Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  “You will do as he asks,” the Apache stated.

  “Do you know where they are?” Delaney countered.

  “The places are few where it is safe to hide. You know them all.”

  “I’ll go alone, Seanilzay. But you’ll ride out with me. I want you to keep watch over the Beckets. I don’t trust Ross. They have claimed land south of here, near the river.”

  “What of Brodie?”

  “He’s waited this long, he’ll keep until I get back. The bastard has my father’s journal. I just can’t figure where Ross fits in with Brodie.”

  “Does he know that Brodie searches for gold?”

  “Could be. It still doesn’t explain why Ross is so anxious to use me to talk for the army. He knows my own feelings.”

  “If you spoke lies believing them true, skeetzee, he would be rid of you.”

  “But I know General Wilcox. Ross did not lie about him. Perhaps the days alone will give me the answers I seek.” Delaney looked up and saw Popejoy leading a big raw-boned bay and a hammerhead roan toward him. He left Seanilzay holding Mirage while he looked over the horses.

  “The major said these were the best he has.”

  Delaney didn’t answer him. He ran his hands over each of the horses, checked their eyes, teeth, and limbs, and listened to their breathing before he stepped back.

  “Load the supplies on the roan. I’ll ride the bay. And I’ll need a horse for Seanilzay.”

  “The major didn’t say—”

  “Ask him,” Delaney snapped, moving to strip the gear from Mirage and saddle the bay. “Go with him, Seanilzay, and find a good mount. We have hard riding ahead.”

  Before the afternoon shadows had deepened, Delaney and Seanilzay rode out of Tombstone. Delaney looked back once. Popejoy still stood, watching them. Keeping the horses to a walk, Delaney gazed at the hundreds of tents and shanties that surrounded Tombstone. The area was treeless, offering little cover. An hour later Delaney motioned for Seanilzay to ride ahead, leading the roan and Mirage. He topped a small rise and slid from his saddle to scan his back trail. A lone horseman could be seen in the far distance, heading in his direction. Delaney knew that Ross would have him followed, but he wasn’t going to try to lose the man now.

  By the time he caught up with Seanilzay, he knew he would head north up to the Dragoons, where Cochise once had his stronghold. This was the lesson the army never learned. They continued to try and fight a mountain-bred people in their own mountains.

  Down in a dry wash they stopped. “We part company here, Seanilzay. You can double back and head south. Tell…” Delaney stopped, wondering what he could tell Faith. He wanted to see her; mere moments later he admitted to himself he needed to see her again. He reached into his shirt and withdrew the skystone, then, without giving himself time to think, he removed his hat and slipped the rawhide over his head.

  “Give this to her for me.”

  Seanilzay took it and carefully wrapped the rawhide thong around the stone before he tucked it into his cloth belt. “May we live to see each other again.”

  “May it be so,” Delaney answered, taking the lead rope and reins from him.

  Riding alone in the forested base of the Dragoons, Delaney felt a sense of homecoming. To the east was the valley where his home had been. He felt a longing to see the place again but knew that would wait, just as facing Brodie would.

  He made a cold camp, secured the horses in a gully a good distance away, and set out on foot to find the man tracking him. Delaney figured the man was a good two hours or so behind him. He was wrong. The distance had been closed to less than an hour. If he had not stumbled near the man’s horse, Delaney wouldn’t have found his cold camp. And not a sign of the man. This gave him pause. He quieted the horse when he returned to him, finding the brand by touch on the flank, and discovered that it wasn’t army issue. The slash was an older, deeper scar, the letter D unevenly shaped. Altered crop that he could find.

  Dropping to his knees, Delaney felt the ground, hoping for a clear footprint. Luck wasn’t with him. Obviously the man who tracked him knew to wipe them clean with a sweep of a branch, for that was all he discovered.

  Covering up his own trail, he made his way back to his camp. If Ross had someone following him, he might expect a signal when Delaney found the Apache. The major could be planning to be close enough with the hopes of capturing Juh and Geronimo. It made sense to Delaney. Ross would be free of any promises made to the Apache. They would go back as prisoners.

