Allegiance

  The wagons corralled at once for the “nooning", using more care than usual to enclose the diamond. By locking the front inside wheel of each wagon against the rear outside wheel of the one ahead, the teamsters formed an impregnable corral. They chained the wagons together and unhitched the teams inside.

  Amy stepped down from the carriage, anxious for an unobstructed view of the countryside. Yesterday's rain was turning to steam in the warm air. Rocky bluffs loomed up no more than a mile away. Although quiet and serene, the vastness of the surrounding desert made Amy feel exposed. The wild Missouri brakes seemed cozy in comparison.

  The sound of a discharging rifle ruptured the silence.

  A man shouted, “Injuns!"

  As if on signal, the Kiowas attacked. They charged from the bushes, rocks, and the earth itself, screaming in rage. What looked like innocent mounds of sand scattered through the sagebrush erupted into full-sized men, armed and menacing. More Indians than Amy had ever seen in one place closed in on the wagon train. The bulk of them rode from the direction of Point of Rocks.

  Arrows rained down like hailstones. An ox bellowed in pain. Milling animals crowded against the wagons, striving to break loose and run.

  "Damnation! What are you standin’ there for?” Jeb yanked Amy down and shoved her under a cart. He flattened himself on the ground beside her. “Blame the hair of ‘em that was in sight anywhere! If we hadn't circled up to butcher that buffalo, we'd have been strung out like ducks goin’ to water.” He shook his head gravely. “We're in a parlous spot just the same."

  "Where's Tyler?"

  "I dunno.” When an attacker rode in close enough, Jeb brought his rifle up and fired. A lance bounced off the wall of the cart above them. “Where's your carbine? Shoot ‘em down like polecats!"

  "I—it's in the carriage. I'll get it."

  "Wait ‘til they fall back.” He fired several more shots.

  Hundreds of savages expressed their raw power in high-pitched yelps and howls. That unearthly sound together with the continuous gunfire and the bawling of the livestock created a deafening roar.

  "I swear, them redskins will wake the dead afore Resurrection Day!” Jeb lowered his rifle. “Git now, but hurry. They'll be rushin’ us again."

  Amy dashed the few yards to retrieve her breech-loader and a sack of cartridges out of the carriage, then dived under the nearest wagon as a group of mounted Kiowas raced by. Tyler was there, lying flat on his belly, his elbows braced against the earth, his cheek pressed against the stock of his smoking rifle. His hat lay beside him; a leather thong pulled his gold-brown hair into a tail at the nape of his neck. From the grim look he flashed her, Amy wasn't certain her presence was welcome. Nevertheless, she flopped down beside him, unable to think of a place she'd rather be at such a time.

  Quickly, she checked her carbine, primed it, then sighted down the barrel. Heat waves distorted the horizontal lines of sand, brush, and distant hills. Out of the white-hot shimmer, a row of horsemen came riding hard. They clamped their single reins between their teeth as they cocked their arrows and pulled back their bows.

  "So many!” Amy's hands shook uncontrollably, hindering her aim.

  "Hold off until they're in range.” Tyler rummaged in his leather bag, brought out two or three lead balls, and tossed them in his mouth. He began chomping them a little between his teeth as he settled down and took aim. His elbow, braced on the ground, supported his rifle with his finger hooking the trigger in the quiet manner of a statue.

  The warriors slipped down behind their ponies’ bodies, exposing little but their heels and elbows. Without saddles to hang onto, they put the caballeros' with their daredevil tricks to shame.

  The barrel of Amy's carbine wavered as a rider challenged fate by riding in too close. Her finger tightened on the trigger, then froze.

  The discharge of Tyler's rifle, only a couple of feet from her ear, felt like a slap on the side of the head. Black smoke filled the air and burned her eyes.

  Tyler swore softly. He reloaded his rifle with an economy of motion, spitting a ball down the barrel atop the powder and ramming it home with the rod.

  An arrow kicked up dirt in front of Amy's face and another zinged past her head. She hugged the ground.

  Tyler fired again, and a score of echoing shots rang out from other wagons around her. Two of the Kiowas were lifted from the backs of their horses by the impacts. They floated for a moment, turning in air, then bounced along the earth like bags of bones.

