White Apache

by tiffy

  His gentleness surprised her. So did the fact that she felt comforted by the solid thud of his heartbeat and the masculine feel of his body. Her cheek lay against his hairy chest where his shirt gaped open, torn in the struggle. He ran one hand lightly down her back, stroking her tangled hair, while his other hand cradled her head. He smelled faintly of tobacco, whiskey, and some other keenly male scent completely alien to her. She breathed deeply, lulled into complacency until he spoke. ʺScudder had something to do with your missing brother. Exactly who was the Kaintuck?ʺ

  She stiflened and pulled away from his embrace. ʺJust a crude thug, no one of importance himself. He was sent to prevent me from reaching Santa Fe.ʺ

  ʺYou canʹt still believe Iʹll take you to Santa Fe? Coombs is dead. You are alone.ʺ

  ʺMy brother is therein danger.ʺ

  ʺSend someone else. A man.ʺ

  ʺThere is no one else I trust to send with you,ʺ she said, hating the plea in her voice.

  He chuckled. ʺBesides not trusting me, do you also perchance mistrust the governor‐general?ʺ

  ʺWhat do you know about General Wilkinson?ʺ she asked suspiciously.

  ʺThat he is in the pay of the Spanish, but that is common knowledge from Chihuahua to Santa Fe.ʺ

  ʺIt isnʹt in the United States, I assure you,ʺ she said sharply, then tilted her head and studied him with slitted eyes.

  ʺI am not a Spanish spy,ʺ Santiago said drily.

  ʺBut you are a man who sells guns to the highest bidder.ʺ

  He released her and knelt to sling Scudder over his shoulder. ʺAll the more reason not to go to Santa Fe with me.ʺ

  ʺ Touché, Monsieur Quinn, but I shall take my chances. You have been paid by the highest bidderme.ʺ

  Guadeloupe Mountains, Summer 1806

  ʺYou are troubled, Desert Flower.ʺ Hoarse Bark watched her stare into the distance from her vantage point at the edge of the cliff. The mountains in the east gleamed pale lavender and gold as the last splashes of a sinking sun touched their jagged peaks.

  Ana turned from the vision, her lustrous brown eyes blinking back tears. ʺIt is nothing, my chief. You have far more important things to concern yourself with than my foolish musings.ʺ

  The big Mescalero smiled, revealing straight white teeth. He remained a splendid‐looking man, although past his fortieth winter. His thick black hair was lightly dusted with silver at his temples, and the desert sun and wind had etched fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He regarded her intently with those keen black eyes. ʺI do not think you foolish. I do think you have seen a vision.ʺ

  Her chin went up pugnaciously. She tossed her thick mane of unbound black hair back with one hand and said, ʺShe Who Dreams has told you. She had no right.ʺ

  ʺShe is a very wise seer, one this band has depended upon for many winters, but she is not immortal.ʺ

  ʺAnd you think I should take her place?ʺ The vision she had just seen squeezed her heart painfully. ʺWhat if I do not wish to remain with the Lipan?ʺ

  ʺThat is your choice. I know my friend, the Night Wind, has raised you as his own daughter. You are free to return to him and your Spanish foster mother any time you wish.ʺ He hesitated, walking on very treacherous ground now. ʺWhy did you return to us, Ana?ʺ

  ʺI seldom hear my baptismal name any longeronly when Father Bartolomé visits us.ʺ She knew she was evading his question and felt the spell of his gaze riveting her, willing her to talk to him. Sighing, she fell into step beside him, feeling oddly comfortable as she always did in his company. He was her foster fatherʹs lifelong friend. The two of them had escaped from the Spanish silver mines in Chihuahua as small boys and ridden together as raiders for many years. Like the Night Wind, Hoarse Bark bore the scars of countless Spanish beatings upon his broad, muscular back.

  She looked up at him and said, ʺI returned here because I felt the need to learn.

  Strange things were happening to me . . .ʺ

  ʺThe dreams foretelling things to come?ʺ he asked gently.

  ʺYes. At first I denied them. After all, I was given the finest European education.

  Such things as visions are mere superstition to enlightened Spaniards.ʺ

  ʺBut your heart could not deny them.ʺ

  ʺMy heart could not deny them,ʺ she echoed. ʺI saw things happen in visions.

