Bound and Determined

by Regina Jennings

  “A year and a half older than me, but you know things? Like what?”

  “Two years older. Things like, if you don’t stay out of the sun, you will get burned crispy.” He took another sharp bite of his apple.

  Amber gently laid her palm against her forearm. Just a little tinge. The water had made it better. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

  “Do you have anything with longer sleeves?”

  “Don’t worry about me. You’re here to take care of my father.”

  “Your father looks after himself. I’m watching after you and making sure you have everything you need.”

  Like water. She reached down for her canteen and raised it to her lips. Once again, it was empty. Once again, the rim was dirty.

  “You thief! I gave you one of my apples!” Incredulous, she chucked her apple at Bradley and hit him square in the chest. When had he had time to empty her canteen? She’d been standing there talking to him all along.

  He started laughing, so she threw her canteen, as well. He tossed his arms up and ducked as it sailed over his head.

  “I didn’t use your canteen.”

  “It’s hot, but it’s not that hot. That water did not evaporate.”

  “What’s going on?” her father asked as he walked toward them. He combed his thick mustache while looking at the apple in the dust and the canteen tossed aside.

  “Miss Herald is convinced that I’m sneaking drinks from her canteen when she’s not looking. I’m sure there’s a rational explanation.”

  “Of course there’s a rational explanation,” she said. “He’s pestering me.”

  “Why would I do that?” Bradley asked.

  “Stop it, you two,” her father interrupted. He grinned like he was fixing to announce the world’s greatest prank. “Private Willis didn’t drink your water, Ambrosia. It was the calf.”

  Amber turned to look at the placid mammal hunched down on the ground. “That’s impossible. It doesn’t have hands.”

  “It doesn’t need hands. Its lips are very pliable. Camels can untie knots, pick a pocket, down a whole bottle, and then set it back on the shelf as if nothing happened.”

  “The only evidence left behind is a slobbery canteen, right, Ambrosia?”

  She glowered at Bradley, and to her surprise, her father didn’t seem to notice the trooper had called her by her given name.

  “Refill the canteen, and let’s get going,” he said instead. “No sense in sitting still and baking in this heat.”

  Refill her canteen? This time they couldn’t spare any water to rinse it.

  Bradley seemed to notice her hesitation. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “You can share mine.”

  “I’d rather share with the camels,” she said, but her smile softened the words.

  “Have it your way.” He lifted the barrel to refill the canteen one last time. “If only my lips were as skilled as hers.”

  The chill was back. Even in the heat.

  C

  hapter

  6

  Look at him—the sultan of Indian Territory. Bradley wished his buddies back at Fort Reno could see him gliding over the grasslands on the back of a swaying camel. If they thought his antics on horseback were impressive, they’d shoot themselves in the foot to watch him now. Just how fast could these beasts go? And how hard would it be to aim while galloping on them? Too bad he hadn’t had some time alone with Melda to test her abilities.

  Too bad he also hadn’t had more time alone with Miss Herald. She was a feisty gal. Extending a peace offering to him one minute, throwing it at him the next. And it had been the camels stealing drinks all along. Didn’t that beat all?

  He’d spotted some trees along a shallow gorge ahead. It looked as good a place to eat as any. Chances were the water was gone, but they had to have firewood to cook dinner.

  They reached the grove and unburdened the beasts while Ambrosia rummaged through the pile of goods, looking for the cooking gear. She found a pot but needed help reaching the water barrel still tied onto the calf’s brace. Bradley was only too happy to help, although when the captain wandered off, he had to wonder if that metal flask was coming out again when no one was looking.

  Bradley tilted the water barrel for her. “Not too long ago I was fighting for my life against a ruthless gang of outlaws, and now I’m riding a camel. Who would’ve thought?” He smiled his most charming smile, but she seemed intent on the water gurgling into the pot. What was wrong with her? How could she not be impressed with the outlaw story? Bradley was impressed, even if it was the reason he was in so much trouble.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just thinking how disappointed my mother is going to be. I’ve let her down.”

