Jewel and I were dragged into camp like chained captives at the chariot wheels of a Roman conqueror. It was dusk, with a half-light that was a glow in the sky. Women and children ran out of their brush wickiups, surrounded us, and I could see neither kindness nor pity in any of the faces that peered at us.
“Oh, God, what now?” Jewel whispered, and I licked dry lips, trying to carry my head high although my mind was already echoing her question. What now? Would they kill us? Torture us? Or was there worse to come?
I had heard tales of women staked out and raped by Apache warriors, of being beaten to death by their squaws. There was no worse fate for a white woman than to be taken captive by Apaches. Was it Colonel Poynter who had told me this, or had it been Todd? All this time I had been concentrating every ounce of my mind and will upon walking. Now, as Jewel swayed against me and some of the squaws began to prod at us viciously with long sticks, every frightening story I had ever heard came back into my mind. I think the women would have treated us worse if the Apache who had captured me, and who appeared to be a man of some importance, had not waved them away. We were not to be beaten to death by the women then.
Other men had come up, and I gathered that there was much boasting being done. We were pointed at; the saddlebags containing silver were pointed at. The warriors carried handguns and carbines belonging to some of the dead soldiers, and these drew many admiring glances and grunts.
Jewel and I stood mute in the circle of Indians that seemed to press closer. They seemed to have forgotten us for the moment in their admiration of the plunder that had been brought back to the camp, but the malicious, sidelong glances of some of the women warned us that it would not be for long.
It was then that I noticed a warrior taller than the others, wearing an old cavalry jacket for warmth. He sauntered up casually and the others made way for him. I saw his eyes rest on me for a casual moment, and they seemed lighter in color than the eyes of the others. His features too, were different from those of the other men, his nose was straighter, his mouth not as wide. There was a strange, nagging air of familiarity about him, and I think it was because my wits had suddenly been sharpened by both terror and despair that I began to wonder if it could be possible… yes, and why not? A chance in a hundred, perhaps, but words spoken to me what seemed ages ago flashed into my mind.
“Julio, the second son, stayed with the Apache. Took himself a wife.”
I suddenly knew that this man reminded me of Ramon Kordes. A coincidence? Perhaps. But it was still possible, still worth taking a chance on. I did not dare speak yet, but almost unconsciously I had straightened, wiping the back of my torn sleeve across my face.
As I had hoped it would, the slight movement brought his attention to me. His eyes flickered over me, and boldly, I caught their glance with my own. I thought he frowned slightly, that he would have spoken if etiquette had not prevented his doing so. He spoke to the warrior who had captured me and they appeared to be bargaining or arguing back and forth. I could not help the sudden hope that sprang up in me, and stood even straighter, staring at him, willing him to look in my direction again. Instead, he spoke to a small boy who had been standing at his side. The child ran off, and my hand closed comfortingly around Jewel’s wrist. She had helped me through those first difficult hours. I wanted to help her, to comfort her in some way, even though she appeared to have given up hope and stood drooping wearily at my side.
The talking began again, in a more restrained fashion, although from the glances that were thrown at me I was almost certain now that they were bargaining.
But for what? A share of the silver, or…
For the first time, I realized there were others in the camp who were not Indians. Two men, who had been blurred shapes before a fire, walked up. The one in the lead looked as if he had Mexican blood in him. He wore crossed bandoliers and sported a bandit’s moustache. I did not care for the way he looked me over; his eyes going from me to Jewel, and back again.
He spoke to the tall warrior, and he spoke in Spanish I understood too clearly.
“So we were right in thinking there’d be plunder to bargain for. And the women—are they for sale too?”
“You think they are worth trading for? The one with the bright hair, perhaps. The other—I do not know if my friend will trade for her. She does not look like much but she is strong, he tells me.” The warrior’s voice took on a deeper, slightly contemptuous note. “I thought you came to trade for silver, and not for women, who are common enough.”
In spite of the disdain in his words I thought that perhaps he did not like the idea that I might be sold to this other man, who was clearly an outsider of some kind. A comanchero? Almost at the same time that the thought came to me I saw the other man who came up, his thumbs thrust into his belt He came shrugging, as if reluctantly.
“Siquisn, I thought we would bargain across a fire, like men. What is the hurry?”
The Mexican who looked like a bandit turned with a laugh.
“But we have more than silver here, amigo, although I do not think your brother is eager to trade for the dark-haired one, eh?”
He looked at me then, and my mouth formed his name.
“Lucas Cord!” I think there was hate in my voice. He was here, trading for silver bought in blood. Comanchero. All the worst things I had heard and been forced to believe.
Perhaps he would not have recognized me if I had not spoken. I saw his eyes widen and then narrow, and then his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. There was a stillness all around us. Even my captor looked taken aback. Julio, for it could be no one else, said slowly, “You know this woman, my brother?”
He had the insolence to speak to me.
“Are you sure we know each other? You do not look very much like the clean and sharp-tongued lady I remember. Let’s see—it was in your bedroom, was it not?”
“Oh! Why, you’re a… a…”
“Doesn’t seem like you’re in a position to get on your high horse. And now be quiet!”