  Then . . . then they occurred in reality. I felt like a misfit among the Spanish. I decided to return to the Lipan. Since my own band had been destroyed, my foster fatherʹs people became my own.ʺ

  ʺThis decision to return was made around the same time Night Windʹs brother Red Eagle returned to New Mexico, bringing us weapons and powder from the great cities beyond the sunrise,ʺ he said shrewdly, wondering if she would choose to speak of Santiago Quinn.

  Her dusky cheeks flushed. ʺRed Eagle spent little time in my foster parentsʹ

  home while I was a child. He studied in the city of Mexico and then journied across the ocean for many winters. I have seen little of him.ʺ

  ʺAnd yet you love him,ʺ Hoarse Bark said gently.

  She swallowed the taste of bile. ʺYou are a very wise man, my chief. Yes, I love Santiago Quinn and he has said he loves meas a little sister.ʺ Hoarse Bark could feel the pain radiating from her as she made that admission. ʺThis vision you have just seen concerns the Red Eagle. Is he well? Is he returning to us?ʺ

  ʺHe is on his way west, yes.ʺ

  ʺAnd?ʺ he prompted.

  ʺHe brings a white woman with him.ʺ

  His brow furrowed as he observed her face. There was more to her vision, but she chose not to disclose it. He would pry no further. They were nearing the village and several small boys playing stick ball came running past them, laughing.

  Ana, whom the Lipan called Desert Flower, felt his pensive sadness. ʺAre you troubled by the news my foster father brought you about the Spanish?ʺ

  ʺGovernor Alencastre sends out patrols to find the raiders who rescue Apache slaves, but they all vanish. Like the night wind,ʺ he said with a wry smile.

  ʺWhat of the Comanche? I fear we will be forced to fight them again.ʺ

  Hoarse Barkʹs eyes grew hard as obsidian when he recalled the brutal death of yet another Lipan hunting party, slaughtered by their ancient enemies, the Comanche, allies of the Spanish leathercoats. ʺWe are a small people and will fight only when we must for survival, but I am grateful that the Red Eagle is bringing us new rifles from the English.ʺ

  ʺThey are no longer English but call themselves Americans now,ʺ Ana said, unable to resist teasing him with her erudition. They both needed to smile these days.

  Hoarse Bark grunted. ʺDo they not still speak the same language? Then they are yet English.ʺ

  She Who Dreams observed Hoarse Bark and Desert Flower as they walked between the scattered brush arbors. When they parted, Desert Flowerʹs expression filled with a wistful sorrow. You have suffered much and must endure yet more, but you have a special gift, Desert Flower. The Spirits will reward you one day.

  But first you must learn to use your power wisely.

  St. Louis, Summer 1806

  Santiago disposed of Scudderʹs body behind a hide and tallow warehouse by the riverfront, then took Elijah Coombʹs mortal remains to the cityʹs only undertaker, awakening him well before daybreak. The wizened old man did not question what had happened to Coombs. Men often died in the night, victims of feuds or robberies along the sinister waterfront. St. Louis had no paid police force as yet.

  Elise wrote a letter to Coombsʹ family in Kentucky and another to the president, explaining Samuelʹs rash act and the emergency that had precipitated it as well as the appearance of Scudder in St. Louis and his demise. She sent both missives to Judge Easton, who doubled as the city postmaster. He was Jeffersonʹs political appointee, and she had decided she must trust him to deliver the information.

  Elise knew Jefferson would be aghast at her plan to rescue Samuel, but by the time her dispatch reached Washington, she would be at the Arkansas River. ʺ
If I havenʹt already drowned, broken my neck, or been scalped,ʺ she thought disconsolately.

  She rubbed sleep from her eyes and prepared for the day. The slap of cold spring water on her face helped reduce the ravages of a terrifying and sleepless night.

  She performed her morning toilette, realizing that this was her last taste of anything approaching civilized amenities for months to come. Resolving to eat a hearty breakfast at the Widow Fourierʹs table before meeting with Santiago Quinn, Elise dressed and packed the last of her bags. Outside the city, Santiago lounged against the rough bark of a maple tree, his keen eyes taking in the preparations for their departure as he smoked a Spanish cigarillo. The mules were being loaded with an incredible amount of goods. The bulk of the load contained bolts of bright cloth, jugs of good‐quality corn whiskey, and other items for turning a quick profit in trade with the New Mexican merchants. But well hidden beneath the legal items were powder, shot, and Kentucky long rifles destined for the Lipan of Hoarse Barkʹs band.