  “You know, I don’t think the camels are an investment.” Bradley spoke quietly so the captain wouldn’t overhear him. He didn’t mean to tell her how to get along with her own kin, but maybe he could help. “They mean something more to him. Nostalgic.”

  “I wish he’d just keep a lock of their hair or something, because camels don’t fit into a memory book very well,” she said.

  “The best memories can’t always be kept in a book.”

  Ambrosia’s dark hair contrasted with her flushed cheeks. Her thick lashes framed striking blue eyes. “Does he miss his job so much?”

  “I think it’s more than that. But I can sympathize. He’s a strong man. Being put out to pasture and sitting by while your daughter and wife build you a house? That doesn’t sound like any kind of life to me.”

  “This is our fault?” The water sloshed in the pot. She was going to lose it if she wasn’t careful. “We’re taking care of him.”

  “A man has to have some challenges. If he feels like the best days of his life are behind him, then it’s no wonder he’s been down. Besides, any fella worth his salt doesn’t want to be a burden. He wants to have someone who needs him—someone to take care of.”

  The sentiment surprised Bradley. He’d never spent much time worrying about himself, much less anyone else, but here he found himself trying to think ahead for Ambrosia’s safety and slowing down for her comfort. This trip was changing him, and he didn’t credit it to the camels.

  Speaking of the strange creatures, their ears twitched. Something wasn’t right.

  Holding a hand out toward Ambrosia, Bradley said, “Don’t move a hair.”

  Captain Herald had noticed something, too. He motioned to Ambrosia to take cover. There were horsemen, three of them, and they were armed. So was Bradley, but then he saw their uniforms and decided he didn’t need his rifle, after all.

  “They’re friendly,” he said. “Cherokees, I reckon.” He took stock of their horses, as all troopers did. Two mustangs and a Morgan. But then the horses started acting funny. They slowed. The lead horse reared back, catching the rider off guard and nearly causing him to crash into the rider on the left. The other mustang slowed. Even from here, Bradley could see its flaring nostrils and the whites of its eyes.

  “It’s the camels,” Ambrosia said. “They’re afraid.”

  “These animals make nice guards, I’ll give them that.” Holding up a hand, Bradley stepped out from around the camels. “Let’s see what they want.”

  Ambrosia crept closer to Ruby, where she could watch from a distance, not sure what to think about the strangers. One of them was a full-blooded Indian, his braids disappearing against his dark coat. The other two were white men, and all had badges. After they’d had a look at the camels, they shook hands with Bradley and her father and walked back to where their nervous horses were waiting.

  “What tribe are they from?” she asked.

  “They were all Cherokees,” Bradley answered. “The Cherokee Lighthorse troops are the same as marshals. They invited us to stay at their lodge tonight. They happen to be on the hunt for the Gunther gang and want to compare notes.”

  He’d mentioned it earlier, but encountering men on their path made it more real. “Tell me about these outlaws,” she said. “Are the
y dangerous?”

  “Very, and they have a particular dislike for me. Twice I’ve been involved in a showdown with them. Once I happened upon some marshals out of Fort Smith, who’d tracked the gang after a train robbery and found themselves outnumbered. The Gunthers got away that time. Then later, they came after my unit of cavalrymen. Ambushed us when we were on patrol. They’ve killed, so they know there’s no hope for them once they’re caught. They’re desperate.”

  Amber thoughtfully arranged some pieces of deadwood for a cook fire. “I feel rather foolish. Here I thought I could scare you away with camel stories.”

  “You’re frightening in your own way, ma’am.” He dropped a sack of potatoes next to the pot. “Is there anything else you need?”

  But she wasn’t finished with the story. “Were you in danger?”

  “Pinned down with one of our men injured and the others running out of ammo? Yeah, I suppose that’s no Sunday picnic.”

