The Black Jacks

He did not have to elaborate on Escatawpa's many fine points. Anyone with eyes could tell that the gray hunter was second to none. It was easy for a Comanche, who knew horses better than most, to measure Escatawpa's worth. Caldero nodded his approval. McAllen's offer was an excellent one. The gray was worth ten ordinary mustangs. He relayed the offer to Gray Wolf.

Gray Wolf was silent for a moment. Though he tried to give nothing away, his expression betrayed him, and in an instant of indescribable elation McAllen knew without a doubt that his search had come to an end. This warrior did have Emily—and he was reluctant to give her up. I've found her. Thank God in heaven, I've found her. His heart was racing. What if the Comanche refused his offer? McAllen only knew that he would not leave without Emily.

At last Gray Wolf turned to Caldero and spoke. "I will give him back his woman, and he can keep his horse."

The decision created a stir among the Quohadis who overheard it. Caldero thought at first that perhaps he had misunderstood. He had never known a Comanche to give anything away in a transaction with strangers—especially of such value.

"You will accept nothing in return?" asked the bandit leader.

"Nothing. I owe this man the life of my son."

Caldero stared at McAllen. "You saved this man's child, Captain?"

McAllen nodded. "Unfortunately, I was too late to save the mother's life." He saw something new in Caldero's eyes then. Respect.

"Come," said Gray Wolf. "I will take you to her."

They walked to Gray Wolf's lodge, followed by a large portion of the village. Bidding McAllen and Caldero to wait outside, Gray Wolf entered the tepee. Emily was sitting right where he had left her. She was making a buckskin tunic in the way that Spotted Tail's wife had shown her. Shirts, leggings, and bison-hide boots were necessary winter garments, and it was her duty to make them for herself and Gray Wolf.

The look on the warrior's face caused her to put down her work and stand, suddenly afraid. He was so downcast that Emily could tell something terrible had happened. He gestured for her to follow him outside, and she obeyed with trepidation, knowing by the sounds from outside that a crowd had gathered.

The sight of John Henry McAllen stole her breath away.

"Emily!" He surged toward her, and she ran to meet him, blinded by tears of joy, flying into his arms.

"We'll never be apart again," he whispered, holding her tight, almost unable to speak. "I love you, Emily—I love you with all my heart. We'll be together for the rest of our lives. That's a promise."

"We'll take tomorrow as it comes," she said. "Today is what matters."

McAllen glanced at Gray Wolf. "Did he hurt you, Emily? Did he mistreat you?"

"No." She was laughing and crying at the same time. "No, he saved me. He was kind to me."

McAllen turned to Caldero. "Tell him—"

Distant gunfire from downcanyon reached their ears.

The sound triggered an instant reaction among the Comanches. They scattered, the women and children making for their lodges, the men heading for the weapons and horses. McAllen knew instantly what the gunfire signified. The Rangers had found the canyon and run into Caldero's bandoleros, who were waiting at the south end. He leaped into action, lifting Emily into the saddle on Escatawpa. As he prepared to get on behind her, she shouted a warning, and he whirled to see the warrior Red Eagle coming at him with knife raised. Joshua, though, had seen Red Eagle first. The half-breed drew his pistol and fired, hitting the Comanche war chief but not stopping him. Joshua lunged into the Quohadi's path, triggering the Colt again as they collided. Red Eagle's dead weight bore the half-breed to the ground. For a moment McAllen thought the warrior's knife, meant for him, had taken his friend's life instead. But then Joshua disentangled himself from the Comanche's corpse and ran to his horse.

Swinging aboard the gray hunter behind Emily, McAllen looked around for Caldero and Gray Wolf. Both men had vanished. The shooting was much closer now, and McAllen could hear the thunder of many horses ru

Having killed all but one of the bandoleros in a ru

Wingate was in front of his men, blazing away with his pistol, the reins clenched between his teeth, and guiding his horse with his knees. Seeing the Comanches fall like wheat before a scythe gratified him. This was the moment he had dreamed of, lived for, the reaping of his vengeance. He killed a woman, shot an old man in the back, dropped a warrior attacking him with a lance. Exterminate the vermin, young and old, male and female. He and his men had virtually wiped out a Penateka village two weeks ago, but Wingate's thirst for revenge had not been sated by that bloodletting. He had dared the Llano Estacado to find and punish the elusive Quohadis and now, at long last, he had found them. A clear trail from the site of the buffalo hunt had brought him right to the village, and he would not rest until life had been snuffed out of the last of these red devils. . . .

Armed only with a knife, Gray Wolf raced to Spotted Tail's tepee. This took him south, toward the Rangers galloping north, and as he neared his destination a Texan appeared out of the dust and powder smoke and headed straight for him, bent low in the saddle. Expecting Gray Wolf to run, the Ranger was Startled when the Comanche lunged straight into the path of his horse. Gray Wolf grabbed the bridle's cheek strap and threw his legs up and around the animal's neck. With one savage slash of the knife he opened the horse's throat. The Ranger could not get a clear shot in the split second that he remained in the saddle. Then the dying horse fell sideways, and the Ranger tried to jump clear. He landed poorly. Dazed, he was slow in getting up. Covered with the blood of the horse, Gray Wolf drove his knife to the hilt in the Ranger's back. Only then did he notice that one of the Ranger's boots had come off—it had been caught in one of the stirrups—and that the dead man's foot was missing. Gray Wolf rolled the Ranger over and gazed into the sightless eyes of Brax Torrance. . . .

Eli Wingate was the first man to reach the northern end of the Quohadi village. Checking his lathered mount, he jammed the barrel of his Colt Paterson between a thigh and the saddle, "broke" the pistol open, and began to replace the cartridges. As he prepared to make another ride through the Comanche tepees, he saw McAllen and what appeared by her clothing to be an Indian girl galloping north along the line of trees which marked the course of the river. With a snarl he kicked his horse into a gallop and gave chase. He recognized the gray hunter and the black jacket McAllen wore. Recognized, too, the half-breed who rode with McAllen. What was Houston's spy doing here among the Quohadis? No doubt conspiring against Lamar and the Republic of Texas, fraternizing with the red devils. McAllen was a traitor to his country, and now he would pay the price for his treason. Wingate raised the pistol and fired.

The sound of the gunshot turned McAllen's head. He watched in horror as Joshua slipped sideways off his horse. McAllen turned Escatawpa into the trees. A bullet smacked into a nearby tree trunk, throwing splinters. Sliding off the gray hunter, he swept Emily out of the saddle and pushed her to the ground.