by Len Levinson
His reading was interrupted by the return of Lieutenant Mendoza. “The colonel will see you now.”
Lost in America's bottomless slavery debate, Beau followed Mendoza down a hall, arrived at a broad wooden door, and entered the office of an olive-skinned officer with long, wavy black hair, with matching mustache, sitting behind a wooden desk, appearing either very tired or bored.
Beau marched to the desk like a West Point cadet, saluted smartly, then handed a document to Colonel Garcia, who scanned the usual compliments, his eyes locating the operative line. I request your cooperation for our mutual benefit. But Colonel Garcia could not find any concrete plans, surmising correctly that General Garland had not intended to write anything where it could be studied. Colonel Garcia folded the paper, moved it to the corner of his desk, and said, “What's this about?”
“Apaches,” replied Beau. “They raid in America, then hide in Mexico, or vice versa. General Garland believes we can diminish their range if we act in concert and thus force them to make terms with us. However, he begs to point out that if you and he request approval from your respective governments, it could take months or even years, and the Apaches will have killed many more hundreds of people, destroyed more towns, and stolen much livestock. Therefore General Garland requests that you support him without consulting your government, and don't forget that last summer Colonel Bonneville waged war successfully against the Mimbrenos, with the help of your predecessor. Now General Garland would like to repeat the campaign this summer, with you.”
“But I have so few soldiers. It is limited what I can do.”
“General Garland would like to offer a suggestion, with all due respect, sir. He believes that instead of remaining in Janos, responding to Apache provocations, you actually seek out the enemy, attacking wherever you find him, and denying him refuge in your country. In the meanwhile, we shall do the same, and together we will force the Apaches to make peace.”
Colonel Garcia pondered the offer. The poisoning had failed, so he was open to alternative strategies. In addition, his family owned land in the area, which would become more valuable once the Apaches were eliminated, and he had political ambitions that would be aided by a defeat of Apaches. “You may convey to General Garland my willingness to cooperate,” said Colonel Garcia, “and you and your men will be my guests in Janos. We will see if your methods are effective, and if not, no one will be the wiser.”
And thus was an unofficial treaty concluded between the Mexican Army and the United States Army, elevating the Apache wars to a dangerous new phase.
In the cypress forests of East Texas, at the edge of a murky swamp, a log cabin served as restaurant, saloon, general store, and hotel for travelers. Parked in front was a stagecoach illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun, and some travelers sat in the restaurant, filling their bellies with beans and bacon, washed down with glasses of whiskey, while others lay in bed, resting from the arduous journey. A few roamed the surrounding country, and among these were Nathanial Barrington and his adopted niece, Gloria.
They strolled through a tenebrous jungle that once had belonged to the Caddoes, but those warriors had been vanquished long ago, and citizens could relax without fear of being scalped. Mossy cedars cast shadows over ferns shaped like violins, and tiny creatures scurried to their holes as birds flitted about, a wise old lizard watching everything, still as a board.
In a small clearing Nathanial pulled out the pearl-handled Colt pocket-pistol. “Time to learn how to use this,” he said.
She stared at it, noticing the figure of a clown engraved on the barrel, beside words she could not read: To my dear Gloria from Uncle Nathanial.
He kneeled in front of her and said, “If anyone ever bothers you, just pull the hammer back like so"—he demonstrated—"then raise it to your eyes, line up the sights, and pull the trigger.”
He fired, and the sound was so loud, she thought her head would split down the middle. Covering her ears with her hands and closing her eyes, she felt paralyzed.
“It wasn't that bad,” he said chidingly. “If you're going to be a little soldier, you can't be afraid of gunfire.”
She lowered her hands. “I don't want that thing. It's horrible.”
“It might save your life someday, because there are demented sons of bitches on the frontier, and one of them might put his hands on you when I'm not around. Now there are people who might say a man shouldn't give a gun to a child, but if I were a little girl, knowing what I do, I sure as hell would carry one.”