  The Spanish government licensed its traders and allowed no foreigners to enter its territory. Although he was a Spanish subject, Quinn had no license to trade.

  Instead, he did as all border renegades didbribed the customs officials. But even the most corrupt of them would order his death if the guns destined for Apaches were ever discovered. However, Spanish garrisons, few and poorly equipped to patrol thousands of miles of wilderness, were unlikely to catch his band before they had disposed of their illegal cargo of weaponry.

  He had sold the beaver pelts and horses for a handsome price in St. Louis, then refurbished his remuda of mules, the most essential commodity on the long trail.

  Mules were sturdier, more surefooted, and able to pack far more weight than horses. He watched Chaco, a young half‐caste whom his brother had rescued from the copper mines, as the boy worked with the fractious animals. The thin, wiry youth would be an excellent asset on the journey.

  Not so a white woman. Again Santiago cursed his own foolishness for agreeing to take her along. Why had he done it? Had he not learned a bitter lesson from Juliette about beautiful, spoiled Frenchwomen? To add to the problem, this one was half American and they were always a troublesome lot.

  Again he speculated about her mysterious motives. She seemed obsessed with finding her brotherbut perhaps that was just a ruse. Why did she want to reach Santa Fe so urgently? She knew about Wilkinsonʹs intrigues. The wily general had sent that young fool Pike out to stir up trouble with the Spanish, and Santiago had a good suspicion that Elise Louvoisʹ mysterious brother was in some way tied to Pikeʹs expedition. Well, she was an optimist if she expected to find any of those men in Santa Fe. Of course, he was an optimist to think his men would reach Santa Fe either, encumbered with a white woman.

  ʺI guess Iʹll just wait and see this hand played out,ʺ he said beneath his breath, suspecting that the beautiful widow was, among other things, a skillful gambler.

  ʺWe are ready to leave. Where is the woman?ʺ The tone of Spybuckʹs voice indicated how pleased he was with the prospect of Elise Louvoisʹ company on their journey.

  ʺI told her to be here at first light. She probably oversleptthe last time sheʹll be allowed the luxury,ʺ Santiago added with a mocking smile curving his mouth.

  ʺYou did not agree to this foolery for the money. There is more.ʺ The Creekʹs shrewd black eyes measured his partner.

  Santiago tossed the butt of his cigarillo onto the rocky soil and ground it out beneath his thick leather moccasin. The harsh smile died on his lips, but before he could reply, Elise unwittingly chose that moment to ride into the camp.

  The fires were doused and the gear packed on mules and horses. A motley assortment of men watched her arrival, most of them swarthylooking Spaniards of mixed Indian blood. Two Indian women assisted with the packing. In shapeless buckskin tunics and leggins, they were as greasy and unkempt as their men. The tradersʹ faces were hard and dangerous‐looking for the most part.

  One beardless youth smiled shyly at her, and a fat older man doffed a frayed straw sombrero politely, but the rest were either hostile at having a white woman along or leering as if expecting her to satisfy their sexual needs. A frisson of fear darted up and down her spine as she searched the assembly for Quinn.

  Then she saw him, leaning indolently against a tree, talking with the big Indian who had startled her with his educated English at the racetrack. The group had ceased talking when she approached, and even the livestock seemed to quiet down. Everyone waited to see what would happen next. She watched as the renegade stalked toward her. Stalked was the only appropriate word to describe his cat‐like tread. For a man so tall, he was as taut and agile as a mountain lion.

  His fringed buckskins fit like a second skin, emphasizing his broad shoulders, slim hips and long legs. The open lacing of his shirt drew her eyes to the crisp dark whorls of hair covering his chest. Elise knew she would always remember the way that chest felt, the texture of his skin, his scent. She gave herself a mental shake and let her eyes travel to the arsenal on his person. The leather belt around his narrow waist held the two Hawkins pistols, and an evil‐looking skinning knife was strapped to his right thigh. A bullet pouch was suspended around his neck, and beneath his right arm hung a powder horn. ʹʹYou look prepared to fight the whole Spanish army,ʺ she said, waiting for him to assist her down from her mount.

  His green eyes raked her figure, clad in that same blue riding habit she had worn at the track. Resting one hand on the hilt of his pistol, he gestured with the other.