  Delaney thought about leading his shadow out into the desert, where he knew he could lose the man, but the move would cost him time. He continued on as if he were unaware that he was being trailed. For the next two days Delaney made no effort to conceal his tracks, yet he sensed another, unseen presence followed him. The third night he trapped a rabbit and built a fire, knowing the scent of roasting meat would carry. If there were Apache close by, they would leave him a sign, and if the man following him was hungry, he might be drawn to seek Delaney out.

  Only embers remained. Hidden in a rock basin high above, Delaney waited. Exhaustion threatened to overtake him, and he fought to keep his eyes open. Out of the night sounds he heard a throaty rumble. His hand slipped to his knife, hunter senses alerted. Down below, a golden-eyed jaguar prowled his camp. Delaney crouched, ready to defend himself if the big cat caught his scent. He watched the powerful muscled animal sniff at the rabbit remains, but to his surprise the cat turned away to settle himself on Delaney’s bedroll.

  Through the darkness Delaney felt the piercing gaze of that golden-eyed cat find him. For minutes time ceased. He knew the cat had seen him. A warrior and a survivor, Delaney thought, seeing the torn ear. And just as suddenly he knew the cat meant him no harm. Not instinct, not a thing that was sensed, but a deep abiding knowledge that he had nothing to fear.

  He left the cat to watch, and he slept. In the morning the big cat was gone. So was the rabbit skin.

  Delaney headed southwest across a valley whose water was tainted with sulphur. There was a clear spring, which few white men knew about, and it was there that he refilled his canteens, once again taking the time to climb high enough to check his back trail. This time he saw no sign that he was followed.

  Keeping clear of the mining camps, Fort Bowie, and a few scattered ranches, Delaney switched horses every few hours, pushing himself and the animals harder now that he rode through the Chiricahua Mountains and Apache reservation lands. Another two days and he would be near the Guadalupes. If he did not find Geronimo and Juh camped with their band, he would head south into Mexico.

  The sun was high in the heavens, throwing its blistering heat on anything that moved. Delaney wiped sweat from his brow, time and again, the water in his canteen sickeningly warm. The horses, too, were in need of water, but he knew he had a few hours’ grace to find it for them. He dismounted and led the horses up a torturous mountain trail, realizing how deep into Mescalero Apache country he was.

  Mirage snorted, drawing his attention, and he turned to see her ears pricked up.

  “Man or water,” Delaney muttered to himself. Ahead was a wide-mouthed canyon, and he welcomed the shadows cast by its sloping sides that abruptly steepled into a sheer rock wall about forty feet high. Behind him the horses crowded close, and he knew there was water. Shading his eyes, he found the small trickle running down the western face of the canyon’s wall. He set the horses free after pulling out his rifle. The grass was sparse, but they needed the rest. Water for him had to wait. The canyon was a boxed dead end.

  Delaney sat with his head thrown back, searching the rim of the canyon. Satisfied for the moment that he was safe, he allowed his thoughts to turn to Faith. He hoped that Seanilzay had managed to give her his skystone. She had to know the promise it held for him to return to her.

  Heat waves shimmered in front of him. Delaney licked his parched lips, his gaze returning to the trickle of water. He rose and stretched, feeling his cloth
es rub the grit against his skin. After riding for six days, the thought of being clean held a great deal of appeal. Delaney had to forget it. The risk wasn’t worth it. But there was a time when he’d given no thought to how many days he rode and slept in the same clothes.

  “Guess I’ve spent more time bein’ civilized than I knew,” he whispered, walking over to the water. The horses were cropping the grass when he knelt down and pressed his face against the rock, letting the water run over his skin to cool him before he drank.

  The small stone basin didn’t have enough water to fill his canteens. He was uncomfortable remaining in a box canyon, but he couldn’t go on without fresh water. He quickly hobbled the bay and the roan, leaving Mirage free, knowing she would not wander off. After flinging down his saddle, he stretched out, never intending to fall asleep.

