Apache Caress (22 page)

“Get him out here, Mayor, or by God, we’ll burn it down!”

The crowd roared their approval.

Sierra paused. They were going to hang Cholla. Well, he deserved it after what he had put her through. Koger would be headed in there now to drag him out. Then he’d be strung up from the nearest tree with no more dignity than a stray dog was killed. Even an enemy deserved better than that. Something else. Gillen’s revelations had raised more questions than they’d answered. He hadn’t been there the moment Robert had died. Cholla had. If Cholla was hanged, some questions would be forever unanswered. That is the only reason I am doing what I’m doing, Sierra told herself as she tied the horse, ran in the back door of the store.

Koger had just unlocked the door to the storeroom. He was halfway in as Sierra came up to him. “What do you want, gal?”

She caught his fat hand and smiled at him in the moonlight. “The lieutenant had to go on. I decided I liked you ... if you still need a woman.”

He shook his head. “I got no time for you now, maybe later. We got to hang this Injun.” He jerked his head toward Cholla who was standing quietly in the background.

“But maybe afterward?” She leaned into his embrace, unbalancing him a little.

He took a step backward, scratched his head. “Gal, if you don’t beat all.”

She pressed up against him. “After you hang the Injun, I got ways to reward you for keeping the others away.”

“I’ll just bet you do.” His small eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and he took another step backward as she pressed against him, completely oblivious to the silent man in chains behind him.

If she had calculated the length of Cholla’s chain just right ... Sierra went into the fat man’s embrace pushing him another couple of inches backward.

By now, all Koger seemed to be thinking of was the woman in his arms. She was rubbing herself against him like a bitch in heat.

It was just close enough. There was only the slightest clink of metal as Cholla moved fast as a rattlesnake. He grabbed the fat man from behind, clapping a hand over Koger’s mouth. Keys flew from a pudgy hand, landing over near the door. The fat man struggled, but he was no match for the Apache. With one mighty jerk, the scout threw Koger across his knee, broke his back; and dropped him on the floor. “Sierra, the key! Get the key!”

She stood there just out of Cholla’s reach, saw him pulling against the chain, knew the keys were just a few inches too far away for him to grasp.

Out front, she heard a man shout, “Koger, damn it! Don’t get to thinking about law and order! Come out with that Injun or we’ll burn the place down with both of you in it!”

Cholla stood there looking at her. He didn’t beg or threaten. He just looked. “Sierra?”

If she didn’t save him from the mob, she would never have all the answers she needed for her own peace of mind. Something too terrible to discuss, something secret, had occurred out in the lonely desert on that hot July day. If the two officers had raped and killed the girl he loved, could Cholla have used the ambush to his own advantage?
Murder.
Had Cholla ... ? Could Sierra have let her own husband’s killer make love to her? She wanted to know if Cholla really cared for her or he’d only been extracting a bitter vengeance. If he died at the hands of this mob, she would never get the answers to the questions that plagued her.

She picked up the keys, but her hands were shaking so badly Cholla had to take them from her and unlock the chains. He grabbed her arm, half led, half dragged her out the back door into the night. “Where’s Gill?”

“I struck him on the head with a lamp. There’re two horses out back!”

Even in the moonlight, she saw the gleam of white teeth. “By Usen, you do surprise me! I apologize for ever calling you a mouse.”

Too late they noted there were no guns on the saddles, but it was too risky to go back. They mounted up and rode out quietly to avoid being noticed. When they reached a rise, they paused and looked back. The store was in flames.

Cholla said, “That’ll give us a couple of hours. By the time the mob waits for the fire to cool and then discovers there’s only one body in it, we can be miles away. Thanks for coming back to help me.”

She forced herself to smile at him. “I couldn’t let them murder you,” she said. “I’ll help you get as far as Fort Bowie, if we can make it that far. After that, you’re on your own, all right?”

“It’s a bargain.”

