A Gown Of Spanish Lace Part 12

"Alone?" asked McDuff, and the whole group of men hooted in response.

"I sure know I wouldn't be iffena" said Skidder with a knowing look, leaving his comment dangling.

There were more nods and hoots in general agreement.

Laramie felt the back of his neck crawl. He didn't like the talk. Didn't like the crude insinuations. "Anybody want a game of cards?" he asked, hoping to turn the attention of the cabin to other things.

His invitation was quickly accepted, and a group of the men pulled their log stools close to the rough-hewed table.

Laramie shuffled the cards, let Shadow cut, then began to deal.

"What say we up the ante," said Skidder with a leer. "Winner gits to guard the prisoner."

All eyes turned toward Laramie to catch his reaction. He never flinched. Never moved a muscle except for the ones needed to distribute the cards. Even his deep eyes did not betray him.

He nodded slowly. " 'Bout time someone else took a turna"but a.s.signments are up to the boss. He decides who does what," he answered easily.

"Ya wanna gamble the girla"thet's yer doin'," responded Will in his gravelly voice, "long as she stays in camp."

Laramie nodded his consent without giving his true feelings away. He studied the cards in his hand. He wished he hadn't gotten himself cornered. Now he was in deep, for sure. What would happen ifa"? No, he wouldn't even think about it. This was one card game he had no intention of losinga"the stakes were too high.

"Ya really think this is gonna work?" asked Sam after the cabin had cleared of all but him and his boss.

Will's chuckle was not a pleasant sound. "Ya saw 'im," he snorted. "He acted like he couldn'ta cared lessa"but I'm thinkin' thet if someone else had won thet card game, there'da been gunplay."

Sam was surprised. "An' you'da"you'd welcome thet?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"It wouldn'ta been the Kid we'd carried out," said Will simply.

"Noa"but it mighta been a good man. An' we got a little trip to make 'afore long, to my recollection."

The boss nodded.

"I want this here thing settled before we make the next raid," he said, scowling. "It's drug on far too long already."

Sam nodded. "The boys have been more patient then I woulda expected," he agreed.

"Mighta worked out a lot sooner iffen he didn't keep her hidden away in thet cabin," growled the big man. "No one even gits to see what she looks like."

"Tell 'im. Tell 'im. Yer the boss."

"Yeah, but what do I tell 'im? I told 'im to take care of her. The weather's been mean as a rattlesnake. What reason could I dream up for 'im to make her come out in the cold?"

"Well, the weather should be on the upturn anytime now. Been winter far too long," observed Sam.

"Hope so," exclaimed the boss. "I'm sick an' tired of these here beans."

Sam stopped chewing on his plug of tobacco long enough to give that some thought. "Ya reckon he eats with the girl?" he asked at last.

"I've watched him comin' an' goin'. He don't hang around there long enough to eat," growled Will. "He's in an' out like he was plumb scared of her or somethin'."

"Wella"he don't seem to be losin' no weight," observed Sam. "Funny, ain't it?"

"I've got to get her out of there," Laramie told White Eagle.

His tone of voice and eyes gave away his intense feelings, even though he worked to keep his face expressionless.

"Something wrong?" asked the young brave.

"Yeahayeah, things areaareaI don't know. I can jest feel the tension mountin'. IaI can't keep her safeathere anymore. Even the locka"

He began to pace again.

It wasn't just the banter of the boys. Something had been happening since Laramie had been spending his days and nights reading his mother's Bible. Something he didn't understand. It was just therea"deep within him. He was beginning to see that this life of hisa"this way of living was all wrong. And bringing her to the camp and keeping her there against her willa"that was about as far wrong as they could get.

"How?" asked White Eagle, his simple question forcing Laramie back to the present.

He stopped his pacing. "I'll need yer help," he said, looking straight into the eyes of his friend.

"White Brother have my help," promised the Indian solemnly.

"Look, White Eagle. This will be dangerous. I know that. You must know that. My paa"he'd shoot to kill. He said so. In front of the whole gang. He'd not hesitatea""

White Eagle nodded. "You have gun," he interjected.

Laramie was shocked. "But I couldn't use ita"couldn't shoot my own pa," he said quickly.

White Eagle looked thoughtful. Then he nodded again. "You more Indian than White," he told Laramie. "Have honor."

But Laramie brushed aside the words. He was deeply sorry about the fact that White Eagle felt as he did about the white race, but perhaps some of the animosity had been deserved. He wished things had been different.

He took a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to risk your life," he continued.

"I owe White Brother," replied the brave.

"No. No," responded Laramie. "You don't owe me. Sure I helped you outa""

"You save my life."

"Okaya"I saved yer lifea"but thet doesn't meana""

"White Eagle owe," the brave said firmly.

Laramie thought on his words, then accepted them with a silent nod. He had to allow White Eagle his Indian ways. Had to give him an opportunity to repay whatever debt he felt he owed.

"I won't pretend I'm not grateful," he responded. "I don't think I could manage it alone."

White Eagle made no comment, but the expression in his eyes as they met Laramie's was as good as a covenant signed in blood.

Chapter Twelve.

Explosion Laramie was in a race against time. He could sense that whenever he entered the main cabin with its quarrelsome occupants. There was a tension in the aira"a feeling of agitation. Perhaps it could be chalked up to the length of the winter and the fact that the men had been virtually prisoners together for such a long period of time. Tempers flared. Patience had run out. Intolerance was evident. Snarls and complaints filled the air along with dark curses. Something was about to happen. Someone was going to snap.

