White Apache

by tiffy

  ʺPerhaps you should be also,ʺ he said. For many years he had suspected his partnerʹs feelings, but as long as Aria had been so infatuated with him and bound to the white world Orlena and Joaquin had introduced her to, he had held his peace. ʺIf you would live as Desert Flower, not Ana Quinn, he could offer you much.ʺ

  ʺI will think on it,ʺ she replied solemnly, not at all certain of her feelings, but relieved that she and the Red Eagle would not part in enmity. For now, that was far more blessing than she deserved.

  Spybuck watched his friend ride down the twisting mountain trail from the hidden stronghold. Perhaps they would never meet again in this lifetime, but he refused to dwell on such morbid thoughts. Last evening, the whole camp had feasted in honor of the Red Eagleʹs journey. They had said their farewells. He prayed with all his heart that Santiago would find Elise. She was the right woman for him. As Quinnʹs figure vanished below the horizon, he turned his thoughts to the right woman for him. Spybuck thought about the way Desert Flower had bidden Santiago farewell. She no longer looked at him with earnest, heartbroken love written across her face. Now she seemed at peace.

  Spybuck sought out the woman holding his thoughts. He approached her and she smiled a greeting. ʺI would speak of a matter that has been long in my heart.

  Walk with me.ʺ

  Her mouth formed a small O of surprise as she strolled with him to the stream.

  They walked beside its twisting course for several minutes until they had left the village behind. Then he sat down on a flat rock warmed by the winter sun and motioned her to join him. Hesitantly, she complied.

  Confessions were never easy. Last evening she had told She Who Dreams of her perfidy. And as Desert Flower knew she would, the old medicine woman only nodded, already cognizant of her pupilʹs trespasses. Now she had to share her shame with Spybuck. Suddenly she realized how important his good opinion was to her. ʺBefore you say anything, I must tell youʺ

  ʺI already know. Santiago told me before he left. He also said you called him brother for the first time in many years. Do you now love him only as a brother, Desert Flower?ʺ

  She took a deep breath, and her heart beat fiercely and rapidly. Then a great weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. ʺThe Red Eagle is my brother. Now I know the truth. We were never fated for each other.ʺ

  ʺDo you regret that this is true?ʺ

  ʺNo,ʺ she answered without hesitation. As his eyes studied her, she felt a flush steal into her cheeks. She inspected his greatly altered appearance once more.

  ʺDo you intend to remain among the Lipan now?ʺ

  ʺSantiago has gone to seek Elise. The white world into which he was born has again claimed him, as I always knew it would. The red world claims me in the same manner.ʺ

  ʺYet you were born Muskogee, not Lipan.ʺ

  ʺDo I look like a Muskogee?ʺ he asked. A lazy smile slashed across his broad, cleanly chiseled features. He was a big, handsome man, far taller than most Apaches, but otherwise he resembled a Lipan warrior.

  She reached up and touched his hair. ʺI like it much better than all that naked scalp,ʺ she said with a smile.

  ʺI do, too. It is warmer when the cold mountain wind blows!ʺ His expression sobered. ʺYou know that I love you, Desert Flower. I have loved you ever since the first time I rode to your foster parentsʹ ranch with Santiago many years ago.

  You were a girl, barely past your puberty rites.ʺ

  ʺMany Lipan girls marry shortly after that age, but even if I had wished to do so, Joaquin and Orlena would not have permitted it. They wanted me educated as their own children were, and I will always be grateful for that.ʺ

  ʺWhen red people learn about the white civilization, pride in their own birthright is enhanced. Anyway, I am pleased that you did not wed some bold young warrior or New Mexican rico.ʺ

  He reached out to take her hands in his, then drew her nearer. She came into his arms, shyly but willingly. For a moment he just held her, stroking her gleaming ebony hair. When she turned her head up to look at him, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. It began quite chastely, but when she slid her arms up to entwine about his neck, he deepened the caress and pulled her onto his lap.

  Desert Flower had never shared a kiss with a man, but she had spied on Joaquin and Orlena on more than one occasion when he returned from a raid and she ran into his embrace. She felt Spybuckʹs tongue glide sensuously along the seam of her lips and she opened to him. At once he entered to taste of her innocent sweetness. A surge of heat, like honey in the summer sun, rolled over her, making her bold. Her own tongue darted between his lips, mimicking his action.