  Panic immobilized Amy. She tried to aim, but the sights wouldn't remain steady. She gently squeezed the trigger with fingers as numb as sausages.

  The thunderous clap of Tyler's rifle coincided with the somersault of an Indian pony. The rider tumbled off, landed on his head and shoulder, then rolled toward the wagon. His body came to rest with sightless eyes; his open mouth dribbled blood.

  Amy's stomach cramped. She lay her musket aside and closed her eyes, sucking in draughts of air in an effort to fight off her sickness.

  Jeb scrambled under the wagon. “It's gettin’ bad, Ty! The troops ain't puttin’ up much defense."

  Tyler's rifle exploded in the confined space, adding another jangle to the ringing in Amy's ears. He reloaded without looking around. “Why in hell not?"

  "Because they ain't armed worth a damn, that's why! Ever’ third man's got a musket if he's lucky. Only about half has powder enough to last ‘til dark."

  Amy swallowed hard and cracked her eyelids. “What's going to happen?"

  "They'll use their swords and lances ‘til the end, I guess. When it comes to that, it's nigh onto the end for all of us—Here they come again!” Jeb crawled between Amy and Tyler, leveled his long rifle barrel, and fired.

  Nearby, a man yelled—another trader wounded! Despair, more than pain, colored his voice, as though he hated going down without taking a few more foes with him.

  Amy shifted out of Jeb's way. “Are there many wounded?"

  "On our side? I don't know for sure, but we can't afford to lose a single man. To my lights, there's only one way we can pull through this alive. We've got enough muskets hidden in these wagons to hold off the Kioways indefinitely."

  "No, Jeb!” Amy stared at him.

  Tyler, his face splotched with black powder, twisted around to look at Jeb. “The Mexican troops aren't the ones we've come all this way to help. We can't let all our muskets fall into the wrong hands."

  Jeb cursed viciously. “It's better than losin’ our scalps."

  Amy gripped her brother's shoulder. “Think, Jeb! What would they do if they found out we'd smuggled arms into the country? Even if we survive this battle, we might get arrested."

  Jeb shrugged off her hand. “Don't be ridiculous! If Gutierrez tried to arrest us, the traders wouldn't stand for it. Anyway, he wouldn't repay us that way."

  Tyler face had a look of disdain. “You're very trusting, my friend."

  Amy watched the jeering Kiowas maintain their distance at least three hundred yards away. Maybe they'd learned to stay out of range. If they were smart, they would merely wait until their enemy was out of ammunition. She drew a shaky breath, wishing her stomach would settle down. “We can't surrender the muskets, Jeb."

  "Wait ‘til dark then and see what happens.” Jeb's short laugh held no humor. “Better yet, help me divvy up the muskets, and live to see tomorrow."

  Tyler shook his head. “Can't allow it, Jeb.” He sighted along his rifle barrel, watching and waiting.

  Jeb's eyes narrowed. “I'm not goin’ to stand by and wait for those devils to massacree us!” He rolled out from under the wagon.

  "Jeb! Where are you going?” Amy abandoned her carbine to follow him. “Don't do something you'll repent of!"

  Her brother clamored inside the wagon and began throwing things out: boxes of food, sacks of grain, packages of fabric and merchandise. It might take him awhile, but he clearly intended to burrow down to the floorboards.

  "Jeb, don't do that!” Amy dodged a leather
satchel. “Listen to me!"

  Inside the packed corral, the mules hunched their backs in misery, jostling for room; the oxen rolled their eyes and strained to keep their horns and heads above the sea of rumps. Outside the corral, a battle raged. Amy stood trapped in a small space between two hazardous arenas. Sporadic firing from all sides indicated her neighbors’ greatest concern; not a single person poked his head up to see what the ruckus was about near the Bakers’ wagon.

  Tyler emerged from beneath the wagon. “I hate to lose a sharpshooter at a time like this, but—” Parting the canvas that hung over the opening into the wagon, he climbed inside. He grabbed her brother by the collar, hauled him around, and punched him solidly on the chin. Jeb's head snapped back and he fell limp across the bulging sacks of grain.