His sudden harshness startled me into silence, and a realization of the position I was in.
I watched them argue. Lucas Cord had lapsed into Apache and his comanchero friend did not seem too happy about it.
The argument seemed first between Lucas and his brother, switching to cross-talk with the warrior whose captive I was. I did not think Apaches could smile, but some of the warriors seemed to be hiding their amusement behind their hands. What was he saying?
After a particularly sharp exchange, Lucas Cord turned on his heel and stalked off, his friend following him, grumbling in Spanish, “But the silver! We came to bargain for silver!”
“I leave that to you, ’Gado!” I heard him say.
“What is happening? Do you know one of them?” Jewel’s frantic whisper roused me, and I squeezed her wrist again.
“I’m not sure.” Julio looked darkly at me. Even when his brother came back, carrying a long case, he hardly turned his eyes away.
But Lucas did not glance once in my direction, as he opened the case to reveal a sleek, silver-ornamented rifle.
Julio Kordes turned on his heel and stalked away as the bargaining came to an end. I had been bought, it appeared, for a new Henry rifle and several rounds of ammunition.
Seventeen
At the time it happened, I understood very little of what was actually going on. I guessed, but was certain only when I saw the rifle change hands. Lucas Cord looked at me, and it was hard to read what was in his mind. The strange, greenish flickers in his eyes seemed intensified in the leaping firelight.
Strangely, he spoke to me in Spanish, his tone curt. “Ven aqui.”
I supposed, clenching my jaws against my growing anger, that he wanted to make sure everyone knew I was now his property. Just as if I was a slave—a piece of merchandise to be bought and sold!
I hesitated, feeling Jewel clutch at me despairingly.
“What about her? She’s a white woman. You’re not going t
o leave her to them?”
“You forgotten I’m one of them too?” There was a cruel, note underlying his words. He took one step forward and, seizing the length of rope attached to my bound wrists, yanked me forward so that I stumbled against him.
I had no choice but to go with him, even though I could hear Jewel begin to sob hysterically behind me.
“You can’t just leave her! Don’t you have any decent feelings at all?” I even forced myself to plead. “Please!”
“She ain’t none of my business.”
He was taking such long, angry strides that I found myself panting as I tried to keep up with him.
I tried to pull back and found myself stumbling again. “You have to do something for her! Even if you don’t care for the fact that she’s a white woman, she is a woman! What will happen to her?”
“Now you listen here, and listen good, because I ain’t goin’ to say this again!” He stopped so suddenly that I fell against him and felt his arm go unwillingly around my waist. He was angry for some reason, the husky voice I remembered deliberately controlled.
“You listen…” he said again, and I had the impression he spoke between his teeth. “This ain’t the SD and you ain’t the lady boss. So don’t go givin’ me any more orders. You know what’s good for you, you’ll take mine, and no back talk either. Where in hell do you think you are?” He was so angry that he actually shook me. “Back someplace where all you have to do is tell ’em you’re Todd Shannon’s woman an’ they start bowing?”
“When Todd finds out where I am he’ll have every single Apache in this territory smoked out of hiding!” I was now as angry as he was, but my anger only seemed to provide him with a bitter amusement.
“An’ how would Shannon, or anyone else, know where you are? My friends don’t leave tracks like white men would. For all he’d know you might be dead already, an’ buried where nobody would ever find you. Or sold down in Mexico, where a pretty white woman could fetch as much as fifty pesos.”
The significance of his last words made the color drain from my face. Was that why the Indians had troubled to bring us all this way with them? Was that what that other man had meant when he talked of having more than silver to trade for?
A horrifying thought struck me, making me stumble forward in silence when Lucas Cord, his face set, began tugging me along with him again. He was a comanchero. Why had he taken the trouble to buy me?
We were going away from the firelight, toward the trees and an even worse thought had entered my mind. Instinctively I attempted to pull away from him, and my sudden movement took him by surprise. He had been holding onto my arm, and as I twisted away from him I heard my sleeve tear. I turned to run and tripped over a root instead. I felt myself fall and could do nothing to save myself.
It was the culmination of everything that had happened to me since that long-ago morning when I had so lightheartedly left my home, determined to go riding alone. I lay there, feeling the aching in every bone in my body, and for the first time in my life that I could remember I gave way to tears.
Once I had started, I could not stop. I felt rather than saw him bend over me, his hand rough on my shoulder.
I could not move. I felt that I would never move again.
“For God’s sake, what in hell’s the matter with you now?” His voice was impatient, even angry. “Come on!” Catching me by the upper arms he hauled me unfeelingly to my feet, and immediately, feeling the stabbing pain that shot up from my ankle, I gave a cry of sheer frustration.
He swore—softly, crudely. I felt myself picked up in his arms and carried along, helpless to prevent it.
He had erected a rough shelter of brush and hides, a little more than a lean-to with some blankets spread under it. Apparently, Lucas Cord and his comanchero friend had been sharing the scarcely adequate space, and using their saddles for pillows.
I found myself set down to lie across the blankets, none too gently.
“If you hadn’t pulled such a damn fool trick,” he muttered, hunkering down on his heels by me. “How far did you expect to get, anyhow?”
