The Town 0f No Return: Special Edition (Half Breed Haven Book 11)

by A. M. Van Dorn

  “Sounds like you hate them pretty bad, Captain Vellaneau,” Bishop pointed out.

  "Hate might be a strong word. I just don't approve of them is all. I can't deny the stories about them that point to all the good they do for the territory. Besides, there's one of them I won't lump in with the others. Yeah, she's a half breed like the negro girl, the Mexican, and Bright Feather's younger brother, but the other half of her is, well, it's Chinese!" Vellaneau admitted, with a trace of a smile.

  “So? I don’t follow,” Bishop asked, confused as to why one half-breed was better than another.

  "So? Don't you know anything about the Chinese? I've studied up on them these last few years — an amazing culture built by an amazing people. Not to mention that Miss Lijuan is the finest looking woman I have ever laid eyes on. How I long to see her again," Vellaneau finished.

  "Hold up, Captain, we got company," Bishop said pointing. Vellaneau had seen the newcomer down on the trail almost at the same time.

  “Probably a rancher,” Vellaneau theorized. “Come on, Bishop, let’s go down there. We’ve got to question everybody we see if we are going to get this murderer,” The two soldiers got on their horses and moved down the little trail heading towards the wagon making its way through the valley. Meeting up with it they came to a standstill in the wagon’s path and stopped its progress as Vellaneau raised his hand in a halting gesture.

  “Where you headed, Mister?” Bishop asked the clean cut Mexican man astride the bench seat.

  “Downstream, Señor General. I have a little rancho about a mile from here. Just me and Teresa and the little one, Pedro,” The man said with a smile.

  “Have you seen anyone else on the trail in the last hour?” Vellaneau asked.

  He didn't like the guy but didn't know why. His hand fell to his side near his service revolver. In the back of the wagon, the contents were covered by blankets making for a handy hiding place for someone trying to sneak towards the border unseen.

  “No, Señor, I haven’t seen no one,” The Mexican man said shrugging his shoulders for emphasis.

  “Check the bed of the wagon, Lieutenant,” Vellaneau ordered.

  "Mind if I look in your wagon?" Bishop asked as a formality as he was dismounting.

  “Si, it is only supplies for my rancho, Señor,” he responded. Bishop moved over to the wagon and Vellaneau watched from his horse.

  “Yeah, well, we just want to check,” Bishop said amiably as he got to the back of the wagon. Glancing back at the rancher who was ignoring him and looking towards the mounted Vellaneau, he was just about to untie one of the strings holding the blanket down when he noticed a serrated scar on the back of his neck. He’s no rancher, he thought, he’s the fugitive we’re after! Bishop's hand went towards his gun, but the man on the bench seat seemed to sense that he had been made and spun in his seat with a gun that had almost magically appeared in his hand and fired.So confident in his abilities that he would hit the soldier he had already twisted back around and lashed the horses to get the wagon moving.

  As Bishop went down with his gun he had managed to draw flying up in the air before thudding into the back of the wagon, Vellaneau had cleared his holster with his service pistol and got it half way up when the lurching wagon spooked his horse. It jostled to one side inadvertently saving his life as Salazar's gun barked. Vellaneau felt a burn along his skull and catapulted from the back of his horse. He landed severely causing his head to ring from the impact. Despite the fall, he had managed to hang onto his pistol and began firing, trying desperately to stop the fugitive. A shot blasted a chip of wood out of the back of the bench seat, but Salazar was already receding further away, the sound of his laughter carrying back to Vellaneau's ears.

  Struggling to his feet, he reached up and felt his scalp. When his fingers came down, they were coated in copious amounts of red. That blood, however, was nothing compared to the amount pooling around Bishop's head. Wearily he stood over the man's body, half the young man's cranium had been torn away by Salazar' single shot. The boy stared up, unseeing into eternity. Despite losing blood, Vellaneau retrieved the bedroll from the man's horse and draped it over the fallen soldier’s body before struggling back onto his own horse.