They turned their horses and galloped away toward the southwest. Later, when the time was right, she would try to get answers. Right now more than the cold air chilled her. Had she just saved the life of her husband’s killer? And had Robert and Gillen really raped and murdered the Apache’s woman? If not, why had he and the other men on the patrol lied about what had happened out there to make Robert look good? Were they trying to protect Robert ... or someone else?

She couldn’t bring herself to question him as they rode on for the next several days. They slept in a barn one night, took some horse blankets from there to use as coverings for the next few days. They didn’t have any weapons, not even Cholla’s knife, but he managed to make a snare from wild grapevines and caught a rabbit. Sierra knew he lied when he told her he wasn’t very hungry and insisted she eat the major part of it.

Several times as they rode south, she looked over and caught him staring at her. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Once he said, “You could have gotten away without me. Why did you come back?”

She hesitated, not quite sure herself. “I owed you one,” she murmured. “After all, you saved me from the moonshiners and from drowning in the river.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “It’s kind of you not to point out that you wouldn’t have been in either spot if it hadn’t been for my kidnapping you.”

“I just didn’t like the idea of them lynching you,” she snapped and avoided his gaze. It was more than that, more than what had happened at the arroyo. She wouldn’t let herself think she might be beginning to care for this Apache who could be using her to revenge what her husband had done to his woman.

She didn’t want to think too much the reasons behind her behavior. “You’ve managed to get this far, maybe I can help you make it as far as the fort. After that, I’ll start a new life with a clear conscience, and you can slip across the border. It isn’t far to Mexico from there, is it?”

He shook his head. “Maybe fifty or sixty miles.”

“I wish we were in Arizona now.” She was cold and hungry, and the wind blew from the north in earnest. They’d be lucky if they didn’t get caught in a blizzard. “Where do you think we are?”

“With the clouds building and the sky so overcast the last couple of days, I don’t know any more than you do.”

She was horrified. “You mean we’re lost?”

“Maybe. The farther south we get, the better chance we have of getting away from this cold weather. I just hope we don’t wander into Kiowa-Comanche country. Those two tribes aren’t on the best of terms with Apaches.”

She hunched her shoulders and kept riding. At this moment, she didn’t know if she’d rather be captured by hostile Indians or freeze to death out in the southern section of Indian Territory.

Although they slept curled up together to conserve body heat, she was determined not to let him touch her, use her. But when his lips brushed hers, she couldn’t keep her treacherous body from clinging to him, wanting what he offered. Her body didn’t care that his embrace, his kiss, was only a bitter vengeance for the wrong her husband had done him.

Had she no pride? She should at least ask the questions that came to her, see if he could resolve all her fears. But when the tip of his tongue brushed across her lips and his fingers stroked her nipples into two hot points of sensation, nothing else seemed to matter to her except getting him between her thighs, imprisoning him there with her captive caress until he gave her what she hungered for. Then later, lying in his arms, she hated herself for wanting him so badly that she didn’t question him because he might give her the answers she feared.

Sergeant Mooney. It would be a relief to finally get to talk to the sergeant at Fort Bowie. Maybe he would hold the pieces to the puzzle that Cholla held back.

For several more days they rode south through the blowing snow. Sierra lost all track of time. She looked over at Cholla, cold and miserable. “It can’t get any worse than this.”

“It just did.” Cholla suddenly reined up, looking off in the distance.

Her gaze followed his. A group of Indians rode toward them. Her heart almost stopped. “Should we run?”

“Yes, but it’s too late, they’ve seen us.”

She watched the dark, sullen faces as the men rode closer. “Are they–?”

Cholla nodded. “Comanches.”

Sierra made a little sound of dismay. “Merciful heavens! What’ll we do?”

“We can’t show any fear. Like all Indians, the Comanche respect bravery.”

Bravery.
Had Cholla killed Robert? And if so, was it because her husband was a coward or because of Delzhinne?
Has he only made love to me for vengeance, laughing secretly at my passion as he used he?
She winced at the thought as she watched the Indians ride closer. Now she would never find out.

