Brand 5 Read online

  ‘First chance I get I’m leaving,’ Brand said. ‘Once I can find Liz I’m taking her and heading out. You want to come?’

  The girl nodded. ‘It won’t be easy.’

  Brand gazed across the encampment. He knew she was right. But he hadn’t expected anything else. All he could do was watch and wait. Take his chance when it came. He wasn’t going to wait too long though. The Comanches could tire of having him around. Once that happened his time was over.

  ‘Where will Three Finger have Liz?’

  ‘He has his lodge beyond the main camp. Further along the creek.’ She touched his arm again. ‘Be careful. Please.’

  Brand saw real concern in her eyes. ‘I will.’

  ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Jason Brand.’

  ‘I’m Lisa Hoyle.’

  A loud, chilling cry shattered their moment of gentle comfort.

  Brand glanced in the direction of the sound, and heard as well the shocked gasp that burst from Lisa’s throat.

  ‘Oh no!’

  Anger and despair were mingled in her exclamation. She sprang to her feet, eyes wide with alarm as she caught Brand’s puzzled stare.

  ‘It’s him. He’s seen us. Three Finger!’

  Chapter Five

  Brand recognized the Comanche called Three Finger. It was the same warrior who had taken Liz. He had seen that cruel face before and it was etched deep into his memory.

  As he recognized Three Finger, he also knew that the Indian meant to kill him!

  Mounted on his pony, clutching a rifle, Three Finger drove the animal directly at Brand and Lisa. A savage cry burst from his throat as he closed the gap.

  Brand pushed himself to his feet, aware that if he stayed where he was Three Finger would ride him into the ground. As it was the galloping pony slammed into him, spinning him backwards into the pole corral. Bouncing off the fence Brand stumbled to his knees, dust boiling around him in a stinging cloud. He made out the shadowy outline of Three Finger’s pony as it wheeled about, and above the clatter of hooves on the hard ground he heard Lisa’s sudden cry of pain. He caught a glimpse of the Comanche’s raised rifle a second before it lashed down at Lisa’s vulnerable form a second time. Saw the girl stumble. A surge of wild anger exploded inside Brand. He hurled himself away from the corral, reaching out for Three Finger. The attack was unexpected and Brand got a grip on the Comanche’s right arm, dragging him off the pony’s back. Three Finger crashed to the ground, landing on his back. Even so he recovered swiftly, rolling to his feet. Without a moment’s hesitation Brand kicked out, the toe of his boot thudding into Three Finger’s groin, drawing a howl of pain from the Indian. Brand snatched Three Finger’s rifle from his hand, reversed the weapon and slammed the butt into the Comanche’s face. The solid wood struck with a hard sound, bone cracking, and Brand saw Three Finger’s face bloody and misshapen. He turned then, catching the dangling rein of Three Finger’s pony.

  Bending over Lisa he pulled at her arm.

  ‘Move, damnit! Come on, girl!’ he yelled, dragging her to her feet.

  Lisa stared at him. She was dazed from the Comanche’s attack, blood streaking the side of her head. For a moment she stared at him, eyes blank, and then everything seemed to register at once. She reached for the pony’s mane, pulling herself on its back. Brand swung up behind her, slamming in his heels as he hauled on the reins. He guided it away from the corral, angling it down towards the creek.

  Behind them he heard shouts of alarm. He didn’t look back.

  ‘Three Finger’s lodge?’ he yelled.

  Lisa flung out a hand, pointing upstream. Brand saw the lodge. It lay a hundred yards along the creek, close to the water. Brand urged the pony in its direction. He saw a small corral beside the lodge, holding a half-dozen ponies.

  As they thundered up to the lodge Brand slid off the pony. He ran for the lodge. Over his shoulder he called to Lisa.

  ‘Get that corral open!’

  He barely noticed the silence that lay around the lodge. It wasn’t until he entered that he realized something was wrong.

  His sister lay on her back in the centre of the lodge. Eyes staring up at him. Unseeing. Her pale, naked body was streaked with blood from countless knife cuts and her throat was a gaping wound.

