White Apache

by tiffy

  Castalʹs laughter echoed eerily across the dungeon. Hidden in the shadows, Elise watched, knowing the brutal cat‐and‐mouse game the Creole played. If I show that I care, heʹll turn on me and use me to hurt Santiago even more. She willed herself to remain calm, her face masked by an expression of sadistic curiosity. Edouard Louvoisʹ face had often mirrored that look.

  When the first crack of the lash sounded, it was as if the cruel leather was biting into her flesh as well as Santiagoʹs. She stood still, revealing nothing. I cannot stop them too soon or Castal will know. Nor could she dare look away from the bloody slashes crisscrossing that splendid bronzed back.

  After a dozen or so blows, Castal motioned for the guard to stop. ʺHe has fallen unconscious. Revive him.ʺ

  The guard lowered his whip while his companion fetched a bucket of fetid water from the polluted well outside to throw on the manacled prisoner.

  Castal strolled to the doorway of the big dungeon, where Elise stood hidden in the shadows, and murmured low, ʺI must give you credit, my dear. You are either telling the truth, or you are a frighteningly skillful liar. Which is it, I wonder?ʺ He raised his hand and held her chin in his fingers, while their eyes dueled.

  Elise continued their staring contest for another moment, then whispered, ʺIf you pursue this clumsy sport, we will lose his fortune when he dies. Remember, he must be able to travel to sign out his money wherever it is held in Mexico. If you maim him too badly, we lose everything.ʺ

  ʺAnd what thenonce we have secured this supposed fortune?ʺ

  ʺThen you may have your pound of flesh. Perhaps I shall even watch.ʺ

  He studied her as a collector would a butterfly pinned to a board, then seemed to reach a decision. Elise held her breath as he said, ʺI shall begin interrogating him in the morning . . . and I shall expect you to lend your moral support, my dear.ʺ

  His voice was laced with irony.

  ʺI shall be here, never fear,ʺ she replied.

  ʺI know you will, because I shall see to your accommodations tonight. Consider yourself my guest at the palace of the governor for the duration of this venture.ʺ

  He turned from her and summoned his sergeant. ʺTake him down and throw him into a cell for the night. Oh, yes, and be certain to remind him that the iron sweat box awaits him on the morrow.ʺ Once Castal was gone, Santiago opened his eyes and turned his head, trying to see who had been left to guard him. The faint aroma of tobacco drifted on the cold night air as the fat sergeant and his thin subordinate approached. He pretended unconsciousness while they lowered him to the ground and removed his leg manacles.

  As the two soldiers dragged him to the nearest cell by pulling the chains on his arms, the sergeant said to his companion, ʺAwaken him as soon as we have him behind bars.ʺ

  They rolled his limp body into the cell, and the door clanged shut. Then a bucket of the vermin‐infested water splashed across his face like a slap.

  The sergeant, a beefy fellow with a badly pockmarked face, grinned evilly, revealing jagged, blackened teeth. Removing the cigarillo clenched between them, he said, ʺSleep well, Apache lover. Once the sun rises, you will go into the box in the courtyard. You do remember the iron coffin the lieutenant spoke of on the trail? We will build fires around it until it glows hot as a blacksmithʹs forge.

  Even in the winter chill, it will make you very warm.ʺ

  Quinn did not move as he heard their departing laughter. Once they had left the prison, he sat up slowly and looked around the dank cell. His head throbbed wickedly and his back was afire, but his only thought was of how to use this reprieve. Why had Castal not continued the torture? Drawing it out for his own sadistic amusement might well cost the Creole dearly. Santiago saw a possibility, outlined by the flickering light of the torch. He began to crawl slowly toward the far wall, where a jagged piece of iron stuck out in stark relief. It was a holder for manacle chains like the ones in the torture room where he had been suspended.

  The iron bar might provide enough leverage to break through the chains on his arms, for they were very old and rusty.

  He set to work with dogged determination, gritting his teeth against the pain in his lacerated wrists. Every time he pried at the rusty link below the manacle, the cuff bit deeply into his flesh. Hours passed as he repeatedly tugged at the chain link, using his manacled arm for leverage. Sweat beaded his face in spite of the cold night air. He clenched his teeth for yet another try and this time was rewarded with the grating sound of rusty metal breaking free. One chain dropped. One to go.