“We might as well bluff,” Cholla said without turning his head. “Maybe I can think of some reason for us to be trespassing on their land. If I can convince them I’ve come to bring their chief a present–”

“You don’t have anything of value to give him; our horses aren’t worth much.”

He looked at her, and a chill went down her back. She knew by his expression what he was thinking. Yes, Cholla might be able to save himself if he had a good gift for the chief.

He had one all right, a white squaw.

Cholla was more afraid for Sierra than he was for himself. He sat his horse, watching the Comanches approach. Ever since he had been forced onto the train at Holbrook, he had been prepared to die, had even expected to die. Yet at this moment, life seemed very sweet and he wasn’t ready to give it up easily.

He watched the silent warriors approach. He might buy his life by giving them the white woman. Her expression betrayed that was what she expected him to do. Certainly it was a fitting revenge against Robert Forester. But his very being rebelled at the idea.

The men rode close, reined in. Cholla recognized that most were Comanche, a couple were Kiowa. He held up his hand in greeting. A Kiowa immediately began sign language, but Cholla shook his head, indicating that he understood little of that. The greatest allies of the Comanche, the Kiowa were wily traders with other tribes and knew sign language better than most.

But Cholla had an idea. From the Mexicans around Arizona, he had learned some Spanish. He figured the Comanche and Kiowa had, too.

Buenos
días,
” he began. He told them in Spanish that he and his woman were lost, then asked about their chief and where their people were camped.

The men looked at him for some moments, seemed to be appraising Sierra. Finally one of them said, “Quanah Parker” and pointed west.

In rapid border Spanish, the brave told Cholla that the party was out hunting and that their half-breed chief, Quanah Parker, was camped a few miles away.

Cholla gave them his most fierce look, to discourage their undisguised admiration of Sierra. “
Hombres,
take me to Quanah.”

A hook-nosed Comanche glared back and asked him what tribe he was.

“Apache.” Apache. Enemy. It was a name the Zuni had given his tribe. They called themselves the Dine’. The braves exchanged looks. He touched his broad chest. “Cholla.”

“Like the cactus one does not dare touch?”

“
Sí.
” He nodded.

To his surprise, several braves’ stern faces broke into smiles, and a chatter of Comanche and Kiowa went through the party, each head nodding and pointing at the pair.

Sierra looked over at Cholla, evidently encouraged by the smiling faces. “What’s happened?”

Cholla shrugged. “I’m not sure I know. They seem to recognize my name. Only thing I can figure, they must have me confused with someone. They want us to go with them back to Quanah Parker’s camp.”

She mentally counted the number of braves. “Do we have any choice?”

“Not really. I told them you were my woman.”

She looked as if she might protest, so Cholla said under his breath, “Indians are big on hospitality. If you are a captive and not my woman, they might expect me to share you, and they’d pass you around like they would tobacco, or maybe make a gift of you to one of their warriors.”

“Hospitality has to end somewhere,” Sierra said tight-lipped as they set off in the midst of the hunting party. “Are we going to come out of this alive?”

Cholla looked straight ahead as they rode. “I don’t have any idea. That depends on their chiefs whim.”

“But they’ve been conquered,” Sierra whispered to him. “He can’t do anything to a United States citizen.”

“Who’s to stop him? Would you like to wire President Cleveland to protest?”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” she said huffily.

“I’m just pointing out the facts.”

“Will it do me any good to tell them who I really am?”

He frowned at her. “If you want to tell them you’re the widow of a Cavalry officer who was killed fighting Indians, go right ahead. Do I need to tell you the soldiers put Quanah and his people on the reservation back in seventy-five?”

Her face paled as if she’d abruptly realized that, illegal or not, their fates were now in the hands of the half-breed chief and his people.

