Trail of Secrets: Western Trails series, #3

CHAPTER 1

Rancho Sanchez, North Texas, November 1868

A high-pitched whine buzzed by Anna Sanchez’s ear. She ducked as a bullet slammed into the stall’s support beam behind her. She pulled her pistol from the saddlebag still strapped to her horse and ran to the large door, skidding to a stop when the ranch-hand’s body fell backward, landing at her feet. Grabbing his boots, she pulled him inside and turned him over.

She covered her mouth with her gloved hand, staring at his mangled face. Chunks of flesh and shattered teeth were all that was left of his jaw and mouth. She blew out a long breath, and with a trembling hand, closed his sightless eyes. She kicked his feet away from the door and pushed it almost closed, leaving enough space for her to see what was going on outside.

Grabbing for his rifle, she held it to her chest and closed her eyes, pulling in long, slow breaths as she tried to calm her racing heart. She had no idea what was happening, but she’d be damned if she let someone come onto her stepfather’s ranch and take everything.

Her eyes popped open as loud war cries rent the air. She peered through the doors, trying to see how many Indians there were, but she couldn’t see any. Noise assailed her ears; men screaming in pain, the sound of constant gunfire, and high-pitched cries. Her heart beat out a harsh rhythm against her ribs, and nausea roiled her stomach. She forced a calming breath through her clenched teeth and focused on what she had to do.

A shrill whistle near the barn startled her, pulling her attention from the fight outside to the barely understandable hollering going on at the opposite end of the barn. A rumbling began—low at first, then increasing—until even the ground she kneeled on vibrated from the overwhelming crescendo surrounding her.

She threw a quick glance through the window to where the horses were nervously milling around the fenced corral beside the barn. With terrified gazes, they churned like butter.

Crawling over to the ranch-hand’s body, she peered around the edge of the open doorway, only to jerk back from view as a group of riders raced by. The pounding of their hooves was nearly imperceptible amid the roar of the stampeding cattle. She reached down and pulled the pistol from the dead man’s hand. After a quick check, she found only one cartridge had been fired. She tucked it behind the waistband of her pants, knowing she’d probably need it.

Taking a deep breath, she counted to three, then eased around the door and into the shadows, holding as still as she could. If someone had stayed behind, she didn’t want them to notice her. Glancing around the yard, bodies lay everywhere. Most looked as if they were struck down running for cover; two hadn’t even made it off the porch. And most of the hands had been shot with crude arrows.

She heard the distant thundering as the cattle stampeded through the field. For the first time since the raid had begun, she was able to focus on the attackers instead of dodging bullets. She scowled at the men’s retreating figures. There was not a single Indian among them! Fury raced through her like a wildfire. There was only one man strong and stupid enough to attack the Rancho—their neighbor, Wade Phillips.

Only a week ago, she’d tried convincing her stepfather that Phillips was nothing more than a thief and a cur. That the man couldn’t be trusted. Instead, he’d believed her mother, who’d convinced him that Anna didn’t trust men and was just being silly.

Running back to the barn, she refastened the front saddle cinch, which she’d been undoing when the attack started. She stepped into the stirrup and slid onto the worn leather seat, patting the horse’s neck with her gloved hand. Her anger had settled into a fiery determination, and she said a quick prayer that she’d find her stepfather alive and well when she got back.

Okay, girl, she whispered to her horse. We’ve got our job cut out for us. Let’s go get us some thieves.

With a tug of the reins and a quick squeeze of her legs, the salt and pepper gray horse trotted from the barn. However, her chase ended before it even began. Facing her in a tight circle were six mounted men—and in the middle, Wade Phillips.

What are you doing here—you have no right!

He sat his horse with a smug grin. Oh, my dear, but I have every right. He pulled something from the inside of his coat and opened it. You see, Anna, I have the law on my side.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the gently waving paper, dread filling her. What is that?

