Apache Caress

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

  He studied her, and when she looked up and met his gaze, Sierra glanced away. She knows, he thought abruptly. Somehow she had figured out that Cholla meant to break his word about freeing her. She knew that he was determined to take her across the border whether she wanted to go or not. And maybe, if she’d guessed that he didn’t intend to keep his word, she would not keep hers either. Had she also found out the other secret–about how her husband had died?

  There was no way to know for sure, nothing to do but wait. Now that the train was moving again, he didn’t see any way to stop it and get the horses off. It was no good being stranded afoot and without weapons in this hostile country. One thing was certain, he didn’t intend to be captured or to give up his hostage without a fight.

  With indigestion plaguing him, Lieutenant Quimby Gillen leaned back against the uncomfortable horsehair seat as the train pulled out. The food along the route was almost impossible to eat, and his teeth were bothering him again. I ought to give up sweets, he told himself, then rattled the paper bag absently as he crunched a hard candy while other passengers turned to glare.

  The woman. Who had she been? Gill had seen just the elegant beauty’s back as she’d hurried out of the station. Had she gotten on the train? He had lost sight of her in the crowd. If she had been on this train since he’d got on at Austin, why hadn’t he seen her? Gill had been through all the day coaches. Why had she looked so familiar to him?

  The train picked up speed as it left the station, and Gill was too preoccupied with his aching teeth to think about much else for a while.

  It was a couple of hours later that he suddenly sat bolt upright and slammed his fist into his hand in a fury, startling the drowsy passengers around him. Blast! Of course she looked familiar to him. Sierra Forester . Was she on this train and was that Injun with her? More than that, where were they now? He got up and worked his way through his car toward the front. It was hard to keep his balance in the swaying, dirty car. He entered the next car, looking at every face. The train was crowded with holiday travelers and poor immigrants headed west. He searched every car to no avail as the minutes passed.

  Maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe he was becoming so obsessed with this chase, he was beginning to see his quarry everywhere. Gill leaned over and looked out the window at the barren landscape. It was almost dusk. What should he do? He was traveling alone to Fort Bowie in virtual disgrace; his patrol had been sent to another assignment. If that big Apache was on this train, Gill didn’t want to face him in a showdown alone, even though, as a soldier, Gill carried a sidearm. Looking around, he decided there weren’t enough men traveling on this train to organize any kind of a force. Besides, Gill himself was probably the only one carrying a weapon.

  He sought out the whiskered conductor. “How many cars on this train?”

  “Seven.” The conductor pushed his cap back. “Then there’s the caboose and the baggage car. Oh, and of course the compartments.”

  Compartments. Those are for the wealthy, Gill thought, so they don’t have to mix with the ordinary people, so they can be comfortable. But where would the Apache and Sierra get the money for a compartment?

  “Conductor, I thought I saw a lady I used to know on this train, but then I couldn’t find her–attractive, wearing an expensive blue dress.”

  The old man’s pink face lit up, and he nodded. “Ah, yes, the señora and her husband. They have a compartment, of course.”

  “Of course.” Gill thought a minute, uncertain of what to do. He didn’t want to confront Cholla alone; he knew the Apache’s bravery and fighting skill too well. He wanted a bunch of armed soldiers backing him up if and when he took that Injun bastard off this train. That the pair was riding in a compartment made no sense, but none of that mattered right now.

  All Gill could do was go back to his seat and wait. He turned to the conductor. “How far to the next station?”

  The old man took off his cap, scratched his head, “Oh, an hour. Why?”

  “Something important has come up.” Gill thought about it, decided against sharing his knowledge. While he didn’t care too much if passengers got hurt in the capture, that might upset the brass and get him in trouble. Besides, Gill didn’t want to risk anyone on this train trying to cut himself in on the reward. “Alert me when we’re getting close to the station. I must get off there and send a message ahead.”

  “Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

  Gill went back to his seat. Yep, he’d send a wire. It would take a little time, but farther on the Army would have an armed patrol waiting to take Cholla off the train. All Gill could do now was wait. He wondered if Sierra Forester knew he was aboard. Of course she didn’t, or she and the Injun would have gotten off somewhere along the line.