It was a long way through blowing snow west to the warriors’ camp, and the pair had soon lapsed into silence. Cholla was more worried than he wanted Sierra to know, but there was no point in upsetting her. He had made his decision when he’d looked over at her and seen she was more frightened than she admitted and was depending on him to protect her. He would endure torture or whatever the Comanche and Kiowa wanted to put him through if they would set Sierra free. The thought surprised him, and he again reminded himself that she was his enemy’s woman. Then he stopped lying to himself and knew deep in his soul that somewhere along the way his feelings for her had changed.

They reached Quanah’s hunting camp after a couple of hours. By then they were both chilled and hungry. In fact, with the weather worsening, Cholla wondered as they dismounted whether the two of them could have survived the night with no more food and clothing than they had.

They stood in the center of the encampment, and Sierra looked up at him as an Indian woman came and took her by the hand. “Go on,” he urged. “She’ll take you into a
tipi,
get you some food. I’ll meet with Quanah, see what’s going on.”

“Can’t I go with you?”

He shook his head. “Women don’t come along when men parlay. I’ll be there later.”

She walked away reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder at him.

He watched her, wanting to shelter her in his arms, to tell her everything would be all right. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders proudly, ignoring the people who had come out of the shelters to stare curiously at the strangers.

A warrior came out of a
tipi
and stood looking at Cholla, his arms folded across his chest. Quanah Parker, Cholla thought in awe as he stared back at the legendary half-breed. He saw a tall man perhaps in his late thirties, with only a few gray hairs in his long braids. But it was the chiefs eyes that caught Cholla’s attention; they were a deep blue-gray

Cholla walked over, faced him.
“Buenos días.”

“I speak English, do you?”

Cholla nodded.

“Then speak it,” Quanah said dryly. “Someday all must learn it. The day may come when neither my nor your grandchildren or great-grandchildren will even remember their own language.” He gestured toward his
tipi,
and they entered.

Quanah sat down cross-legged before the fire, gesturing to indicate his guest should sit to his right. The heat felt good to Cholla’s half-frozen body. Gratefully, the scout sank down, too.

When he looked up, the blue-gray eyes were studying him. “We will smoke and talk,” the Comanche announced grandly.

“I am honored to be the guest of the great Quanah.”

“You have heard of me?”

“I have heard the bluecoats talk of the brave chief who fought at Adobe Walls and the Palo Duro Canyon of Texas.”

“All so long ago.” The half-breed seemed almost wistful as he reached for some tobacco and papers, handed some to Cholla, rolled himself a cigarette. “As I remember, the Apache do not smoke the ceremonial pipe, and besides”–he smiled wryly–“some of the things civilization has given my people are better than what we had–but not much.”

Cholla rolled himself a smoke, lit it with a burning stick from the fire. It tasted good. His body was beginning to warm. “The great chief is out hunting?”

Quanah nodded and puffed on his cigarette, staring into the fire. “Mostly I eat agency beef, but now and then, I take my braves and we go off and camp, shoot a few rabbits and deer, pretend that things are as they were when I was young and we and our allies controlled the Plains. In those days, the buffalo were many; so many that for miles, when the herds moved, the Plains were a brown sea of fur. When the soldiers deliver the cattle now, the young men chase the beef down and shoot them with arrows.” He made a derisive noise. “Some of them have never seen a buffalo. I am glad my father, the great chief Peta Nocona, did not live to see the day Comanche warriors chased tame cows and played at hunting.”

Cholla shook his head. “It is no better for my people.”

Quanah stared at him. “I saw your woman. Is she Indian or white?”

What should he answer? This stoic chief did not look like a man to be lied to. “She is white. I stole her. She was an enemy’s wife.”

Quanah nodded in understanding. “So it was with my father. My mother was a blue-eyed white girl stolen in a Texas raid. The whites came one day and stole her back.”

For a moment, he said no more, and there were no sounds but the crackling of the fire and the howling of the wind. Cholla watched him, wondering what thoughts crossed Quanah’s mind.

