by Len Levinson
Chapter Fourteen
In a remote tributary of the Sonoita River, two gold miners named Jed and Andy examined panful after panful of sand. They'd been at it six months, splashing from stream to stream, living off the land. One afternoon, gray-bearded Andy dropped onto his haunches, pushed back the brim of his floppy wide-brimmed hat, and said, “I cain't take it no more.”
“ ‘At's what you said a month ago,” replied Jed, a scrawny, mosquitolike man, “but yer still hyar, and you'll always be hyar ‘cause yer as loco as me. One of these days, in one of these hills—we'll hit the mother lode.”
“Mother lode, my ass. When I think of what I give up, my fambily, my friends, even my trade, ‘cause I had a good trade, I want you to know.” Andy never hesitated to remind Jed that he had been a skilled piano maker, employed at the Worth factory in Philadelphia. “Instead, here I am with you, in the middle of this stinkin’ desert, diggin’ and pannin’ fer nawthin’.”
“What the hell's the matter with me? I ain't so bad.”
“It ain't you—it's the newspapers. They made me think there was gold in these mountains. Well I sure as hell ain't found none.” Andy flung his pan into the middle of the stream. “Good-bye and good riddance!”
“Now, Andy,” counseled Jed, “yer a-gonna need that pan tomorry. You best swim out and git it afore it's gone.”
“The sooner the better,” said Andy.
Jed could not permit a valuable tool to disappear, so he sloshed into the fast-moving stream, about five feet deep. After twenty yards, he dived and caught the pan. As his head raised above the surface, he saw a body lying alongside the river, surrounded by reeds. Jed called out, “There's a man over hyar!”
“What's he doin'?”
“I think he's daid.”
Andy came crashing through the brush, gun in hand, and when he reached the derelict, knelt beside him. He and Jed rolled him onto his back, saw the pale green complexion, but the man was breathing. “My God—he's alive,” said Andy.
Jed ran for the coffeepot while Andy cradled the head in his arms. “Now what the hell happened to you?”
There was no answer, but the man's eyes fluttered. Jed returned with his pot of coffee and poured some into the pale lips of the foundling, whose eyes opened to half mast, then a faint sinister smile appeared on his face.
Esther never had seen anything like Fort Buchanan, which looked like a few shacks in the midst of vast uninhabited territory. How can anyone live in such a place? she asked herself as the stagecoach carried her to the orderly room. She gazed to the west, where the Barrington ranch was located. I'm a-gittin’ closer, she said to herself.
Her traveling companions were a salesman and three army men. She'd told the lie that she was a maid, and the Barringtons were supposed to meet her at Fort Buchanan.
The stagecoach rolled past outbuildings, then stopped in front of the orderly room. A corporal opened the door and helped Esther to the ground. Her trunk was tossed down, and Sergeant Riley, one of her traveling companions, picked it up. “I'll help you, ma'am,” he said.
They had exchanged subtle looks during the journey, for she needed an ally, and he appeared to be an old soldier who knew his way around. A big barrel-chested Irishman, he hoisted the trunk on his shoulder, then carried it to the general store.
Mahoney stood behind the counter of his rebuilt establishment. “Howdy!”
“We need a room fer the lady, and where the hell is everybody?”
“Cap'n Ewell is on a scout with most of the post and a bunch of Texas Rangers. There's outlaws in the vicinity.”
Sergeant Riley bargained the price, then carried the trunk to a small room containing a bed, dresser, and chair. He lowered the trunk, then grabbed her roughly, but Esther sometimes liked being manhandled, especially if she needed a favor. When he was breathing heavily, fumbling with her buttons, she said, “Stop.”
“I can't,” he murmured into her bosom as he clutched her rump with one hand.
“Listen a moment,” she said. “I need a favor.”
“Sure—what is it?” he asked impatiently as he touched the tip of his tongue to her nipple.
“I want you to buy me a horse and saddle. Don't worry—I'll give you the money.”
“Where you going'?”
“I'm not goin’ anywheres, but I want my own horse and saddle.”
“Sure—why not?”