  When he woke, the sky was overcast. He sat up, swearing to see the horses gone. And with them his canteens.

  Was a trap waiting at the canyon mouth?

  He wasn’t going to find out. Delaney regretted leaving behind his saddle, but beyond filling his pockets with bullets for his gun and rifle, he took nothing else with him. Another drink at the replenished basin, and he set off to find a way up and over the walls.

  Behind boulders on the east face of the canyon, Delaney eyed a narrow chimney that was barely the width of a man’s body. Up near the rim he could see a hollow. He glanced back once, weighing his chances, and decided the climb was his best shot to get out.

  Stripping off his pants belt, he looped it around his rifle and slung this over his shoulder. Sweat dampened his palms, and he rubbed earth against them to give him purchase on the slippery rock face.

  It wasn’t so much a climb as it was inching his body up the chimney. Sweat poured down his face and smarted in his eyes. He could feel it trickling down his back. No matter how he tried to control his breathing, he was gasping about halfway up, his muscles aching from the strain.

  The chimney had deceived him. It widened. Delaney looked up. He still had over twenty feet to go. The gap was almost four feet wide now and his palms were once again slippery.

  The thought crossed his mind that he didn’t know what or who waited up there on the rim. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice; he had to go on.

  His hand slipped at the same time his right foot did. He couldn’t stop his body’s slide for a few feet. For an agonizing moment he couldn’t move. Fear gripped him and held on to him until he lost track of how long he remained braced between two rock walls before he tried again.

  Cooler air was welcomed, and he drew it in deeply, feeling renewed by knowing he was closer to the top. His body was racked by the strain on his muscles as the spread in the chimney widened a few more inches. Delaney ignored the scrapes on his palms. The pain was easy to bury; the blood that made him pray with every inch he moved was not.

  When he felt his fingers curl over the rock edge, he rested a few minutes before he made the final heave that saw him up and over. He rolled onto his back and lay there, panting, gazing up at a dusk-laden sky.

  And while he lay helpless, they surrounded him.

  Chapter 20

  Every limb trembled. Delaney had no control over them. He counted six rifles pointed at him and closed his eyes. They were Apache, but there wasn’t a face that he recognized. He longed for enough breath to speak, but even that was to be denied him.

  Not one of the Indians spoke or made a move.

  It took Delaney time to understand that they weren’t going to kill him.

  In the fast fading light Delaney studied his captors, swearing to himself when he saw their style of breechclouts and moccasins. These were Netdahee, the killer warriors, each chosen because he was the fiercest fighter, dedicated to wiping out the Apache’s enemies.

  The rifle beneath his back was damn painful, and Delaney slowly began to sit up. When no one made a move to stop him, he lifted the belt holding his rifle over his head and set it down beside him.

  Breathing a little easier, he began to speak, telling them who he was and why he had come. Delaney watched the circle around him break, and he rose, lifting the rifle with him. He was given no response, but with three of them on each side already moving out at a fast trot, he knew he had to go with them.

  The air was sweet and cooling to his body. They circled the rim of the canyon, then began to climb down the tumbled boulders near its entrance. Four more warriors were waiting there with horses, including Delaney’s.

  “Del-a-ney,” one of the warriors said, coming forward.

  “Perico?” Delaney answered, relief flooding his body, for this was one of Geronimo’s family. He smiled to hear the rapid orders that followed, telling of his friendship to the people, demanding the return of his horses to him.

  “The packhorse is filled with little foodstuffs, but it is a gift, Perico. When I am done with the bay, I will turn him free.”

  “What you bring will be welcomed.” He mounted and motioned for the others to leave, waiting until Delaney came up beside him. “I will take you.”

  “Before we ride off, I want you to know I was followed.”

  “No more.”

  It was not until they reached the camp, hidden deep in the mountains within a cave high enough for the horses to be ridden inside, that Delaney noticed the brand on Perico’s horse. The deep slash and uneven letter were the same ones he had touched. Whoever had been following him was dead.