  He laughed to himself now as he stared out at the pale lavender and gray dusk, popped another peppermint in his mouth. Blast it all! He could hardly wait to see that pair’s surprised faces when the soldiers boarded and searched them out. It was going to be so ironic. Gill would put chains on the Apache, take him on to Bowie Station and get orders to ship him right back out to Florida. If Sierra would be friendly, maybe Gill would change his testimony and say he’d been mistaken, that she hadn’t helped Cholla escape back at Sundance, that she’d been forced to leave with the savage. For not sending her to prison, Gill expected her to be very grateful. Maybe it was going to be a good holiday after all.

  His spirits light, Gill hummed a few bars of “Jingle Bells” under his breath, rolled the candy around in his mouth, and settled back to wait for the next station.

  Nevada pushed his hat back on his black hair, looked at the train track from where he and his gang hid in the cottonwoods on the small creek. “Ben, you sure about that train?”

  The grizzled old Confederate veteran nodded. “Sure, Nevada. We heard there’s a gold shipment coming through.”

  “What do you mean, heard? I got a price on my head, and can’t afford to take chances. Oh, well, what the hell? I don’t expect to live long anyway.”

  Nevada was philosophical about it. Times were changing, but he could not, or would not, change. He would be twenty-six on his next birthday, but tonight he felt fifty. The days of riding with Billy the Kid in the Lincoln County Wars were gone forever. He looked down at the gold signet ring he wore, thought of his heritage. He would not go back to that fine home, and maybe now he wasn’t welcome anyway.

  “Nevada,” Charlie said. He looked lean and weathered as old leather. “You suppose the train’ll see those rocks piled on the track in time to stop?”

  Rod snarled, “Who the hell cares? I’d like to watch it derail, see folks die!”

  Nevada glared at the outlaw, wishing he hadn’t allowed Rod to join them. Five was the magic number of Nevada’s father’s people and the new man made six. “Rod, if you don’t beat all! Remember, we don’t hurt innocent people, and we only rob the train, not the passengers.”

  “I don’t mind hurtin’ folks,” Rod said, and spat to one side. “And it appears to me takin’ nothin’ but railroad gold is foolish.”

  “I’m still runnin’ things, Rod, unless you think you can outdraw me,” Nevada said as he stroked the neck of his strangely marked black and white stallion.

  There was even a reason for his choice of railroads. A long time ago, there had been a rich, elegant beauty who had spurned him because of the scandal of his bloodlines. The beauty’s family was the major stockholder of this railroad.

  Nevada didn’t want to think about her because he still loved her. “Jack, you and Charlie build up the fire in front of that barricade a little. We want to give the engineer plenty of time to stop; no use derailin’ it and hurtin’ anyone.”

  The Whitley brothers rode off to do his bidding, and Nevada looked around at the others in his gang. Hard cases and losers, most of them, who had outlived their time. Nevada, he thought ironically. But he had been born and raised in Arizona Territory. Only old Ben knew his real name; the prominent name Nevada had cast aside.
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br />   Nevada deftly rolled a cigarette, lit it. Mex leaned over for a light and Nevada lit his cigar, but when Rod leaned forward, Nevada shook his head, blew the match out.

  Mex said, “Not three on a match, Rod. The boss is superstitious.”

  Rod grumbled to himself, got out his own matches. “Hell of a way to spend the holidays. I wanted to be back in Tombstone for Christmas.”

  Christmas. Waves of nostalgia swept over Nevada as he smoked and remembered happier times. But he couldn’t return to the family he had turned his back on.

  “It don’t make sense,” Rod grumbled, rubbing his unshaven chin, “not to rob the passengers if there ain’t no payroll.”

  Nevada shook his head, and a lock of jet black hair fell from under his Stetson across his dark face. “Rod, I won’t tell you again, we don’t rob passengers, we only take the railroad’s money.”

