Apache Caress

by Georgina Gentry - Panorama of the Old West 08 - Apache Caress

  She tried to act indifferent, though her heart was beating hard with excitement. At last they might run across some law-abiding people who would help her.

  Finally they topped a rise and saw a small settlement below. It isn’t much, Sierra thought with disappointment, a store or two, a few ragged cabins, maybe a livery stable. There were a surprising number of people on the streets, a few horses tied up at hitching rails, a couple of buggies and wagons.

  “Sierra,” he said, “you behave yourself when we ride in there.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He reached over, caught her arm, turned her to look at him. “Yes, you do.” His voice was low and cold. “I don’t want to have to kill anyone, but I will if you give out any signals that might cause me trouble. As far as these people are concerned, we’re Cherokees just passing through. With your hair braided and that buckskin outfit you’ve got on, you could pass for an Indian.”

  They rode in, Sierra trying to decide what to do next. She knew Cholla was good with a rifle. He hadn’t survived this long without being able to protect himself. If he was cornered, she didn’t doubt that he might try to shoot his way out. Innocent people would be killed, and it would be her fault. She’d have to think of a plan.

  Cholla looked up and down the street, ignoring the barking dogs and curious stares. “Let’s go in this general store and see what they can tell us about a blacksmith.”

  If she could get out of his sight, she’d ask for help. “Why don’t you go in? I’ll watch the horses.”

  He grinned at her, then shook his head. “Me no stupid Injun. Come, squaw. You come in too, not talk to strangers.”

  Reluctantly, she dismounted. They tied their horses to the hitching rail and went in, Cholla carrying the fancy rifle.

  A fat man with three chins stood behind the counter, thumbs tucked in his dirty white apron. They waited for him to finish weighing and bagging some nails for a cowboy, who gave the pair a long look as he went out.

  Sierra said, “Does the cowboy know how much of your thumb he just paid for?”

  The fat man turned an ugly red, and his three chins quivered. “I ain’t used to smart talk from blanket butts like you, Injun gal. My scales are honest.”

  Cholla grabbed her arm, glared at her. “Is there a blacksmith in town?”

  The storekeeper’s small eyes seemed fascinated by the rifle. “Usually there is, but he’s gone out to shoe old man Berrigan’s cow ponies.”

  Sierra and Cholla exchanged glances, and she managed to keep from smiling at her piece of luck. The longer they had to stay in town, the better her chances were of sneaking a message to someone without Cholla knowing about it.

  “Injun, you want to trade that rifle?”

  Cholla shook his head. “We’ll just be going on then.”

  “Mighty fine rifle for an Injun,” the storekeeper rocked back on his heels. “I’d give you heap firewater, candy, and ribbons for your squaw for it.”

  Cholla shook his head again, fell into the pidgin English. “Me no want sell. Come, squaw.”

  But as he started to turn, the fat man reached out and caught Sierra’s arm. “Then how about another little trade? I’d give you a heap of stuff to take your woman in the back room for a few minutes.”

  “You load of guts,” Cholla snarled, “get your hands off her!”

  The fat man blinked and slowly removed his hand. “I ain’t used to being talked to like that by an Injun.”

  “This Indian Territory,” Cholla said. “What’s white man doing here anyway?”

  “I’m married to a squaw, just like most of the white men around here. That gives us some land rights.” He glared at Cholla. “I’m an important man, Injun. I wouldn’t cross John Koger if I was you.”

  Cholla stood his ground. “Don’t want any trouble. I just want to find blacksmith.”

  The storekeeper leaned on the counter, looked at Sierra with hungry eyes. “Why don’t you let the squaw make up her own mind? Hey, you.” He made obscene gestures to Sierra. “Little of your time. I give you pretty cloth, ribbons, beads.”

  Cholla leaned across the counter, grabbed the fat man so hard he tore his shirt. “Maybe you no hear good, white man. Squaw mine. Nobody touches but me!”

  For once, Sierra kept silent and began to retreat behind Cholla’s big frame. She’d find someone else in this settlement to help her.

  As they turned to leave, another cowboy entered. “Say, Koger, who’s ridin’ that palomino tied to the rail?”