  Dawn. His arms were at last free. Best he deal with the two guards before Castal returned. He heard them crossing the courtyard. His cell door had proven impossible to unlock, so he must lure them into opening it for him. Hoping to entice them into the cell for some sport, he called out the fat sergeantʹs name.

  ʺRuiz, you brother of a pig! Your lieutenant told you to keep me alive for his amusement! Not kill me! I need water, you fat, filthy vermin! Water!ʺ

  He continued the diatribe in a raspy, broken voice, just loud enough to carry to the outside, while carefully holding the arm manacles as if they still confined him. Ruiz and his companion did not hurry, but neither did his taunts go unanswered.

  After several minutes, the sergeant appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ʺYou will live to regret your insults, renegade. Then you will die,ʺ he added with an evil leer.

  ʺBut if I die before your lieutenant commands, he will turn his wrath on you,ʺ

  Santiago replied as he hung against the bars with his chains seeming to weigh him down.

  ʺFetch him water,ʺ Ruiz commanded the other guard. When the fellow returned with a bucket of the same noisome swill he had been drenched in the preceding evening, Santiago waited for the order he knew Ruiz would give.

  At the sergeantʹs command, the guard threw the bucketʹs contents at him. As he did so, Ruiz drew closer to the grimy bars. Santiago leaned forward as soon as the water hit him and spat full in the sergeantʹs face. The thin, sallow‐complected guard dropped his bucket in shock as the sergeant let out a snarling oath.

  ʹʹSo you wish to play games, do you? Unlock the cell, Adolfo.ʺ The guard complied, and Ruiz entered.

  The smaller man stood in the doorway as the sergeant swaggered up to Quinn, slapping a quirt against the palm of his hand. When he raised it to strike his prisonerʹs face, Santiago dropped the left chain and seized the quirt, yanking Ruiz forward. In the same split second, his right arm came up, swinging the chain, which caught Adolfo full in his face with its heavy, rusted links. The soldier dropped to the floor with a moan, clutching his head in his hands.

  Santiago turned back to Ruiz, who had regained his balance and was drawing his sword. Before the sergeant could free the blade, Quinn was on him, his manacled hand smashing into his tormentorʹs face with a sickening crunch. As Ruiz went down, Quinn seized the sword hilt, unsheathed the blade, and plunged it into the sergeantʹs fat belly. When he turned to the other guard, the thin soldier was struggling to aim his fusil, but the blood dripping into his eyes blinded him. Desperate to stop the echo of a shot that might alert Castal, Santiago leaped forward and slashed his enemyʹs throat with Ruizʹs sword.

  Kneeling, he searched both dead men until he found the key to his manacles.

  ʺThey were useful, but they no longer serve,ʺ he murmured as he freed himself from the heavy iron bracelets.

  The sharp rapping on her door interrupted Eliseʹs troubled thoughts. Telling the guard she would be ready in a moment, she steeled herself for the horrors ahead.

  Castal still did not trust her and had held her prisoner last night. She must keep him from killing or further maiming Santiago until help could arrive. Beyond that she could do nothing, for if Castal had even a glimmering that she cared for Santiago or he for her, the Creole would use each against the other.

  Spybuck, Samuel, please hurry!

  Elise tried her best to play the role of a scheming and avaricious woman of the world as she and Raoul r
ode toward the ugly, squat stone prison. Wearing the only riding habit she had left intact, she sat Ladybug sidesaddle, as elegant looking as any Spanish noblewoman.

  They conversed in a mixture of French and Spanish, at Castalʹs instigation. He was still trying to trip her up.

  ʺYou spent months on the trail with the renegade, madame. Did he call you Elise?ʺ he asked suddenly, turning to face her as they rode.

  She laughed. ʺOf course he did. He was an interesting lover, lieutenant. I have already told you that.ʺ

  ʺMay I also take the liberty . . . of calling you Elise?ʺ His double meaning was clear.

  She gave him a hard, cynical smile that indicated she understood his message.

  ʺCertainly, Raoul. What do you have planned for my dear Santiago today?ʺ She tried to sound as if she was titillated by the heinous process. ʺThe lash is frightfully crude. If he took a fever from the wounds, he might die and spoil our plans.ʺ

  He laughed. ʺYou are the one who told me how tough the Apaches are and how he has been raised as one of them. But no, I shall abandon the lash for more subtle meanshis fatherʹs marvelous iron box still rusts in the prison courtyard.