  Tyler stuck his head out. “Could you get me that strip of rawhide hanging in the other wagon? And a blanket to throw over him."

  When she returned with the bundled items, she tossed them inside. “Did you have to hit him so hard?"

  "Yes. I wish he hadn't made me do it.” He tied Jeb's wrists and ankles with the thongs. “I think he'll be all right for awhile."

  "Unless you broke his jaw."

  "Amy, what did you want me to do?"

  "He was right about one thing: If the Kiowas wipe us out, our precious mission is doomed, anyway."

  "Any suggestions?"

  "We could compromise by sharing the ammunition, at least. The troops know we've got that; the kegs of gunpowder have been in plain view all along."

  "Fine, go ahead."

  Amy stared at him. “Really? I'd like to let Alizar dispense it. He's the wagon master, after all."

  "That's up to you. Just remember: one mistake—and it's not a failure of a mission or a ruined career. It's prison ... or death."

  Chapter 23

  Amy awoke with a start, wrapped in a blanket on the hard ground. It was too quiet—no discharging muskets, no screaming attack. Her head rested on Tyler's thigh as he sat with his back against a stack of boxes he'd set up for a barricade. His haggard face stood out in sharp relief against the dawn sky as his vigilant eyes scanned the desert.

  After she'd shared part of the ammunition with the traders, they'd been able to keep up a sporadic firing of muskets through the long dark hours. Tyler had urged her to get some sleep after the fighting had died down, and even offered her his thick woolen blanket to ward off the chill of the night, but she didn't remember falling asleep with her head in his lap.

  She sat up, pulling the blanket close about her shoulders. “You should have woke me. I wanted to take my turn on watch so you could rest, too."

  "No need. They seem to have gone."

  "Praise God if that's true!"

  The clank of shovels against soil and rock disturbed the silence. A few yards away, men dug deep holes in the earth.

  Amy shivered. “How sad. Did we lose very many?

  Tyler passed a hand over his eyes. “Enough."

  She rose to her feet, still a bit light-headed from fatigue, and turned to see Jeb sitting hunched behind her over a tiny dung fire, nursing a cup of coffee and rubbing life back into his wrists. So Tyler had set him loose! Guilt formed a hard lump that sank to the pit of her stomach.

  "Jeb, I'm sorry about last night.” She bent to massage his shoulders affectionately. “I feel terrible."

  He grunted an unintelligible reply.

  "No one was to blame, you know. Let's forget it happened."

  "Easy for you.” Jeb stood up and threw out the sludge in the bottom of his cup. “I'm gonna go spell Raul diggin’ graves.” He stomped off.

  With a sigh, Amy returned Tyler's blanket to him, then stoked the fire up to reheat the coffee. Tyler spread the blanket on the ground and stretched out, folding his arms behind his head. He looked exhausted.

  "I need to get some sleep,” Tyler mumbled.

  "You do that. I'll let you know if anything happens.” If she needed to give Alizar any excuse for tarrying in camp with Tyler, she would think of something. She doubted the wagon master would notice today, though, occupied as he was with the recent crisis.

  "I wish I could sleep."

  "Don't worry. The worst is over—you'll see. We'll roll into Santa Fe without spotting another Kiowa. Then we'll find out who the liberales are in Santa Fe and surprise them with an answer to their dreams. They'll think it's Christmas come a few months early.” Amy reached deep for good cheer. Mama had always said that when menfolk felt like giving up, their women had to be strong. “It's almost over, Tyler."

  "I can't believe the mess we're in."

  "What do you mean? We've got lots of lead and gunpowder left. Or is it Jeb you're worried about? He'll get over it. You can't blame him for wanting to save lives. Remember, he never actually agreed to haul, you know."

  "I guess he didn't."

  "Food will change your outlook. How about a buffalo steak?"

  "Sounds good.” Lines of weariness around his eyes added years to his age. “What would I do without you, Amy?"

  "Last night I got the feeling you were sorry I was here."

  "That's when I was thinking of your welfare. Now I'm thinking of mine."

  She smiled at him, and got a weary smile in return. Too bad there were people around, else she'd lie down beside him and hold him until he slept. Perhaps sleep a few hours in his arms, herself ... or make love. Warmth flared in his eyes as she held his gaze. Was he thinking the same thing?

