Rio Page 22

  He was intent on his work when he thought he heard a horse whinny. It didn’t sound like one of his. Tip had been asleep on the dirt floor next to him and now the dog raised its head and growled. Rio stared out into the blackness of the night past his dim lantern glow, finally deciding it was just a passing buggy.

  “Go back to sleep, Tip,” he told the little dog and returned to his work, the sound of his hammer cloaking any other sounds.

  Abruptly Tip was up and barking frantically even as a man’s voice behind him said, “Drop that hammer and don’t turn around.”

  Instinctively, Rio turned, bringing the hammer up as a weapon, but now there were several men and one of them cracked him across the head with a rifle butt. Dizzy and half-blinded, he stumbled and fought as Tip barked and barked and then heard the dog yip as someone kicked it.

  “My dog! Damn you! Don’t hurt my dog!” He staggered, but in the darkness, he couldn’t see his attackers except he knew they were big. One hit him again and the hammer dropped from his limp hand. When he came to, they were tying him up. He tried to get a look at their faces, but one voice said, “Putagunnysack over his head quick, you idiots!”

  He was so dizzy, he thought he would pass out. He couldn’t see Tip anywhere and he tried to break free, but the men’s sheer weight took him to his knees. He fought as hard as he could but they tied his hands to his sides and now a sack over his head blocked out his sight. The sack smelled of dust and old grain and his head ached. He could feel something warm running down his forehead and wondered if it were blood. “What do you bastards want? I don’t have any money.”

  That man laughed and said, “That’s not what we’re after.” To the others, he snapped, “Spill the coal oil on everything. We’ll set fire to the place after I’m finished with him.”

  “No!” Rio tried to fight again, but they had his legs tied together. This business and his house were all he had left and he’d fight to the death to protect them.

  He could smell the coal oil now being splashed around the shop. “Why are you doing this? I got no quarrel with—”

  The men only laughed and one man said, “Stand him on his feet and drag him to the anvil. I’ve got my orders. Untie his right hand and put it up there—yes, that one with the clover tattoo. We’ll see how lucky it is for him.”

  Rio cursed and fought, but they forced his hand up on the anvil, spreading it out.

  “Now,” said the rough voice, “before you burn to death, I have a personal message for you.”

  What? Who hated him this much? Even as he thought that, he heard the swish of a hammer coming down full force on his hand and the agony of the blow. He couldn’t stop himself from crying out.

  “That’s good,” said his attacker with a laugh. “It’s broken. He’ll be crippled for life, or at least the few minutes he has left. Let’s get out of here, men.”

  They let go of him and Rio collapsed on the dirt floor of the shoeing shed. His hand must be broken because it felt on fire and his bloody head throbbed. He lay there, only half-conscious, and heard someone strike a match.

  “Let’s go!” the man yelled and Rio heard the sound of running feet and the rush of flames followed by the sound of horses’ hooves as they galloped away.

  He smelled smoke and heard the crackle of fire. He knew he had to get out of here or burn to death. He rolled over on his belly and tried to crawl, but his broken hand shrieked with pain every time he put it out in front of him. He wasn’t even sure which way to go. Rio felt the heat of the blaze as the shed began to burn, but he managed to reach up and jerk the sack off his head. The shed was lit only by the flames licking up the walls. With his broken hand, he tried to untie his legs and it sent shots of pain up his arm. He thought for a moment he might faint, but he knew if he did, he would certainly burn to death.

  His legs were only partly untied, his broken hand already swelling and turning black. He gritted his teeth and dragged himself toward the open shed door, choking and coughing on the black, acrid smoke that made him dizzy. “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he prayed, “is this the way I must die?”

  And abruptly cool air seemed to blow toward him, reviving him and giving him a new will to live along the dirt floor toward the open door. Every inch was agony, pulling himself with his swollen hand and his encumbered legs. Above him, the roof was on fire now and he knew that any minute, the roof would cave in, burying him in a pile of fiery boards that would roast him alive.