  She felt his response.

  Spybuck groaned and tightened his hold on her as his hand found her breast and cupped it. ʺYou are as pure and lovely as the first blossom in the spring desert,ʺ

  he murmured against her mouth. He could feel himself spiraling out of control and fought to regain his willpower. Gently, he broke off the kiss and disengaged her arms from his neck. He took her hands in his and held them fast, kissing them with a courtly flourish. Sir Charles would have been delighted.

  ʺI think I had better offer a bride gift to Night Wind, and that right quickly!ʺ

  ʺYes, Spybuck, I think you should, too.ʺ Her cheeks burned, but her black eyes glowed before she veiled them with her lashes.

  They rose and walked back to the village. As the young lovers approached, old women smiled behind their hands and children giggled, but neither Desert Flower nor Spybuck noticed.

  PART IV

  MANIFEST DESTINY

  Chapter Twenty‐Seven

  The Natchez Trace, January 1807

  Samuel Shelby rode carefully around the twisted roots of a clump of water oak, swatting at the mosquitoes that had tortured him since he rode north from Natchez. The boat ride from New Orleans had been the easiest part of the journey. This was pure hell. The densely forested rough terrain was filled with river pirates and all manner of woodland cutthroats waiting to ambush unwary travelers luckless enough to fall into their clutches. During his two‐day ride up the Trace, he had seen such grisly evidence of violence as a human skull nailed to the trunk of a large cypress treethe remains of a victim or the just deserts of a brigand?

  ʺThis place gives me a real unnatural feelinʹ, lieutenant,ʺ the young blond militiaman said, eyeing the thick stands of cane, higher than a manʹs head.

  ʺTheyʹs them that say wildcats jump outta the cane and eat a man and horse whole.ʺ

  Samuel smiled reassuringly. ʺI doubt that, Justice, but keep a wary eye. Itʹs the two‐legged enemies we need be most wary of.ʺ

  They rounded a turn in the twisting trail and came upon a small clearing in the dense forest. Patches of sunlight pierced the gloom like liquid gold, but even as they emerged from the miasmic hold of the undergrowth, the roadhouse that sat squat and ugly in the middle of the clearing was no less menacing.

  Samuel eyed the crudely hewn log building. Its roof was missing shingles, and the small windows were devoid of the luxury of glass. Filthy oiled paper flapped loosely on several of the openings, while others had no protection from the elements or the insects.

  ʺLetʹs hope we can transact our business and be gone quickly,ʺ he said, giving the small force of heavily armed men under his command the order to dismount.

  They were militiamen, especially recruited because of their loyalty to Louisianaʹs Governor Claiborne, who himself was totally loyal to President Jefferson and the federal government. No one, including Shelby, was in uniform. This was a secret mission to locate and destroy three boatloads of guns and ammunition bound for the filibusters in New Orleans.

  ʺWait here while I go inside. If you hear a ruckus, come running double time.ʺ

  Samuel walked to the low, narrow door of the tavern and ducked to enter. God, it was like going into a cave. The stench of rotting wood, swill whiskey, and unwashed bodies assailed his nostrils.

  Flickering tallow wicks burned in dishes set on the scarre
d tabletops. There was a crude bar across one wall, but few other furnishings except for a handful of splintering pine chairs. From the looks of the patrons, he imagined most of the furniture was smashed when fights erupted. He hoped to escape a brawl.

  Scanning the glowing feral eyes and hard faces minus teeth, ears, even noses, he was not optimistic about his chances. I look too prosperous.

  He walked to the bar and tossed down a copper. ʺA cool draught of ale would slide down smooth.ʺ The barkeep was a fat, bald man with both ears notched, a bad sign that meant he had been put in the stocks back East and marked for some crime. Many such hard cases found their way to the Trace.

  ʺIʹm Jake Munroe.ʺ He poured the sour warm ale in a grimy cup and paused, waiting for Shelby to identify himself.

  ʺNameʹs Marcus Allen, from Kentucky. Iʹm supposed to meet a man named Dutton. Hugh Dutton. Has he been by here?ʺ

  The pockets of fat beneath Munroeʹs eyes bulged out as he squinted evilly. He made a motion with his thumb, gesturing to the back of the room. A shadowy figure was barely discernable, crouched at a table in the dark corner.