But Laramie said nothing of his forebodings. Not even to Ariana. Nor did he tell her of his plans to remove her from the premises before the "explosion" took place.

He was sure White Eagle was working on his part in the escape plan. The hidden cave would be prepared for Ariana by the time she needed its safety. When Laramie gave Ariana her instructions, he wanted every detail to be in place.

It was a fairly simple plot. White Eagle would wait just beyond the cabin for Ariana. Laramie would ease her out of the cabin's window and send her through the darkness to the young brave. White Eagle, with his Indian cunning, would spirit Ariana to the hidden cave and leave her, protected and sequestered, until such time as Laramie was able to come for her.

In the meantime, Laramie was to lay a false trail. Riding his buckskin and leading his big bay and the little roan, he would take off through the valley, following the banks of the frozen river. He would travel dangerously close to the Indian encampment, a fact that would cause the gang some concern. It would pose no threat to Laramie. White Eagle had enlisted the help of his father, Chief Half Moon, and the braves were told to ignore the lone white man. Those orders had not been extended to any men who might follow.

At the edge of the Indian camp the saddles were to be slipped off Laramie's horses and transferred to the backs of new mounts. This too was part of arrangements made by White Eagle. Then Laramie would send his own horses on without a rider. He hoped it would be some time before the trackers would discover that the horses were traveling alone. Laramie was counting on the big baya"stolen from a local rancha"deciding to return to its home.

With the gang off on a false trail, Laramie planned to double back, pick up Ariana, and head out in the opposite direction. With all his heart he hoped that the plan would work and that it would buy him enough time to make an escape.

"If I don't make it," he had told White Eagle reluctantly, "try to take the girl back to your camp. Better she be the captive wife of one man than to be left at the mercy of the gang."

White Eagle nodded.

The two friends shook hands solemnly. Both knew the explosive nature of what they were attempting to do.

"You could die, my friend," said White Eagle.

Laramie nodded.

"That may be necessary," he said without emotion, then added thoughtfully, "But I plan to stay alive. A dead man won't be of much help to her."

White Eagle said nothing.

"I think all is ready," Laramie concluded.

"Must be soon," said White Eagle. "Spring stirring. Soon snow go. Ground go soft. Travel be hard."

"Three risings of the sun," agreed Laramie. "We should have everything in place by then. Three days. I'll have her come to you."

"She wear buckskins."

"I'll be sure. I'll git to her the things you provided."

"Three sun risings."

Laramie agreed and the two friends parted.

Only two of those sun risings had pa.s.sed when Laramie's worst fears were upon him. It all started innocently enough. The men had just lined up in the chow line to fill their plates with Rawley's beans and biscuits, and Skidder took a sniff of the mess and turned up his nose.

Laramie, who was eating again with the men so as not to draw undue attention, saw the scowling face but thought little of it. The men often complained about the fare.

But Rawley was in no mood to have his food insulted.

"What's the matter," he snapped, "ya expecting ham hock and sweet taters?"

"Wella"iffen I was, I sure ain't now," said Skidder with a snarl.

"Iffen ya think ya can do better, why don't you fix the fooda""

"Food?" snorted Skidder. "Ya call this food? Pig wouldn't et this slop."

"Pig? Guess it would too. You've been ettin' it fer a fair piece now."

Laramie saw Skidder's face and knew that trouble was coming. The others saw it too. There was a changing of positions as everyone eased out of the line of fire.

Will intervened. "You fellas have a burr under yer saddle, take it outside," was all he said.

Skidder, the plate of food still in his hand and a mean look on his face, nodded his head toward the door.

Laramie hoped Rawley would let it pa.s.s. Would just turn his back on the testy gun-toter. Everyone in the room knew that Rawley was no match for Skidder.

But Rawley was not looking for a way to back off. With one quick flick of his hand he upended the extended plate, splashing its contents over Skidder's face and down the front of his leather vest.

The fight did not make it outside. A hand flashed, Skidder's gun flamed, and Rawley fell forward, clutching his chest. A movement in the corner brought Skidder spinning around just as James, Rawley's sidekick, cleared the gun from his holster.

It was too slow. Skidder's second shot caught the man in the abdomen before he could even pull the trigger.

"Drop it," roared Will, his chair falling to the floor with a crash as he leaped to his feet.

Skidder let his gun hand lower to his side. But the defiance did not leave his eyes.

"I don't take kindly to a man shootin' up my quarters," the boss said, menace in his voice. "An' I don't take kindly to losin' two good men jest before a planned job. Seems to me ya coulda et yer beans an' kept yer mouth shuta"like the rest of us. Now wipe 'em off yer face and tend to those men."

Will picked up his chair, swore when he saw the broken leg, and jerked forward a log stool.

"Broke the only chair in the place," he mumbled angrily, still glaring at Skidder.

From the corner of the room, Laramie heard a groan. He pushed his way through the cl.u.s.ter of milling men and bent over James. The man was still breathing, but he had been hit hard.

"Help me git this man to my cabin," he said to Curly.

Curly's hands shook as he set aside his bottle of whiskey and bent to help lift the man.

All through the evening hours Laramie tried to stop the bleeding. Outside he could hear the sc.r.a.pe of the shovel in frozen ground. Skidder had been given the job of digging the grave for Rawley. Laramie hoped there wouldn't be one needed for James as well. Once he thought of going for Ariana. Maybe she could at least say a prayer for the dying man.