  Brand felt sickness welling up inside him. A sickness that was soured by a burning rage against the man who had done this thing to Liz. His rage was so great it overwhelmed him, blanking out everything else until he heard his name being called from a distance.

  ‘Jason! For God’s sake get out here quickly!’

  He remembered Lisa. And where they were. Turning away from Liz he made to leave the lodge. Something made him stop and snatch up a blanket that lay crumpled against the side of the lodge. Outside he ran to where Lisa had Three Finger’s pony held against the open corral. He threw the blanket to her as he pushed by. He took the mane of the closest pony and swung onto its back.

  ‘Liz?’ asked Lisa.

  ‘She’s dead!’ he snapped back. ‘He killed her. Now let’s get out of here!’

  Together they drove the ponies away from the lodge, heading them along the creek. As he rode Brand tried to gauge their line of travel. For all he knew this wide canyon might end without warning. Maybe the way he’d been brought in was the only entrance.

  They hit a long slope. At the top lay a tangled mass of brush and fallen rock. There were stunted trees, limbs gnarled and twisted by the relentless heat. They pushed the ponies to the very crest of the slope. Here Brand reined in for a moment while he studied the way ahead. There was a lot of rock, and no more than two-hundred yards further on the canyon walls rose sheer into the sky. Once they entered the defile there would be no way back. Turning to look back the way they had already come Brand saw a bunch of hard riding Comanches.

  ‘You want to keep going?’ he asked.

  Lisa smiled without humor. ‘Do we have a choice?’

  ‘Sure. We go on, or we turn back and quit.’

  ‘Waste of time asking I’d say,’ Lisa answered and rode on.

  Brand followed her.

  They rode through the undergrowth. Soft earth muffled the sound of their passing, but Brand was aware of the deep tracks they were leaving. The Comanches would have no trouble trailing them. All they could do was to make some distance in the hope they might lose their pursuers. It wasn’t a likely prospect. The Comanches would know every inch of the canyon. It was their home ground. Brand didn’t want to get into a fight with them here. He would be content just losing them.

  The canyon walls rising around them were sheer faces of unclimable rock. The only way open to them was the unmarked trail leading them deeper into the canyon. They followed it, pushing their ponies at a reckless pace, knowing full well they might be riding into a dead-end.

  These and many other thoughts raced through Jason Brand’s mind. Foremost was the image of his sister. The circle was almost complete. He was the only member of his family still alive, and there was no telling how long that condition might hold. He decided there was no point in worrying about that. His main concern was staying alive long enough to satisfy his need for vengeance. Only one thing nagged away at his thoughts. That was the fact that he hadn’t killed Three Finger back there in the encampment. At the time he’d been acting from pure instinct, his main concern getting himself and Lisa away from the Comanches.

  The ponies raced around a wide curve, the canyon opening up before them. A wide basin confronted them. The high canyon walls gave way to undulating slopes.

  Brand reined in, dust billowing around his pony as he tried to figure out the best way to go. He glanced at Lisa as she brought her pony alongside.

  ‘You any ideas?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘This country is all new to me. No way of knowing what’s ahead’

  Brand raised his rifle at the closest slope. ‘That way then!’

  They pushed the ponies across the basin. As they reached the far side a ri
fle shot broke the silence around them. The bullet kicked up a geyser of dust just ahead of Lisa’s pony. Wheeling his own mount Brand checked their back trail and saw four mounted Kwahadi Comanches. He raised the rifle and drew down on them. The rifle kicked back against his shoulder when he pulled the trigger. One of the Comanches threw his arms wide, rolling back off his pony.

  Turning his pony Brand followed Lisa up the slope. The surface was hard and dry, easy for the wiry ponies to climb, and though a stream of shots followed them Brand and Lisa reached the crest of the slope without harm. Beyond them the land fell away slightly, opening up onto a rugged stretch of terrain. It was arid sand and rock country that bore little vegetation, and as he gazed out across it Brand realized there would be little water close by. He was aware that the hot sun was already drawing the moisture from their bodies.

  They rode on, heading southeast. Brand didn’t have much knowledge about this part of the country. Although he had been into Texas before it had always been further south and closer to the border.

