by Georgina Gentry - Panorama of the Old West 08 - Apache Caress
Gill turned and strode away without stopping for any more conversation. His heart beat a little faster. A woman. Sierra Forester. Had Cholla already come and gone while Gill was en route? What rotten luck. Gill really needed permission from a higher-ranking officer before taking off on a patrol, but maybe on New Year’s Eve, with so many officers off duty, he could bend the rules.
He thought of the specter he had just seen, the ghostlike woman on horseback, her black hair blowing out behind her. In the lavender and gray twilight, she had blended into the shadowy horizon and disappeared. He shivered a little. Would the recollection of that fateful night ever go away? Was he to be haunted forever by the memory of it?
If he and Forester hadn’t been so drunk that they’d lost their judgment . . . But the Apache girl had looked so beautiful, so desirable, galloping through the hills on her pony. . . .
The two of them had chased her down as a lark, pulled her from her horse. First they’d just wanted to scare her a little, on the off chance that she knew about the gold. In the struggle, the front of her dress was torn, and she’d had such beautiful breasts. Delzhinne had begged them not to shame her, but she was so pretty–and they were too drunk and aroused to think about her or the possible consequences of the act. Not until an hour later, when their lust was sated and they were sobering fast, did the two realize their careers were in danger if she reported them to their commanding officer. Worse yet, their lives, or at least their manhoods, were in immediate danger the moment Delzhinne’s older brother found out what they had done to his beloved sister.
Even now, Gill winced as he remembered how Delzhinne had begged for her life when she’d understood they were discussing the best way to kill her. She swore she would not tell, got down on her knees to plead. Then, when she realized it would do no good, she fought them, trying to escape the inevitable. Forester had held her while Gill had put a bullet right between her eyes.
They were certain they hadn’t left any clues, but later Robert had discovered a brass button missing from his coat. He’d been afraid to return to the death scene to retrieve it. They had bumped into Mooney later, back at the fort; but he hadn’t seemed suspicious. Anyway, they’d figured the sergeant was just a dumb Mick, so they hadn’t worried about his figuring out anything.
After that night, though, the two officers never had a moment’s peace. Both feared that Cholla knew and was biding his time before extracting revenge in the most horrible way, or that if he didn’t, somehow he would find out. Each day the lieutenants looked behind them. Their nights were sleepless; the slightest squeak of a board bringing them up out of bed, sure it was the Apache. Neither man could relax, for each was expecting Cholla to extract justice. Nerves frayed, both drank too much and became nervous wrecks in the weeks that followed.
Well, blast it all, Gillen thought, Robert had either turned yellow and tried to run from the hostiles out there in the arroyo or the big Apache had finally got his revenge. Damned if he’s going to get Quimby Gillen. No, I’ll see him imprisoned or, better yet, dead so I can finally sleep at night without listening for the quiet step of those moccasins.
He hurried to Gatewood’s office, went inside. The woman had her back to him, but she wore a big hat and a gaudy purple dress. His heart fell as she turned around. “Trixie, what are you doin’ here?”
She scowled. “Ya might at least act glad to see me.” She sauntered over, got a big bottle of medicine from her purse, took a gulp. “Actually, I’m headed for ’Frisco.”
“Good!” He dismissed her with a shrug. His teeth ached, and he felt depressed and angry because she hadn’t turned out to be Sierra Forester. “Don’t bother me anymore, Trixie, or I’ll tell the law you stabbed that banker–”
“I didn’t stab nobody! He fell–”
“Yeah, yeah.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “Just get out of my life, you trampy, no-talent bitch!”
“Bastard!” She whirled on him, and for the first time, he noticed the handprint embedded in the makeup on her painted face.
“So who hit you?”
Her hand trembled when she lit a cigarette. She blew smoke rings in the air. “That Mrs. Forester was just here. She ain’t the whimpering little mouse I remember. She slapped me and called me a slut!”
“Sierra Forester was here?” He grabbed her shoulders, shook her. “Tell me, how long ago?”
“A few minutes. Didn’t you hear me? She called me a slut!”