  “How’d you get away?”

  “I didn’t run.” His jaw clenched. “That is not what happened.”

  Ambrosia raised an eyebrow. She’d touched a sore spot, and she wasn’t talking about her saddle sores. “I wasn’t accusing you,” she said. “I only wanted to hear the story.”

  He took a stick and drew it against the ground. If he was hoping to make a mark, the sandstone was too solid to leave any trace. “We were outnumbered. They had us where they wanted us, and the gully at our backs would’ve been impossible to guard once night fell. I didn’t see any way out, so I jumped on my horse and took the fight to them.”

  “You left cover and ran at them?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Winged two of them. The rest scattered, and we were able to get us all home.”

  Ambrosia looked at him with new respect. It was hard to imagine that the man who was lighting her cook fire had so recently faced death. While she’d been buying rugs and eating her green apples, he’d almost died.

  “I didn’t know I was riding with a hero.” And him only two years older.

  He looked up at her. “I ain’t no hero. My commander told me to hold my position, but I didn’t see much sense in that. Disobeying him is what got me this assignment. If I don’t get this done right, I’ll lose my living.”

  “Wait.” Amber leaned forward. “You got sent to us as punishment? Riding with me was the worst thing they could think to do to you?”

  There it was, the quick grin that told her he was going to be all right, and he thought she was just fine, too.

  “If I’d known about you, they couldn’t have kept me away,” he said. “That I can guarantee.”

  It was hard to judge at first, but when they reached the Lighthorse troops’ lodge before nightfall, Bradley had to admit that the camels were making good time.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to stay with the Cherokees?” Ambrosia wearily stretched her arm as she passed her parasol to the other hand. Carrying the blamed thing had to be tiring. “I don’t want you to stop just for my sake.”

  Getting her out of the elements was foremost on his mind, but meeting with the men who’d encountered the Gunther gang held a charm of its own.

  “We’ve been crossing the Cherokee Outlet since we left Kansas. Nothing to fear from their lawmen.”

  The sun was failing before they reached the Lighthorse lodge. Being warned about the camels, the police had left a young man to direct them to a corral where they could leave the camels for the night, away from the stables.

  “Do you want me to stay with them?” Bradley offered.

  The young Cherokee couldn’t keep his eyes off the animals. “Unless they can fly out of the pen, they’ll be fine.”

  “They can’t, can they?” Bradley asked.

  Captain Herald grinned as he unstrapped their burdens.

  A quick shuffling through their bundles to get what they needed for the night, and they were on their way to the lodge.

  “I don’t know how to act,” Ambrosia said. “I don’t want to offend them, but I don’t know their customs. The plains tribes we were stationed with out west were nothing like this.”

  Bradley’s mouth twitched. After the whoppers she’d told about the camels, he owed her one. “The one rule you need to know is that a woman never sits by the chief or elder of their tribe, or her tribe either. It’s considered bad luck.”

  “But wouldn’t my father be considered an elder?”

  They’d reached the log structure with a rock chimney and a hitching post in front.

  “You’d better play it safe.” Bradley deposited her bags at the door. “Just sit by me, and you’ll be fine.”

  She’d entered with her senses as acute as the dry, pricking heat on her skin, ready to face the unusual. Ready to absorb the exotic. Instead, she saw a thickset man standing to greet them. His short, dark hair was parted crisply, and his blue uniform was buttoned up to his chin.

  “Captain Sixkiller of the United States Indian Police at your service.” Introductions were made all around. Most of the men were dressed in identical uniforms, and maybe only half of them looked like Indians. “We were just sitting down to eat. Won’t you join us?”

  Ambrosia beamed. Not only was she hungry, but she was curious. And as much as she hated making a fool of herself, she knew she could maneuver the tricky situation with Bradley’s instructions.