  Cholla glared at the man. “Who wants to know?”

  The man appeared to back away. “The boys is talkin’ out front. Where’d you get that horse, Injun?”

  It occurred to Sierra that Belle hadn’t given them any papers. Maybe they wouldn’t challenge a woman. “It’s my horse,” she said.

  Now it was the cowboy’s turn to look her over, to take in the rifle Cholla carried. “Koger, ain’t that Lem Jenks’s fancy rifle?”

  Koger rocked back on his heels. “I just asked him about that?”

  “I bought gun,” Cholla said.

  The two white men looked at him with renewed interest, veiled hostility.

  What next? Sierra thought. What kind of settlement had they ridden into? She was beginning to have terrible feelings about all these questions.

  The cowboy cleared his throat, looked away. “Well, I suppose that’s all the questions I needed to ask. Be seein’ ya, Koger.”

  He turned and went out. Sierra breathed a sigh of relief, but Cholla’s scowl remained. He caught Sierra’s elbow. “Squaw, we go.”

  He propelled her outside and right into the bunch of armed men waiting for them, along with the man who had been in the store earlier. “Get your hands up, Injun!”

  Cholla looked as if he might fight, but he seemed to realize there were women and children around who might get hurt. While he hesitated, the cowboy jerked the gun from his hand and someone else took the knife out of his belt. The men then overpowered him, twisted his arms behind him, and bound his wrists. When he still struggled, the cowboy hit him across the temple with the barrel of his revolver, and Cholla fell unconscious.

  Sierra didn’t look at him. She must think about herself. After all, he was a fugitive. “Thanks!” she said. “This man kidnapped me weeks ago, and I’ve been forced to travel with him ever since!”

  The expressions on the men’s faces showed doubt. The fat man came out of the store behind them. “A likely story! Don’t pay her no nevermind, boys. That squaw is just tryin’ to slip out of trouble her own self.”

  “No.” Sierra shook her head, “No, it’s true. If you don’t believe me, contact the Army; see if they aren’t looking for an escaped Apache and a kidnapped woman named Sierra Forester. There’s a reward.”

  The men looked skeptical, but the last word put a gleam in a few eyes.

  Koger kicked at Cholla. “That right, Injun? Is she your squaw, or did you kidnap her?”

  Cholla’s eyes flickered open. He glared around the circle, looked up into Sierra’s eyes and said nothing.

  Damn him anyway. Sierra tried again. “Look, someone telegraph the Army. You’ve got a telegraph at the train station, don’t you? You can all divide the reward.”

  Koger grabbed her arm. “Squaw, I think you’re just trying to wriggle out of this. If we turn our backs, you’ll be hightailing it out of town.”

  “Besides,” one of the others said, “she says that’s her palomino. Ain’t that a Running B brand on it?”

  Sierra looked from one to the other. “That stands for ‘Belle’. Belle Starr gave it to me.”

  Someone in the gathering crowd guffawed. “We like Belle around here, gal. And we don’t like it when someone’s always tryin’ to blame her for somethin.’ ”

  Koger scratched his fat belly. “Sam, you go telegraph. See what you can find out about this pair. Jack, I think somebody better ride out to the Berrigan place, see if they’ve had any palominos go missing.”

&
nbsp; Someone in the crowd said, “Mayor Koger, shouldn’t we be sending to Fort Smith to find out what we should do with this pair?”

  “Parker’s court only deals with white folks that he sends U.S. Deputy Marshals in to get, and I’d bet my mama’s Bible that these is Injuns,” Koger answered.

  Another man pushed his hat back thoughtfully. “Injuns is supposed to deal with Injuns. Ain’t we supposed to call in the Injun police and let them handle this?”

  “I think not, if they ain’t local Injuns.” Koger tucked his thumbs in his apron again, puffed up with his own importance. “What we’ll do is put chains on them, lock them up in my storeroom until we find out just what we are supposed to do.”

  The cowboy shook his head. “It’s Saturday, Mayor.”

  “So?”

  “So there’ll be a big crowd in town this evening. When the men get to drinkin,’ there could be some real trouble.”

