“I can’t pursue the hostiles into Mexico. You know that, don’t you? If I were to cross the border, it might provoke an international incident.”
The Kid managed not to laugh. Out in the middle of nowhere, it was unlikely anybody would know or care if Nicholson and his troops crossed the border. The Mexican government might make a stink about it later on, but it would be too late to do anything other than complain.
They could avoid the issue entirely by catching up to the war party and dealing with it sooner rather than later. Every hour those women were in the hands of the Apaches was another hour when something bad could happen.
The Kid was under no illusions about how the prisoners were being treated. Probably all four of them had been raped already. Even if they survived the ordeal and escaped from captivity, their lives had been changed forever.
A lot of so-called good Christian folks wouldn’t have anything to do with a woman who had lain with a savage, even against her will. That attitude didn’t make any sense to The Kid, but he knew it was true.
If there was anybody strong willed enough to rebuild her life after such a thing, it was Jess Ritter. All the women deserved that chance, not just Jess.
“We’ll worry about the border when we get there,” The Kid told Nicholson. “Right now let’s just keep moving as fast as we can without running these horses into the ground.”
As they rode, The Kid constantly scanned the horizon ahead of them, looking for the dust raised by the Apaches and also watching for places where there might be an ambush. The raiders could have left some warriors behind, in case anyone gave chase. Even a relatively small group of Apaches could deal out quite a bit of damage if they took the cavalrymen by surprise.
Nicholson called frequent halts to rest the horses. The Kid didn’t like the delays, but he knew it was the right thing to do. On the frontier, a man’s mount had to be protected at all costs. It was often the only thing standing between that man and a lingering, miserable death from thirst or starvation.
During one of those stops, The Kid was giving the dun some water from his hat when Sgt. Brennan came up to him, trailed by a couple of troopers. The Kid glanced at Brennan and saw the belligerent look on the noncom’s face.
That trouble The Kid expected had shown up sooner than he anticipated.
“You’re mighty quick to talk about how the lieutenant didn’t stay with those pilgrims, Morgan,” Brennan said, getting right to the point. “But where were
The Kid kept a tight rein on his temper. It probably wouldn’t do any good, but he was going to try to prevent the conversation from turning into a problem.
“Like I told Lieutenant Nicholson, I was camped a few miles up the valley.”
“How come?” Brennan persisted. “You traveled with ’em for several days. How come as soon as they got where they were goin’, you up and left ’em?”
“That’s none of your business.” When The Kid was explaining things to Nicholson, he hadn’t mentioned what had happened between him and Jess, or Scott Harwood’s reaction to it. He certainly didn’t intend to explain it to the loutish sergeant.
“I reckon it is,” Brennan said. “You can’t go around accusin’ the lieutenant of abandonin’ those settlers, when you did the same damned thing! Actually, what you did was worse, to my way of thinkin’. The lieutenant had orders to follow. You just flat left ’em for the Apaches to slaughter!”
The dun had finished drinking. The Kid poured the little bit of water left in the hat into his hand and wiped it over his face, relishing the momentary coolness in the heat of the day.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant,” he said without looking at Brennan. “I had my reasons for what I did, and again, they’re none of your business.”
An ugly laugh came from the noncom. “What were you doin’, Morgan? Messin’ around with some poor sodbuster’s wife?”
“Back off,” The Kid snapped.
Instead, Brennan crowded closer. “That’s it, ain’t it? You didn’t leave. They ran you off. You’re just a no- account gunman who can’t keep his hands off other men’s women!”
“Brennan, I’m warning you—”
“What’re you gonna do, gunfighter? Shoot me?” Brennan laughed again. “The lieutenant and the rest of the boys will hang you if you do. It’d be pure murder if you drew on me. I’m not even carryin’ a gun.”
That was true. The sergeant’s rifle was still in its sheath on his horse.
With a grimace of disgust, The Kid turned away. He’d had enough.
But Brennan hadn’t. His hand shot out and grabbed The Kid’s arm. “Don’t turn your back on me, you no- good—”
The Kid twisted around, still holding the Stetson, and threw the hat in Brennan’s face. He reacted instinctively by letting go of The Kid’s arm and throwing his hand up to block the hat coming at his eyes. The Kid stepped in right behind it and hooked his right fist into Brennan’s midsection, a powerful blow that buried his fist in the noncom’s belly.
Brennan gasped and doubled over. The blow had driven the air from his lungs. He was out of the fight for a moment.
The same couldn’t be said for the two troopers who had walked over with him. They lunged at The Kid, fists swinging wildly.
The Kid avoided one man’s charge, but the second man caught him with a looping punch that grazed his jaw. The impact was enough to make him take a step back. Trying to seize the advantage, the second trooper rushed in and attempted to land a second blow.
The Kid blocked that one and snapped a left jab into the man’s face. Blood spurted from the soldier’s nose as The Kid’s fist landed solidly on it. Grunting in pain and surprise, the soldier stepped back. The Kid swung a right that slammed into the man’s jaw and knocked him against the dun. The horse shied away and the soldier fell.
After his momentum carried him past The Kid, the first trooper recovered his balance and tackled The Kid around the waist, driving him off his feet. He landed on the hard-packed rock and sand with stunning force.
The soldier flailed punches against his ribs. Knowing he couldn’t let himself get pinned down, The Kid brought up a knee and drove it into the man’s belly. Grabbing the front of the uniform shirt, he threw the cavalryman one way, then rolled the other to put some distance between them.
Brennan had recovered, and stepped in, aiming a kick at The Kid, who was trying to get to his feet. The Kid’s hands shot out, grabbed Brennan’s foot, and heaved. With a startled yell, Brennan went over backward and came crashing down on his back.
The Kid managed to stand up, but as soon as he did, the two soldiers came at him again. He blocked, punched, and slugged as other troopers gathered around, shouting encouragement to their comrades.
Brennan scrambled to his feet and rushed in to throw more punches of his own. The Kid was battered back and forth, but stubbornly stayed upright. He didn’t know where Nicholson was, but the lieutenant had to be aware of what was going on. The Kid wondered if Nicholson was going to let the fight continue until he was knocked down and stomped to death.
The answer came a moment later as Nicholson bellowed, “Attention! Attention, damn it! That’s enough!”
The spectators broke apart and started to form ranks, but Brennan and the other two kept throwing punches. The Kid ducked under a sweeping blow and threw an uppercut that caught one man under the chin and drove his head back so far it seemed like his neck ought to snap. The blow had enough steam behind it to lift the trooper off his feet and dump him on his back.
The Kid elbowed the other trooper aside and went after Brennan. He let his rage fuel him as he shot in punch after punch with blinding speed. His fists hammered Brennan’s face and body. Brennan backpedaled, but couldn’t escape the barrage. The Kid didn’t stop until Brennan’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
The Kid stood there with his chest heaving and blood trickling down his face.
Nicholson strode up to him and glared. “You’re under arrest, Morgan,” he snapped. “I won’t have brawling among my men.”
“You can’t arrest me. I’m not a damned soldier.”