  ʺObliged,ʺ Samuel said and walked toward Dutton. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he turned his back on Munroe.

  Elise had learned from a careless member of the Mexican Association in New Orleans that Marcus Allen was to meet Dutton on the Trace and escort the illegal cargo to a specified destination just above the city. Governor Claiborne had arrested Allen in secret, and Samuel was making the rendezvous. Those boats had to be stopped.

  Dutton was a gaunt, dark‐haired fellow whose features were hidden by the poor light. Only the evil glint in his eyes betrayed his nature. He smiled, revealing a mouth almost devoid of teeth.

  ʺYe be Allen?ʺ

  ʺIʹm Marcus Allen,ʺ Samuel said evenly, pulling up a battered chair and taking a seat so he could slide his hand inside his jacket where his Harpers Ferry pistol was hidden.

  ʺAllenʹs a Kaintuck, so I heered. Ye donʹt talk like one.ʺ

  ʺI was raised in Virginia and emigrated to Kentucky later,ʺ he improvised. ʺMy men are waiting outside. The Mexican Association needs those guns as quickly as possible.ʺ

  ʺI been waitinʹ,ʺ Dutton said defensively. ʺYe be the one late, not me. Ye have men and horses enough to transport the shipment overland?ʺ

  ʺIʹve armed militia enough to guard it until the rest of my men arrive. We have to be careful, though, now that General Wilkinson has turned against us.ʺ

  Dutton cursed and spat onto the filthy floor. ʺWilkinsonʹs a fool to betray them fellas in New Orleans. They got themselves connections to some real high‐rankinʹ

  men in thet old kingʹs army,ʺ he said slyly, unfolding his lanky frame from the chair. ʺLetʹs see to them boats.ʺ

  High‐ranking Spanish officers were in league with the conspirators, just as he and Elise had surmised back in New Mexico. It would be helpful to know who in the Spanish army the Mexican Association had recruited.

  Upon their return to New Orleans, he and Elise had learned that the president had dismissed Wilkinson as governor of Upper Louisiana, although he was still in charge of the army. Leaving Pike to his fate in New Mexico, the general had followed his orders to secure New Orleans from the filibusters. ʹʹWilkinson left Lieutenant Pike and his men hanging out to dry. I expect theyʹll finish their days in some Spanish prison,ʺ Samuel said in disgust.

  Dutton sucked on a rotted tooth, then spat through the spaces between two missing ones and laughed. ʺOle Pike ʹn his menʹll be jest fine. Right now I expect they be enjoyinʹ the hospitality of General Salcedo hisself.ʺ

  Salcedo! The governor‐general of the Internal Provinces, one of the highest ranking officers in all of New Spainʹs government. A useful bit of information for Jefferson, indeed.

  The two men emerged from the roadhouse, and Dutton surveyed the tough, well‐armed assortment of militiamen who were supposed to be Marcus Allenʹs filibusters. ʺTheyʹll do,ʺ Dutton said to Samuel. He mounted a big gelding as rangy and unkempt as its owner, and they began to ride toward the river.

  ʺBefore this is over, weʹll own all of the Spanish west. Weʹll be rich!ʺ Avarice gleamed in Duttonʹs crafty eyes.

  He led them to the small inlet after several hours riding through dense stands of cypress and tupelo. Without someone to guide them over the solid ground, they would never have made it. One false turn would have meant sinking into the swampy mire, where death lurked in the form of gators and water moccasins.

  Dutton called to the men aboard the crude, log‐lashed flatboats.

  Samuel quickly sized up their numbers and fire power, then gave the signal to young Justice. The militiamen dismounted and moved in thirds, each group approaching one of the moored boats. Once in place, they drew their guns.

  Samuel pulled his pistol and aimed it at a very surprised Hugh Dutton. ʺYouʹre under arrest for insurrection, Dutton. Iʹm confiscating these boats in the name of the United States government.ʺ

  Dutton snarled an oath, but one look around made him realize how useless it would be to resist. The militiamen outnumbered them by two to one and many of the boatmen were only paid to deliver the goods downstream, not risk their lives fighting.

  ʺNow, Hugh, you mentioned a few things I think we need to discuss a bit more,ʺ

  Samuel said conversationally.

