Apache Caress (27 page)

“You two shut up,” Rod growled, gesturing with his pistol, “unless you want to talk loud enough for the rest of us to hear.”

Nevada looked back over his shoulder as he handed his reins to one of the others. “Take it easy, Rod.”

Rod looked as if he might say something, then seemed to think better of it. “I was just afraid they were plottin’ something.”

“So let them!” The leader took off his Stetson, slapped it against his leg, dust flying. “Frankly, Rod, when you were off in Tombstone a few days, I enjoyed the quiet. You find a doctor there?”

“He was out of town,” Rod said as he gestured, indicating the pair of captives should go ahead of him, “but I did find a cutie at the Birdcage Theater. She wants to be a singer.”

Even in the moonlight, Sierra saw a dark frown cross Nevada’s rugged features, and he swore under his breath. “With what you got, you take up with a woman? That’s rotten, mister.”

“Aw, I probably didn’t give her what I got. Besides, it cost me enough. I had to listen to her sing, and she sounded like a squallin’ cat.”

Sierra was scared. She held onto Cholla’s arm as they all went into the cabin, leaving Ben to put away the horses.

The darkly handsome leader looked her up and down. “Can you cook, ma’am?”

Rod snorted with amusement. “I got better ideas for her than cookin,’ Nevada.”

Cholla bristled, pushed Sierra behind him. “Don’t touch her.”

“I plan to do more than touch her.” Rod laughed.

“Why you–!”

But even as Cholla went for the sneering outlaw, the leader stepped between them. “Easy,
señor
.” He isn’t gonna touch her.”

“Who says?” Rod squared his shoulders. “If she’s gonna be here awhile, we got a right to expect a little entertainment from her.”

“
I say
, Rod, at least until someone comes along who can outdraw me, and I don’t think you’re that man.”

“Someday we’ll see about that.”

Cholla broke in. “Nevada, you don’t have to fight my battles for me.”

“So who asked you?” The dark eyes were cold. “This has nothing to do with you or your woman–it has
everything
to do with who leads this gang.”

The others stood around, patiently rolling cigarettes. “Rod, we’re with Nevada,” Jack said. “Me and my brother Charlie joined him when he saved us from a lynch mob. So if you’re lookin’ for someone to back your play, don’t count on us.”

“Same here,” the swarthy Mexican grunted.

Sierra hurried to the fireplace. “I’ll fix some food.” The tension dissolved immediately, and the men settled themselves around on chairs. Ben came in and built up the fire for Sierra. She watched them all out of the corner of her eye as she looked for flour and lard, began to make biscuits. The Whitleys lit cigarettes, Ben got out a bottle and glasses.

“Now”–Nevada grinned at Cholla with even white teeth–“tell us just why the law’s after you,
señor
.”

The scout hesitated. “It’s a long story.”

“We got time.” Rod grinned malevolently.

“Shut up,” Nevada said to him; then he turned to Cholla. “
Señor
, why is the Army on your trail, what did you do?”

Sierra cooked and listened as Cholla told what had happened from the time he jumped off the train near her farm. When he’d brought them up to date, Nevada leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Well, I’ll be damned! So you’re that Apache! Half the country is looking for you. We’ve heard about you in every
cantina
. Maybe you’ll bring us luck after all.”

Rod’s yellow eyes gleamed. “Nevada, if there’s a big reward, we ought to hand him over to the Army.”

But the
pistolero
shook his head, sipped his drink. “We aren’t bounty hunters, Rod.”

“But he’s just an Injun–”

“I’m Injun, too,” Nevada said, “or have you forgotten? Spanish and Indian. Besides, we’ve got no friends in the Army. Why should we do them a favor?”

“I was thinking of the money,” Rod grumbled.

“Well, stop thinking about the money”. Nevada threw his
cigarillo
into the fireplace and sipped his whiskey. “We made a good haul from the railroad this time. Besides, any man who can lead the Army on a merry chase like he’s done, and make them look like a bunch of fools, is all right with me.”

“But Nevada–”

“You heard me!”

His voice carried the authority of a whip crack.

No wonder he’s the leader of this cutthroat crew, Sierra thought.

Cholla sipped his drink. “I don’t know anything about you,” he said to the other man.

Nevada shrugged wide shoulders. “I lead this gang; that’s all you need to know. The past is best left buried.”

Sierra glanced over at him. He looked sad, almost tragic. He ran one hand through his black hair, and she saw the fine ring gleam on his hand. This is no ordinary outlaw, she decided as she fried bacon. Everything about him showed class and education. She wondered suddenly who he really was?

Nevada sipped his drink, looked at Cholla. “You want to ride with us, you’re welcome to join up; share and share alike.”

