Apache Caress (19 page)

His weather-beaten face furrowed in surprise. “You turning them in?”

“Not if no one’s looking for them.” She felt tired, defeated, and betrayed. In spite of everything, her own half-grown son hated her for her stern discipline with the quirt. Her daughter had gotten pregnant, and was even now at an aunt’s home in Missouri, hiding and in disgrace. Belle didn’t have to ask why the lock on that bedroom window of Pearl’s was broken ; probably Pearl had broken it herself so her lover could get in at night. Belle just hoped it hadn’t been that worthless Slim.

“But, Belle, those horses,” Joe said.

“What about them?” She glared in the direction the pair had ridden on the fine palominos. Joe was right; if they kept on in that same direction, they were going to end up near the edge of Sundance.

“You know what they’ll do to that pair if they get caught with them horses from the Berrigan Ranch?”

Belle smiled and nodded. She would have her revenge on the virile brave who had dared spurn the Bandit Queen of the dime novels. “Sure, I know. But then, in the West they always lynch horse thieves!”

Sierra heaved a sigh of relief as she and Cholla rode away from Younger’s Bend. Though she was still a hostage, she’d rather not risk staying at Belle Starr’s place until she could get a message to the Army or the law. She’d take her chances with the Indian.

At least they had fresh clothes, two good horses, and supplies, including a saddle gun. Belle had given Sierra a buckskin-fringed outfit and a pair of soft, rawhide boots. Now they rode southwest through the cool autumn day.

Cholla. glanced over at her. “With your hair in braids, you look like a local Indian. It should be easy for us to pass ourselves off as Cherokees, and it’s probably safer.”

“Suppose we run into some
real
Cherokees?” she challenged.

“Don’t borrow trouble. Well worry about that if it happens.”

Now that they were safely away from the outlaw hideout, Sierra wondered if there was a settlement in the area and whether she could figure out a way to escape from Cholla if they found one.

They rode several miles. The sun was out, burning away the frost from the flaming red sumac and yellow-leafed cottonwood trees.

Cholla glanced abruptly toward a small rise. “Get down!”

“What?”

Before she could move or react, he dived for her knocking her off her horse. They both hit the dirt heavily as a rifle shot whined past them, echoing and reechoing.

She lay on the soft dirt, the breath knocked out of her, breathing heavily and looking up at him as he shielded her with his body. The horses whinnied and reared, galloped off. “What ... what happened?”.

He grabbed her by the collar, dragged her behind a rock as the rifle cracked again. Cholla swore softly under his breath. “I happened to look up, saw the reflection off the gun barrel. Someone’s trying to kill us!”

Her heart pounded with apprehension. They were at a disadvantage since the carbine was in the rifle boot on Cholla’s palomino. “Why–?”

“Shh.” He held his finger to his lips for silence. “All we’ve got is my knife,” he whispered. “If he decides to come after us, we’ve no chance against a rifle. I’m going to try crawling around behind him. In a few minutes, maybe after he fires again, you cry out or do something to hold his attention.”

She grabbed his arm as he crept away. “Suppose you don’t come back?”

He grinned at her. “Then you’ll have to try to cut your own deal with the dry-gulcher. It shouldn’t be hard ... with that body.” He crawled away.

Her mouth felt so dry, she couldn’t swallow. Somewhere close beside her, a redheaded woodpecker beat a
rat-a-tat-tat
on a dead tree. Suppose the unseen assassin isn’t a man, she thought, suddenly remembering the way Belle Starr had looked at her. Or maybe the sharpshooter wasn’t after her at all; maybe he was part of a posse or an Army patrol looking for the Apache. If she stood up, threw up her hands and surrendered, warned them, would they get Cholla and free her? A shot cracked past her, splintering a nearby oak tree and sending a squirrel racing away, chattering indignantly.

Maybe she should just stay down and wait, see what would happen. No, she had to know if that was the Army or a posse.

She made her decision. “Don’t shoot!” she shouted and gradually stood up, hands in the air. “Don’t shoot! That last shot got him. I’m not armed!”

For a long moment she just stood there in the stillness, listening. At any second, she expected a bullet to take her life. Would she feel any pain? The silence was unbearable. “Don’t shoot!” she screamed again. “I’m not armed!”

Very slowly, a man stuck his head out from behind a rock in the distance, his rifle barrel glinting in his hands. “No tricks now!”

She held her hands high, shook her head frantically. “No tricks! I’m keeping my hands where you can see them!”

He stood up, grinning, his rifle still trained on her. He was lean and broad-shouldered, and he had ice blue eyes. “Well, sweet thing, it seems we meet again.”