  Ben nodded in agreement, and Mex shifted his weight in the saddle as the two Whitley brothers rode back to join them.

  “Listen,” Ben said.

  They all strained their ears.

  Faintly, as if from a distance, Nevada heard the echo of a train whistle, then the distant rumble of wheels coming from the east. His Medicine Hat stallion moved restlessly under him, as if knowing they were about to ride into action.

  Without thinking, Nevada crossed himself. He knew it was superstitious, but it was part of him. His beautiful mother was Spanish and Cheyenne; his father . . .

  He wouldn’t think about that right now. There was too much pain in the memories of what had driven him away from a fine home and onto the outlaw trail.

  In the dusk, the fire on the tracks flickered like a ghostly light or maybe a candle lit for the dead. In the distance now, he saw the black locomotive coming toward them from the east. It would have to top a rise to see the fire and the pile of rocks on the tracks; there would be enough time to stop but not enough time for the engineer to react before the outlaws were climbing aboard the cars.

  Only a few more minutes, Nevada thought, throwing his cigarette away. He checked his ivory-handled pistol again. “Ready, boys? Any minute now the engineer’s gonna see that pile of rocks and the fire, and he’ll start hittin’ those brakes!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sierra had just started to move across the compartment when the engineer braked. The wheels seemed to lock, steel scraping against steel as tons of iron slid along the track. She was thrown off balance, into Cholla’s arms. Terrified, she screamed, “For God’s sake, what’s happening?”

  He grabbed onto a wall to steady them, then shook his head, his face tense and nervous as he sat her down on a chair. “I don’t know. The train’s stopped.”

  She felt a chill. Quimby Gillen had managed to reach the authorities somehow, and the troops had ridden out to stop the train.

  “Dark Eyes, what is it?” He touched her shoulder.

  “I ... I didn’t know how to tell you. I couldn’t decide what to do about it.”

  “What?”

  She realized suddenly what his expression meant. “No.” She shook her head. “I haven’t betrayed you.”

  “What, then?”

  “When I got off the train for food, I saw him.”

  “Saw who? Tell me, damn it!”

  He had both big hands on her shoulders, and she realized how strong he was, how dangerous he could be; but she wasn’t afraid he would use his strength against her. “Lieutenant Gillen is on this train.”

  “What? How long-?”

  “I don’t have any idea.” Sierra pulled away from him, peered anxiously out the window into the coming night. Riders. She saw riders coming out of the cottonwood trees toward the train.

  Cholla looked out, too, began to swear. “He’s managed to wire ahead for a patrol.”

  “I wasn’t sure he saw me.” She turned toward him, wondering how to assure him she hadn’t betrayed him. Somehow that seemed so terribly important to her. “And then I didn’t know what to do.”

  The both looked out at the riders coming toward the train, guns blazing. The train had come to a complete halt, and smoke from the engine drifted past the window. So this is how it ends, she thought, a shootout in the barren reaches of New Mexico Territory. She wasn’t even afraid, she realized with surprise. Only sad that Cholla hadn’t made it across the border. Somehow it had become terribly important to her that he make it to freedom.

  “Sierra”–he shook his head as he peered out the window into the growing darkness–“those aren’t soldiers.”

  “What? Who are they?”

  He laughed under his breath. “I’m not sure you’re ready for this, but I think the train’s being held up!”

  She blinked, staring out at the six men who had ridden up to the train, were swinging aboard the coaches. The leader was tall and dressed much like a Mexican vaquero. She saw silver flashing on his clothes, on his horse’s bridle. “Mexican bandits.” She drew away from the window in horror.

  “No.” Cholla shook his head. “They look like white men except for the leader; I’d say he’s Spanish and Indian. This might be a lucky break, but I’m going to hide you ’til I’m sure.”

  “But what–?”

  “Get down!” He pushed her gently to the floor. “I’m going to see if I can join up with them, at least temporarily.”

  She suddenly felt bereft at the thought. Within a few minutes, he might be gone, leaving her on the train. “What about me?”