“I’ll think about it.” Cholla looked over at Sierra. “I was on my way to the Sierra Madre.”

“That’s a pretty lonely life,” Nevada said.

Rod laughed and gulped his drink. “Not if you got a little hot tamale like that one to take with you.”

Cholla gave him a look that would freeze hot water. “If you go anywhere near her, I’ll cut you like a steer!”

Nevada looked at him keenly, then turned and looked Sierra over. “Is she your woman? I thought she was a hostage.”

Sierra went brick red and busied herself with the biscuits.

“She’s mine,” Cholla said with finality. “And I don’t share.”

Nevada sighed almost regretfully. “There was once a girl . . . never mind. If Sierra were mine, I wouldn’t share either.”

Rod slammed his glass down on the table with a ringing sound. “Now wait just a damned minute! It ain’t fair that we all got to do without while he gets her all to himself. He ought to be made to share.”

Cholla’s voice was cold. “Any
hombre
here thinks he’s big enough to walk across me to get to her–”

“You heard the man, Rod.” Nevada grinned.

“But he’s just a damned Injun bastard, and–”

“Enough!” Nevada’s chair came down on all fours with a bang that rattled the windows. “Enough!”

Rod’s face went pale. “I ... I beg your pardon, Nevada. I plumb forgot about your . . .”

Sierra looked at him. Rod’s voice trailed off weakly. He had obviously brought up something forbidden. She wondered even more about the handsome, mixed-blood outlaw with the wolf’s-head ring.

She was scared, but she was also mad. “It looks like you galoots might think about consulting me, while everyone talks about sharing me around!”

Nevada threw back his head and laughed, but his dark eyes were full of admiration as he looked her over. “Spirit! I like that in horses and women!”

“But, Nevada,” Rod argued, “that ain’t fair. We outnumber him. Why don’t we just take her?”

The leader gave Sierra a charming wink. “I think we had better consult the lady; I was raised a gentleman.”

“I’m with Cholla,” she said, stepping to his side.

Rod’s face broke into an ugly sneer. “You’d take that savage over a–”

Cholla hit him then, charging into him, knocking him backward. They crashed into a table; it splintered under their weight and they went crashing to the floor.

Ben watched, but the other three moved as if to interfere. Nevada held up his hand. “Let them fight,” he ordered. “Rod’s been askin’ for trouble a long time; he’s overdue to have his plow cleaned.”

Sierra stared, horror-stricken, as the two men fought, rolling about hitting each other, slamming into furniture. A picture came down with a clatter and tinkle of broken glass.

“You bastard!” Rod swore as they struggled. He snatched up a piece of the broken glass, slashed at Cholla, cut his cheek, and scarlet blood smeared them both.

Sierra smelled the warm, coppery scent of it, felt sick; but there was nothing she could do. In that instant, Cholla slammed Rod up against a wall, and Rod reached for the pistol in his holster. Nevada’s Colt blazed suddenly, the noise like thunder, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the room.

Rod clutched his chest, staring in openmouthed horror as blood seeped through his fingers. Then he crashed to the floor.

Nevada crossed himself, blew the smoke from the pearl-handled pistol barrel, reholstered his gun. “I don’t hold with letting a man gun an unarmed one down.”

Cholla strode to Sierra’s side, put his arm around her, looked at Nevada.

The handsome outlaw shrugged. “Rod was overdue for a hanging anyhow. He’d been on the prod for weeks. Besides, now I’m back to my magic number of five again. Jack and Charlie, get that body out of here.”

The men all relaxed, and the two brothers went over, picked up the body, carried it outside. Evidently no one had liked the dead outlaw.

Cholla knew at that moment that he loved Sierra. He didn’t want or need her; he loved her. Of course she didn’t care about him. Gently he put his arm around her shaking shoulders, shook his head. “Thanks, Nevada.”

“Don’t mention it. My father . . .”–he hesitated–“my stepfather was a Kentuckian, so I was brought up in the old-fashioned Southern tradition. Ladies are meant to be protected.” Nevada began to roll a cigarette.

“If you’ll give us permission to leave, we’re headed for Arizona,” Cholla said.

“Arizona. Lots of memories there. . . .” Nevada’s voice trailed off. He lit his cigarette. “And then what?”

Cholla looked down into Sierra’s eyes and made his decision. He loved her, but he hadn’t been straight with her; he had intended to force her to go with him, no matter what he had promised. Now because he loved her, he would do what was right, no matter how much of a sacrifice it was, how much it hurt him. “I’m headed south of the border,” he said softly, “but I promised Sierra I’d leave her at Fort Bowie. I have to keep my word because she trusts me.”