Slim. Not again. Where was Cholla? It occurred to her that given the odds, the Apache might elect to steal Slim’s horse and take off at a gallop. The palominos had probably run a short distance and stopped to graze.

Her mouth seemed frozen with fear, but she forced her lips to form a smile. “Well, hello, Slim, I was hoping to run across you again.”

He waved the gun at her. “Come out where I can see you, gal. Is the Injun really dead?”

She saw Cholla loom up behind him, slash at him with the big knife.

Slim tried to scream, but the sound became a bubbling gurgle as scarlet blood splashed the front of his shirt.

When Slim fell, abruptly, Sierra’s legs would support her no longer. She leaned against a boulder and shook all over as Cholla took Slim’s rifle, then wiped his knife on the dead man’s shirt and put it in his belt. He came through the brush to her. “Are you all right?”

“I ... I ...” She finally managed to nod. “I never saw a man get his throat cut before.”

He looked almost sympathetic. “You’ve been through a lot of things you never experienced before you met me.”

She stared at him. He wasn’t a man; he was a cold, killing machine. How could she have felt drawn to him? “How many men have you killed?”

Cholla sighed. “Too many. If I could find some little corner of the world and live in peace without anyone trying to kill me or lock me up, I’d be glad not to ever have to do it again.” He took her arm, gently stood her on her feet. “Let’s see if we can catch the horses.”

They caught Slim’s bay and one of the palominos. Unfortunately, it was hers, not the one with the saddle gun, but now Cholla had Slim’s fancy rifle. The palomino they caught had thrown a shoe.

She looked toward the dead man. “Aren’t we going to bury him or something?”

Cholla shook his head as he put his big hands on her waist, helped her mount the palomino, and swung up on the bay himself.

“That other palomino will head back to his own barn. That may bring riders backtracking him to this place. Even Belle might not take kindly to my cutting Slim’s throat. For all we know, she sent him out here to ambush us; I don’t trust her. Let’s clear out in case anyone shows up

“What about this palomino’s shoe?”

They started out at a walk.

“Maybe it’ll be all right for a while, until we can find a blacksmith,” Cholla said. “I just hope he doesn’t come up lame.” He looked at the rifle in his hands, whistled low. “This is fancy–cost a lot. I’m afraid to guess how Slim came by a rifle like this; looks almost one of a kind.”

Sierra looked up at the sky. Late morning. She wondered what day of the week it was? What month even? Probably the middle of October or even later, she thought, looking at the golden leaves swirling from the trees. They blew in small drifts and made dry, crackling sounds as the horses rode through them.

Within a couple of hours, the palomino came up lame. Cholla dismounted, examined the hoof, shook his head. “I was afraid of this; bruised the frog of its hoof in that headlong gallop when Slim spooked them.”

“So now what?” She looked over at him as he swung back up in the saddle, the leather creaking beneath his big body. He fingered the rifle absently. It is unusual, Sierra thought, gazing at the fancy etched brass on the stock. But then gunslingers liked fine guns and spent a lot of money on the tools of their trade.

“I don’t know. We’ll keep riding to the southwest. Maybe we’ll run across a ranch where we can trade horses, or even a blacksmith.”

If we find some law-abiding people, I’ll have a chance to escape, Sierra thought.

They rode the better part of an hour before Cholla’s keen eyes noted a couple of wisps of smoke drifting on the horizon. He pointed them out. “Maybe a ranch, let’s go.”

She tried to act indifferent, though her heart was beating hard with excitement. At last they might run across some law-abiding people who would help her.

Finally they topped a rise and saw a small settlement below. It isn’t much, Sierra thought with disappointment, a store or two, a few ragged cabins, maybe a livery stable. There were a surprising number of people on the streets, a few horses tied up at hitching rails, a couple of buggies and wagons.

“Sierra,” he said, “you behave yourself when we ride in there.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He reached over, caught her arm, turned her to look at him. “Yes, you do.” His voice was low and cold. “I don’t want to have to kill anyone, but I will if you give out any signals that might cause me trouble. As far as these people are concerned, we’re Cherokees just passing through. With your hair braided and that buckskin outfit you’ve got on, you could pass for an Indian.”

They rode in, Sierra trying to decide what to do next. She knew Cholla was good with a rifle. He hadn’t survived this long without being able to protect himself. If he was cornered, she didn’t doubt that he might try to shoot his way out. Innocent people would be killed, and it would be her fault. She’d have to think of a plan.

Cholla looked up and down the street, ignoring the barking dogs and curious stares. “Let’s go in this general store and see what they can tell us about a blacksmith.”

If she could get out of his sight, she’d ask for help. “Why don’t you go in? I’ll watch the horses.”

He grinned at her, then shook his head. “Me no stupid Injun. Come, squaw. You come in too, not talk to strangers.”

