Apache Summer

by Heather Graham

  “I love it!” She caught Tess’s cheeks between her plump hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I am so glad I came. And don’t you dare wait on me. I’m here to help.

  Jane, you run along and get linens, and I’ll get this bed made up, and then you show me around the house and tell me what I can do!”

  ‘ “Dolly, you don’t have to do anything but rest. It’s been a long trip ” You hush, dear. I’m going to get to know my room!” She stepped inside, closing the door. Jane hurried down the hall to the little’ linen-storage room.

  Tess smiled wryly at Jon.

  “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?”

  “Dolly? Yes, she’s a wonder.”

  “I didn’t really give her the best room, Jon, both these rooms are big and have beautiful views. I think you’ll be just as happy over here. The bed is large and firm, and it’s very airy.”

  “I’ll be quite comfortable wherever you put me,” he sured her.

  Smiling, he looked into the room, then backed out again.

  “I’ll go help Hank with the trunks.”

  “If you’re tired”

  “Tess, do I look tired? If yon Heusen is coming back tonight, we want to look settled in, don’t we?”

  “It’s interesting that you should feel that way. Apparently the lieutenant wasn’t very worried.”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Tess. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “You would defend him no matter what, wouldn’t you?”

  “Because I know him,” Jon said quietly, and he stepped past her, down the hall and down the stairs. She’d best get moving herself, Tess decided.

  She turned and hurried down the hallway in Jon’s wake. While the men unloaded the wagon, she could see to the horses and the mules.

  Then she’d have to find out how many of the ranch hands had stayed around once they’d heard that von Heusen would be taking over.

  And then she’d have to wait. for von Heusen himself.

  The town of Wiltshire was not a little hole-in the-wall, Jamie decided as he rode down the main street. It was really quite sophisticated, with rows and rows of Victorian houses with their cupolas and gingerbread lining the roads that ran off the main street. Along the main street were any number of businesses—two different mercantiles, a barbershop, a corset shop, a men’s wear shop, a cooper, a photographer, a mortician, a pharmacy, a doctor, two lawyers, a boardinghouse for young ladies and an inn that boasted a sign, “Perry McCarthy’s Shady Rest Hotel—Stop Here and Dine! We’ve a Restaurant for Any Respectable Traveler, Gentleman, Lady or Child.”

  He wondered how well Perry McCarthy was doing. The streets were very quiet.

  In front of the barbershop a few men sat around and puffed on pipes.

  One was missing an arm, another was minus his left foot. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall behind him.

  The men looked at Jamie as he rode by. The 125 war, Jamie thought. These men had fought in the war.

  Southerners, like he’d been. Even if Miss. Stuart was insisting upon calling him a Yank. Well, he was a Yank. Hell, they were all Yanks now. Because the damn Yanks had won the war.

  “Howdy,” he called out to the group.

  The fellow with the stump for an arm nodded.

  “Stranger in these parts, aren’t you, mister.”

  “Yes, sir, I am. But it seems to be a nice enough place.”

  “Used to be,” the man minus the foot said, spitting on the ground.

  “Used to be. But then the varmints started coming in and taking over. You know how that is. You don’t hail from these parts, but I don’t think that’s any Chicago accent you got on you, boy. Where you from?”

  “Missouri,” Jamie said.

  “Missouri,” the footless man repeated. He stroked his graying beard with a smile and settled back.

  “Well, now, I hope you stay a while.”

  “I was planning on it. I thought I’d buy some land.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to be able to, not good land.

  Oh, there’s some land up to the north for sale, but it’s pure desert.

  You don’t want that, boy.”

  “Well, I’ll look around. I heard that Joe Stuart was killed. Maybe I can get my hands on some of his land.”

  The man without the arm was up in a minute.

  “Don’t you go looking around to be a vulture after Joe’s place. You’ll wind up dead yourself, young man.”

  “Maybe you’d better shut up, Carter,” the other fellow muttered.

  Jamie leaned down, smiling.

  “Fellows, Joe’s niece is alive and well and kicking, I can tell you.”