  “Aw, we’ll see about that,” Koger scoffed. Then he winked at Sierra. “Besides, as mayor, if we was to have a lynchin’, it would just save the taxpayers, and maybe the Army or Hanging Judge Parker, a lot of trouble.”

  This talk scared Sierra. “Look,” she said, “if someone knows this Lem Jenks, why doesn’t someone go get him? If he’ll tell how he sold that fancy rifle to ... Never mind.”

  She stopped in midsentence, suddenly aware that even if she got the man to swear he sold the rifle to Slim, they might have to explain what had happened to the gunslinger, and for all she knew, the blue-eyed desperado might be related to Koger or someone else in town.

  Koger nodded, and his three chins shook. “A couple of you boys ride out to Lem’s place. See what you can find out.”

  “But, Mayor, it’s a long ride,” someone in the crowd protested.

  “Wal, we got lots of time.” The mayor smiled and rocked back on his heels. “Not much excitin’ happens hereabouts, we can stretch this out and make it last. When we get all the facts, we’ll do something.”

  Sierra looked at Cholla lying on the ground. He was beginning to come around. She forced herself not to feel sorry for him. “You can’t take the law into your own hands,” she argued. “You’d better call in the Army or the marshal.”

  Koger kicked the Apache in the belly. “Some of you drag this bastard over to my storeroom, Squaw, you come along, too, until we get this all sorted out about how you two come to have this horse and rifle.”

  Sierra was mad, but she was also scared. There weren’t many women around, only a couple who’d poked their heads out of a nearby cabin that might be a bordello or a saloon. She didn’t think anyone was allowed to sell whiskey to Indians, but the settlement of Sundance looked like one of those isolated places where everyone winked at the law. No doubt strangers seldom came here, and no one asked nosy questions.

  Cholla fought the men as they dragged him toward the general store, which only annoyed them, Sierra noted. With Koger’s fat fingers digging into her arm, there wasn’t anything she could do but go with them.

  The men dragged Cholla through the store, into the storage room, and chained him to an iron anvil in the middle of the floor. It was a large room, and the short chain made it impossible for Cholla to reach any of the four walls.

  Koger grinned as he held on to Sierra’s arm. “Okay, boys, everyone out. We’ll let you know what we find out this evening or tomorrow morning.”

  There was some grumbling. “Aw, Mayor, we was hopin’ to have a little court trial, you know, maybe even get to hang him our ownselves.”

  Sierra felt fear as she looked around. These hard cases weren’t joking. But the way they were looking at her scared her even more.

  “Hey, Mayor, what are you gonna do with the squaw?”

  He laughed. “I got me some ideas.”

  “Sadie’s place could use a new gal,” one of the men piped up. “Those two or three old whores ain’t enough for all of us on a Saturday night–”

  “No!” Cholla charged them, and when he hit the end of the chain, it rattled as it cut into his wrists. “No, don’t any of you touch her!”

  The men all laughed and backed out of his reach. The mayor didn’t let go of Sierra’s arm. He looked at the crowd of gawkers. “Hey, fellas, why don’t you all go have a drink? It’s gonna be a long time before we know anything about this pair.”

  “Aw, Mayor, we might miss something.”

  “The drinks are on me,” the mayor said.

  Immediately the crowd headed out the door. That left the three of them in the store room. Sierra was scared now. She could tell by his eyes that Koger didn’t believe her. “Hey, gal,” he said softly, “you wanta end up in our local whorehouse?”

  Cholla hit the end of the chain, and it rattled and rang but was too heavy to break. “Get your fat, dirty hand off her arm.”

  “All right.” Koger took his hand off her arm, then leered as Sierra heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s not what I want to handle anyway.”

  Before Sierra could react, the fat man grabbed her, pulling her to him, running his hands up and down her body, pawing her breasts.

  “You pig!” Sierra went at him with all her strength, clawing his face with her fingernails.

  He turned loose of her, and she ran into Cholla’s protective embrace.

  The Apache glowered at Koger as he drew her trembling body close. “If I get a chance, you fat bastard, I’m gonna kill you for touching her. She was telling you the truth out there. Her name is Sierra Forester, and I kidnapped her near Saint Louis. When the Army hears from you, they’ll come quick. They’re looking for me.”