  Behind them the surviving three Comanches brought their ponies to the crest of the slope and sat watching. If Brand had turned he would have seen them arguing among themselves. After some time two of the Comanches turned their ponies and rode back down the slope. The third Indian sat his pony for a long time, watching the two figures out on the open plain.

  Then he put his pony forward, following the tracks left by Brand and Lisa. He rode slowly, upright on his pony. He carried a gleaming, brand new Henry rifle in one hand and a leather ammunition belt around his waist. Each loop in the belt held a cartridge for the rifle. He rode with the assurance of one who knows his enemy and the land he rides across. He was a warrior of the Comanche nation. More than that he was a Kwahadi. One of the proud fighters who carried the traditions of the warrior clan from birth, and who do so until the day he died.

  He was known among the Kwahadi as a great warrior. A skilled and deadly fighting warrior. He lived on his pride, yet this day a captive woman had been taken from him by a white. The white had also taken his rifle and two of his ponies. Worse than that the white had laid him in the dust like a whipped dog! It was a matter that had to be put right. His status in the ranks of the Kwahadi warrior clan would be lessened if he allowed this to go unchallenged. And so he went alone to restore his pride. To kill the white and to return with his ponies, his rifle, and his woman.

  He did it because he knew no other way. It was bred into him. Akin to breathing.

  Was he not one of the Lords of the Plains?

  First known as Tall Bear of the Kwahadi?

  But now feared and respected across the Llano as Three Finger?

  Chapter Six

  They kept to the southwest, their line of travel taking them further from the Comanche stronghold with every mile. Brand’s main concern was their destination. He had no idea which way would take them to safety. They needed something to aim for. A place that would offer shelter, food and water. Out here they had none of those things, and without them they wouldn’t survive for very long.

  He glanced across at Lisa. She was uncomplaining, but he knew she was suffering. Her lips were dry and cracked, starting to bleed where the burned skin had split. Some time earlier they had paused long enough for Brand to make a slit in the blanket he’d picked up. Lisa was wearing it now like a crude cape. It wasn’t much but at least it protected her body from the harsh sun.

  When she had slipped the blanket over her head, a smile had touched her lips. ‘I guess I’ll have to get used to clothes again. I’d got so used to being naked it didn’t bother me.’

  ‘Well it bothered me,’ Brand had told her.

  She had gazed at him for a time, her face serious, until the smile appeared again. ‘Well, I suppose it would,’ she’d said teasingly.

  ‘Damn right it did,’ Brand had grumbled, more discomforted by the sensations her naked young body had roused in him than by her obvious amusement.

  Sometime in the late afternoon Brand was checking their back trail again. He had been doing it regularly since leaving the canyon. He was getting used to not seeing anything. If the Comanches were following they were staying well hidden. Brand knew that if they were around they would show themselves when they were ready. Those thoughts were on Brand’s mind as he slid from his pony, crossing to a high point that would allow him a clear look at their back trail.

  The first thing he saw was a single, mounted figure moving steadily in their direction.

  Brand didn’t need to get a closer look. He knew who the rider was.

  Three Finger!

  No other Kwahadi Comanche in that camp had the need to follow them alone.

  It was Three Finger. Coming to claim his woman, his ponies, and Jason Brand’s hair.

  ‘Lisa, here!’

  As she joined him Brand pointed out the distant figure. Three Finger was less than a half mile away. He was coming directly for them, as straight as any Comanche arrow in flight.

  ‘Three Finger!’ The name came out in a whisper, and Brand was able to sense her fear. Lisa had courage, but he could realize the terror a man like Three Finger might plant in the mind of a young, scared girl.

  He found himself thinking of Liz, his own sister. Alone and defenseless in the Comanche’s lodge, already suffering the death of her family, and not knowing what was going to happen to her. His rage built so rapidly as the image of her naked, bloody body burned into his mind that he cursed out loud.

  ‘What is it?’ Lisa asked. ‘Jason, tell me.’

  ‘Seeing him. I remembered Liz. What he’d done to her.’

  Her hands touched him as they had done before. ‘Was it bad?’