  The weather is turned chill here in the mountain valleys, but if we light fires all around it, the intense heat combined with the closed‐in darkness can break a manʹs will very quicklywithout even leaving telltale scars.ʺ

  Elise forced a trill of laughter. ʺYou are very good at this, Raoul. Are you certain you have never been involved in espionage?ʺ

  From his vantage point behind the jagged outcropping of rock above the trail, Santiago overheard their conversation as they rode slowly past him. He raised the crude fusil and almost fired it, then lowered it. He only had one bullet, and there were two of them he wished to kill.

  Chapter Twenty‐Three

  Castal growled out a string of oaths as he rolled Ruizʹs limp body back onto the dirt floor. The two corpses lay sprawled grotesquely where the escaped prisoner had left them. ʺThey have not been dead long,ʺ he said as he rose and issued orders to his men to begin a thorough search of the area.

  Elise tried not to look at the remains of Santiagoʹs guards. Dear God, what had he done to kill the thin one in such a bloody manner? As the soldiers dispersed to follow Castalʹs instructions, she placed her hand on the Creoleʹs arm to get his attention. ʺWe must recapture him alive, Raoul.ʺ

  He regarded her with a scowl. ʺA good thing I placed you under lock and key last night, eh? Else I might believe you had a hand in this escape.ʺ

  She laughed hollowly. ʺYou give me credit for the absurd. His Apache friends must have freed him.ʺ

  ʺNo. There is no sign of horses. He did this alone, but he cannot get far. He is afoot, injured, and armed only with the weapons he took from these fools. I must recapture himor dispose of him before Alencastre returns.ʺ

  ʺHow long will that be?ʺ she asked, holding her breath.

  He shrugged. ʺSuch depends on the activities of the Comanche.ʺ

  ʺWhat would the governor do if he found you had taken a prisoner here to be tortured?ʺ

  His expression was ice cold. ʺHe has no reason ever to learn of it, does he, my dear?ʺ

  ʺNone whatsoever, Raoul,ʺ she replied evenly, then added, ʺ If your hand‐picked soldiers can be trusted not to tell him.ʺ Please hurry, Samuel!

  The column of presidial soldiers was dirty and exhausted as they rode into Santa Fe with the governor at their head. Alencastre turned to Samuel Shelby and said, ʺYou had best see to your sister. I will head straightaway to see if Quinn is still alive.ʺ

  Samuel nodded grimly, then turned when he heard hoofbeats. Elise and Castal came riding down the hill from the prison. ʺPerhaps we are already too late,ʺ he said, spurring his mount toward her.

  She kicked Ladybug into a canter and met him at the edge of the plaza. Castal held back, his expression at once wary and alarmed as he watched the exchange between sister and brother.

  Alencastre signaled for his lieutenant to approach him, then waited as Castal and the two Americans reined in their mounts in front of him. ʺNow, lieutenant, could you enlighten me about any prisoners being held in the hilltop fortressin violation of my orders?ʺ His ice blue eyes fastened on Castal, whose face grew stony. The govenor had always been an excellent judge of character. He had at first been inclined to distrust Shelby, but the man seemed earnest and the patrol had been on its way back to Santa Fe anyway, having restored peace between the settlers and the Comanche. Now he suspected Shelbyʹs wild accusations were grounded in truth. Before Castal could reply to his question, Elise interrupted.

  ʺSantiago escaped after Lieutenant Castal had him chained and beaten. He is afoot, and the lieutenantʹs own men have orders to find him and kill him!ʺ

  ʺThis whole matter is a grave misunderstanding, your excellency,ʺ Castal put in smoothly. ʺI assure you, Quinnʹs injuries were the result of resisting arrest for selling guns to his Apache allies.ʺ

  ʺYou have no proof of these accusations,ʺ Elise interjected.

  He turned his piercing gaze on Elise. ʺThe lady has perhaps been deceived about her guideor perhaps she has been using us all, she and her American brother.