  “Miss. Tess!” The one named Carter gasped with pleasure.

  “Why, that’s the best news I’ve heard since ‘61! You telling the truth there, boy?”

  “Sir, I’m over thirty,” Jamie politely told him.

  “And I think I count. double time for the war, my friends, so that makes me pretty darned old, and nobody’s boy.”

  “Sorry there, Carter and me, we didn’t mean to offend.”

  “No offense taken. My name is Jamie Slater. I’m look- hag to buy land. You hear of anything, you let me know.”

  “We’ll do that. But you aren’t going to get the Smart ranch. Von Heusen wants that. He wants it bad.”

  “But he doesn’t want that other land. That’s interesting,” Jamie mused.

  “Hope you stay a while,” Carter said.

  “Thanks. I intend to.”

  “My name’s Jeremiah Miller, you need any more information, bo—young man, you look me up. Hell, anybody younger’n me is a boy, son!”

  Jamie laughed and urged his mount on. He could see the saloon ahead.

  He reined in before it, tossed his reins over the tethering bar and entered through the swinging doors. He paused for a minute, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness and the smoke. There was a piano player in the rear. A singer with a short mauve shirt that barely covered rich black petticoats and stockings perched on the piano. Her voice was as smoky as the atmosphere.

  There was a bar to his right, running the length of the establishment.

  Two heavyset bartenders ha white aprons leaned against the mahogany bar talking to customers. There were a number of patrons at the twenty or so tables in the place. Some were well-dressed small-town merchants, others were ranch men, wearing denim pants and spurs and tall, dusty hats. Their spurred boots were sometimes up on chairs or tables. It was a lazy crowd, it seemed, an interesting one.

  The crowd went silent the minute Jamie entered the room. The singer forgot the lyrics to her song. The piano player swung around and stared, too.

  “Howdy,” Jamie said casually.

  People stared. Then the brunette hopped off the piano and walked forward.

  “Hello, there,” she said, frowning at the others, offering Jamie a broad smile.

  “What’s the matter with you all! We’ve a stranger in town. Let’s not make him think we haven’t a single wit of manners between the lot of us!”

  “Sure thing, Sherry, honey? one of the cowboys called out. He let his feet fall to the floor.

  “Howdy, there, stranger.

  Welcome to Wiltshire. We ain’t rude. We’re just surprised. Strangers just don’t come here very often very more.” “Why is that?” Jamie asked.

  The cowboy shrugged, but not before looking around the room. In one corner, a few men in suits were playing cards.

  “It ain’t a good gamble, that’s why,” a tall, thin man with heavy iron-gray whiskers called out.

  “But you’re here now, so come on in. Hardy!” He called to the bartender.

  “Give the stranger a whiskey, on me.” “Thank you kindly,” Jamie said. He strode into the room. Sherry brought his whiskey. He sat across from the man who had invited him, next to a small, nervous man with wir~rimmed spectacles.

  “My haree’s Edward Clancy,” the bewhiskered man said, offering Jamie a ha
nd.

  “I’m the editor of the Wiltshire Sun.”

  Jamie nearly betrayed his surprise. He kept a firm smile plastered to his face.

  “The Sun, huh? The newspaper?” “The gossip rag,” the man said flatly.

  “That’s all I dare print, and I’m careful about that. Oh, well, I write up some articles about President Grant and about the Indians. But not much else.”

  “Why?”

  ‘“Cause I like living,” Edward Clancy said flatly.

  “We’re playing poker. You in?”

  Jamie pushed back his hair and reached into his pocket for money.

  “Sure, I’m in. I like to gamble.”

  “Then you’re in the right town, mister. You’re surely in the right towm What’s your name?”

  “Jamie. Jamie Slater.”

  Clancy smiled slowly.

  “I’ve heard of you. You’re one of the Slater brothers. Why, I heard that you can hit a fly in the clouds with that ” Rumor,” Jamie interrupted him.

  “Rumor, that’s something I’d just as soon keep quiet for the time being.”

  “It’s quiet. It’s quiet.” Clancy stared at him hard, then grinned again.