With a swiftly impersonal movement he pushed the hem of my gown upward, and began to loosen the moccasin on my left foot.
“Stop it! What…”
I tried to raise myself on one elbow, forgetting that my wrists were still bound, and fell back helplessly. In the dim light, his flickering upward glance at me looked almost evil, although his voice remained flatly impersonal, like the touch of his fingers, which now probed gently at my swelling ankle.
“Keep still. Done some horse doctorin’ when I had to. But nothin’ seems to be broke, anyhow.”
“How convenient for you!” I managed, with a gasp of pain when the pressure of his fingers increased. It was ridiculous that I still had the overwhelming desire to keep on sobbing. In spite of my efforts to fight my own weakness, I suppose I sniffled, for he looked at me sharply.
“You hurtin’, or just mad?”
My ankle throbbed sickeningly, but I wouldn’t say so. I wouldn’t let him think I was begging for pity!
Pressing my lips together I turned my head aside. I would not let him hear me cry out again. I would not whimper, I would not sob, I would not grovel. No matter what he did…
He had begun to loosen the other moccasin and to draw it off my foot. I could not help wondering, with the part of my mind which was not invaded by waves of pain and tiredness, what he was about now, but I would not look at him either.
“I guess you did some walkin’.” His voice was ironic; I hated him for it. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a while.” I knew he had come to his feet with all the easy litheness of an animal, and that he stood watching me for a moment, but I pretended to keep my eyes closed and would not speak. Through my lashes, I saw him shrug and walk away silently.
“Wait here,” he had said, as if I had been in any condition to move. Perhaps he hoped I’d attempt to run away again—how? By dragging myself painfully into the bushes?
I was in a trance of weariness by now, halfway between dozing and unconsciousness, too tired to go on thinking.
When I opened my eyes a small fire had been lit nearby, and I felt a cold, stinging sensation in my feet.
I must have moved involuntarily, for Lucas Cord’s husky, impatient voice ordered me sharply to hold still. By this time I was exhausted and light-headed with hunger and thirst. It was the odor of cooked food nearby which had awakened me.
Did he intend to torture me? He was binding strips of cloth torn from my own petticoats about my feet and around my injured ankle, working silently and deftly. Even when he tore off another strip I was capable of only a small gasp of protest.
He straightened, his face expressionless. In the firelight I noticed all over again the bronze glints in the stubbled whiskers he’d allowed to grow.
He walked over to the fire and came back carrying a kind of gourd dish.
“Thought mebbe you might be feelin’ hungry.” He caught my look and a corner of his lips lifted a trifle as if he had almost smiled.
“Ain’t horsemeat, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nor dog-meat either. It’s venison. Shot an elk-deer this morning.”
“Dog-meat!” I stared at him in horror and he shook his head in mock amazement.
“Didn’t you know? It’s considered a real delicacy. But I guess your stomach has gotta get accustomed to it.”
In contrast to his earlier impatience, he seemed almost affable now, but I didn’t trust him even though I discovered that he had untied my wrists.
“Better sit up against that saddle; you’ll find it easier to eat.” Before I could attempt the movement he leaned across me, his hands hard around my waist as he levered me upward.
From behind the saddle he produced a battered canteen which was half-full of cold water. I think I would have gulped it all down thirstily if he hadn’t warned me, with exaggerated patience, to take only tiny sips at first, barely enough to wet the inside of my mouth.
; “Drink too much an’ you’ll get cramps so bad you won’t be able to eat.”
It was the most delicious stew I had ever eaten, although I did not dare ask what else was in it beside venison. Anything would have tasted good to me, of course, after having been half-starved, forced to walk for miles and miles in the broiling sun! Even now I did not quite know how I had managed to survive.
Lucas Cord was watching me with a strange, narrow-eyed look that did not swerve even when I happened to glance up and caught him at it.
He said, in that husky, caustic voice of his I was beginning to know so well, “Don’t expect this kind of service after tonight! My brother’s wife did the cookin’ and made that salve I put on your feet. But tomorrow you can start makin’ yourself useful around camp. Little Bird will show you.”
I lowered the dish and stared at him wildly.
“What do you mean? Around camp? But you’re not going to keep me here, are you?”
He had been sitting cross-legged, like an Apache. Now he leaned forward, putting his face close to mine.
“You don’t listen good, do you? I bought you, for a damn good Henry rifle that was worth a lot more than you seem to be. That means I get to use you any way I damn well please, an’ you better get that through your head right now!”
I could feel the blood rushing to my face as the meaning of his blunt speech became clear. Sheer rage and indignation kept me speechless, and he sat back with a satisfied look that made me even more furious.
“That’s better. As long as you do like you’re told an’ don’t talk back maybe I won’t have to beat you to prove what I been tellin’ you.”
Hunger or not, this was too much to bear. I threw the dish at him. He ducked with amazing ease, and I could have cried when I saw the remnants of that glorious stew spilled all over the ground.
From the look on his face when he slowly straightened up I thought he was going to kill me. Instead, astonishingly, he began to laugh.
The Wildest Heart Page 24