“So she’s a good judge of character. Where did she go?”
“How the hell should I know? But I got even with her.” Trixie grinned. “I told her what you said about Robert bein’ shot in the back!”
“Trixie, your mouth is the second biggest hole in your body and the least smart!”
“You got no right to talk to me like that!”
Gill shoved her. “Blast it all, shut up! I’m sick of you and your shriekin’ voice. You sound like a coyote caught in a trap! I’m goin’ after Sierra, and when I get back, I want you gone, you hear?”
She grabbed his arm. “But I came here to celebrate New Year’s. I figured we could have our own little party. I was gonna make love to you.”
Her hatred of him showed in her eyes. She was up to something, but he didn’t have any interest in what it was, not even in mounting her lush body for a few frenzied minutes. “Forget it, slut!” He slapped her hand away, went outside.
Sierra Forester was in the area, and Gill meant to have her, but he wanted that Injun dead first. He headed for the stable. Mooney and Schultz, Allen and Taylor were there. Their startled expressions told him he’d interrupted a meeting.
“Sergeant,” he snapped, “was Sierra Forester on this post?”
There was a long pause. Even though the evening was cool, sweat broke out on the Irishman’s face. “Holy Saint Patrick, I don’t honestly remember.”
Everyone was trying to stop him from doing his duty and getting that girl. “Damn it! Why is everyone lying to me, delaying me? I know she was here tonight, and that damned Injun is probably around, too.”
Mooney took off his hat, ran a freckled hand through his thinning hair. “Now that you mention it, I believe she was here, but I think Mrs. Forester went back to Bowie Station to catch a train east.”
“Mooney, you damned liar! If that was where she was headed, she would have passed me as I drove in. I’ll bet she’s gone out to meet that Apache.”
“Now, now, sir.” The sergeant made a soothing gesture. “There’s no moon, and it’s dark as the inside of a cow. We couldn’t track them. And it’s New Year’s Eve, sir. Why don’t you have a few drinks over at the cantina and, maybe tomorrow afternoon, take a patrol and ride out, have a look around?”
“Damn! You think I’m an idiot!” Gill slammed a fist into his palm. “By then, that Injun will be across the border and gone. I’m taking a patrol and goin’ after him tonight!”
The men looked at each other, and the Irishman ran a finger around his collar as if he were choking. “Sir, with the holiday and so many men out, it’d be hard to round up enough sober soldiers to form a patrol. It might take me hours–”
“You four look sober, and I figure I can count on young Finney. Sergeant, I order you to round up a patrol, which I will lead. Right now! I want the men ready to move out in fifteen minutes. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” Mooney looked grim as he snapped to attention.
“And another thing,” Gill snarled, “take a pack mule loaded with ammunition and supplies. We’re staying out until we run that red bastard to ground. Saddle up the Medicine Hat stallion for me. The irony of riding Cholla’s own horse to hunt him down pleases me.”
Sweat ran down the reddish face. “Yes, sir. It may take me awhile–”
“It better not!” Gill glowered at him. “You may not reenlist, but at this moment, you are still in the U.S. Cavalry. I could have you shot or imprisoned for deliberately impeding an officer in pursuit of his duty. Now, all of you, get moving!”
; The troopers snapped salutes and left.
Gill laughed with delight, even though his teeth were aching again. In sheer defiance, he took out the crumpled bag of candy, put a cinnamon drop in his mouth, crushed it noisily between his teeth. Only one thing hotter than cinnamon, he thought with relish, remembering the feel of Sierra’s warm skin. He wondered if her insides were hot, too? He sure intended to find out. No matter how he got her, he wanted her ripe body under him at least once after he killed or captured that Apache.
The moon came out, big and yellow as gold–the Apache gold none of these damned savages would ever tell him or Robert about. They said their god, Usen, claimed it for his own and it was taboo for their people to dig for it.
Gill leaned against a post, munching candy and watching Sergeant Mooney assemble the patrol. On one thing, the Irishman had been right; some of the men had been celebrating early and looked a little the worse for wear. Most officers would wait under these circumstances, but if Gill held off until he had a full patrol of sober men, and official approval for what he was about to do, the Indian would be long gone.