He returned to his feast, and she smiled cynically as she let him have his way with her.
Captain Richard Stoddert Ewell leaned forward in his saddle, examining structures in the valley below. “Let's hope they're still alive.”
The soldiers and rangers readied their weapons, because they expected an outlaw gang. Instead, they saw cattle grazing peacefully, cowboys riding about. “Looks like quite a spread,” said Old Baldy.
The procession advanced toward the ranch buildings, and a group of happy cowboys greeted them, because the army meant security. Captain Ewell climbed down from the saddle, removed his gloves, and scanned the men's faces, but couldn't spot the former Captain Barrington among them. “Where's the boss?” he asked.
One of the thick-bearded cowboys stepped forward and saluted as if on the plain at West Point. “I am Major Beauregard Hargreaves, in case you've forgotten.”
Old Baldy took a step backward, eyes bulging more than normal. “My God—Beau—I didn't recognize you beneath the beard. You look like a goddamned gopher. What're you doing here, and where's Nathanial?”
“That's a long story. Come inside, and I'll tell you everything.”
The soldiers and rangers made camp near the buildings, while Old Baldy sat in the parlor with Beau, who explained how he'd been captured by Apaches, then delivered to Nathanial, who subsequently ran off with the Indians, taking his wife and children.
Captain Ewell looked out the window, an expression of mystification on his tanned features. “It is incomprehensible that a man would do such a thing, and I can't believe Clarissa would follow him willingly.”
“They're the strangest couple I've ever known,” admitted Beau. “And they gave me this ranch, so you can pass my resignation along to Colonel Bonneville.”
Captain Ewell blinked incredulously. “Does the air in this valley make people loco?”
“Perhaps, but I've discovered that Apaches aren't as bad as I thought.”
“Whenever I become sentimental about Apaches, I remind myself of the last massacre.”
The People returned to their main camp, and Chuntz couldn't believe Sunny Bear was riding among them. “What is he doing here?” he screeched. “He is the one who betrayed us in the Valley of Dead Sheep!”
No one answered Chuntz, the procession split apart, and everyone headed for his or her wickiup. First Chuntz ran after Mangas Coloradas, trying to protest, but the great chief looked at him coldly, causing Chuntz to turn toward Victorio. “Cannot you see that Sunny Bear is a traitor?”
Victorio ignored him, and all Chuntz could do was confront Sunny Bear in person. “You have the blood of many warriors on your hands, you filthy Pindah snake!”
“What is wrong with that man?” asked Clarissa, riding alongside her husband. She did not recognize Chuntz from their earlier encounter, nor did he link her with the Pindah in the stream.
“I'll explain later,” replied Nathanial, “but first I must do something.”
Nathanial climbed down from his saddle, stood in front of Chuntz, and said in the Apache language, “You will stop speaking to me in this manner, or else.”
Chuntz drew his knife, holding it blade up in his fist. “You do not scare me, no matter how tall you are, White Eyes traitor. The more the meat, the better the cutting.”
“Go ahead—cut,” replied Nathanial.
Chuntz thought Sunny Bear wanted to embarrass him by not drawing his knife. “You are a coward, because you refuse to arm yourself.”
“I do not need a weapon against an inept warrior such as you, Chuntz.”
Chuntz's eyes
widened, then he dropped into his knife-fighting crouch. The others gathered around as Sunny Bear stood loosely, arms at his sides. Chuntz wagged the knife from left to right, wondering where to stick the point Then he screamed, thrusting toward Nathanial's belly.
But something smashed Chuntz in the nose, and his knife never found its mark. Chuntz tried to remember what he was doing, but then another bomb fell on him, dropping him to his knees. Next thing he knew, he was thrown onto his back, his own knife pointing at his throat.
“I should cut off your head,” said Sunny Bear, “but our chief requires every warrior. Therefore I shall spare your life this time, but if you ever insult me again, or disturb my wife, you will force me to feed you to the coyotes, is that clear?”
“I will never stop insulting you,” replied Chuntz. “So you might as well kill me, you traitorous Pindah pig.”