  As he set off for the fort, his head was throbbing, and there was blood dripping down the side of his face from the bullet that had grazed him. By the time he reached Campbell, he was leaning over, having a tough time sitting up. As he went through the gate, Col. Anders dashed up to him, alerted by the sentries on the wall.

  ‘Vellaneau! Captain, what happened?” he asked the wounded man.

  “That son of a bitch got Bishop! Blew his brains out all over the LaDorada flats. We thought he was a rancher, and he ambushed us when we were checking his wagon,” Vellaneau told the commanding officer. Anders stood stock still for a moment digesting the loss of his man, but then became stoic and looked up at Vellaneau.

  “You’re wounded! Send for the doc!” The colonel shouted to a sergeant standing next to him.

  “It’s nothing. The bullet just grazed me. It did knock me off the horse, and I took a blow in the fall. When I regained my senses, I could see him in the distance down the LaDorada making for the Mexican border,” Vellaneau reported.

  “Damn him! That is now four soldiers with four widows. He’s coming back to face justice, I swear,” Anders said viciously. “By any means possible!”

  “He’s across the border now. Our jurisdiction ends at the Arizona line,” Vellaneau pointed out bitterly.

  "We may not be able to go charging after him all boots and saddles, but there is a way, Son. I've got to telegraph to your commanding officer at Fort McCallister. I'm going to need his special assets!" he stated and ran off. As a corporal helped him off his horse, Vellaneau sighed and balled his fists. These assets could mean only one thing—Wilde and Bright Feather. It's got to be, he thought. It was the way his luck ran but if they could help throw Salazar into the stockade or better yet six feet under, then bring them on.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE SETTLEMENT

  HORSESHOE VALLEY

  Arizona Territory

  Lijuan Wilde was nude. Her state of undress didn’t last long as she tugged and pulled until the buckskin dress finally managed to come down over her large breasts. Looking down at them she shook her head imaging they would explode through the material if she moved the wrong way.

  Her bare right foot kicked away the mound of clothes that she had been wearing including her cowboy boots. Gazing about she found a pair of moccasins and pulled them on as she eyed the glowering woman with her hands tied behind her back and her feet bound. Reaching down Lijuan seized the band Little Flower wore around her head and yanked it off and slipped it on her head even as she felt the Indian woman's blazing eyes on her.

  She had entered the tent some minutes earlier just after she had watched Blue River and Summer Sky slip within her tent. It had been their prearranged plan for that to be her signal to drop down into The Settlement and incapacitate Little Flower so that she might snag some clothing to help pass herself off as an Indian and now she would be more able to move more freely around the camp.

  When she had entered, Little Flower's back had been to her, but unfortunately, the rustling of the flap had made a little too much noise. Lijuan had been surprised when the woman didn't turn around. Instead, she had said something in her native tongue that Lijuan had no way of deciphering. As she had moved to draw up behind her, she raised her hand ready to perform one of the chops she had learned as just a little girl from Mr. Chow. Her father had long been fascinated by the fighting skills he had seen Lijuan's mother display in the short time they had been together, and he had wished his daughter to know them as well. To that end, he had hired Mr. Chow to do just that as he worked as the handyman at the ranch, and Mrs. Chow would teach her of the culture from the land Lijuan was part of but never had known.

  Before she could strike, Little Flower had turned around with a brilliant smile on her f
ace that evaporated in the blink of an eye as she saw she was under attack. For an unknown reason, she was holding a beaded cradleboard in her hands and brought it up to deflect Lijuan's blow. As Lijuan stepped back, the woman dropped the construct customarily used to hold a papoose and reached for a knife that lay nearby, but Lijuan was on her before she could arm herself. Swiftly she brought her foot up to the side of the woman's right knee and kicked her. Little Flower opened her mouth to cry out in pain but Lijuan clamped her mouth shut with her hand and this time succeeded in landing the chop to the side of her neck. Under the twin strikes Little Flower swayed and then dropped backward landing on her furs.

