Chapter 4
CY circled the branding pen where Buck Farrell was castrating several white-faced calves. "I can't find my whip this morning, Buck," Cy said. "Know where it is?"
"It's tied to my saddle. I lent mine to your dad."
"Drop it in the cattle trough when you're finished. I want it good and wet by this evening."
Buck dropped two meaty objects and straightened up, frowning. "Now that's a request I haven't heard in an age. Why a wet whip?"
"My business," Cy said shortly.
Buck set the calf free, then walked over to Cy. "Need anyone to stand behind you?"
"Hell-there's no necessity for you to get involved." Cy had no intention of letting his friend in for a fracas with a white man. In this part of the South, a thing like that could mean trouble.
"Want to tell me about it?"
"Somebody has been bothering Lula's daughter, Maureen. I intend to put a stop to it"
"You should. She's a darn cute chick. But don't overplay your role. It might get you talked about."
"Come off it, Buck. You don't really believe what you're saying. I don't know the girl-but even if she were a hunchbacked Hottentot, she would deserve and get safeguarding."
"I'll go along if you need a second," Buck volunteered.
"No, thanks," Cy said. "You've got problems of your own. You don't need mine, too."
Cy Scott, a long drover's whip in one hand, waited impatiently in Pine Hill gully. His brow was sweating. Would the would-be rapist swoop down on Maureen? She had out-run him last time, Cy mused, but how long would her luck hold out? And supposing the character brought along another tough ... What would Cy do in that case?
He wished, now, that he had accepted Buck's offer to tag along.
Then Cy saw her. She had a long-legged stride that ate up distance. Taut and nervous, she was carefully peering left and right. She was the color of coffee lightened by rich Jersey cream. Her hair hung shoulder-length in a graceful pageboy. The swell of her hips was poetic.
Cy nodded with appreciation. Beauty has its own reason for being, he mused. A few moments later he caught sight of a car making its slow way down the hill.
"Just keep walking," Cy called in a low, clear tone. "I'll take care of you, Maureen."
The girl turned at the sound of his voice. Her smooth lips moved in a quick smile that showed off white teeth. She took a deep breath and resumed walking, ignoring the noise of the approaching car.
A man opened the door and leaped out. With a start, Cy recognized Kip Malone, one of Corey's hangers-on. The girl tried to run, but she stumbled and Malone fell on her.
"Now, by God," the rascal gloated, dragging Maureen to her feet. "Now I've got you!" He tore at the girl's soft yellow dress.
There were two of them all right, Cy was thinking. He did not recognize the driver, a coarse and heavy type still sitting behind the wheel, grinning and egging on the other man.
Maureen, her dress pulled above her head, screamed and kicked out at Malone. He let the dress fall, threw his arms around her in a crushing hug. Lifting her, he fell with her to the ground, then rolled himself on top of her. He was blubbering obscenities as his twisted lips sought Maureen's breasts.
At that point, Cy's heavy whip uncoiled, snaked forward. The lash split Malone's shirt from collar to belt.
Malone screamed like a scalded horse, then collapsed, his head in the sand. Again Cy's coils hissed, and blood cascaded down the deputy's back.
"Drop it, mister!" came the driver's rough voice.
The heavy man had slid from under the wheel and was aiming a stubby revolver at Cy. Then, as if he had been stabbed, the driver jerked, letting go an agonized yelp.
Unseen by any of them, Buck Farrell had crept up and laid a lash across the second man's back.
When the whip again exploded, the man fell to his knees.
Cy kicked sand into the driver's eyes. "Stand up," Cy snarled. "Jump in your car and hit the road. If I catch you in these parts again, you won't get off with scars. I'll cripple you for life."
The heavy man got slowly to his feet. He came around the car to help the snuffling Malone. The latter, cowed and frightened, extended a trembling hand. "Help me," he moaned.
"I'll get you, Scott," growled the driver, his back crawling with burning pain. "If it's the last thing I do, you son of a bitch, I'll...."
The whip sprang to life and wrapped itself around the driver's thick neck. Cy hauled back with all his strength. The big man, in the reckless rage of pain, lunged awkwardly toward him. Cy brought up a whistling right. It cracked against the granite jaw. The victim crumpled slowly to the ground.
With a titantic effort, Cy picked up the bulky fellow and threw him bodily into the car. Then Cy pointed the coiled whip at Malone. "All right, Kip. You've been here too long."