“Does it have to be so loud?”
“Nobody ever died from the sound of a gunshot, and you get used to it after a while. Also, it has a tendency to kick up and to the left, so stand loose, understand? And don't be a big baby, because this thing might save your life someday.”
She accepted the gun, but required two hands to pull back the hammer. “I'm afraid it's gonna go off,” she said.
“It won't fire if you handle it properly, and never aim it at a man unless you mean to kill him. You're not afraid to kill somebody, are you?”
“Not if it's him or me,” she replied.
“Aim at that tree over there, the one I just hit. Hold your arm steady, close one eye, and squeeze the trigger. It's supposed to be one smooth motion.”
She raised the small, toylike weapon, aimed at Nathanial's bullet hole, and squeezed the trigger. Compressed gunpowder exploded, her hand leapt into the air, smoke roiled around her, her ears ached with the blast, and she staggered from side to side in shock.
Nathanial laughed heartily. “You're fabulous,” he said, then scooped her in his arms. “I'm proud of you.”
“I'm hungry,” she replied, squirming to get away. “Can we eat now?”
“First let me load the chambers, in case you have to shoot somebody this very night. You never know about these things.”
He thumbed in tinfoil cartridges, closed the chamber, and hid the gun in the back of her clown doll. “You must use the gun only for protection,” he explained. “Not to hold up a bank. Agreed?”
It was dusk by the time they returned to the log cabin, candlelight streaming out windows, illuminating the stagecoach like a giant insect. Nathanial recalled teaching Clarissa to fire her Colt, thinking they'd be together forever, but now she was gone, probably with another man, because a pretty woman like Clarissa would not remain alone long.
A stab of jealously pierced Nathanial's heart as he opened the door for Gloria. She waltzed inside, and out of six tables, only one was vacant. She headed for it; he pulled back the chair, and she seated herself pertly, then said, “Where's the food?”
“The waiter will be here directly, and a lady does not show hunger, no matter how bad it hurts.”
She glanced around. “Where's the waiter?”
It's no use, thought Nathanial. She needs to be with ladies, instead of the prostitutes she knew in Five Points.
Travelers dined noisily, whiskey in ready supply, and then the aged waiter appeared behind the big black stove; Gloria raised her hand. “Over here!” she hollered.
The waiter was bent with rheumatism, wearing old-fashioned knickers and leggings. “What can I do fer ye, miss?”
“I want supper.”
Nathanial glowered at her. “Have you forgotten please?”
She ignored him. “And bring a lot.”
“Yes, miss.”
He hobbled to the kitchen, and Nathanial was about to deliver another etiquette lecture, when he heard ominous sounds in the distance. In a second he was on his feet, Colt .36 in hand, hoping it wasn't a band of outlaws.
“Easy, mister—it's only the stage from Fort Worth,” said the cook, stirring a pot of beans.
Nathanial returned the Colt to its position of repose inside his belt, then sat beside Gloria and lit a cigar. The waiter brought two platters of bacon, beans, and a coarse loaf of bread. Gloria was so hungry, she wanted to eat with her hands, but would not risk the ridicule of Uncle Nathanial, to whom she listened m
ore than he realized. So she positioned the spoon and proceeded to scoop food into her mouth.
“A lady does not eat quickly,” said Nathanial. “A lady is temperate in her behavior.”
“Oh, go to hell,” grumbled Gloria, mouth full.
Perhaps he loved her defiance, or maybe he loved her because she was so damned adorable, or possibly because she was determined to survive and never let contrary views slow her down. Nathanial remembered the line from the Bible:
Except ye become as little children
ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven
At the next table a big-bellied salesman named McGee rose to his feet, frantically patting his clothing. “I do believe I've lost my wallet,” he said.
“It's probably in the coach,” suggested Stanley, the stagecoach driver, a wiry man in his twenties, sporting a wispy goatee.