  He looked at her a long moment, regret in his eyes. “So you go free sooner than you expected.”

  “What about Gillen?”

  “Tell him you were forced to help me back in Sundance. If you can get to Fort Bowie, my friend, Tom Mooney, will help you. Demand your share of the reward if they get me.”

  “No! I–”

  “Don’t argue with me; there isn’t time! Crawl under that table and stay there ’til it’s over.”

  His tone left no room for argument. With a sigh, she looked at the skirted table. “All right, whatever you say.”

  “Oh, Sierra”–he turned around–“give Tom a message for me, will you?”

  She nodded, still unable to believe he was really leaving her.

  “Tell him I’m sending him that gift I promised him. You got that?”

  “A gift? What–?”

  “Just tell him, all right?”

  She nodded. In a few minutes, he might be gone with those outlaws. She should be thrilled. Why, then, did she feel so sad? “You’re sending that gift you promised.”

  He seemed to think a long time. “Something else. Tell him: Usen’s own. Ke’jaa’s den.”

  “ ‘Usen’s own; Ke’jaa’s den.’ That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It doesn’t to you, but it will to Tom–after he thinks about it awhile. Good-bye, Sierra. I’m sorry about all the trouble I’ve caused you.” He pulled her to him and kissed her as if he never wanted to let her go.

  Then he turned to leave and, abruptly, she didn’t want to be left behind. “Wait! I want to go with you!” She grabbed his sleeve.

  “No!” He pushed her away from the compartment door. “You’ll be safe on the train. Gillen may be mad, but there’s really nothing he can do to you, not when I forced you to help me escape. You got that? You were afraid of me, had to obey me.”

  “Let me go with you!” She caught Cholla’s arm.

  He tried to shake her hand off. “No. Gillen can’t hurt you; ask the conductor for help. You’ve got money enough to go on to Fort Bowie–”

  A sharp rap on the door. “Open up!”

  “Sierra,” Cholla snapped, “get under that table! You want to get raped by this bunch?”

  Someone was slamming against the locked door now. “Come out! Come out with your hands up!”

  “Sierra, hide.”

  Reluctantly, she let go of his arm, crawled under the table, to be completely concealed by its long white cloth just as the door splintered. She heard jingling spurs as someone entered.


  “Get your hands up, señor.”

  “Easy, hombres,” Cholla said in a soothing tone, “I’m not giving any trouble, see? I’ve got my hands up. I want to go with you.”

  “What?” The voice had a decided Southern drawl. “You must be loco. Jack, get Nevada.”

  “Sure, Ben. Where is he?”

  “Helping Mex and Rod break into the baggage car.”

  She heard the man leave, but she could still see two pairs of boots besides Cholla’s. Now she was afraid. She didn’t want to be raped by a bunch of outlaws, but she was afraid for Cholla. Suppose they decided to kill him and leave him lying in a pool of blood?

  She heard someone else come in, wearing a pair of boots with spurs that jingled–a man who walked with an easy grace. Under the edge of the tablecloth, she saw fine, handmade black boots with fancy silver spurs. He had small feet for a man. “What’s the trouble, Ben?”

  “Nevada, this hombre wants to go with us.”

  “Now why the hell would a wealthy Spaniard want to leave with us?” Nevada sounded like a Westerner.

  “I’m not all Spanish, any more than you are, despite your clothes.”

  Sierra gasped at Cholla’s daring, but Nevada must have thrown back his head and laughed. “I like your guts, pard, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Let’s just say you’re not the only one the law is looking for. I’ve got a horse in the baggage car.”

  “Mister, there’s two fine horses in the baggage car, and I recognize the brand. How did you come by stock from the Triple D and how come there’s two?”

  “I bought them.”

  Nevada swore. “I know Trace Durango from a long time back. He might give some of his best stock to a friend, but he wouldn’t sell it!”

  “Does being a friend of the Durangos help or hinder my chances of going with you?”

  The sound of boots coming in, and another voice. “Nevada, we got all the gold from that strong box. What’s holdin’ us up? We could be robbin’ passengers.”