  An officer began setting out bowls on the long table, and another followed, ladling out a chunky stew. Captain Sixkiller sat at the head of the table, and her dad took a seat next to him. The other officers filled in on the benches until Bradley was crammed in near the end. The only spot open to her was next to her father, and had she not had the warning, she would have taken it without thought. Instead, she sashayed to the end of the table and stood behind Bradley and a smooth-faced policeman.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  The policeman’s eyes darted to the top of the table, then he fell all over himself getting out of her way. “I apologize, ma’am. Here, take my seat.”

  “Very kind of you to join us,” Bradley said.

  And he wasn’t the only one smiling. A few words in a foreign tongue were exchanged along with a few solemn nods. Had she surprised them with her knowledge of their culture? Whatever the case, her father didn’t look too happy when the Lighthorse officer took the empty spot next to him.

  Captain Sixkiller prayed an eloquent prayer, and after the amen, the spoons started their work. Two more men came in, and room had to be found on the benches, squishing Ambrosia right up against Private Willis.

  “Pardon my elbow.” Bradley switched his spoon to the other hand. “I’ll try to eat left-handed so I don’t get in your way.”

  She laughed breathlessly as someone down the table got rowdy, bumping her against him again. “Pardon my whole self,” she said. “One more shove, and I’ll be in your lap.”

  “That wouldn’t be—” He stopped and cleared his throat. His spoon lowered. “Hey, fellas,” he said, “give the lady some room.”

  The policemen bumped a younger officer off the end of the bench, and he took his food outside. When a basket holding some sort of white pancake was passed around, Bradley took a piece, ripped it in two, and laid half in her bowl.

  “You asked about them being Indians,” he said. “These men are all Cherokee—some full-blooded, some mixed, and some joined the tribe just like an immigrant might become an American. They’re all citizens of the Cherokee nation, though.”

  Following the example of their hosts, Ambrosia ripped off a piece of the bread and popped it in her mouth. “The Indians we’ve been stationed around lived in tepees and wore buckskins.”

  “Many nations do, but the Cherokee had brick houses, businesses, and plantations in Georgia before they were forced to move here and start all over. Financially, many of them are generations ahead of the white settlers just across the border.”

  Captain Sixkiller motioned to Bradley. “My men tell me you were involved in a shootout with the Gunther gang.”

>   “Yes, sir. I hear you’re looking for them.”

  “They have a hideout somewhere south of here, and we’d like to pay them a visit if we can find it. One of the witnesses of the bank robbery was murdered in Tahlequah. He was going to testify, and now the other witnesses are frightened.” Sixkiller paused and then addressed her father. “I don’t like you all making a crossing with just two men and no horses.”

  Captain Herald shook his head. “In the morning, I’m going to get you on one of those camels. You’ll see what they can do.”

  Ambrosia normally wouldn’t speak in company where she was so much in the minority, but this might be her last chance. “The camels really are impressive. Your troops might benefit from them. I’m sure Father would consider trading some for your very fine horses.”

  Captain Sixkiller grunted. “When will the US government stop trying to improve on our ways? No, thank you. You are welcome to our hospitality, but you can keep your camels.”

  It had been worth a try.

  That night the men went to the bunkhouse, while she was given a private room. It didn’t matter much what it looked like, because Ambrosia fell asleep as soon as she hit the straw mattress.

  But it didn’t last.

  A rustling outside her window woke her. As quietly as possible, Amber got to her knees and pushed aside the curtain.

  “Bradley?” She hadn’t meant to say his name, but finding him next to her window, watching the corral, was a surprise.

  He was leaning against the wall, not a foot from her. His eyes never left the shadows huddled on the prairie. “Shhh . . . Do you hear that? It sounds like Omar is complaining.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I’m not sure, but something’s got him agitated.”

  “Maybe someone is trying to steal the camels?” A spark of hope made her smile. “Please don’t interrupt them.”

  There was a stir as the big camel pushed to his feet. “Someone’s there,” Bradley said. “I’m going, but just in case I don’t come back, I need to confess something.”