After they had gone, Cy retrieved the fallen revolver from the rutted road. He faced Buck. "Where did you come from, anyway?"
Buck grinned and helped Maureen dust off her yellow dress. "After you left, I was still convinced you might need some help. So I just rode on out here. When I saw two of them, I snuck up behind a bush and waited. Man, that wet whip cuts like a knife."
"Especially when wielded by one Buck Farrell," said Cy.
"Well, I got to go now. I tied up my horse back in the woods," said Buck. "You all right, Maureen?"
"Yes, sir," quavered the girl. "I'm fine. Mr. Cy got here in time. If he hadn't, they might have hurt me."
"Where do you live?" asked Cy, trying to quiet his leaping nerves.
"On Mrs. Bergstrom's place. I'm Lula's daughter."
"Yes, I know. But just where is your house?"
"It's on the south side. The old Penny Place."
"That's quite a far piece."
"Yes, sir."
Cy said, "My car is parked near the bridge. I'll take you home."
They walked the remaining distance to the rickety trestle, crossed it and turned left. It was sundown now and the woods were cool and quiet. The smell of wild flowers and the tang of pine needles came to their nostrils.
Maureen drew a deep, shuddering breath as Cy opened the car door for her. "It's nice this time of afternoon," she said softly.
"Yes," Cy agreed, starting up the motor. "How do you feel now?"
"Oh-flustered, I guess. Mr. Cy, I hope you can understand how much I appreciate your help. I'm terribly grateful."
"Forget it," he said, with unnecessary emphasis. He was filled with emotions to which he could not put a name. The sight of this graceful girl, the sound of her voice, he found mysteriously moving.
"I hope they won't make trouble for you," she said.
"I can take care of myself. How long have they been bothering you?"
Maureen lowered her enormous, obliquely set eyes.
"Those two? Well, the driver-I never saw him before. The other one has been following me around a couple of days." Incredibly long lashes swept her cheeks. "Of course, for the past three years, men have been looking, hinting, making suggestions-"
"Yes," Cy said profoundly, "I should imagine so."
The big petal-soft eyes found his. "Does that mean something?"
Cy took a deep breath and gripped the wheel. "Maureen, you're impossibly attractive. How could any man keep away from you? You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
The savage thrust of sweet agony filled her breast. To her, he was a hero, her own personal hero. Her heart was brimming with admiration for Cy Scott. She knew him by sight, by reputation. But she had never dreamed that such a man would come, like a prince in a fairy tale, to rescue her from distress, and then tell her that she was beautiful. Although well aware that both white and colored men wanted her, Maureen had not imagined that her looks had had much to do with it. To her, the simple fact that she had been a girl coming into her maturity had been explanation enough.
Suddenly she found her voice. "We can go the back way. This road follows Pine Creek for a mile, then curves left. That will take us out to Mrs. Bergstrom's place."
"I know," Cy said thickly, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. His palms were wet. The pristine succulence of her soft-skinned legs was robbing him of all reason.
Gears groaned, then slid into action. As the car moved, conversation languished. Maureen was too intelligent not to realize that she had dealt Cy a fearful blow. Her skin was alive from scalp to toe with delicious prickles. She surrepititiously glanced at Cy's clean-cut profile ... What a guy, she mused. He was everything that she had ever wanted in a man, everything any girl could want. He was white, of course. Too bad about that. But white or black, he was the kind of man for her.
Heart aching like a sore tooth, Buck had watched them go.
"Muffed it again," Buck muttered to himself. Why hadn't he seized the chance to escort Maureen home? Why hadn't he beaten Cy to the punch? It would have been a wonderful opportunity for declaring himself. What made him so shy with the girl when he was so bold about everything else?
A thought exploded in his head. White-man bait, that's what she was. Too damned attractive for her own good. Hell, Cy was only human-she was no more than human, either.
Did it follow that something would happen between Cy and Maureen during the ride home?
Buck's brow furrowed. He had sworn that no white man would ever get Maureen. Besides, he wanted her for himself. He loved her....
Still, if Cy did kiss Maureen, toy with her, what could he, Buck, do about it? Cy was his friend, his best friend.
Buck untied his horse and slowly rode off. Maybe, he mused, Maureen thinks she's too good for a black man.