  ʺGo to hell, yeʺ

  ʺThatʹs no way to talk to the fellow who holds your life in his hands,ʺ Shelby said, grabbing the Kaintuckʹs buckskin shirt and twisting as he rammed his pistol into Duttonʹs windpipe. ʺAbout General Salcedo . . .ʺ

  New Orleans

  Elise sat behind the lacy iron grillwork that shielded her from making a ʺvulgar displayʺ at the ball. After all, she was six months enciente and ladies did not show themselves in public while in such a delicate condition. Remembering the way the Lipan and Osage women had worked during their pregnancies, proudly displaying their fat bellies as badges of honor, she thought civilized conventions to be idiotic in the extreme.

  So many of her opinions had changed since she went west with Santiago Quinn.

  Just thinking of him made her want to weep, but she pushed the thought aside.

  Iʹve shed enough tears over him. What was past was past, and their love could never be rekindled. At least he had left her with a part of him to love and take joy in for the rest of her life. The child would have to be a Louvois, unfortunately, but far better that than naming her babe a bastard. Her lips twisted in an ironic smile as she thought of Edouard Louvoisʹ reaction to the letter she had posted when they reached New Orleans, explaining his impending ʺfatherhood.ʺ

  Elise watched the dancers move in a colorful whirl around the crowded floor.

  She should not be here, not only because of her pregnancy, but also because Samuel had urged her to let Governor Claiborne put her on the first boat upriver to the Shelby plantation where her Cousin Nestor and his wife Alma were awaiting her. The boat had come and gone without her.

  Samuel wanted her safely away from all the intrigue boiling in New Orleans, but he understood that she would prefer to put off the dreary prospect of spending months on an isolated plantation and remain in the thick of the action. Not that she was very well equipped for action these days, she thought with a rueful smile.

  Scanning the floor, she saw General Wilkinson, perspiring in spite of the chill winter weather. His uniform buttons strained across his paunch as he bowed to a Creole matron of ample girth. He pulled out a linen handkerchief and mopped his brow fastidiously with it. He knew nothing of Eliseʹs journey to Santa Fe or that Samuel was alive and had accompanied her to New Orleans. To Wilkinson she was Governor Claiborneʹs good friend and the wife of a mysterious French diplomat. The general mistrusted her, just as he had since St. Louis, but he could do nothing to harm her.

  The New Orleans territorial governorʹs special soldiers were her constant escort.

  In many ways, she resented that and wished dearly to be able to approach the w
ily Wilkinson alone. For such a shrewd schemer, the general was incredibly maladroit around beautiful women and might reveal something to her unwittingly in spite of his suspicions. Looking down at her rounded belly, Elise had to chuckle. I could scarce pass as a femme fatale in this condition!

  ʺI do hope youʹre enjoying the festivities, even though you are unable to participate.ʺ Governor Claiborne wore a look of serious concern on his aristocratic face as he entered her private box.

  A humorless and puritanical young man of thirtytwo, he had been heartily detested by the Creoles of the city when he first arrived. Even though he spoke little French and refused to use the language in government business, he was slowly winning them over. The governor was stubborn and honest, and he pursued his duties with a zeal that won the respect, if not the liking, of his enemies. Even Wilkinson avoided crossing him.

  Elise smiled up at him as he took her hand solicitously. ʺI am enjoying the outing immensely, your excellency. So, it would appear, is your ambitious military commander.ʺ She pointed her fan toward Wilkinson.

  Claiborneʹs lips thinned. ʺI wish I knew what he is up to.ʺ

  ʺHas he made any more arrests?ʺ Elise asked. In the past weeks, Wilkinson had begun to search out and imprison many men involved in the filibuster who could have implicated him in the plot.

  ʺSeveral of his patrols have come in with additional rabble suspected of involvement. Scarce any surprise there, since this is a territory where one could even find recruits to filibuster Hell!ʺ Claiborneʹs tone of voice was withering.

  ʺDo you believe heʹs really going to stop the filibusteror is he just deceiving us?ʺ

  ʺI wish I knew,ʺ Claiborne said worriedly. ʺThe New Orleans Militia has pledged their loyalty to President Jefferson, but we have good reason to suspect many of them are in league with ambitious Spanish officials who want to topple the royal government in New Spain.ʺ

  ʺIf only we had more complete information,ʺ Elise said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

  ʺHopefully we soon will. At least, with men such as your brother we can prevent the flow of munitions to theʹ filibusters. I donʹt think they can succeed now.ʺ