Adobe Palace

by Joyce Brandon

  “Good idea,” Steve said, a sardonic gleam of amusement in his hazel eyes. Samantha smiled, and Steve saw it and winked at her. A warm feeling spread out from her middle. She felt young and pretty for the first time in ages.

  In front of Owen Parker’s hotel, Samantha stopped and turned to Ramon.

  “Would you go to the general store and see if the supplies I ordered before we left came in?” she asked.

  “Can I go with him, Mama?” Nicholas begged.

  “May I go with him. No. You stay with me. Elunami can go with Ramon. She needs to buy some personal things,” she said, reaching into her reticule and pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. She slipped it into Elunami’s hand. “That’s for letting Nicholas ride on your horse.”

  “I cannot take money for that.”

  “Then take it as a gift. You’ll need it to start a new wardrobe, since I had Ramon bury yours.”

  Elunami nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. If the supplies are in,” she told Ramon, “ask him to put them on my account—if I still have one.”

  Steve helped Nicholas down, and Elunami rode on toward the general store. Ramon walked along beside her.

  A hundred or so yards beyond Elunami and Ramon, a group of fast-riding horsemen galloped into the town from the east. Samantha recognized Ham Russell at the head of the half dozen ex-soldiers and Indian scouts hired supposedly to protect Chila Dart’s stock from rustlers and hungry Apache sneaking off the reservation at San Carlos. Samantha hadn’t approved of the men, and she’d voiced her opinion, but Chila was adamant. She feared the rustlers and Indians more. Samantha personally thought Russell and his companions were worse, but without proof she’d had to hold her tongue.

  Sheridan’s lips twitched as if the very sight of the men riding toward him was distasteful. He stepped back into the shade, hooked his thumbs into his gun belt, and leaned against the hotel wall. Nicholas pressed against Samantha, his eyes pleading with her to let him stay near her.

  Fifty feet away, Elunami stopped her pinto in front of the general store. Ramon turned to watch the approaching men.

  When he was about ten feet from Elunami, Ham Russell suddenly reined his horse; his companions slowed and came to a stop. Samantha would have been frightened if she were suddenly confronted by them, but Elunami held her pinto steady. Russell spoke to his men and urged his horse forward, to within touching distance of the young Indian woman.

  Ham Russell was a big man with red hair and a red beard that had been parted at midchin and worked into two six-inch braids reaching to his chest. He had a mean temper, which had gotten him into trouble a number of times in Picket Post. Last year he’d killed a man over a woman. There had been a trial, but somehow Russell had gotten off.

  Samantha eased her hand into her pocket to feel for her revolver.

  Russell spoke to Elunami in a low tone that did not carry to Samantha. She saw Elunami shake her head no. Russell spoke again, eliciting another no. The girl’s resistance was apparent and would have been sufficient to stop a normal man.

  Samantha had never seen a man accost a woman in Picket Post, unless she was one of the prostitutes who worked at the saloons. Even then the men were friendly, since they wanted to stay on the good side of the working girls.

  Russell reached for Elunami’s reins. She tried to back her horse away, but Russell was quick and strong. Laughing, he turned and started to lead her and her horse away.

  Steve Sheridan still leaned against the hotel. His relationship with Elunami was supposedly of short duration, but Samantha couldn’t imagine his just standing there and letting a man like Ham Russell lead the girl away. Before she could protest, however, Ramon yelled, “Hold it, Señor.” On foot and at a serious disadvantage, he lunged forward and tried to grab Elunami’s reins.

  Russell lifted the reins over his head and out of Ramon’s reach. “Well, if it ain’t the sheepherder.”

  “Leave her alone!”

  “This ain’t your girl, sheepherder.”

  Ramon swung his fist and missed. “I said leave her alone!” he yelled.

  Russell laughed. “Who the hell’s gonna make me? It sure ain’t you, sheepherder.”

  Ramon lunged at Ham Russell, trying to grab his leg and unseat him. Letting go of the girl’s reins, Russell kicked Ramon’s arm and reined his horse to the side. He backed the horse out of Ramon’s reach, then jerked the coiled reata off the side of his saddle and swung the loop over his head.