  “That’s Dec Martin. He was one of Joe Stuart’s best friends. We’ll keep things quiet. Whatever you say.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ll help you any way that we can,” Dec volunteered. “Information is what I need now,” Jamie said, leaning closer.

  “Why does this yon Heusen want the Stuart property so damn bad?”

  “You know, we haven’t figured that one out yet. We just haven’t figured it out. But he does want it badly.”

  “Badly enough to kill?”

  “Hell, yes, I think so. Why, if the Indians hadn’t gotten old Joe …”

  His voice trailed away as he stared at Jamie.

  “It wasn’t a tribe of Indians that came after him, was it?”

  “Not according to Tess.”

  “Tess! She’s alive!”

  Jamie nodded. The look of pure, unadulterated joy on the man’s face was somewhat irritating. The sun-honey blond seemed to be a golden angel around these parts. Edward Clancy leaned so far across the table that he was nearly on top of it. His voice was soft; his features were knotted up and tense.

  “If Tess says it was von Heusen, it was von Heusen all right. Are you—are you going to stay around and fight him?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

  He didn’t guess so. He was committed, and he knew it. He had been committed since he’d first seen Tess’s face.

  He just hadn’t known it right away.

  “Hell! Don’t look now,” Dec muttered suddenly. “What?” Jamie demanded.

  “Some of von Heusen’s boys. The four fellows who just came in. The mean-looking ones.”

  They were a mean-looking group, Jamie decided. Lanky- haired, glitter-eyed.

  Two were light, two were dark-haired.

  One chewed tobacco incessantly.

  The dark-haired man who chewed tobacco seemed to be the spokesman for the group. He slammed his fist on the bar, rattling all the glasses on it. He shouted to the bartender, who couldn’t seem to move swiftly enough to the end of the bar.

  “Hardy! What’s the matter with you, ya getting’ old?” one of the men demanded.

  “Whiskey. And not the rotgut you serve the local swine. Give us the best in the house.” Hardy set a bottle on the bar. The man grasped him by the shirt collar and nearly pulled him over the bar. Hardy was starting to turn purple, and his attacker was laughing like a hyena.

  “That’s enough.”

  Jamie was on his feet. Once again, everyone went silent. Von Heusen’s men were silent, too. The four of them stared at him with astonishment. Then they began to smile. “Who the hell are you?” asked the dark-haired brute.

  “That doesn’t matter. Let Hardy alone.”

  “Why, son, you don’t know anything about this town at all, now, do you?”

  “Let him go,” Jamie repeated.

  “He needs to be taught a lesson,” one of the light-haired men said with a nasty snarl.

  “Yeah. A fatal lesson.”

  In a flash, the man released the bartender. He drew his gun.

  He was fast, but not fast enough. Before he could aim he had dropped the gun, howling in pain. His friends tried to draw.

  Rapid shots sizzled from Jamie’s Colts. The second man was on the floor, clutching his leg. The third grasped an arm. The fourth was on the floor.

  He might have been dead. Jamie didn’t know or care.

  He looked at Edward Clancy.

  “Thanks for the drink, friend,” he said quietly.

  Then he left the bar, walking over his fallen enemies.

  Chapter Seven

  By nightfall the wagon had been unloaded except for the printing press, which would be taken into town in the morning. Tess had even managed to fill the hip bath in the kitchen with steaming water and soak for a long time, washing away the dust and dirt from the trail. She kept reminding herself that von Heusen was coming back, but she felt strangely calm, despite the fact that Jamie had deserted them.

  Von Heusen wasn’t going to come right up to the house and murder her. He hadn’t the guts for that. She dressed in a soft summer-green cotton and set about making dinner with Jane and Dolly to help her. She was accustomed to Jane, but it was really nice to have Dolly with her. Dolly kept up a steady stream of conversation, mostly about her husband, Will, and their days in the military. Her stories were spicy and fun, and Tess enjoyed them thoroughly.

  They cooked a huge wild turkey on a spit and summer squash and green beans and apple turnovers. When the table was set and everything was ready, Tess went out to find Jon.