Sunny Bear pressed the blade into Chuntz's throat, a red threadlike line appeared, then the voice of Mangas Coloradas thundered across the campsite. “Enough!”
Sunny Bear pulled back as the chief strode onto the scene. “Chuntz,” he said, “you are making trouble again.”
“How can you . . . ?”
“Silence!” shouted Mangas Coloradas. “The People are in danger, and I have no time for slander. If you disrupt this campsite one more time, I shall banish you!”
“But this man is dangerous!” Chuntz insisted.
“I will be the judge of that, and if you do not trust me, you may leave.”
Chuntz became aware that all eyes were on him. He had no wife, family, or friends, and genuinely believed Sunny Bear was a spy. Everyone watched as Chuntz marched to his wickiup, gathered his weapons, and filled his saddlebags with dried meat. Then he headed for the horses, and never looked back.
On the morning the dragoons departed Whitecliff, they gathered horses and equipment in the yard. Beau decided he should say good-bye to Constanza in private, so he climbed to the hayloft, where she was packing her saddlebags. She looked up as he drew closer, then returned to her work, ignoring him.
“I'll miss you,” he said.
“Thank you for helping me,” she replied. “Without you, they might have killed me.”
“I wish you'd try to see the bright side.”
She glanced at him sharply. “What bright side?”
“Dawn over the mountains, the flowers that grow in the spring, the laughter of children.”
“I will try to remember your advice,” she said sarcastically, then arose and threw saddlebags over her shoulder. “Good-bye, Major Hargreaves. I know that you will never forget me, because I have made sure of that.”
She walked to the ladder, then descended to the floor of the barn. Beau followed her to the yard, where soldiers were waiting. Captain Ewell sat on his horse at the front of the formation, letters from Beau in his saddlebags. The captain of the dragoons reached down and shook the new rancher's hand. “Good luck, Beau. If important news arrives from the East, I'll pass it along.”
Beau stepped back as Captain Ewell took his position at the head of the procession. Constanza climbed into her saddle, then looked at Beau, tempted to throw herself at his feet, but it would not keep him from his children.
“Are we ready?” roared the voice of Captain Ewell.
“Yessir,” replied Sergeant Major Ames.
Captain Ewell raised his right hand high in the air.
“Dragoons—forward hooooo!'’
Beau stepped back as the horses trudged out of the yard and headed toward Fort Buchanan.
A powwow was held that night in the wickiup of Chief Mangas Coloradas. “I have reached my decision,” he said. “I shall lead the peace expedition to Fronteras.”
Cochise replied, “I disagree, because the People cannot afford to risk our great chief. I shall lead the expedition.”
The others murmured their assent, so Mangas Coloradas told them, “It shall be as you say. Let Cochise lead the expedition, since he has spoken so eloquently in its favor.
Victorio shook his head. “I am against this peace mission.”
“So am I,” added Nana. “What can we expect from Nakai-yes fiends who have poisoned our children?”
“A terrible holocaust is coming,” said Mangas Coloradas. “If we do nothing, it shall carry us away. A warrior must never fear death, but neither should he fear to hope.”
“What does Sunny Bear say?” asked Victorio.
“Sunny Bear thinks the mission will fail,” admitted Mangas Coloradas. “But he is not chief of the Mimbrenos, and he can always return to his Pindah world. It is we who must make the sacrifice.”
Geronimo had listened carefully, and now decided to speak. “What if Sunny Bear is right? What if the mission fails?”
“We shall make overtures to the White Eyes.”
“How can we make peace with those greedy bastards?”
Mangas Coloradas gazed into the fire for a long time, and then he spoke. “That is what Sunny Bear is for.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Yer lookin’ real good today,” said Jed the miner. “You'll be a-walkin’ around damn soon.”
The patient lay on the ground, wrapped in a blanket, complexion a sickly hue. “Sure will,” he replied with his weak smile.
“Good pemmican stew and God's own sweet air'll cure anythin’, I've always believed,” added Andy, who knelt opposite his pardner.