“My mother and baby sister are buried in Texas,” the Comanche said. “Someday I hope to move their bodies so I may be buried next to them. The whites will take your woman away from you, too, as they took my mother.”

“I have promised her I will return her to her people at the end of our journey in exchange for her help.”

Quanah looked at him in surprise. “You would give up a woman like that? She is pretty, would bear you fine sons and warm your blankets on lonely nights. My father would never have given up his white woman. The Texians took her away by force while he was gone.”

“I ... I have given my word to her.” He did not want to think about losing Sierra.

“A man does not make promises to women. Such oaths are for warriors. Put a son in her belly and keep her. When its tiny mouth sucks at her breast and she is warm and safe in your lodge, she will forget about wanting to return to the white civilization.”

That was not a decision Cholla wanted to deal with right then. “I will think on this,” he said somberly, wondering when Quanah would get to the point.

“There is talk that the White Father in Washington will soon allow white farmers to come in, take the rest of our Indian lands, and plow it up for farms.”

Cholla nodded. “I have heard these rumors. No doubt the whites will pay you for the land.”

“Pay!” Quanah snorted in derision. “You think we will have any choice but to accept what they offer? If we say we do not wish to sell, they will take the land anyway. So when they offer, all the tribes will take the money. A hundred years from now the whites will say they didn’t
steal
Indian Territory, they
paid
us for it.”

Cholla smoked and listened to the chiefs grumbling in polite silence. Perhaps the half-breed was lonely and wished to talk to someone who had been lately in battle. It had been a dozen years since the Comanche had fought.

“You are indeed the Apache called Cholla?” The light eyes seemed to stare into his soul.

Cholla was disconcerted, but he nodded. “The great Comanche chief surely has not heard of me?”

“Ah, but we have!” Quanah’s handsome face broke into a grin. “Those who hang around Fort Sill near my house say messages come and go among the soldiers. It seems you have caused them much loss of face to have slipped through their fingers and headed home. All the tribes are glad to see the soldiers look so foolish!”

So that was it. The news that he had escaped the train and dodged the Army had traveled through the tribes, and they were all enjoying this minor triumph he had brought all Indians. “It is a little thing that I do.” Cholla ducked his head modestly. “No doubt you could have done better.”

“You are a proper warrior, even though you have scouted for the bluecoats.” Quanah grunted his approval and puffed on his cigarette. “I would not call traveling hundreds of miles and stealing one of their women a small feat. A hundred years from now, I think you will be a legend.”

“Quanah Parker will be a legend with his great exploits; few will remember the Apache who escaped a train to try to return to his homeland.” Cholla again ducked his head.

Quanah, chuckled. “I would not be too sure. The Comanche would like to be a part of this great thing you do. I will see that you are fed, supplied, and, after a day or two of rest, sent on your way.”

Cholla heaved a sigh of relief and threw his cigarette into the fire. “I am planning to try for the freedom across the border. Come with me.”

The half-breed’s blue-gray eyes gleamed with hope and interest for a moment; then the light died and he shook his head regretfully. “I am chief now, the last chief of the Comanche. As such I have responsibilities to my people. I cannot slip a whole tribe through the bluecoats. So I will hunt for a few days, then return to the reservation near Fort Sill.”

“You will not even consider it?”

Quanah shook his head and threw his cigarette into the fire, staring into the flames. “But know that my heart and thoughts go with you, free as the eagle flying. You may be forgotten by the whites, but Indians of every tribe will remember you and tell your tale many times by their campfires and stay, ‘Here was a man who would not bend, who would not accept his fate without a fight. Here was a brave man.”

He stood up slowly, and Cholla did also, knowing the interview was ended. They went outside. The chill wind howled like a ghost spirit, blowing snow across the ground.

Quanah looked to the north, his face solemn. “They say at the fort the winter is one of the worst in memory. On the Great Plains to the north, the snow piles in deep drifts and kills the ranchers’ cattle by the thousands.”