  He was leaning against a pillar, a band tied around his dark hair and forehead, a repeating carbine held casually in his hand. He looked over the landscape. “Dinner’s on, Jon.”

  He glanced her way, smiling.

  “Thanks, Tess, but I think I’ll wait out here a while longer, keep an eye on things.”

  “It’s turkey and all kinds of good things. I’d like to repay you for the trip.”

  I’ll eat soon,” he promised. She nodded and left him. Halfway inside the house she paused, wondering if he was looking for yon Heusen or Jamie.

  She hoped Jamie was eating stale, weevil-fiddled bread somewhere.

  She’had a feeling, though, that he was not.

  She walked into the house and to the dining-room table. Hank had come in, and he was smiling.

  “The boys are out at the bunkhouse and they’re pleased as peaches that you’re home, Miss. Tess. Well, them that’s left. We’ve still got Roddy Morris, Sandy Harrison and Bill McDowell. They won’t be going anywhere.”

  “Wonderful!” Tess told him.

  “Bring the boys in for dinner, will you, Hank?”

  “They’re already fixing. their suppers in the bunkhouse, Tess. We’ll have a big Sunday dinner for them all, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Fine. That sounds good, Hank. Now, let’s all sit.” Dolly offered to say grace. She thanked God for His bounty, for their being alive and being together, then she asked God to take a good look at their enemies and see if He couldn’t do something to put bad men in their proper place. “Amen,” she finished.

  “Amen,” they all chorused.

  Tess was about to take her first bite of dinner when she heard the sounds of horses’ hooves. She set down her fork.

  How many of them had come with yon Heusen? It sounded like five, r! o more.

  “Excuse me,” she said primly, setting her napkin carefully on the table and rising casually. It didn’t matter. Dolly, Hank and Jane all catapulted to their feet, and they attached themselves to her like shadows as she walked to the door. She could hear voices before she reached it. Jon’s first.

  “That’s close enough, fellows. Close enough.”

  “It’s an Injun!” “I said close enough.”
/>   Someone must have moved. A barrage of shots went off, followed by a startled silence.

  Then yon Heusen started to talk.

  “Hold it, boys, hold your fire! I’ve just come to talk to Hank and Jane about removing themselves from the prop” There no need for them to gemove themselves from the property,” Jori said.

  “This is private property, and the owner seems to want them here. One step nearer, boy,” he warned someone, “and there’ll be a hole in your chest where your heart used to be.”

  “Who in the blazes are you!” von Heusen thundered, losing his control.

  “A friend.”

  “A friend! Well, listen here, you red-faced monkey. The Smarts are dead.

  They were attacked by Comanche or ” Apache?” Jon interrupted. She could hear something cold and dangerous in his voice.

  “Tell me, which Apache?

  Which Apache do you think did it? Or don’t you know? I’ll tell you, I’m damned sure it wasn’t any Apache. Apache, any Apache, make war, or they go raiding. They make war to ‘take death from their enemies.” They raid to fill their bellies. I haven’t met an Apache yet who would leave dead cattle scattered with the corpses of men.”

  “Who the hell knows or cares what Apache!” von Heusen thundered.

  “It doesn’t matter. Maybe it was Comanche” — “Running River denies it.”

  “There are more tribes of Comanche!” “Yes, there are,” Jon said softly.

  “But the Comanche know what doin too. it to man.

  “Of course, the whites have been scalping for a long time now. I read somewhere that they started scalping way back in the east in the sixteen hundreds. But still. White men in a hurry do a sloppy job. Neither a Comanche nor an Apache would do a sloppy job. No matter what his hurry.”

  “Takes an Inj un to know I” someone muttered.

  “Maybe we ought to string him up. Who knows? Maybe he’s some renegade in charge of the party that did it himself!” von Heusen said.

  “Let’s hang him!”

  “Let’s see you try!” Jon said very softly. “Hold it! Hold it!” von Heusen said.

  “Now listen, Joe Smart and his family are dead. And this property is’ going to go up for public auction. Now I have” — Tess had taken his statement as her cue. She threw open the door and stepped onto the porch behind Jon.