He wondered again if Mooney knew what he and Robert had done to Cholla’s sister. Mooney and the Apache were friends, and frankly, Gill would never feel really safe until both Cholla and Mooney were dead. Well, if the Apache was captured, he could always be shot “escaping” en route to the train station to be shipped to Florida. Gill would just have to make sure there were no witnesses.
As for the sergeant, this very patrol was going to be his final assignment. Mooney would accidentally catch a stray bullet that would silence him forever, and it would be hard to prove that the Apache hadn’t shot him or that his death hadn’t been a tragic accident.
Mooney now had the patrol assembled. He led out the black and white paint stallion for Gill. Gill frowned as he looked over the hastily assembled group: Mooney, Schultz, Allen, Taylor, and Finney, and a few soldiers he didn’t know. Young Finney looked a little drunk, but so did a couple of the nameless men sitting their horses. Gill suspected Mooney had dragged some of them away from an early celebration. “Sergeant, couldn’t you find a full patrol of sober men?”
Mooney snapped to attention. “Like I told you before, sir, being’s as how it’s a holiday, I could give you a full patrol or a sober group, but not both.”
“Blast it all!” Gill fumed, so angry his hands shook. “You’re all trying to delay me; stop me from doing my duty. I ought to throw you all in the guardhouse. Order is what I want and can’t get–order!”
“I’ll have a beer.” Finney hiccoughed and reeled in his saddle.
“Attention!” Gill shouted, and the patrol snapped up straight in the saddle. He’d ride that alcohol out of their systems. In a couple of hours, they’d all be cold sober, their heads pounding like horses’ hooves on hard ground. They didn’t like him. Like Pa, they didn’t like him. He’d show them; he’d show them all.
Gill swung up on the Medicine Hat stallion. “All right, Sergeant.”
As if Fate were trying to help Gill, the moon came out from behind the clouds, bathing the scene in light. The fresh hoof prints led out to the southeast.
Gill chortled. “Okay, there’s her trail.” He pointed, and they rode out, following the indentations made by the hooves of Sierra’s horse. Gill glanced back at the patrol strung out behind him as they rode away from the fort. Nothing was going to stand in his way this time. He grinned as he imagined the look on Cholla’s face when the patrol caught up with him. Pleased, he spurred the spirited stallion to a faster pace.
Sierra rode at a lope back toward Cholla’s camp, Ke’jaa trotting along beside her Medicine Hat mare is if he knew she was returning him to his beloved master.
Her mood fluctuated between happiness and despair as she thought about seeing the Indian again.
Shot in the back. She had sensed all along that Cholla knew something he wasn’t telling, that he had some secret. So he had taken an oath to remain silent. She hoped that, if she confronted him, he would admit that Robert had, indeed, been a coward who had tried to run from the field of battle and had been picked off. The other possibility, that of a brother’s revenge, she didn’t even want to think about.
She would tell Cholla she had come to return his. dog. If she got there in time. Sierra glanced up at the clear, cold night and shivered a little, even though the wind had died down. The moon was full, the stars sparkled in a black velvet sky. Cholla might already have left his camp, headed south. If she missed him, she didn’t know how to find the trail he planned to take so she couldn’t follow him. In that case, she might never know the answers to her questions. They would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Well, all she could do was hope she got there in time to confront him. The moon moved slowly across the night sky as she rode through the rugged hills. Somewhere a coyote howled, and the eerie sound echoed across the lonely landscape. When she took a breath, the smell of mesquite and cedar scented the air. Though it seemed like forever, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours before she approached the area of the camp. As she rode closer, she saw no fire and her heart almost stopped. He had gone.
A rifle bullet sang past her, echoing in the night, causing her mare to rear, throw her to the ground.
“Cholla! Don’t shoot! It’s me, Sierra!”
He showed himself then, up in the rocks. “By Usen, I almost killed you!” He jumped down from the boulder as she scrambled to her feet.
“I ... I brought your dog.” She stood there awkwardly.