  Ramon staggered back, bellowing his rage as the loop settled over his head and shoulders. Before he could throw the rope off, Russell jerked it taut, wrapped the end of it around his saddle horn, turned his horse, and spurred him hard. The horse screamed and plunged forward.

  Ramon tried to run, but his legs couldn’t stay under him; his body was moving too fast. He fell, and Russell dragged him through the loose, powdery dirt, which rose in a cloud behind him.

  “Mama!” Nicholas yelped in outrage.

  It had all happened too fast for Samantha. Glaring at Sheridan, she shoved Nicholas into the hotel, shut the door, reached into her pocket, and pulled out her revolver. Sheridan stepped close to her and clamped his hand over it.

  “Let go! Ramon works for me. I’m not going to stand by and see him killed!”

  “You want to be killed instead?”

  “I’m not afraid, like some people!”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he growled, his eyes blazing at her rebuke. Samantha let him pry the gun out of her hand. He stuck it in his belt and strode toward his own horse. He took the reata off the side of the saddle, shook it out, and twirled it over his head. As Russell and his pounding horse neared, Sheridan threw out his reata. It soared up slowly, almost too slowly, and fell abruptly, then settled over Russell’s head and shoulders. Steve anchored his end of the reata around the nearest support post and held tight.

  As Russell rode past he was jerked out of the saddle, but his right foot caught in the stirrup. Rather than see the man’s leg torn off, Steve let him go. His reata snaked fast around the post and jerked free. Ramon and Russell skidded past behind the running horse. At least Ramon, farther back, was safer. Russell was so close to the horse’s flashing hooves that he was in danger every time the horse’s legs flew back.

  Before Steve could reach his horse, Elunami galloped past on her pony. Riding alongside the runaway horse, she edged her pony close, caught the flying reins, and hauled up short on them.

  About a hundred feet from where Samantha watched, the horse finally stopped. Dust settled and Samantha saw that Ramon lay motionless on the rutted road. Russell untangled his foot from the stirrup, stood up, and walked over to Elunami’s pinto.

  “Dang it, I knew when the chips were down, a fellow redhead would pitch in,” he said, wiping dust off his face with both hands. Russell had a loud voice when he wanted to use it. Now it was clearly audible to Samantha.

  “You’da been any quicker, sunshine, I wouldn’t even a got dirty.” People standing in the doorways laughed.

  “If not for Ramon dragging behind your horse, I’d have used my quirt on it,” Elunami declared hotly.

  “What’s yore name, purty thang?”

  Elunami ignored Russell and walked her horse back to where Ramon lay motionless on the ground.

  “That reminds me,” Russell growled. He strode past Elunami and kicked Ramon in the side. Ramon coiled forward in pain. Russell drew back to kick again.

  Elunami yelled, kneed her horse around Ramon, right at Russell, who yelped in surprise and stepped quickly out of her way. She sped past him, turned her horse, and, when she reached Russell’s side again, launched herself onto his back.

  Steve shook his head in disgust and started forward. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to get any more involved than he already was in the business of this town and this woman.

  Ham felt the girl land on him, scratching and biting and screaming. At first he was too tickled to protect himself from her. He laughed and tried
to throw her off, but, like a small maddened animal, the little wench hung on to his neck with one arm and punched him with the other. She was mad, but she wasn’t hurting him. He kind of enjoyed having her all over him this a-way. She felt as alive and exciting as anything he’d ever touched.

  Then she punched him in the eye, and that did hurt. Smarting with the sting of it, he jerked her off him, grabbed her arms, and pinned her to the ground.

  “Let me go!” she yelled.

  She was about the prettiest girl he’d ever seen—fiery and lithe as a kitten. “Letting you get away unkissed would be a crime, sunshine.” She struggled wildly, but Russell pinned her hands over her head and her body to the ground and kissed her.

  The girl bucked and kicked, but he kissed her until he was through kissing her. Finally he raised his head. The girl spat in his face.

  Ham Russell laughed, sat up, wiped her spittle off his face, and licked every drop of it off his hand. The girl stopped struggling to watch him. When he was finished, he leapt to his feet and raised his arms over his head in the fashion of a prizefighter. His men hooted and hollered at his victory.

