared, co
ming at a lope, rifle held at chest level. Laurie leveled the pistol but paused when she saw his rifle aimed at the retreating band of outlaws. Laurie glanced at Boon, still fighting Hammer. He was ten feet off and the outlaw’s pistol lay beside them. They now rolled and tumbled back and forth as each tried to stab the other with the knife they both gripped.

  Another man appeared at the mesa bluff and Laurie swung the pistol back in that direction. Two shots, she remembered, one for Hammer, one for her. She had none left for whatever was coming up the hill.

  George Hammer rolled to straddle Boon. Hammer used his head as a battering ram against Boon’s forehead. Hammer took possession of the knife and raised it. Laurie took aim and squeezed the trigger.

  A piece of Hammer’s hat tore as the bullet whizzed by. Hammer glanced in her direction. In that instant Boon cocked a fist and landed a blow to the outlaw’s jaw. Hammer fell backward, but quickly scrambled for his pistol and swung it in Boon’s direction. He raised the weapon and Laurie did not hesitate. She closed one eye, sighted the center of Hammer’s chest and squeezed the trigger.

  Two shots sounded simultaneously, one from a rifle behind her and one from the empty derringer Laurie held in her trembling hand.

  George Hammer arched, dropping his knife. He stared at her as he lifted both arms in surrender. He stood, took two staggering steps in her direction when another rifle shot popped from behind her and he fell back into the mud, staring openmouthed at the cloudy sky, heedless of the rain. Boon staggered to his feet.

  Someone shouted, “Go after the others.”

  Laurie recognized the voice.

  She turned and saw the shooter lowering his rifle, the dull gleam of the Texas star pinned to the man’s hat. Her heart pounded in her throat as the first glimmer of hope burst upon her like a beam of sunlight from the heavens.

  Laurie looked at the man beside the shooter as he motioned behind him. He turned and pointed with his Colt revolver in the direction the outlaws had taken. Taller than the rifleman, he wore his star pinned to his slicker. He turned to her and she met cold blue eyes, so different from her own, but almost as familiar.

  “Papa!” she cried, crawling to her feet.