He waited then, hoping against hope that she would say, I’ve changed my mind, I want to go with you, be with you for all time. Take me across the border with you.

Of course she didn’t, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he cared. He was a proud man, one who wouldn’t bend to anyone, not the whole U.S. Army, not incredible odds, and certainly not to a woman. No, she isn’t just a woman, he admitted silently. Sierra is
ishton, the
woman, best loved of all the women who ever shared my embrace. But he was too proud to tell her that.

Nevada shrugged and smoked, staring into the fire. “One time there was a girl . . .” he said softly, almost as if he were voicing his thoughts to himself. He shrugged and looked at them. “Very well. You two stay a day or two and rest up; then, barring bad luck, we’ll get you headed on those last few miles to Arizona.” He reached over and knocked on the wooden table.

Cholla thought about Gill. “There might be an Army patrol looking for us. I don’t want to bring you our trouble.”

Nevada stood up. “Kind of you to tell us, but we aren’t worried. In fact, we might enjoy leading the Army around in circles for a few days until they get tired of it all, realize they’ve been fooled, and go away. Is that food ready, ma’am?”

Sierra nodded.

“Then let’s eat.”

So Cholla and Sierra stayed with the outlaws for a couple of days. During that time, he made love to her with a passion that was bittersweet because they were so soon to part. While he wanted her, he would not force her to accompany him across the border. He would not even lower himself to ask. She didn’t really care about him, and the life he faced was a hard, lonely one full of danger. When he took her in his arms and made love to her in the darkness of their small room in the outlaws’ cabin, it was a bittersweet experience because in only a few more days, they were going to be separated forever.

Nevada tried to get the couple to stay on until after Christmas, but they declined.

“The Army’s looking for us in this area,” Cholla said. “And I promised Sierra I would get her to Fort Bowie, so we’re going on.”

Sierra had mixed feelings about the approaching end of the whole adventure. A new year ahead of me, she thought, I’ll be starting a whole new life. But I’ll be doing it alone.

Cholla changed into Western clothes, and she put on a fringed, buckskin dress and the boots Trace had given her. They waved good-bye to the outlaws and rode out.

“What’re you thinking?” Cholla asked after they had ridden west for a while.

“About what I’m going to do in the coming months.”

He didn’t look at her. “Will you be going back to East Saint Louis?”

“I ... I don’t know.” She shook her head. “My mother always wanted to go West; maybe it was my desire, too. I didn’t dream it could be so wild and beautiful.”

“Sierra,” he mused, so softly that he seemed to be speaking to himself, “wild and beautiful and untamed.”

“Maybe I’ll stay.” She waited for him to say he wished she’d go with him, but he only looked straight ahead and kept silent as they rode through the barren stretches of mesquite and cactus toward Arizona Territory.

How foolish of me, she thought. He wouldn’t want to be burdened with me any longer. Besides, if he did ask, she wasn’t sure what her answer would be. Life with him would be full of danger and hardship. It would mean turning her back on everything she had known. Maybe she wasn’t such a rugged individualist as she’d thought.

But then, it didn’t matter because he didn’t ask. In fact, as the days passed and they rode west, he became moody and withdrawn. She lost track of the days, was aware Christmas had surely come and gone, but what did it matter to two fugitives in western New Mexico Territory?

Trixie looked out the upstairs window at the activity on the street below her room at the Birdcage. With Christmas over, a temporary lull hung over the town of Tombstone. Things wouldn’t pick up until New Year’s Eve. Not that it mattered. Her boss had found out she was diseased, and she’d been fired. That very afternoon.

Now what the hell was she to do? She pulled her soiled green satin robe around her and reached for the bottle of medicine, took a big swig. After a few minutes, that nice glow came over her and things didn’t look so bleak anymore.

San Francisco
. She had been headed for San Francisco. Of course that was where someone of her talents belonged. Trouble was, she didn’t really have much money, what with the cost of her medicine–and she needed more and more of that as time passed.

Trixie pulled out her pack of cigarettes, stared at the Cameo girl. Of course I look just like her, she reassured herself, though not quite as young. And I’m not getting any younger. As for the disease, well, everyone has to die of something eventually.

What to do? The management had told her to clear out by tomorrow. Where to go?

“San Francisco, of course.” She said it aloud. She wasn’t sure if the police in East St. Louis had found out she’d been in Otto Toombs’s office when he’d died, but she was afraid to go back and find out.

“How, Trixie?” She stared moodily into space. “You got no money.” Quimby Gillen. She wondered if he had made it back to Fort Bowie? That was only a few miles to the north of Tombstone, and she had a little money. Maybe she should go up there, see if Gill would buy her a train ticket.