  Then a wet nose brushed his face and a wet tongue licked his face. “Tip! They didn’t kill you after all. We’ve got to get out of here, boy.”

  He began to crawl again toward the life-giving air, the dog whimpering and running around him.

  Then from outside, he heard a woman screaming, “Rio, Rio, are you in there?”

  It must be an angel’s voice. Maybe he was already dead and didn’t realize it.

  “Rio? Where are you?” No, it was Turquoise’s voice. He crawled toward it. Then she was beside him, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the door.

  “For God’s sake, get out of here!” he shouted at her. “The roof’s about to go!”

  “Not without you!” she shrieked and pulled even harder.

  She was going to die, too, unless he managed to get out. That gave him renewed strength and he dug his nails into the dirt and crawled even though his broken hand sent waves of agony up his arm and through his whole body as he did so.

  “Come on,” Turquoise urged, “it’s only a little bit farther.”

  Half dragging, half crawling, he moved toward the open door. The air around them both was as hot as the breath of hell. Behind them, part of the roof collapsed.

  “Get out, Turquoise. Take Tip with you!”

  She ignored him and kept dragging his big body toward the door.

  He had to get out; he had to keep her from dying with him. He gritted his teeth, ignored his hurting hand, and crawled. Rio took a gulp of cool air just as the rest of the roof began to collapse behind him. “Look out!” he shouted and managed to stumble to his feet. With the dog running ahead of them, the two of them fell out the door and onto the grass as the roof crashed down with a roar and a shower of sparks.

  Between them, they stumbled away from the burning building and Rio collapsed on the cool grass, Tip whimpering and licking his cheek. Turquoise ran to the pump, came back with a dipper of cold water to splash on his blistered face, and then brought another for him to drink. He shared it with Tip, who didn’t seem to be hurt. Rio sighed, lying on the ground watching the shed burn, lighting up the dark night. Finally he sat up and she untied his legs.

  Turquoise ran back to get another dipper of water, put it in his right hand, and he cried out and dropped it.

  “Oh, dear God, what’s happened to you?”

  “Night riders,” he gasped, “attacked me and set a fire.”

  “Don’t talk,” she commanded as she ran back to the pump for another dipper of water and held it to his lips. He drank deeply. “Why? Why would they do this?”

  He shook his aching head. “I have no idea, but I reckon I can guess.”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head again. He wasn’t about to tell her who he thought was responsible. It would only add to the problems. “I—I think there were three of them. I don’t know what they wanted.”

  Abruptly she seemed to see his right hand. “Oh my Lord, Rio, your hand—”

  He looked down at it. It was swollen and purple. He tried to flex it and had to bite his lip to keep from screaming in pain. It might be doubtful if he could ever use it again. “One of them took a hammer to it.”

  “What beasts!” Turquoise cried. “How cruel.”

  He shook his head. “You think you can help me get up to the house?”

  “Lean on me.” She helped him to his feet and he put his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll take care of you.”

  They hobbled through the cool night to the house, Tip running after them. Rio’s head still throbbe
d and his hand felt like it was on fire. “I’m lucky you decided to come by,” he admitted, “after I told you to stay away from me.”

  “I couldn’t do that. I love you,” she whispered.

  “But nothing’s changed,” he gasped as they went up the steps and into the little house. “I’m still going to be tried for murder and now I’m maimed, maybe for life. I won’t be able to work.”

  “You don’t know that. I’m sure Trace Durango will help you. He’s due in town soon.”

  She sat him down in a chair and he leaned back and sighed, then looked at his injured hand. “Couldn’t just kill me, had to break my hand. I’m worse than poor, Turquoise, now I’m crippled.”

  She took his swollen hand between her two small ones and kissed it tenderly. “You can still sit on a horse and run a ranch,” she said, “and I still love you.”

  There was no point in trying to send her away. His soul wasn’t strong enough to do that even though it would be best for her.