Jed spooned stew into Culhane's mouth, while Andy held his head. Culhane struggled to speak. “As hard as you boys work . . . you must have a load of gold ... by now?”
“Not more'n fifty dollars,” replied Andy disgustedly. “In fact, I was about to pull stakes when you showed up. I've given up my whole life fer a pile of mud.”
“You won't be . . . the first one,” said Culhane pleasantly as he pulled the trigger. The blankets exploded around him, a bullet drilled through the fabric, and struck Jed center chest. Then Culhane quickly turned to the astonished Andy, firing two quick shots. The miners slumped to the ground, then Culhane threw off his blankets, pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, fired a few extra rounds for good measure, and let out a laugh. “You stupid sons of bitches!”
Cackling, Culhane got on his hands and knees like a coyote, and searched for that bag of gold.
It was midnight at Fort Buchanan, and the guard made his rounds of the stable, where the dragoons’ most valuable possessions, their horses, were quartered. The guard was seventeen, a private, and he'd only served six months. He stood at the stable door, rifle in his right hand, and in his wry Irish mind reflected upon the twists and turns a man's life might take.
He was from County Wicklow, and his name was Declan Flahooley. Emigrating to America in the crowded hold of a smelly ship, he'd hoped to find work in Boston, but instead saw hordes of unemployed Irishman like himself, so he'd joined the dragoons, and ended up in a remote area not unlike the wilds of Country Wicklow. Killing Indians is the only job I can find, he thought wryly.
Declan had been raised among horses, and was considered a decent hardworking dragoon, the kind that sergeants noticed and recommended for promotions. And like many of his Irish brethren, he was a dreamer of leprechauns and fairy queens, a lover of poetry, and he'd never forget the green grass of Ireland, though he may never see her again.
Sometimes he had the urge to write poems, but wasn't sure what to say. He marched down the length of the stable, lined with great, muscular haunches of horses sleeping in their stalls. Ah, noble creatures, thought Declan, recalling the lines from the Old Testament. “Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?”
Something moved in the shadows, and Declan forgot the Bible, leprechauns, and the green grass of Wicklow. Raising his rifle, he said in ringing tones, “Who goes there!”
A woman stepped out of the shadows, dressed in a long brown coat, saddlebags over her shoulder. “Shhh,” she said playfully. “Do you want to wake the post?”
He recognized her instantly, for there we
re no other women at Fort Buchanan except Captain Ewell's slave and Sergeant Riley's woman. “Can I help you, ma'am?”
“You can saddle my horse,” Esther replied.
“Goin’ somewheres?”
“Why else would I want my horse saddled?”
“But it's dangerous on the desert!”
She moved closer to him. “I'm not afraid of danger, soldier. Are you?”
“Well, actually I might be, ma'am.”
She came to a stop a few inches from him, peered searchingly into his eyes, and said, “It must git lonely sometimes.”
He swallowed. “Yes, ma'am.”
“What a shame, ‘cause yer a handsome boy. Have you got a girl back in Ireland?”
“I reckon she's married someone else by now.”
“What would you do if I kissed you?”
He grinned. “I reckon I'd have to kiss you back.”
She moved closer, their lips touched, and they groped for a time, her dress up and his pants down, but it didn't take long for a young dragoon to accomplish his mission. Subdued, he saddled her horse, then she rode out of the stable. Declan watched her disappear into the night, and in weeks to come would wonder whether the incident had occurred, or was another of his crazy Irish dreams.
A meeting was held in the office of Captain Padilla, commandant at Fronteras. “I do not know if the Apaches will keep their word,” he said. “But if they come, we must be ready.”
“If we get them drunk enough,” said Lieutenant Magalenez, “we should have no great difficulty.”
Lieutenant Suarez, who recently had been posted to Fronteras, said, “Has anyone thought about actually attempting peace with them?”
The other officers looked at each other in exasperation, because Suarez was from Mexico City, and didn't know Apaches.
“Where would be a good place to set the trap?” asked Captain Padilla, ignoring Lieutenant Suarez.
“A cantina,” offered Lieutenant Magalenez.