Night of the Cougar
Page 29
“We shall see about that.”
“Beware, Chief Mangas Coloradas,” warned Dr. Steck. “The bluecoat soldiers have become numerous, and I would not anger them if I were you.”
“They had better beware of angering me, because we are not as weak as we appear. If you make war against us, you may kill us all, but many white wives will become widows, and white mothers will wail into the night.”
“We must be friends, so we can avert tragedy.”
Mangas Coloradas was silent, and Dr. Steck hesitated to press him further. It was as if a cactus barrier had been constructed between them, indicating that negotiations were over, or the Apaches were waiting for something. Then Dr. Seek realized what they wanted. “We have brought presents,” he said, indicating the wagon and cattle. “You may take them now.”
Mangas Coloradas spoke in his language, then the Apaches rushed forward to unload the wagon and take charge of the cattle. A steer was butchered on the spot, a fire built, and they were going to have a feast.
Soldiers set up camp nearby, not anxious to mix with Apaches. Guards were posted, and occasionally Old Baldy inspected the Apache camp through his spyglass to make sure attack wasn't imminent.
Meanwhile, good Dr. Steck remained among the Apaches, hoping to speak Spanish with them, but they avoided him or pretended not to understand. He felt like an interloper, not just into another culture, but a different breed of humanity. They are headed toward extinction, and I think they realize it, but they won't go easily, he decided. A wave of sadness came over him, for he had come to respect Apaches over the years.
In the course of the powwow, Dr. Steck noticed an Apache warrior and squaw sitting in front of a wickiup, devouring gift meat without use of knives, forks, or plates. Both were blond, and the doctor had heard about white children abducted by Apaches. He figured these two were captives who had grown up, so he drifted closer out of curiosity, trying to be nonchalant, and received the greatest surprise of his journey. “Nathanial—Clarissa—is it you?”
They didn't respond, as if they didn't comprehend, and then Dr. Steck doubted himself, because Nathanial and Clarissa Barrington had been sophisticated New Yorkers, while these were soiled, ragged Apaches with snarled hair, hostile expressions, and that strange distant look in their eyes.
Dr. Steck advanced for a closer examination, but they ignored him as they continued to gnaw meat held in their greasy hands. From a distance of six feet, Dr. Steck realized they were indeed Nathanial and Clarissa Barrington! But still they refused to acknowledge him.
The hair bristled on Dr. Steck's neck as he returned to the army camp. He felt strangely disoriented, because he could not imagine white people preferring primitive Apache life over civilization, yet there was no mistaking his former assistant Nathanial Barrington and the latter's lovely wife, who apparently had turned their backs on white civilization forever.
Later that night, lying on his bedroll, Dr. Steck pondered the defection of the Barringtons. Not only can Apaches kill your body, he ruminated, they also can capture your soul. And once a white man penetrates the riddle, he is lost.
Dr. Steck was filled with deep forebodings as he drifted to slumber. Something told him the mystical warriors of the desert were not fooled by his wagon load of paltry gifts, and the Apache Wars would continue, more bloody and treacherous than ever before.
As his eyelashes drooped, he thought he saw in the sky a gnarled old Apache warrior riding among the stars, his spear upright, singing of lost battles and forgotten dreams.