  “Here,” she said, “I’m going to soak your hand in cold water. Maybe that will bring the swelling down. Then I’ll put some liniment on it and wrap it.”

  Even as she fussed over him, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

  She looked up at him. “I knew you didn’t mean it.”

  “God help me, I should,” he gasped. “This is not the life for you.”

  “Let me decide that.” She reached to kiss him and he put his one good arm around her, pulling her close. “You need to get some rest.”

  “Rest?” he snapped. “How can I rest? All I can think of is revenge.” He started to get up, but she pulled him down.

  “You’re no good tonight with a bloody head and a busted hand. I’m going to put you to bed and you’ve got to let that hand heal. Besides, you said you couldn’t identify them.”

  “I’ve got to do something.” He looked at his throbbing hand as she wrapped it. “They might come back.”

  “I’ll stand watch.”

  “Can you shoot?”

  She hesitated. “A rifle, maybe. I’ve shot a rifle a few times, but never a pistol.”

  “I don’t even own a pistol.” He stifled a moan. “I’m no good to you, Turquoise. I can’t even take care of you.”

  “I don’t care. I love you anyway. Now let me put you to bed.” She pulled him to his feet and led him to the bedroom.

  He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and she pulled his boots off. “Now lie down.”

  “My hand’s throbbing like hell,” he complained.

  “I’ll get you some whiskey. Then I’ll raise your hand up on a pillow and maybe it won’t hurt so much.”

  “What if they come back?” he muttered.

  She found the whiskey and held the bottle to his lips. “I doubt they’ll return tonight, knowing the fire might bring some curious onlookers.”

  He seemed to be drifting off to sleep. “I can’t protect you if they return.”

  “I’ll stand guard,” she said and got his rifle from where it leaned in a corner. “I think I can shoot well enough to scare them off.”

  “Blow out the lamp,” he murmured. “You don’t want to be a target.”

  She blew out the lamp and sat down on the bed, leaning the rifle against the post. She stroked his forehead. “Just relax,” she whispered. “Everything will be all right.”

  “If you stay here all night,” he said, “Fern’s father will tell your guardian—”

  “I told Fern to cover for me,” she said, snuggling down against him. “I just knew you were in some kind of trouble.”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re the damnedest woman I ever met.”

  “That’s why you like me,” she said with a grin.

  He stared into her pale eyes in the moonlight that filtered through the window. He hadn’t told her about Edwin Forester’s visit, when he’d offered a bribe to get Rio to go to Mexico. “I—I suspect the senator might be involved.”

  “Tonight?” She shook her head. “Why, he came by the Lessup place this evening, brought me some flowers, and stayed a couple of hours to visit, even though I had told him we were finished. He’s not one to take no for an answer.”

  Rio leaned back and closed his eyes, not saying anything. He was almost certain the senator was behind the night raid. Forester’s visit to the Lessup ranch might have been to establish an alibi. Tomorrow Rio intended to confront him. “Turquoise, listen to Tip. He’ll let you know if there’s anyone lurking about.”

  “Stop worrying,” she whispered and reached to brush his black hair away from his smudged face. “Tip and I can take care of things. You get some sleep.”

  She could see he was trying to keep his eyes open, but soon, he dropped off into a fitful slumber.

  With Rio asleep, she felt alone and scared. She took the rifle and moved to a window where she could watch the front of the adobe house. Tip lay down next to her and she patted the dog’s ears. If anything moved out there, she intended to kill it. She would do anything to protect the man she loved.

  Chapter 15

  As soon as Turquoise drove away at dawn, Rio attempted to clean himself up. He felt groggy and sick and his swollen hand throbbed like a drum. When he looked in the little mirror over the wash bowl, he had dark circles under his eyes and purple bruises and cuts on his rugged face. As he washed with his one good hand, he mused about last night and thought about who could have planned the attack. Only one answer came to him: Senator Edwin Forester.