  Ham strutted over to his horse, untied the rope that still held the little one-armed Mexican, mounted, and turned the horse as if he meant to ride right over the kid. Ham hadn’t intended to, but his move scared the hell out of the girl and caused the Mexican kid to scramble up and run like a pig afire.

  The girl cursed him in Spanish, and Ham grinned. Coming from her sweet lips, it sounded like love words. He would run this little turd down and then come back for her.

  Steve drew his revolver and stepped into the deeply rutted road. He would have stepped in sooner, but it had been apparent to him that Russell was no match for Elunami. She was a feisty little thing; she had been all over Russell. Steve had been more concerned about Russell’s companions, but they’d been content to shout encouragement to their comrade.

  Unexpectedly Russell changed direction slightly, riding right at Steve as if he weren’t going to stop for anything.

  Steve lifted his pistol and aimed it at the big man’s head. “Hold it!” Steve shouted.

  His stern command so thrilled Samantha she held her breath. To her immense relief, Russell reined his horse.

  “Mr. Sheridan—” Samantha started.

  Steve raised his left hand—and she stopped.

  “Got myself a challenge here,” Russell said to no one in particular. “Hey, stranger, you know the definition of stupid?”

  “Yeah, it’s a cowardly cuss like you picking on women and children.”

  “No,” Russell growled, “it’s pointing a gun you ain’t got the guts to use!”

  Steve’s gun flashed; Russell’s hat flew off his head. “No,” Steve drawled, “it’s talking when you should be listening.”

  Before Russell could react, one of his men growled, “Hey, Dart’s coming!”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw a man step out of the doorway of the Rawson Hotel and walk across the road toward them. Russell let his hand relax and fall to his side.

  Samantha let out her breath. She’d never been so happy to see Joe Dart in her life. The shy towhead was a capable overseer, even though at times he acted as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “What’s going on here, boys?” Joe asked, glancing from Sheridan, gun in hand, to Ham Russell.

  A small group of riders appeared at the east end of town, raising a dust cloud. “Cavalry’s coming,” one of Russell’s men said to no one in particular.

  Ham spat in irritation. Roy Bowles had a tendency to say things that were perfectly clear to anyone with eyes or ears, but Ham had never been able to get him to stop. He and Roy had been scouts for the army until Ham got tired of stacking dead Indians in wagons. He didn’t mind tracking ’em or killing ’em, but he got real tired of picking ’em up after they’d been dead for a day or so.

  “Those scouts look hot as I feel,” Ham said, wiping his wet face and picking up his hat to examine the hole in it.

  Steve glanced at Elunami to see if these might be the men who’d killed the old men in her party, but her back was to him. The leader of the group wore full uniform and captain’s bars. The army scouts behind him wore civilian clothes. If these were the ones tracking her down, they might recognize her in spite of her changed appearance. And if they did, he might not be able to save her this time.

  Samantha was glad to see the cavalry patrol. As the soldiers rode toward her party, Marshal Daley stepped out of the jail and headed toward them. The soldiers started past the hotel, but Rathwick, the officer in charge, recognized her and threw up his gauntleted hand.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded of Sheridan, who still pointed his revolver at Russell.

  Russell rubbed his head and gestured at Sheridan. “That man tried to kill me, Captain Rathwick.”

  Rathwick turned toward Sheridan. “That true?”

  “Not yet,” Sheridan said mildly, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

  Daley stopped beside Samantha. “Reckon this is my bailiwick, Captain,” he said grumpily.

  “Daley,” the captain said, nodding to him, “did you see what happened here?”

  Daley frowned and turned to Steve. “Is this a new ruckus or more of the first one?”

  Steve pointed to Russell. “He roped Ramon and dragged him behind his horse. I stopped him.”

  “Ramon, are you causing trouble again?” Daley demanded, scowling angrily at the dirty, bruised youngster.

  Ramon uttered a string of Mexican oaths. Furious and not trying to hide it, he looked like he might pounce on Daley and throttle him with his one good hand.