One side of his mouth rose in an evil sneer. Why, it’s the deed to the Rancho. I now own everything on it. One of the men beside him chuckled. And that includes you.

"I am not a thing to be owned. You can go to hell, Phillips! Hatred burned through her, and she shook like a leaf fluttering in a strong breeze, trying to get a firm grip on her emotions. Where did you get the deed to my stepfather’s Rancho?"

He slowly and meticulously folded the paper, taking his time tucking it back into his pocket and rebuttoning his coat. Your mama came over to visit me the other day. She gave me what I’ve been fighting so hard for. The water and you. The cattle are just a bonus.

You’re lying. My mother may not be the most caring person, but she would never do that to me.

But she did. She knew you would never leave this place and didn’t want all her hard work wasted, trying to raise you to act like a lady should. You’ve been nothing but a disappointment to her, I’m afraid. She left to marry some plantation owner in New Orleans, but wanted to make sure you were at least provided for.

Her breath caught in her throat as she worked to swallow the rising bile. How could her own mother betray her like this? What had she done to deserve such treatment? You needn’t worry, she replied, choking the words out. My stepfather would never let anything happen to me.

Low laughter filled the silence around her. I think you will find your stepfather has his own problems—the least of all, you. He walked his horse forward a few steps. Now, you will come with me.

The self-satisfied grin on his face made her uneasy, and she shook her head. You will never get me to leave my home! With a driving urgency to find her stepfather, she kicked her horse harder than she ever had. As the horse charged forward, a loud gunshot sounded, and the horse stumbled. The mare took a few more hesitant steps then stumbled again, dropping to her knees.

As the horse fell on her side, Anna pulled her leg from the stirrup in an attempt to keep from being pinned to the ground. Scrambling to the mare’s head, she sobbed, gently rubbing her horse’s cheek as the poor animal struggled to breathe. With one last shuddering gasp, the mare died.

Jumping to her feet, Anna whirled around. You killed her, you—you… She took one step forward then felt something hard hit the back of her head. Her vision dimmed. She blinked several times and swayed, trying to focus. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground.

CHAPTER 2

Fort Phantom Hill, Texas

Mr. Daniels!

Paul Daniels slung his bedroll behind his saddle and tied it down with piggin’ strings. He gave a quick sideways glance to the young soldier jogging down the headquarter building’s porch stairs. Without paying him any more mind, he rechecked the cinches, making sure they were secured, giving the dappled gray roan a gentle pat when he was finished.

Glancing at the silvery sky, he knew he was in for some rough weather ahead. Winter was coming early to North Texas, and there were still a lot of miles to travel. He’d promised to be at his sister’s in Northwestern Indian Territory for Christmas, and he wasn’t about to let her down.

Mr. Daniels!

Paul still didn’t turn as he grabbed the stirrup and pulled it down into place. He recognized the soldier’s clipped Boston accent—kid’s name was Potter, if he remembered right. Name’s Paul. And you are?

Lieutenant Dean Potter, sir. I have a message for you from the major. A scout rode in about an hour ago, reporting another uprising with the Comanche and Kiowa. Quanah Parker’s causing all sorts of ruckus for the troops up north. He wants you to check on the situation for him, seeing how you’re going up that way and all.

He stared at the young soldier, noting the grim set of his mouth. His outfit was pristine, which was saying something out here. His hair was trimmed and neat, and the subtle scent of soap still lingered, which told him the kid hadn’t been in Texas long. Most men he knew only managed to get a bath once a month.

Meanin’? Paul asked.

The kid glanced around behind him and met his gaze. I don’t think it was a request, sir. The major’s worried. Rangers, as well as a unit from Camp Wichita, were supposed to come. They should’ve arrived two days ago, and he doesn’t have the men to spare to go looking for them. He said you were a good soldier during the war—best tracker he’d ever seen—and that you’d do the right thing for him now.