  ‘She must have tried to fight him off. She wouldn’t have given in easy. Not Liz. He must have lost control. Used a knife to…’ His words were lost in anger.

  ‘Poor Liz.’ Tears gleamed in Lisa’s eyes. ‘I must have been lucky. The first time he tried to take me I fought. So he beat me. It was a week before I was able to walk unaided. The same thing happened the next time. After that I figured it was less painful to let him have what he wanted. Luckily for me he spent a lot of his time away on raids so it didn’t happen too often.’ Lisa looked away from him, staring into the bright sun. ‘That makes me a lot less brave than your sister. Giving myself to an Indian.’

  ‘Don’t you ever say a thing like that,’ Brand growled as he grabbed her arms, pulling her round to face him. ‘You did what you did to survive. No one has a right to judge if they ain’t been through the same. So don’t listen to any fool telling you otherwise.’

  ‘Men don’t take kindly to a woman who lets herself be used by an Indian.’

  ‘No reason anyone has to know.’

  Lisa’s blue eyes fixed on him steadily. ‘You know,’ she said softly, a tremble in her voice.

  ‘And I told you it makes no difference,’ he said, pulling her to him and kissing her. His mouth bore down clumsily, bruising her soft mouth. Lisa’s youthful body pressed against him and Brand could feel the hard thrust of her breasts and the strong curve of her thighs.

  He broke away suddenly, snatching up the rifle he’d allowed to slip to the ground, his gaze searching the area where he’d spotted Three Finger. The Comanche was still in sight. Closer now and still coming on.

  ‘Wrong place, wrong time,’ he said hoarsely as Lisa moved to his side.

  She met his gaze. Beneath the sunburnt skin her face was deeply flushed. She didn’t say a word, but Brand knew that what had happened would not be forgotten by either of them, and it would need finishing.

  ‘Lisa, I don’t aim to run any further,’ he said. ‘If Three Finger wants to settle things then I’m going to wait right here for him. You with me?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Take the ponies off that way and stay with them. Find yourself some cover and sit it out. I’ve got four shots left in this rifle. Should be enough for any man. Even a damned Kwahadi Comanche!’

  As Lisa led the ponies away Bra
nd crouched down to watch Three Finger’s approach. Now the time had come he felt calm. To be truthful he felt cold. As if he’d somehow become detached from his emotions. There was nothing more than a single thought in his mind. That he was waiting to kill Three Finger. Of that he had no doubt. He wondered if the Comanche was prone to premonitions. Indians were superstitious, often claiming to have powers that revealed the future.

  Perhaps Three Finger had seen this day. His day to die!

  Jason Brand gripped his rifle, feeling his sweat slick against the wood and metal. The weapon was cocked and ready, and only then did it occur to him that he planned to kill the Comanche with his own gun. It was a kind of justice, Brand thought. He wondered if Three Finger had used the rifle on the attack at the Brand ranch. Perhaps he had even…he pushed the morbid thought aside. There was no point in allowing himself to become too caught up in memories of the past at a time like this.

  He saw that Three Finger had reined in his pony. The Comanche was scanning the terrain. He was close enough now for Brand to be able to recognize him. One side of Three Finger’s face was a mass of bruised, swollen flesh where Brand had hit him.

  Three Finger slid from his pony, moving away from the animal, crouching to read the tracks left by Brand and Lisa. Brand watched him closely as he raised the rifle and took aim. Three Finger seemed puzzled about something. The Comanche’s face became alarmed. He raised his head, seeming to stare directly at Brand, and then stood up quickly.

  Brand pulled the rifle’s trigger.

  The bullet took Three Finger in the chest, driving him to the ground. Three Finger landed hard, his body twisting in agony. His rifle flew from his hands as he went down.

  On his feet Brand walked to where Three Finger lay. The Comanche lay still for most of the time Brand was approaching. It was only as Brand neared him that the Indian sat up with a great deal of difficulty. Brand’s shadow fell across him and Three Finger looked up. Up close his battered face looked terrible. Jagged shards of broken cheekbone showed through the torn flesh. The bullet Brand had hit him with had punched a raw hole in his chest through which a steady pulse of blood flowed.