“He ain’t one to give somethin’ for nothin.’ ” Trixie grinned. He’d get something for his money, all right; the “social” disease she’d given that young rancher. “Yeah, there’s poetic justice in that, ain’t there?” Humming a little of “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen,” Trixie began to make her plans.

Out in New Mexico terrain, Lieutenant Quimby Gillen was in a decided fury. He reined his lathered horse in, slammed a fist in his palm. “Blast it all! It’s like looking for two grains of sand in all these miles of the stuff!”

He twisted in his saddle, staring at the weary patrol with him, stuffed a lemon drop in his mouth, crumpled the empty sack, and threw it on the ground. “I thought we’d be able to follow the tracks when they left the train.”

The bald old sergeant took off his hat, wiped his face. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, the men are tired, and we’ve even spent Christmas roamin’ around searchin.’ ”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Gill fairly seethed with frustration and anger. Here he’d had a patrol sent over from the nearest fort, thinking it couldn’t be that long now before he ran Cholla and Sierra down, and they’d disappeared again. Besides, his teeth were hurting. Maybe he should try some of Trixie’s medicine. That stupid, no talent bitch had disappeared from East St. Louis. He hoped she was out of his life for good.

“Sir,” the sergeant said again, “take it from one who knows this area, there’s lots of places they could hide. If they have someone with them like that bandit called Nevada, we might never see them again. Nobody knows the whole Southwest as well as Nevada does.”

Gill heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he leaned on his saddle horn. Maybe the pair weren’t even in the area anymore. Wouldn’t it be a joke on him if, while he was on a wild-goose chase in New Mexico, Cholla and Sierra Forester had escaped into Arizona? He had no doubt that was where Cholla was headed.

Would the Apache try to get to Fort Bowie? Surely he wouldn’t have that kind of gall. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t put anything past that crafty fox,” Gillen said aloud.

“Sir?”

“Never mind. Blast it, never mind!” It suddenly dawned on him that Cholla had a friend at Fort Bowie, Sergeant Tom Mooney, and the Medicine Hat stallion was there. He might try to reclaim it. Besides, he might intend to leave the woman off there, making it his last stop before he turned straight south and rode the fifty or so miles to the border and the freedom beyond.

“Sergeant, we’re quitting,” Gillen snapped. “You and the patrol can go back to your fort.”

“And you, sir?”

“That damned Injun probably thinks he’s got me fooled into spending weeks and weeks roaming around this bleak country looking for him, but I’m gonna outsmart him. I’m gonna go back to the nearest station, catch that train west. With any luck, maybe I’ll get to Fort Bowie before Cholla does!”

Tom Mooney sat on his bunk, a worn book of poems in his callused, freckled hands. But his mind was too busy for him to enjoy reading. “Aye, Tom, ye old Irishman, now that Christmas is gone, you’ve only a couple of days to make your decision.”

The dog raised its great head and looked at him gravely.

“And you, Ke’jaa, do you think you’d mind livin’ on a Michigan farm?” He paused and looked out the window to the east, wondering where the dog’s master was at this moment?

The woman was still with Cholla; that much was clear. Only a couple of days ago, there’d been a wire from Gillen saying he’d actually been on the same train as the pair without realizing it and they’d gotten away right under his nose by escaping during train robbery. Right now the lieutenant was combing western New Mexico Territory for Cholla, but if Gillen didn’t find any trace of him soon, he’d been coming on in to the fort to see if the Apache turned up there.

Tom sighed, put down the book. Maybe Cholla would come here to try to get his horse and say good-bye to his old friend. Tom hoped he wouldn’t. As a sergeant of the U.S. Cavalry, Mooney didn’t want to be torn between duty and his deep friendship for the Indian.

The woman
. He stroked the worn book cover and thought about her. Gillen’s wire sounded as if he weren’t sure whether Sierra Forester had, indeed, been forced off that train or had left of her own free will. Perhaps she didn’t care about the Apache; perhaps she had been under extreme duress all this time. He took the photograph out and looked at it, wondering if any woman could learn to care for a wiry, middle-aged Irishman with no money.

The reward
. If Tom helped capture Cholla, there’d be a reward–and a promotion if he decided to stay in the Army. With those changes in his situation, would Sierra be interested in him? Could he betray his friend if there was any possibility of having the woman? Love makes a man do strange things, he thought. When it came to a showdown, Tom wasn’t sure what decision he’d make. He hoped to God he didn’t have to make any–and he wouldn’t, if Cholla stayed out of the area.