  “Ham Russell started the trouble, Marshal,” Samantha interjected firmly.

  A murmur of agreement went up from the crowd that had drifted over from the bear and bull fights. Daley scowled at Sheridan. “Well, Mr. Sheridan, I’m not surprised. I knew you’d be a constant source of trouble for me.”

  Captain Rathwick rode forward until he was about two yards away. “What are you doing in these parts, Mr. Sheridan?”

  “I didn’t realize you had a dog in this fight,” Sheridan said, bristling.

  “It may or may not be my fight, but I have a right to know what you’re doing here.”

  “Is that a formal inquiry, Captain?”

  “I can make it so,” Rathwick said, pulling in his chin.

  Sheridan raised the eyebrow with the cowlick. “Fine. Why don’t you submit it in writing, then?” He sheathed the gun, turned his broad back, and walked into the hotel.

  Rathwick dismounted and started after Sheridan. Samantha stepped in front of him. “Captain.”

  Rathwick removed his hat. Silver hairs gleamed among the dark brown hair, flattened under the sweaty hatband. “Mrs. Forrester…” The pinpoint pupils of his angry blue eyes widened slightly as he focused on her.

  “Mr. Sheridan saved the lives of my party and myself. I’m extremely grateful to him,” she said, loud enough for all to hear.

  “In that case, Mrs. Forrester, so am I. I guess a man with credentials like that doesn’t have to be civil. But I wouldn’t advise him to make a habit of being insolent,” he growled at Sheridan’s receding back.

  “What brings you to Picket Post, Captain?”

  “Looking for an Indian woman wanted by the military—Who’s the girl?” Rathwick asked, nodding at Elunami a few feet away. Sheridan stopped at the hotel door and leaned against it. Samantha hesitated, remembering what Steve had said about Elunami being attacked by soldiers.

  “Her name is…Tristera Rodriguez,” she said. “She’s Ramon’s sister.”

  “She looks Indian to me.”

  “You’ve seen a number of redheaded Indians, I suppose?” she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  Rathwick felt his face grow hot. Samantha Forrester was a woman he admired. It stung to have her speak to him in that way. The girl he’d thought an Indian looked up at him, stared unabashedly into his eyes.
She seemed to take him in, to see him completely and thoroughly, all the way down to his soul. Deep in his chest, something quivered. In spite of his discomfort, his gaze riveted on her. Finally she released him and turned back to her brother. Unencumbered by her disconcerting gaze, he saw a wild mane of shiny, auburn hair and a slim waist. Most Indian women were thick around the middle. Mrs. Forrester was no doubt right about her.

  Reluctantly Rathwick turned back to Samantha.

  “We rode past your house yesterday, Mrs. Forrester,” he said, his tone softening. “I…was sorry to find you gone.”

  “I was in Phoenix to see my brothers. On the way home we were attacked by bandits. Mr. Sheridan ran them off and helped us get my wounded engineer into town.”

  “Were any of the bandits Indians?”

  “I don’t know. They wore masks,” Samantha said.

  “Perhaps we’d better take a look. Maybe we’ll run into Wovoka.”

  Samantha knew he was being facetious. Some laughed about Wovoka, an Indian prophet in Nevada, but his Ghost Dances had upset a lot of people. Wovoka had sent messengers to all the tribes telling them that if they danced the Ghost Dances every night, everything they had lost to the white man would be returned to them, including the buffalo and their dead loved ones, in all their former youth, strength, and glory. The tribes had taken up the Ghost Dances as if they were a panacea. On the reservations, Indians danced all night. Many whites interpreted these as war dances and became uneasy. Samantha did not. She thought them harmless, but it saddened her that the Indians needed those empty rituals so desperately.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could save my palace car.”

  He frowned. “Did you notify the railroad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s it stranded?”

  “At the water tank south of here.”

  Rathwick knew the place. He’d been chasing Indians around this desert for almost twenty years. He had helped Cook run the Apache to ground in 1886.

  Rathwick frowned. He hated to leave town with Samantha here. He admired her and had been trying to court her, but his work kept him constantly on patrol. He and two hundred soldiers were responsible for this entire southeast corner of the territory.