“And I told you I ain’t got anything. If you want me to stop coming, just say so, Aimie!”
He wondered what he’d do if she said just that. She didn’t, though, and he kept seeing her, as often as he could. And when he wasn’t with her he thought about dark, tousled hair and cream-colored breasts and the way her lips parted lazily. And then he itched all over until he could see her again.
Aimie had opened doors more wondrous than he’d ever imagined, even in his wildest daydreams. Why, you could lie awake hot summer nights for a hundred years, thinking about what a girl’d be like—but it wasn’t anything like that at all!
“What you’re goin’ to do,” Cory warned him, “is wear it out the first year you use it. I heard of that happening.”
Howie turned away and buried his face in his meal, so Cory couldn’t see the color in his cheeks.
Cory laughed. “Well, it’s so. Way
Howie didn’t answer.
“I’m serious. You watch it, Burt. First thing you know…”
“Cory.” Howie turned on him. “It ain’t nothin’ I want to talk about. You hear?”
Cory read his look, but ignored it. “She give you that pretty red neckerchief?”
“No, she didn’t!” Howie snapped.
“Uhuh.”
“Well, she didn’t!”
Cory looked at him with mock astonishment. “Lordee, you mean you got more’n one going? You goin’ to kill yourself for sure, boy.”
Howie dropped his clay plate.. “That ain’t so.”
“What ain’t?”
“About Aimie.”
“Where’d you git it, then?”
“I said it wasn’t Aimie or no one else.”
“Uhuh.”
“Damn you Cory, Pardo gave it to me!” he blurted out. “It’s for learnin’ to shoot good an’ I reckon I earned it. I bet I’m better’n you are, too!” He was immediately sorry he’d opened his mouth, but it was too late to stop.
Cory sat down his plate. For a moment his eyes went hard, then the lazy grin bent the corners of his mouth again. “Yeah. Okay, kid…”
Howie didn’t know what to say. “Listen. I didn’t mean nothing by that.”
“Didn’t figure you did.”
Howie made an effort to finish his meat and beans.
“I was riding you some,” said Cory. “And I didn’t mean nothing, either. Only… I don’t get it about the ’kerchief. How come Pardo did that?”
Howie didn’t much want to talk about it anymore, but he explained what Pardo had told him.
Cory made a face. “I never heard of wearin’ no red hankie ’round your arm just ’cause you done a little shooting.”
“Pardo said they do it all the time, so I reckon they do.”
“Uhuh.” Cory chewed over that. He scratched his chin and squinted into the low hills. “If he give me something, I’d likely check it over real close to figure why. That don’t sound like the same Pardo to me.”
Howie didn’t know how to answer that. “I reckon he ain’t hardly ever the same,” he said lamely.
Which was likely right, Howie decided. After the next shooting ride into the hills, he and Pardo were flanking the herd back to camp when the man suddenly pulled up hard and leaned forward on his mount.
“Lordee!” Pardo made a low noise in his throat. “Now that’s a fine lookin’ animal, if I do say so.” He nodded toward a long-bodied mare with high breasts at the edge of the pack. “Bet them legs’d fair squeeze the guts out of a man, you think?”
He looked and caught Howie’s expression. A big grin spread his beard. “Now, don’t tell me you ain’t never rooted meat? An’ I thought you was a farm boy.”
Howie’s mind flashed back to green fern and a high oak. And men hanging stiffly from a stout branch. Pardo read his eyes. “Well don’t you git uppity now,” he growled. “The one you been studdin’ ain’t a whole lot better… .”
He truly hated Pardo then, more than ever.
That night he sought out Aimie and stayed with her until it was nearly dawn. If Seth or anyone else had interfered, he was certain he would have killed them on the spot. It was a strange, savage kind of lovemaking; much like their first night together. Howie didn’t pretend to understand his feelings. He was bewildered and fiercely excited by the things that happened between them. He knew he both loved and hated Aimie, and didn’t see how that could be. Aimie’s eyes told him she knew a great deal more about what was going through his mind than he did. Howie didn’t ask, though—he was afraid to really know what was there.
When he made his way wearily back to the drivers’ camp, the sky was gray with the first somber hints of morning. The herd was nearly through Arkansas Territory. Tomorrow, or the next day, they’d likely meet scouts from the army. Even Pardo said the worst was over. Maybe, thought Howie. Or maybe for him it was just beginning. What would he do when he found himself in the middle of government troopers again? Did they know about him in Badlands? Had word gotten that far? He was too tired, now, to worry. He pulled his blankets about him, and was asleep nearly as soon as he hit the ground.
A half hour later the sun tipped the edge of the low hills, and Lathan’s raiders hit the herd.
Chapter Nineteen
A heavy mist still clung to the ground, and the sun was dull copper behind it. The raiders moved in shadow browns and greens, the color of morning. Their horses, trained in war, picked their steps carefully over damp earth. Death rode quietly through the camp, but there was little time to think of dying. Men simply sighed back into darkness with sleep in their eyes, as if they’d come awake too soon…
Howie sat up straight, wondering if he was truly awake or still dreaming. Figures moved about him like silent wraiths, dark ghosts in a gray sea. Branches scraped behind him and a horse blew air. He turned, saw the tall rider loom over him, the big pistol swinging down to cover him. To his right, a driver kicked blankets aside and brought his weapon up fast. The rider’s gun roared and the driver’s eyes went suddenly empty. The tall man turned in his saddle and looked down at Howie for a long moment, then jerked his mount aside and trotted quickly past the draw.
Howie didn’t look at the dead man. He set his teeth and found his rifle, snapped a cartridge in the chamber and brought the gun to his shoulder. The rider’s back covered his sights and he squeezed the trigger gently.
The big fist came out of nowhere and sent him sprawling. Howie’s shot snapped wood overhead. He sat up, shook his head. A shadow touched the ground and he stared up at the dark, scowling face.
“Jigger!” Howie’s mouth opened in surprise. “Jigger, what—”
Jigger jerked the weapon out of his hand and reached for him with a big paw. Howie rolled away. Jigger took one quick step and pulled him roughly to his feet, tore the pistol from his belt and tossed him aside.
Howie got to his feet in time to see Jigger’s broad back disappear in the brush. He stared after the man, bewildered. Now what in hell was all
A shot nearby turned him around. Another weapon answered, further away. The sharp smell of powder stung his nostrils. Down the draw, a man cried out.
Then—nothing. A terrible silence fell over the camp, and there was only the harsh round ball of the sun blazing up to burn the mist away.