Nathanial glanced at Gloria, who looked innocently at the ceiling. McGee trudged outside, then returned soon thereafter. “It ain't thar What the hell could've happened to it?”
“Check the outhouse,” suggested the cook.
“I hope it didn't fall down the hole,” replied McGee as he rushed out again.
Nathanial leaned over his plate and peered into Gloria's not-so-innocent eyes. “He was sitting next to you in the stagecoach, my little darling. Where is it?”
“I dunno what you mean,” the child replied haughtily.
“If you don't give it back, I'll drop you into the outhouse.”
“Why do you blame everything on me?”
“Because you're a little bandit. I could understand when you were poor, but now you have no reason to steal.”
“Why shouldn't a lady have extra pocket money?”
“You could have asked, because you never refrain from opening that big mouth of yours when you want ice cream or a new dress, Gertie.”
She winced at the sound of the hated name. “I'll slip it to you,” she said. “Say you found it.”
“Why do I have to take the blame?”
“Because you're the one who's so damned holy and all, and wouldn't you want to save a lady's reputation?”
Sometimes he felt the desire to throttle her, but instead reached down and surreptitiously took the wallet from her hand, dropping it into his coat pocket. He resumed eating, and soon thereafter McGee returned from the outhouse. “I cain't find it,” he said in despair. “How the hell am I a-gonna pay fer me dinner?”
“We got lots of dirty dishes,” replied the cook. “And floors to be swept.”
Groaning, the victim sat heavily at his table. “I'm ruined,” he declared sadly.
Nathanial planned to visit the outhouse to “find” the wallet, when the stage from Fort Worth came to a halt in front of the log cabin, followed by shouts, a commotion, and the sounds of bags being thrown to the ground. The door opened, and weary travelers appeared, bones creaking after all day in a cramped stagecoach. There were no empty tables, so they joined those already seated, but Nathanial and Gloria were in the far corner, and no one sat with them yet.
The tavern ordinarily didn't receive simultaneous stagecoaches, but an error in scheduling, plus a bad stretch of road, had caused the crowding. Meanwhile, a line formed at the outhouse, so Nathanial's effort to “find” the wallet would be delayed yet again. Amidst the consternation, the door opened to admit another traveler.
This singular gentleman appeared to be in his late forties, not especially tall nor eminently broad. He wore an Army greatcoat without insignia, and Nathanial couldn't help feeling curious about him, for he exuded dignity, yet did not put on airs as he calmly surveyed the territory. He wore a wide-brimmed vaquero hat of good quality, his beard was trimmed short and colored salt-and-pepper gray, and Nathanial figured he was a high-ranking officer headed east; he looked vaguely familiar.
Not wishing to disturb the others, the newcomer advanced along the wall, finally coming to a halt before Nathanial's table. “May I join you?”
“By all means,” replied Nathanial.
The man turned to Gloria. “Do you have any objections, miss?”
“Barrington,” she replied proudly. “It's okay wi’ me.”
“Thank you.” He removed his coat, hanging it on a nail banged into one of the chinked logs that made the wall, and placed his hat on top, revealing thinning hair atop his well-shaped head. Sitting at the table, his rank could be seen on gold shoulder straps, a lieutenant colonel in the Second Cavalry, which Nathanial knew was deployed in West Texas, fighting the Comanches. As an old soldier himself, Nathanial recalled that the Second Cavalry had only one lieutenant colonel, its executive officer, one of America's foremost heroes of the Mexican War, Lieutenant Colonel Robert E. Lee.
Colonel Lee looked like a friendly terrier as he turned to Gloria. “How's the food?”
“I think you'll find it to your liking,” she replied, for she was captivated by his warmth.
“I've got three daughters,” he told her. “I'm on my way to see them.”
“Where are they at?”
“Virginia.”
“Run into any Injuns on yer way here?”
He smiled. “Not yet.” Then Colonel Lee slowly turned to Nathanial. “Have we met?”