Tomorrow night was New Year’s Eve. Most of the men at the fort would be partying; some would be on leave. Not much happening now that the Apaches had been shipped away. Next week, Tom could be on a train headed home, escorting the pitiful little schoolteacher. But right now he didn’t want to think about making any kind of decision or even of whether he was going to leave the Army. He bowed his head and prayed that if faced with a choice, he would do what was morally, if not legally, right.

Sierra and Cholla rode west until they were in low mountains covered with spruce and cedar.

She looked over at him. “Where are we?”

“The Chiricahua Mountains,” he answered, looking west. “By tomorrow afternoon, late, you’ll be at Fort Bowie.”

“And you will be safe over the border in Mexico,” she said, not sure how she felt, about that. Once she had been astounded that a primitive Indian had made a decision to travel fifteen hundred miles to freedom. Then, after she had gotten to know Cholla, it had seemed reasonable enough that he would do it. She tried to sort out her feelings as they spurred their horses and rode on.

Not so long ago she had hoped to see Cholla dead. Then she had grown to respect his daring and courage and, through him, the Apache people she had once thought of as cruel savages. Finally, though she didn’t want to think about it or admit it, even to herself, she began to feel more than respect for him.

Not that it matters, she thought as they rode through the mountains. To him, she was nothing but a hostage, although at times she sensed she might be more than that to him. Of course that was ridiculous. She glanced over at his proud, cold expression, wishing she knew what he was thinking. What difference did it make anyway? Her own thoughts and feelings weren’t clear to her. If he did ask her to turn her back on civilization and ride away with him, could she, would she?

What foolishness, she thought, watching him, this man doesn’t need you. He doesn’t need anyone. He is completely self-sufficient. You can stop wondering what you would do because he doesn’t want you, doesn’t need you. When he feels an urge for a woman, no doubt many an Indian girl would be pleased to be carried off by him for his temporary use.

They rode until dark and then camped.

Sierra stared into the fire after they had eaten. “You didn’t want to ride on in tonight?”

“And get shot by a guard? Besides, I’m not riding in–you are.”

“What about your stallion?”

He settled down next to her on the blanket, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, and shook his head. “I’d never be able to get the Medicine Hat out of the stable, and I wouldn’t want to put Tom Mooney in a bad spot. Besides, Gillen may have caught a train and beat us there. He may be waiting for me to show up.”

She leaned against his shoulder, thinking how much she had come to rely on him. “I’ll wager the lieutenant is still riding around New Mexico, looking for us.”

Cholla blew smoke into the air. “Don’t underestimate him, Sierra. He’s smart enough to be a worthy enemy, if not a brave one.”

“Yes, of course.”

“This is our last night together.” He threw the cigarette into the fire. “Tomorrow, I’ll guide you to within a few miles of the fort and let you go on alone.”

Go on alone
.
Yes
,
I’ll be all alone
. But she wasn’t upset. She had learned a lot about herself. Never again would she be afraid to follow her own star, no matter what others did.

The nail that stands up will be hammered down
. No, Grandfather, she thought with stubborn conviction, sometimes the nail is made of such steel, it breaks the hammer. Without thinking, she put her small hand on his big one.

He turned his hand over so that hers lay in his wide palm. “Our last night,” he whispered.

He reached for her, and she went instinctively into his embrace. Tomorrow they would part, but they had this one night together. Whether it meant anything to him or not, she would savor it forever.

He made love to her very slowly and gently. To Sierra it seemed he was loath to see their time end. Perhaps that is only my imagination, she thought as she cradled his dark face against her white breasts.

Their lovemaking was tender, sensitive, as if both were saying good-bye to something they never expected to experience again. It crossed Sierra’s mind as they lay in each other’s arms that she might now bear a child. Once she would have been horrified by the thought, wondering how she would survive, what people would say. Now she wanted his child. Their love story could have no happy ending–there had been too much tragedy for Cholla’s people and hers already–but she would welcome their child and would manage to rear it somehow.

His lips traveled along her neck to her ear, his breath sending delicious shudders of sensation through her. “What are you thinking?”

Would he laugh if he knew what she had really been thinking? “Oh, just how nice it will be to get back to civilization and a real bathtub instead of washing in a creek.”

“I made love to you the very first time in a creek, remember?”

Nothing, not age or time could ever make her forget that earth-shattering experience, but she only nodded.

The memory they shared seemed to heat their blood, and he slipped his tongue between her lips, caressing the insides of her mouth until she was arching her body toward his, wanting him to suck on her nipples, wanting his hard manhood throbbing inside her. He tilted her hips up with his hands, plunging into her warm depths, and they meshed, giving and taking until finally, totally spent, they slept in each other’s arms.