Paul swallowed an angry retort. He and Captain Schwan had briefly served together during the latter part of the War Between the States. He’d always figured Schwan would remain in uniform. Some take to a soldier’s life. Paul, however, had never wanted to serve in the military. All he wanted was a bit of land where he could run horses, maybe even breed them.

Because of the money, Paul had stayed in for a couple of years after the war’s end. But as soon as his term was finished, he’d collected his pay and headed back to Indian Territory. The better part of the last eight years had been spent trying to put memories of battles and death behind him…and even longer searching for the man who’d killed his mother.

Until now, he’d drifted, working as a cowhand or driving cattle up the trails to Kansas. But his nightmares remained. One consolation at least; they seemed to be fading. Instead of every night, they only happened once every week or so. Maybe one day, they would go away completely.

He gave the lieutenant a quick glance. I wasn’t planning on comin’ back this way for a while.

Actually, he wasn’t planning on ever returning to Texas. He’d delivered the money from his last cattle drive to the owner in San Antonio and had slowly been making his way north to his sister’s in the Nation.

From the time he’d been abandoned as a child, he’d been trying to find his mother’s killer, but the man seemed to have disappeared. After Christmas, he’d head on to Colorado. If he didn’t find anything there, he’d start thinking about his future.

Dean nodded. Yes, sir. That’s why I was ordered to accompany you to Camp Wichita. I’m to send word back with the Rangers, if we can find them, then go further north to Camp Supply where I’m to be stationed.

How long have you been out here?

About a month, sir.

Paul frowned, liking the situation less and less. The last thing he needed was a greenhorn tagging along with him through some of the worst areas of Comancheria. The rest of the Indian Territory seemed tame compared to the area controlled by the Comanche’s.

Camp Supply, which was in Kiowa territory, wasn’t much better. The last he’d heard, the Kiowa were settling down, at least for the time being. Now that Satanta, one of the sub-chiefs, was back on the reservation, it was anyone’s guess as to how long he’d remain.

The camaraderie between the two tribes was also an obstruction the army had to overcome. Where one was, the other wasn’t far behind. During the past several years, he’d seen bands of Comanche and Kiowa-Apache joining together for hunting and raids.

I’m not gettin’ rid of you, am I?

Dean shook his head. No, sir, you aren’t.

Paul sighed, knowing this kid wouldn’t find anyone without someone’s help. You have five minutes. If you aren’t saddled up and ready, I’m leavin’ without you.

The young man took off toward the stables at a run. In less time than he’d been given, he returned, riding a black gelding.

Paul took another deep breath and stepped into the stirrup, throwing one long leg over the saddle. With one arm draped over the horn, he glanced back at the lieutenant. I’ll say this one time and one time only. You do as I say, when I say. Got that?

Dean’s eyes widened. Of course, sir.

He bit back a chuckle. West Point?

The young man frowned. Yes, sir. How did you know, sir?

Easy on the ‘sirs’. Name’s Paul. And I knew the moment you started talkin’, kid.

Leading them away from the small fort, his thoughts turned inward. Underneath his jokes and smiles lurked a simmering rage. He’d only been five years old when his life had fallen apart, and the man who’d caused it all—he’d never forget that bastard’s face.

There were only a few good memories from his childhood—his mother’s long, black, silky hair, her wide smile. Her safe hugs. He had no memories of his father, only his mother’s sadness. Even more vivid was the memory of the man who had taken them in, given them shelter. The dark visage of the man who’d beaten his mother to death and left him for dead somewhere on the Kansas prairie.

One day he’d find that man and kill him…but until then, he would keep wandering. Keep searching.

Several miles south of Red River Station, Paul and Dean topped a low hill overlooking the yard of a large, Mexican-style house. The beauty of the house faded into the background when Paul noticed the bodies.

One lay over the porch rail and another face down on the stairs. There were more scattered around the large yard, most with one or two arrows protruding from their backs. As they got closer, he saw more men just inside the corral…two of the four had arrows in them as well.

As they walked their horses into the yard, Paul’s gaze moved along