  When he had failed to bribe Rio to flee to Mexico, Forester had called in henchmen to try to maim and kill him. The longer Rio thought about it, the more angry he became. It was time for a showdown.

  Turquoise had fried some ham and eggs for him and made a pot of strong coffee. She had also admonished him to stay in bed and rest today and she would check on him later.

  Well, that wasn’t going to happen. He managed to pull on his clothes and stumble out to saddle Peso. It was difficult with one hand bandaged, but Rio was a stubborn man. He rode into town, down Congress Avenue to the state capitol. As he was tying his horse to the hitching post, he saw Edwin Forester coming down the capitol steps, surrounded by newsmen. Rio listened a split second. The interest seemed to have something to do with some bill the senator was going to present to the legislators next session.

  Rio took the steps two at a time and pushed through the crowd. “Forester, we need to talk.”

  The senator waved airily, not even looking at him. “Do make an appointment with my secretary for Wednesday. That’s when I see my constituents.”

  Rio caught his arm. “No, we need to talk now.”

  The other men, seeming to hear the anger in his voice, melted back away from the senator.

  Edwin Forester really looked at him this time, staring in disbelief with his cold eyes. “I doubt we have anything to discuss.” He shouldered his way past Rio. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Damn it! You will talk to me!” Rio grabbed Forester’s shoulder with his good hand and spun the man around as the others watched in wide-eyed shock. “I ought to kill you for everything you’ve done to me!”

  The senator stumbled backward. “My good man, you must be mistaken—”

  “No, I’m not!” Rio roared. “We’re going to have this out.”

  In the background, he heard someone whisper, “Better call the law.”

  Forester blinked. “Am I to understand you want to do me bodily harm?”

  “You damn betcha!” Without thinking, Rio swung with his swollen right hand, clipping the senator across the face. The senator managed to keep his balance, but blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth and the blow reverberated all the way up Rio’s arm. For a moment, he staggered and clenched his teeth at the pain.

  The crowd gasped but the senator kept his cool demeanor and faced Rio with a thin smile. “I’m not even sure who you are.”

  “The hell you aren’t!” Rio moved in closer. Two reporters grabbed him and h
eld him back.

  Very slowly, the senator pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief and wiped the blood from his thin lips. “Are you challenging me to a duel?”

  “A duel?” Rio hesitated, dizzy with pain. “Si, I reckon I am.”

  Edwin Forester drew himself up proudly, looked around, and addressed the crowd. “You all are witnesses. This crazed person has challenged me to a duel.”

  One of the reporters said, “Surely you aren’t serious, sir? Dueling has been outlawed for forty years.”

  “Why don’t you just let the sheriff jail him for assault and battery?” suggested another.

  “No.” Forester shook his head. “My honor has been impugned as a man and as a Texan. We all know dueling is against the law, but Texans still fight them occasionally.” He faced Rio. “As the challenged party, I get to choose the weapons and I own a fine set of dueling pistols.”

  “Dueling pistols?” Rio felt as confused as the crowd looking at him.

  “Are you a yellow-bellied coward?” The other man wiped his bloody mouth again. “If so, you should apologize and—”

  “Damned if I will!” Rio shouted. “Pistols suit me!”

  The reporters pressed forward, intent on the new drama. “Senator, you’re going to fight a duel? Don’t you remember that your father—”

  “Of course I remember.” Edwin smiled without humor. “I’m sure none of you will tell the law, because you’ll want to attend.” A murmur of agreement from the crowd and a whisper went around the circle that the senator was more of a man than most of them had given him credit for.

  Rio glared at him. “Just tell me where and when.”

  The senator sniffed disdainfully. “Our seconds can set that up.”

  “Our what?”

  “I really shouldn’t be dueling a social inferior,” the senator said. “By custom, I am supposed to thrash you with my cane.”

  At that, Rio went for him again. Two men caught him and pulled him away as he shouted, “This society bastard sent men to burn down my barn and business and busted my hand. Look at it!” He held up the swollen, bandaged hand.