Reluctantly, she dismounted. They tied their horses to the hitching rail and went in, Cholla carrying the fancy rifle.

A fat man with three chins stood behind the counter, thumbs tucked in his dirty white apron. They waited for him to finish weighing and bagging some nails for a cowboy, who gave the pair a long look as he went out.

Sierra said, “Does the cowboy know how much of your thumb he just paid for?”

The fat man turned an ugly red, and his three chins quivered. “I ain’t used to smart talk from blanket butts like you, Injun gal. My scales are honest.”

Cholla grabbed her arm, glared at her. “Is there a blacksmith in town?”

The storekeeper’s small eyes seemed fascinated by the rifle. “Usually there is, but he’s gone out to shoe old man Berrigan’s cow ponies.”

Sierra and Cholla exchanged glances, and she managed to keep from smiling at her piece of luck. The longer they had to stay in town, the better her chances were of sneaking a message to someone without Cholla knowing about it.

“Injun, you want to trade that rifle?”

Cholla shook his head. “We’ll just be going on then.”

“Mighty fine rifle for an Injun,” the storekeeper rocked back on his heels. “I’d give you heap firewater, candy, and ribbons for your squaw for it.”

Cholla shook his head again, fell into the pidgin English. “Me no want sell. Come, squaw.”

But as he started to turn, the fat man reached out and caught Sierra’s arm. “Then how about another little trade? I’d give you a heap of stuff to take your woman in the back room for a few minutes.”

“You load of guts,” Cholla snarled, “get your hands off her!”

The fat man blinked and slowly removed his hand. “I ain’t used to being talked to like that by an Injun.”

“This Indian Territory,” Cholla said. “What’s white man doing here anyway?”

“I’m married to a squaw, just like most of the white men around here. That gives us some land rights.” He glared at Cholla. “I’m an important man, Injun. I wouldn’t cross John Koger if I was you.”

Cholla stood his ground. “Don’t want any trouble. I just want to find blacksmith.”

The storekeeper leaned on the counter, looked at Sierra with hungry eyes. “Why don’t you let the squaw make up her own mind? Hey, you.” He made obscene gestures to Sierra. “Little of your time. I give you pretty cloth, ribbons, beads.”

Cholla leaned across the counter, grabbed the fat man so hard he tore his shirt. “Maybe you no hear good, white man. Squaw mine. Nobody touches but me!”

For once, Sierra kept silent and began to retreat behind Cholla’s big frame. She’d find someone else in this settlement to help her.

As they turned to leave, another cowboy entered. “Say, Koger, who’s ridin’ that palomino tied to the rail?”

Cholla glared at the man. “Who wants to know?”

The man appeared to back away. “The boys is talkin’ out front. Where’d you get that horse, Injun?”

It occurred to Sierra that Belle hadn’t given them any papers. Maybe they wouldn’t challenge a woman. “It’s my horse,” she said.

Now it was the cowboy’s turn to look her over, to take in the rifle Cholla carried. “Koger, ain’t that Lem Jenks’s fancy rifle?”

Koger rocked back on his heels. “I just asked him about that?”

“I bought gun,” Cholla said.

The two white men looked at him with renewed interest, veiled hostility.

What next? Sierra thought. What kind of settlement had they ridden into? She was beginning to have terrible feelings about all these questions.

The cowboy cleared his throat, looked away. “Well, I suppose that’s all the questions I needed to ask. Be seein’ ya, Koger.”

He turned and went out. Sierra breathed a sigh of relief, but Cholla’s scowl remained. He caught Sierra’s elbow. “Squaw, we go.”

He propelled her outside and right into the bunch of armed men waiting for them, along with the man who had been in the store earlier. “Get your hands up, Injun!”

Cholla looked as if he might fight, but he seemed to realize there were women and children around who might get hurt. While he hesitated, the cowboy jerked the gun from his hand and someone else took the knife out of his belt. The men then overpowered him, twisted his arms behind him, and bound his wrists. When he still struggled, the cowboy hit him across the temple with the barrel of his revolver, and Cholla fell unconscious.

Sierra didn’t look at him. She must think about herself. After all, he was a fugitive. “Thanks!” she said. “This man kidnapped me weeks ago, and I’ve been forced to travel with him ever since!”

The expressions on the men’s faces showed doubt. The fat man came out of the store behind them. “A likely story! Don’t pay her no nevermind, boys. That squaw is just tryin’ to slip out of trouble her own self.”

“No.” Sierra shook her head, “No, it’s true. If you don’t believe me, contact the Army; see if they aren’t looking for an escaped Apache and a kidnapped woman named Sierra Forester. There’s a reward.”