  Torches lit the huge cavern where most of the band was gathered. He dismounted and saw his horse led away into one of the many tunnels that branched out from there. This was only one of such places where caches of dried foodstuffs, blankets, and weapons could be stored and left behind if the band was discovered and had to leave quickly, allowing their travel to be light and fast.

  He scanned the crowd while Perico went to where the men were seated. Chee-hash-kish, Geronimo’s young wife and mother to his son and daughter, was the only woman he knew. Naiche was not here, but then, Delaney never expected him. He saw that his gifts were accepted, the women quick to unload the sacks of flour, beans, and coffee.

  Perico returned to his side. “You will have food, then you will talk.”

  Seated before a fire, Delaney ate roasted yucca stems, not a favorite food of the Apache, but one used when other sources were scarce. Dried chokeberries mixed with the dried, then soaked crown of mescal and a few piñon nuts along with a sweet gruel made from mesquite beans satisfied his hunger.

  Gourds of “gray water” were passed around, and Delaney drank his share. The weak beer called tiswin was made from corn and in sufficient quantity could make a man drunk. Since what he sipped was not sour, it told him the band had been here for over two weeks, for tiswin took that long to make and would spoil after two days.

  He shared his smoking tobacco with all who wanted it and rolled himself a smoke. The women had drawn themselves and the children off to one side with their cooking pots so that they could eat. It was time for talk.

  “Many of you here know that I speak no lies to the Chiricahua. I come with word from General Wilcox that he wishes all of you to return to the reservation. The army knows there are problems to be worked out. There are good men who try, but if you run, they become helpless as the child who needs his mother before he walks.

  “These men fear that the raids and killing will bring more soldiers. If there is no peace, there must be war. Victorio’s way leads to death.”

  “Th-they t-treat us like d-dogs,” Juh stuttered.

  Delaney looked at the stockily built Indian with a soft deep voice. “There will always be pindahs who look at the color of your skin and see you as less than them. I cannot change the way these men feel and think. In this I can only say my words. Peace will help the Apache survive as a people.”

  “Th-the re-reservations w-will k-kill us all.” At a gesture from Geronimo he fell silent.

  “The wrongs they have done to all are many,” Geronimo
said, his snapping black eyes alive with an unrelenting hate.

  There was no answer that Delaney could give the man who held the Power. Apaches did not seek a vision quest as did other tribes, but if they were of the chosen, the Power was given to them in sleep. He had witnessed Geronimo’s uncanny knowledge of what was happening in places too far from him to know by any other means to question him.

  “It is good that you do not seek to cover this truth.”

  “I have come with an open heart and an open mind. The major who called me for this is one I do not trust. His words are lies. He wishes you gone from this southern area, and I add my belief that it is to open the land to miners and farmers.”

  “Always they come for our lands. It is not a thing to be owned.”

  “But it is the white man’s way.”

  “This is so. Wilcox gave us flour when we were hungry. He wanted to make us the prisoners of the army so he could get us food. For a little time we were fed.” He measured Delaney with a shrewd look, and all waited until he spoke again. “Ross waited many days to find you. All knew that he searched for you. Why is this? There are others who speak to us.”

  Delaney’s rueful smile quickly faded. “I gave much thought to this myself. I was followed, which led me to believe that Ross hoped to discover where you are hidden and bring soldiers to capture you.”

  “I told you he is no more,” Perico said and rose. He walked to where a saddle and bags were laying up against the stone wall. From the pile he withdrew a gun and came around the circle of men to show it to Delaney.

  Reaching out for the Colt, Delaney remembered hefting its near-perfect balance once before. It was Chelli’s gun.

  “You knew the man,” Geronimo stated.

  “He was not a friend, but yes, I knew him.” But why, he asked himself, had Chelli been following him for Ross? Or had he? If not Ross, then who? Brodie? Why? He shook his head trying to make sense of this. Handing the gun back to Perico, he gazed around the circle, suddenly feeling as if they all knew the answers and were waiting for him to find them.