“At a distance many years ago, sir.” Nathanial introduced himself, then they shook hands. “You visited West Point when I was a cadet, but I'm not in the Army anymore. Have you been transferred back east?”
Colonel Lee lowered his eyes. “No, my father-in-law has died, and I'm going home for the funeral.”
“My condolences,” offered Nathanial.
A melancholy expression came to the colonel's eyes. “Thank you, but we're boring the young lady.” He turned toward Gloria, who was sopping her gravy with a handful of bread. “What would you like to talk about?”
“You know who you look like?” she asked. “Santa Claus.”
“And I've just arrived on my sleigh.”
A clever expression came over her face. “What'd you bring me for Christmas, Santa?”
“You must excuse her, sir,” said Nathanial. “But sometimes she's a greedy little piglet.”
“But she's completely right,” replied Colonel Lee, “because a beautiful child deserves presents. I will find something appropriate in my bag later on, but I have no toys, I warn you.”
Nathanial looked at Gloria disapprovingly. “It is better to give than receive, dear. What do you have for Colonel Lee?”
“A kiss.”
“You're a little schemer, and you absolutely refuse to change.”
Colonel Lee frowned. “You mustn't speak to her that way, Captain Barrington. She's just a child.”
“If you knew what she's done within the past twenty-four hours, you'd be shaken to the marrow of your bones.” Nathanial was alluding to the wallet he needed to return. “S'cuse me,” he said. “Got to go outside.”
He arose with great effort, then headed shakily to the door. Colonel Lee leaned toward Gloria and said, “You must take good care of him, young lady. He needs your help very badly.”
“Don't you worry none about him,” replied the child. “He carries a big gun and ain't. . . isn't nobody . . . anybody to fool with.”
“But Army life can be quite harsh, and it's my impression that your uncle has seen a lot of war.”
“Have you seen a lot of war?” she asked innocently.
Another adult might be put off by the child's challenge, but Colonel Lee detected a hungry, restless mind. “My share, I suppose.”
“Then how come you ain't . . . aren't a drunk like my Uncle Nathanial?”
“Perhaps it's the grace of God, or maybe I get drunk in other ways.”
“I shouldn't call him a drunk,” she admitted. “He's real good to me, I'll say that fer ‘im. Today he gave me my own gun.”
Colonel Lee blinked. “What for?”
“He said there are sick sons of bitches out here.”
Colonel Lee reflected upon what she said, then replied. “He's right
—there are. Be on your guard, and don't take any guff. But don't forget there are good men like your uncle.”
Gloria narrowed her eyes. “How do you know he's a good man?”
“He's a West Pointer and certainly a gentleman.”
“But there's lots of gentlemen, who really ain't . . . aren't gentlemen.”
“True, but war generally burns away a man's superficiality, ah . . . I mean his bad habits.”
“Then how come Uncle Nathanial drinks like a fish?”
“He hurts inside,” said the hero of Chapultepec.
The door opened, then Nathanial stepped inside the hut, a brown cowhide wallet in his hand. “Look what I found by the outhouse!” he explained, then strode unsteadily to the table of McGee. “You won't need to wash pots and pans tonight.”
With a drunken flourish Nathanial planted the wallet on the table, then reeled toward the one he occupied with Gloria and the curious Colonel Lee.
“The stars are like diamonds suspended from the neck of God,” exclaimed Nathanial. He sat heavily, poured himself another drink, tossed it down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and turned to his companions. “It reminds me of the summer of ‘51. I was in the First Dragoons, and we were camped at the Santa Rita Copper Mines in New Mexico Territory, and there was an Apache woman who was so beautiful, . . . I . . . well, I suppose one shouldn't discuss such things in the presence of a child.”
“But what happened?” asked Gloria, eyes a-glitter.
“Well, she returned to her people, and I returned to mine.”
“Why din't’ cha marry her?”