  The fat man stuck his thumbs in his grimy apron, stayed just out of Cholla’s reach. “You’re just like a mad dog on a chain, Injun. On a Saturday night with whiskey flowing, it wouldn’t take much to get this pack of ’breeds, renegades, and outlaws to have a lynching just for the fun of it. And this little gal might just disappear into Sadie’s Place, but nobody would say anything about any of it outside this settlement.”

  Sierra blanched. “You can’t do that.”

  “Can’t I? I’m the mayor, and I got the support of some of the more important ’breeds and white men who’ve married Injun women. I pretty much do as I damned well please.” He looked Sierra up and down in a way that made her shiver. “They might even decide to lynch you, gal, if they get enough whiskey in them.”

  “No.” Cholla shook his head. “I tell you, I’m the one the law’s looking for. Let her go!”

  Koger looked Sierra up and down again. “I’m getting tired of the squaw I got. If’n you was interested, gal, and looking for a new man, I might be able to keep the men from lynching you or puttin’ you over at Sadie’s place.”

  She glared at him and shuddered. “I’d rather bed a pig.”

  His face turned an angry red. “Gal, you may not be so pert later tonight when that crowd gets a little whiskey in them. This fat man may begin to look good to you when the boys get out of hand. If you change your mind, just yell.”

  Sierra spat at him from the safety of Cholla’s arms.

  “Gal, you shouldn’t have done that,” the storekeeper said very slowly. “I’ll remember that.”

  He turned and went out. She listened, heard him lock the door from the outside. Then she looked up at Cholla. “It looks like we’re both in trouble now.”

  “If that fat pig tries anything with you, he’ll never mount another woman.”

  His arms seemed a haven of security and safety to her, even though he was unarmed and chained. She laid her cheek against his big chest and reminded herself that he had brought all this trouble on her. If she were back in St. Louis, where she belonged, she wouldn’t be facing a lynching, or becoming a whore at Sadie’s or, worse yet, the mistress of a fat, dirty pig of a man. When she pictured what Koger must look like naked, she winced, mentally comparing his form to the Apache’s muscular, brown body.

  “I ... I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said against her hair. “I’ll try again later to convince them
you’re just an innocent hostage. If they’ll wait to hear from the law or the Army–”

  “What about Belle?”

  Cholla cursed and let go of her, sat down on the anvil. “That old bitch! Probably those horses were stolen. Who will believe she gave them to us?”

  She slumped to the floor next to him, leaned against his knee. “The whites have a saying; ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ ”

  “Which means?” His hand absently stroked her hair.

  “It means our bandit queen wanted you in her bed, and she doesn’t like being upstaged by a younger woman.” She thought a long moment and came up with another chilling thought. “Cholla ... about the fancy rifle.”

  “What about it?” he asked absently as he stroked her hair, his mind obviously working on a solution to their problems.

  “Suppose Slim stole that rifle or killed someone to get it?”

  He sighed audibly, his chains rattling as he rubbed the back of his neck. “By Usen, you’re right. An hombre like Slim doesn’t pay for something like that.”

  “And if we tell them about Slim, he may be a local and they’ll get us for killing him.”

  “Can’t win for losing,” Cholla said. “Maybe if I take all the blame, they’ll listen to reason when I explain your situation again.”

  “Did you see that look in Koger’s eyes?” She looked up at him. “All that swine can think of is getting me down on my back. He isn’t going to listen to anyone. But thanks, anyway.”

  She noted his wrists were raw from fighting against the chains in his attempts to protect her. Somehow it was hard to hate him anymore. She was beginning to know him too well. Even though he had kept her hostage and dragged her with him all over the country, she had come to think of him as a man, not just an Indian. Maybe his people had killed Robert, but she couldn’t hold Cholla responsible for that, could she? After all, he had been an Army scout. She was tempted to ask him if he had been at the arroyo when Robert was killed, then decided not to. The cavalry was large, the odds were against it. Besides, though she wouldn’t admit it even to herself, she was afraid he might tell her some things about Robert she didn’t really want to know, for deep in her heart she suspected her husband wasn’t the hero the commendation made him out to be.