  ʺYou are not prepared to ride with us.ʺ

  ʺI fail to seeʺ

  ʺYou fail to see anything,ʺ he ground out, furious with himself for agreeing to take her along. He reached up and snatched her from the sidesaddle. As she gasped indignantly he turned to Spybuck and said, ʺGet rid of that contraption and put one of the spare stock saddles on her horse.ʺ

  ʺHow dare youʺ Before Elise could protest further, Santiago slid the big, gleaming blade from its sheath and advanced toward her. She backed away from him. ʺAre you mad?ʺ Her voice cracked with terror.

  Chapter Eight

  Calmly, Santiago replied, ʺNo, I am not the one whoʹs madyou are if you think to keep your seat on a sidesaddle crossing steep riverbanks and rocky mountainsides.ʺ

  ʺI never lose my seat,ʺ she replied coldly. His mocking expression made her itch to slap it from his handsome face.

  ʺPerhaps on a fox hunt in Virginia, your seatʺhe paused and crudely studied her derriereʺmay be fine, but not out West.ʺ He seized the train of her habit and reeled her closer. ʺJust think of me as your dressmaker, performing a small alteration.ʹʹ

  She swore when he sliced off the excess fabric as though he were skinning an animal and tossed the severed material away. He looked at his work, then let his eyes travel to her tiny waist. ʺAre you wearing stays?ʺ

  ʺYou are insolent!ʺ

  ʺYouʹll get rid of them yourself after a few days on the trail.ʺ He shrugged with more indifference than he felt as he watched the rise and fall of those rounded breasts. He could still smell her perfume and feel the silky texture of her hair and skin beneath his fingers.

  ʺWhat I do or do not wear beneath my riding clothes is none of your concern,ʺ

  she whispered furiously in French, mortified that all these crudely leering mountain men were witnessing this appalling discussion. The squaws stared impassively. She knew she would find no allies there.

  ʺSpeaking of your clothes, let me see what youʹve brought along,ʺ he replied in English. The sooner she understood who was in charge, the better things would go. He eyed the ridiculous amount of baggage on the horses she had led into camp.

  ʺMy selection of clothing is no concern of yours.ʺ She looked down at her ruined habit and thought of the others in her portmanteau. Would he cut up all of them?

  ʺEverything and everyone on this caravan is my concern. Get that through your thick little skull,ʺ Santiago replied as he slipped the latch on one s
mall leather trunk. It was filled with frilly undergarments. He quickly closed the lid before any of his men drew closer and began to fantasize about the beauteous white woman in silk unmentionablesjust as he was doing right now. He raised one eyebrow and smiled mockingly. ʺAre you planning to entice the Osage with these, or perhaps my men? I can assure you itʹs unnecessary. Both are used to taking women without any adornment.ʺ

  ʺYou are trying to frighten me,ʺ she said as coolly as possible. And succeeding.

  ʺI am trying to explain survival on the plains to you, a subject about which you are woefully ignorant.ʺ He turned his back on her and exchanged words with Spybuck in Spanish.

  Elise listened to Quinn order the caravan to begin its journey due west across Missouri. After he had her suitably in hand, he told his men, they would catch up to the slower moving pack mules on their horses. He does not know I can speak Spanish. She filed that bit of useful information away for future use.

  The thin youth who appeared to be in charge of the extra mules and horses led her resaddled mount back to Quinn. The pretty brown mare was fancifully named Ladybug. She accepted the reins with thanks, and the boyʹs face became suffused with color as he bowed and shuffled away.

  ʺYour first conquest,ʺ Santiago said, as Spybuck issued orders to the men and they mounted up, preparing to depart. ʺYou do know how to ride astride?ʺ he asked.

  ʺI learned to ride bareback as a child. I used to beat my brother when we raced.ʺ

  If he was sorry to see her unmoved by his ploy, he gave nothing away. ʺWhy is the rest of the party leaving us behind?ʺ she asked guilelessly.

  ʺYou have too much baggagemost of it better suited for a weekend at Versailles than for months on the trail. ʺI want you to choose your most practical clothes and a bare minimum of toilette articlesa hairbrush, soap. Nothing else. We travel light.ʺ

  ʺEven though I am paying you and have provided my own pack animals?ʺ Since Elijah was killed, she had sold his three horses to the stable in town. There was no way she could have managed half a dozen animals by herself.