  Whom would you trust, your excellency, a loyal Spanish officer or two foreign adventurers and a known renegade?ʺ

  Alencastre stroked his goatee. ʺI will hear you out, lieutenant, and you as well, Madame Louvois. In the meanwhile, let us see if we can run the illusive Santiago Quinn to ground. Perhaps he can shed some light on this tangle, eh?ʺ

  Santiago had hidden through the day in a small cave, really little more than an outcropping of rock covered with dense catclaw and juniper. Crossing the river would not be difficult unless Castalʹs patrols were taking shots at him while he covered the open stretch between the Spanish and Indian towns. If he had been stronger, he might have attempted to steal a horse and ride directly for the stronghold, but with his back a fiery mass of oozing flesh and his head still pounding from the blows he had taken, he knew it was a surer course to seek help in Analco.

  Darkness and cold enveloped him as he huddled behind the cover of a large cluster of tuna cactus. Once beforeit seemed a lifetime agohe had made this same escape. Ironic, how life turned full cycle. As a heartsick fifteen‐year‐old boy, he had escaped Santa Fe, that time from Conal Quinn at the governorʹs palace, to seek shelter with the Indians of Analco.

  The rude settlement stretched in haphazard fashion up and down the opposite bank of the Santa Fe River. The small, shabby adobe huts and even more flimsy jacals were mere black lumps in the dim light of a quarter moon. Earlier that day, presidial soldiers had searched the village for him. With luck, they would not return, thinking they had sufficiently intimidated the ʺtame Indiansʺ with their show of Spanish force so the residents of Analco would not offer shelter to a renegade.

  Old Silver Hair was dead now, but his son Manuel, a Jicarilla Apache who had ridden with Night Wind, occasionally visited his remaining family in Analco.

  Manuel had helped Santiago free Night Wind. Now he only prayed the Indians could save his own life.

  Then there was a matter to be settled before he shook the dust of Santa Fe from beneath his feet forever. Elisethat treacherous, beautiful raven‐haired bitch.

  Something drove him to confront her one last time. He would kill her, he thought as he slipped from cover and began to work his way toward the shallow river. Its icy embrace would at least soothe his raw, aching back.

  Elise tossed fitfully, then threw off the heavy covers and slipped from the bed in her small room, pulling on her robe as she did so. She had been unable to sleep in spite of Samuelʹs stern admonition to rest. Looking out the narrow window to the street below, she realized that the hour must be well past midnight. Had it been only yesterday when Santiago escaped? Please God, let him be safe!

  Governor Alencastre had questioned her in front of Castal until he was convinced about the way the lieutenant had tortured Quinn, then had her and Samuel escorted to
their rooms at the inn. She knew he intended to question Castal further about the abuse of a prisoner. But that did not mean he would arrest the Creole, who claimed, with some justification, that Quinn brought guns to Spainʹs ancient enemies, the Apache. The only thing certain in the entire deadly tangle was that she and Samuel were now as hated by Castal as was Santiago.

  ʺOh, my love, where are you?ʺ she whispered in the still, cold air. Had he been able to elude the presidial soldiers, only to lie bleeding to death slowly in some hidden arroyo between Santa Fe and the southern mountains? Surely he could not make it to safety injured as badly as he was. If only he had waited until Alencastre returned and stopped the torture. The Night Wind could not be far behind, and he would have rescued Santiago. But the renegade had no way to know that. Elise stood shivering, alone with her troubling reverie.

  What was she to do? Return to New Orleans with the escort the governor was arranging? Samuel argued that Raoul Castal was a dangerous enemy. She had made a fool of him and he would exact revenge if she remained in Santa Fe. But how could she leave without learning if Santiago was dead or alive, safe or imprisoned? Rubbing her temples, she turned back to the bed and climbed in.

  Finally, sleep claimed her.

  Elise did not hear the soft thud as the guard outside her room slid to the floor unconscious. Neither did she see the blade slide between the rudely made adobe wall and the door, raising the wooden bar. A dark figure slipped inside the room and replaced the bar, then moved silently to the bed.

  Elise awakened as strong fingers closed over her mouth and a raspy voice whispered, ʺIf you scream, I promise I shall slit that beautiful white throat from ear to ear.ʺ

  To his surprise, she did not struggle, but her hands simply slid up his arms and held fast to him as she pulled herself up into his embrace.

  ʺIf you think to use your considerable charms to entice me into trusting you, donʹt bother. I overheard your delightful conversation with Castal as you rode up to the prison this morning.ʺ Santiago released his hold on her mouth as he felt her trying to shake her head.