  She reached for the skillet and one of the slabs of raw buffalo meat Gutierrez had sent over with a soldier as a token of gratitude. She hadn't begrudged the Mexicans the gunpowder. She was just glad she'd had some to share. “I learned something yesterday."

  "What's that?"

  "I discovered it takes more than target practice to defend oneself. I froze up, Tyler. I couldn't pull the trigger."

  "It happens sometimes."

  "To everyone? Or just women?” She wrinkled her nose in self-disgust.

  "It happens to big strong men trained for war."

  "You don't have to make me feel better."

  "No, really. It happened to me once.” As he stared up at the sky, his eyes became pools of blue reflections. “Up in Illinois, I fought with the 6th infantry during Black Hawk's War. We had his band surrounded—part of it, anyway. General Taylor ordered us to shoot on sight, anything that moved. We spread out and searched the area. I happened upon the chief himself in the bushes. He was ... well, tending to some personal business at the time, in no position to use his weapons against me. I cocked my rifle and aimed it at his head. He didn't move—he knew he was a dead man. We stared at one another for what seemed like forever. I remember thinking about what it meant to take a human life, about how I had come to be there at that moment to face him."

  "Did you kill him?” She glanced up from the sizzling meat.

  He shook his head. “I left him to his privacy. I walked away."

  Admiration swept through her, not only for his act of mercy—something the army would no doubt call a derelict of duty or worse—but for his courage in admitting to it. “What happened to him?"

  "Somehow, he led his warriors out of the trap and got away. Later on, they captured him and put him in prison. He's still there, I guess.” He gave her a meaningful look. “The point is, sometimes it takes courage not to shoot."

  "Thank you, Tyler.” She lifted the steak onto a platter, added a knife, and set it on the blanket beside him. “Eat up, then get some sleep."

  A wistful look softened his expression. “Amy, when this is all over..."

  She glanced away. “When it's over, you'll return to Washington and continue your career with the Corps of Engineers."

  "No reason to be unhappy about that. You'll come with me, won't you?"

  "You still want me to marry you? You would set me up in a little cottage somewhere and leave me behind while you went to slay dragons."

  "Now, Amy, I wouldn't—"

  "I know how much you want to ch
art the West and help open the frontier. Tell me, do army wives accompany their husbands on expeditions?” Her voice caught, and she blinked at the burning in her eyes.

  He heaved a sigh. “Not usually."

  "I couldn't bear to be abandoned, Tyler. Too many people I've loved have died or gone away.” One glance at his troubled face brought a dose of guilt to flavor her sorrow. She could have picked a better moment to disappoint him this way.

  He sighed. “I wouldn't ask just any woman to put up with the army life. You've got rare courage; you've proved that to me."

  Hot tears wet her cheeks. “And I would never make you choose between me and your life's work. No man should ever have to do that."

  "So you're going to make the choice for me?"

  She averted her eyes from his unhappy face. Silence settled between them as she waited, hoping he would come up with some magic words to solve the dilemma. But he didn't. What could he say?

  * * * *

  The right wheel on the Dearborn carriage vibrated in an unhealthy way, thumping loudly with every revolution. Amy hoped it would hold together until they reached Santa Fe, because as far as she knew, all the extra wheel parts had been used. Theirs wasn't the only casualty of the trail; many wagons listed and wobbled and creaked from various injuries. In fact, Jeb's entire store of wooden poles had gone into holding the caravan together the last half of the journey.

  Thanks to Almighty God the Kiowas had fled to parts unknown.

  As the first wagons trundled around a low escarpment, a shout went up. Teamsters began cracking their whips with new energy. Amy craned her neck to see what caused the excitement. Clustered against a backdrop of scraggly trees stood some blocky mud houses. In the midst of them rose a bell tower with arches. Here and there around the village, a fence of vertical sticks enclosed pens of livestock. After seven hundred miles of wilderness, a settlement at last!

  Maruja gazed longingly out the window of the carriage and crossed herself. "Gracias a Dios."

  As the caravan limped across the flats to the little town, the teamsters fired their muskets in the air, whooped and cheered, and made the most of the poppers they'd woven into their bullwhips.