  Lijuan had kneeled next to her and quickly checked her over. She had pulled her strikes as best she could not wishing to do any serious harm to Little Flower. Satisfied the woman was out but not seriously injured, her eyes had darted about the tent falling on copious amounts of materials telling her that Little Flower did more than raise chickens. The Mescalero also appeared to be a master craftswoman who had made the cradleboard she had defended herself with.

  Unfortunately, Lijuan hadn’t seen any of the woman's garbs. She had hoped they would be laying in plain sight and not buried amongst the furs and belongings. Realizing there was no alternative she hastily stripped the fallen woman nude for her buckskin dress. No sooner had she done that than she used some of the rawhide Little Flower had been using to make the cradleboard to bind her. Once that had been accomplished, she had begun peeling off her own clothes even as her captive's eyes fluttered open. Lijuan was impressed at the woman's fortitude to regain consciousness so quickly, but she was young and robust, likely not more than eighteen or nineteen. In her life, she had found the people native to these lands to be a hardy lot, and given the conditions they lived in; it was easy to see why.

  Now with the headband in place, she was properly attired to slip out and make for the hostages and wait for the commotion that Blue River had promised. There was just one last thing left to do. Lijuan reached into the satchel she had brought with her and withdrew two large handfuls of berries raided from the pantry at The Gossamer. Under Little Flower's watchful eye, she ground them in her hands and smeared the berry juice thoroughly on all her exposed skin to hide its yellowish hue.

  When she was finished, she found herself wishing for the large mirror that hung at the foot of the grand staircase leading up from the Great Room of Cedar Ledge to the family's living quarters. Though she could not see her reflection, she felt confident that in the darkness, despite the full moon, if she kept her head down, she could now pass as one of the Indians. For a fleeting second, she wondered how much she might resemble her thorn in her side, Bright Feather. Sweeping the thought out of the way she knelt by Little Flower once more.

  “Listen, I know you must speak a little English from your dealings with the townspeople selling eggs. I had no wish to hurt you. Truth be told I went easy on you, Little Flower. We just want to see that no harm comes to the people captured from the stage, and to stop any larger massacre. You have to believe that.”

  Lijuan straightened up and looked once more at the bound woman. Her eyes still blazed, leaving her uncertain as to if she perhaps didn't understand after all or if she did and simply chose not to believe it. Whichever it was, there was no time to worry about it now. She slung the satchel over her shoulder and reached inside, her fingers felt the cold steel of her Colt .45, and then they found the knife she had brought along. A thought came to her, and she pulled her hand back out of the bag and instead plucked up Little Flower's blade and fastened it to her waist. A genuine Indian knife would go a long way to further her disguise, she thought, as she turned and slipped out of the tent.

  As she walked along the wall in the direction of where the captives were bound, suddenly an Indian woman appeared from a nearby tent holding a basket. Lijuan kept her head bowed and walked right past the woman. To her relief, the woman didn't even give her a second glace. Perhaps her man was one of the braves that would soon be risking their lives attacking Horseshoe, and she was preoccupied with that, Lijuan pondered. There was no way of knowing, and she was just glad that her attempt to blend in passed its first test. Now before her emerged the captives, but she veered off and stood behind a large tree. Apprehension flooded over her as she was a woman of action and not one who was accustomed to waiting around, but now that was precisely what their plan called for. Lijuan slipped into the shadow of the tree, her hand resting on the butt of the knife and resigned herself to waiting.

  CHAPTER 21

  In the tent Blue River’s final guttural cry had appeared to have its desired effect, fraying Crazy Elk’s last nerve as the warrior had surely been listening outside in a fury to their cries of passion just as he intended.With Summer Sky snuggled against him, he watched as a knife blade suddenly pierced the flap of the tent and began cutting the first of the ties, accompanied by a bellow of rage. Blue River barely had time roll away from Summer Sky as gently as he could before springing to his feet and yanking on his pants. His intention all along was to fight Crazy Elk, but he wasn’t going to do it buck naked.