“My dog?” He looked at her in disbelief, then seemed to see the big, yellow animal for the first time. “Ke’jaa!”
The dog ran to him, whining, laying its big head on Cholla’s boot with a worshipful sigh.
Cholla knelt, threw his arms around Ke’jaa’s neck. For a long moment, the only sound was the dog’s whimpering as it licked its master’s face.
The sight made Sierra glad that the pair was reunited. At least Cholla wouldn’t be so alone in Mexico. “Sergeant Mooney managed to save him when the others were shot. I knew you’d want me to bring him.”
“Thank you for that.” He stood up slowly, looking at her. “Is Tom okay? Did you give him my message?”
Sierra nodded, wondering how she’d dare ask the questions that plagued her? “Lieutenant Gillen’s due in at the fort tonight, but you’ll be gone so it doesn’t matter. In fact, I was surprised to find you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck as if unsure what to say. “I was just a little slow in leaving.” He nodded toward the dead ashes of his fire. “If you had gotten here five minutes later, I would have been gone.”
She bit her lip, looking from the happy dog to the stoic expression of the man.... shot in the back . . . If Robert had been fleeing the scene, would Cholla or Tom Mooney have hesitated to tell her? Maybe, but she sensed something darker, more terrible.
To Sierra, it felt like they stared into each other’s eyes forever. He seemed to be hesitating to leave, even though the longer he delayed, the more danger he was in. And she could not bring herself to ask the questions that tormented her so. Did you murder my husband in such a cowardly way? Did you ever care one smidgen for me, or was I only part of your revenge, because of what happened to your sister?
“Well . . .” Sierra licked dry lips. “I ... I guess I’d better be getting back. Good luck to you.”
“Thank you for bringing my dog,” he said. “And tell Sergeant Mooney I hope the gold gives him a comfortable old age.”
Gold? She didn’t know what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. Take me with you, her heart cried, but she didn’t speak.
Tears blinding her, Sierra turned and walked toward her mare. She wanted to leave before she broke down. She had the rest of her life to weep.
Cholla stared after her, watching her walk toward her horse. She was going to ride away and leave him after all. In truth, he had delayed leaving the camp because he hoped she cared enough to come after him, to o
ffer to share his dangerous life below the border. Then, when she had ridden in unexpectedly, he had almost shot her.
But she hadn’t come here to go with him, only to return his dog. Still, he sensed something was wrong, that something had come between them.
Will she come with me if I beg her? He was a proud man, not used to pleading for anything. He considered taking her with him as a captive, as he had done when he’d first met her.
No. He shook his head as he watched Sierra adjust her bridle, making ready to leave. He didn’t want her if she didn’t care enough for him to accompany him of her own free will. To admit he needed her was more than he could bring himself to do, but there was more than pride involved here.
From the moment she had ridden in, he had felt a new, invisible wall between them. Had she found out the secret? Tom couldn’t tell her, and Cholla wouldn’t; not even if it cost him the woman he loved. There was honor involved, and a man without honor was no man at all.
Sierra was about to mount the mare. He had one moment to choose between his pride and the woman he loved. Suppose she laughed and said no. If he didn’t ask, he would always wonder what her answer would have been.
He watched her swing up into the saddle, pick up the reins. He would regret this moment the rest of his life–the rest of his lonely life.
He suddenly knew that nothing mattered without her, not his life or his freedom, least of all his pride, and he ran toward her shouting, “Sierra! Don’t go! Don’t leave me!”
Surprised by his outcry, she turned in the saddle, saw him coming toward her, arms outstretched. “What did you say?”
“I said, ishton, don’t go! I love you!”
God help her, she didn’t care any more what had happened in that arroyo. Even if he had murdered Robert, she loved the Apache more than anything in the world, and nothing else mattered to her.
Sierra wasn’t even conscious of doing so, but she slid off the horse and into his arms. “Oh, Cholla, dearest . . .” She could say no more because she was weeping and his dear lips were kissing the tears from her face as he pulled her hard against his chest and kissed her as if he would never let her go.