  He reached the flap just as the last tie was cut away and Crazy Elk began to force his way into the tent, but Blue River had been ready for him. Crouched to one side of the flap he grabbed the warrior's arm yanking him inside. As Crazy Elk somersaulted toward the ground, Blue River ducked back out through the flap. Crazy Elk landed on his back and glanced up murderously at the sight of a nude Summer Sky crab walking backward away from him, her glistening juices still visible on her thighs. He paused long enough to snarl at her before vaulting back out the opening of the tent.

  In the few seconds, before Crazy Elk was outside once again, Blue River had snatched up someone's war club that lay on the ground. Nobody moved to stop him which he was thankful for, but he also knew it was likely none wished to gain the wrath of Crazy Elk because they all knew the brave intended to be the one to send him to a date with the Great Spirit.

  Once through the flap of the tent, Crazy Elk regained his feet and shot daggers at Blue River with his eyes before pointing to a nearby brave without saying a word. The warrior tossed him the war club that he had been practicing with only a few moments before while all had heard the screams of desire carrying forth from the tent of the chief’s sister. Now as the two men sized each other up, Summer Sky scrambled out of her lodging having hastily donned her clothing once more. Blue River leaped aside as Crazy Elk took the first swing of his club. A second quickly followed which again he quickly avoided. With this new swing, the crowd began to cheer Crazy Elk on.

  Blue River was not so lucky when the third swing clipped him on his bicep swinging him around. Fortunately, it had been a glancing blow, as a direct hit would have been accompanied by agony. He at least had the satisfaction of the crowd’s cheering growing louder. Now with the camp distracted by the duel he prayed the Lijuan was doing her thing.

  ***

  Their plan was working, Lijuan thought grimly. From her position behind the tree, she saw others hurrying towards the center of The Settlement to witness the contest between her brother and this animal Crazy Elk. Lijuan took no pleasure in it at all as she feared for his safety. The plan had been to so enrage Crazy Elk that a fight would ensue distracting everyone and giving her a chance to free the men. On the surface, it was a good one, but she was fully aware of how dangerous the rage of a jealous man could be. Still, her youngest sibling was more than capable of holding his own, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

  Creeping forward she got a better look at the men. To their credit, the two nearest to her were taking advantage of no one being around to begin straining at their bonds. It was a futile gesture she knew, but she was proud of them for trying. Concerning her, however, was the man wearing the garb of a dandy if she ever saw one. One look told her that the man had mentally checked out. He hung there limply, seemingly giving in to the despair that he was experiencing the last day of his life. This she knew without a doubt was L
owell Farquhar, the apparent man of Rosalee Tatum's dreams. She would free him last as she didn't want him running off half-cocked.

  Lijuan reached the first man and withdrew her knife.

  “Do your worst, injun. I’ve lived in the West most of my life and driven stages for ten years. I’ve been expectin’ a day like this was gonna come,” The man said calmly. The man lashed next to him though was not.

  “These redskins sending a woman to do their dirty work?”

  "Shut up, both of you! I'm a friend, and I'm here to get you out of here!"

  The stage driver looked at her his brow crinkling up surprised at her perfect English and her offer to help.“What kind of trick is this, squaw?”

  She got right up into his face and pointed at her own with the index finger on her free hand. “I’m not one of these Mescaleros!”

  The man whistled and swiveled his head towards the man next to him.“Thunderation! She’s a China woman dressed up as an injun!”

  "Call me Lijuan." She said going behind him to where the rope that was lashed to the wall traveled to his hands bound behind him. Falling silent, she began to saw away at his ropes.

  ***

  White Eagle, the youngest shaman in the history of the tribe, was making his way towards his destination, his mind focused on one thing. It had not been easy for the handsome thirty-year-old Mescalero to sweep away the sting of the rebuke he had received earlier, but the thoughts of Little Flower had managed to overcome them. Still, as he strode in the direction of her lodge, he had to work to control the anger he had buried. Hours ago, he had tried to warn Summer Sky and Crazy Elk that he had a vision that pursuing this path of vengeance would only lead to the destruction of their tribe.