“You?” Keller pursed his lips thoughtfully. “She got into her own mess, Lieutenant.” He sat down again, taking some papers from another drawer. “I’ll write up some extradition papers.” He leaned closer. “But I’m telling you right now that if you get caught in this lie, I’ll swear I never signed any such papers, that you must have stolen and forged them. I’ll tell them that since you were officially discharged, the Army will have nothing to do with any such business as you trying to free some woman from jail in another territory.”
“That’s fine. All I want are the papers. I’ll take full blame and responsibility if something goes wrong. I would never involve you, sir.”
Their eyes held, and the major managed a smile. “If I didn’t already know what a trustworthy man you are, I wouldn’t do this. I might also add that I’m doing it for a man I respect—a man who is now a civilian. This won’t be an Army matter. It’s personal.”
Clay nodded. “I understand. I’ll be forever grateful, sir. I’d like to keep my uniform so it all looks official when I get there.”
“Fine. I’ll tell Supplies you made a special request to keep one uniform—to show your grandchildren, whatever.”
Clay grinned, his heart rushing with a mixture of hope and dread. Would all this be for nothing? Nina could already be dead. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough, sir. You’ll understand, I hope, why you’ll probably never hear from me again. It’s best for both you and me.”
“I understand.” The man rose. “Give me some time to fill out the papers. Report back here early this evening.”
Clay also rose, saluting. “Yes, sir.”
“No need to salute any longer, Lieutenant, or should I say Mr. Youngblood?”
“Clay, sir.”
Keller put out his hand and Clay took it. “John. Not that it will matter, for we won’t see each other again. I’ll miss you, Clay.”
“And I’ll miss the Army.” They released hands. “But it’s time to do something else with my life. If things work out the way I’d like, I’ll have a new wife.”
A look of skepticism moved into Keller’s eyes. “I have my doubts, Clay, but I hope only the best for you. Just remember, this is entirely on your shoulders, once you leave Camp Verde.”
“I know, sir.”
The major nodded. “Go gather your things, turn in your equipment.”
“I’d like to buy a horse.”
“Sure you don’t want a camel? We still have a few rejects out there in the pens. They’re talking about just letting some of them loose in the desert to fend for themselves. Lord knows no one in these parts would buy one, except the Army, of course.”
Clay grinned. “No, thanks. I did look forward to finishing that expedition, though. I’m sorry about that.”
“You did what you thought was right at the time. A citizen demanded help, and you gave it. I’m sorry it ended up involving Miss Juarez, and you getting hurt.”
Their eyes held. “Yes, so am I.” Clay put on his hat. “I’ll be back later, sir.” Both men nodded, and Clay turned and left, heading for where the remuda was kept. He wanted to find a good, healthy horse that would get him to Santa Fe as fast as possible. He would take Nina’s black gelding with him. She would need it, if and when he was able to free her.
He passed a pen where a few camels grazed, and the sight of them brought an old pain to his heart. If not for having to go to Indianola to pick up those first animals, he never would have met Nina. That would turn out to either be the best or the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He wouldn’t know which until he got to Santa Fe.
Nina paced, wondering how she was going to bear three long years in the stuffy, dusty cells of the jailhouse with nothing to do. The sheriff had ordered she be given some reading material, but she was only able to study the pictures and illustrations inside the few books that had any. The women who had been incarcerated with her at the time she had been brought here had been released. At least she had had some company when they were there, someone to talk with, even though both women had been prostitutes. She had told them about Charlene, Carmell, and Juanita, although she did not say where she had known them, afraid they would tell one of the deputies, who would in turn tell the sheriff. The sheriff might send authorities to El Paso then to look for Emilio.
Her thoughts about Emilio were mixed. She did not want to believe her brother would desert her, and she told herself that he couldn’t help what had happened. Once she was in the hands of the soldiers, there was nothing he could have done to help her, and now he probably didn’t even know where she had been taken.
From the little marks she had scratched into the soft pine that framed the thick stucco walls of the jail, she determined she had been here over two months. Two months out of thirty-six! She wished another prisoner would be brought in, no matter how repulsive she might be. At least it would be someone to whom she could talk, and more important, with someone else present, the deputy called Stan was not as likely to give her trouble.
Stan had taunted and threatened her nearly every day so far. She suspected it was only the presence of the other prisoners that kept him at bay, although he did not fail to be cruel to her, including not giving her fresh water when necessary and sometimes not bringing her food. She knew he was trying to break her down, make her beg, bring her to the point where she would consent to anything to get better treatment. But she was not about to give in. She had meant what she said about dying first.
The terror she had managed to keep submerged was beginning to surface now that she was totally alone. Stan had grinned knowingly this morning when he brought her breakfast, and she wondered how on earth she was going to keep fending off the man for three years, when much of the time there would be no one else around.
How she longed to be free again! She ached to ride on her black horse across the open plains, racing Emilio, but now she pictured Clay Youngblood riding on her other side, all three of them happy and healthy and free…free to love.
She heard the dreaded footsteps then. It was suppertime, and Stan was the one who brought her meals; two meals a day was all she was allowed, and she knew she was getting thinner, for the food wasn’t much good, and she had little appetite. She spent most of her time pacing and worrying, and she wondered if she might be completely crazy by the time she was released from this place. If Stan did to her what was done to her mother, she knew she would go crazy. She was instantly on guard when she heard him coming, all her defenses rising when he appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Well, have you been havin’ a nice conversation with yourself?” he asked, coming closer. He set down the tray and unlocked her cell door, pulling it open.
“I would like to at least be put in one of the other cells,” she answered defiantly. “One that has a window. If I cannot at least look outside now and then, you will have a madwoman on your hands before too long.”
“You’ve got books.”
“You know I cannot read them. They are in your language. I speak it, but I cannot read it.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” He stooped down and lifted the tray, bringing it inside her cell. “I forgot what an uneducated, ignorant little thing you are.”
Nina told herself to control her temper. He probably wanted to provoke her. “There is no reason why I cannot be put in one of the other cells,” she repeated. “No one else is using them.”
Stan grinned through tobacco-stained teeth. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? Mexicans don’t get windows.” He set the tray on one end of the cot, then turned to face her. “Of course, now that we’re up here alone…” He glanced at the stairway, “I might be convinced to do a lot of nice things for you, if you want to pay me for them. I can bring you sewing, picture books, knitting, put you in another cell—anything you want. I’ve told you before: you be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”
Nina put her hands on her hips, holding her chin high. “I would rather die from boredom.”
He came cl
oser. “I could relieve that boredom real easy,” he suggested, his eyes moving over her. “Fact is, with nobody else up here, I don’t exactly have to have your permission to get what’s under that skirt.”
Their eyes held, and Nina felt her throat constricting. Ugly memories began invading her mind again, making her forget thoughts of Emilio or Clay, or of having a window in her cell. “Get out of here and let me eat,” she told him with a sneer.
He only snickered. “You Mexican women who think you’re prim and proper, you sure can play hard to get,” he said. He unbuckled his gunbelt and tossed it out beyond the cell. “Wouldn’t want a little bitch like you getting hold of my gun just when I’m enjoying what’s under that skirt now, would I?”
He reached out to touch her face, and Nina jerked her head, flipping her hair behind her shoulders. “In my country a man must court a woman for many weeks before he is even allowed to be alone with her. We are prim and proper. No honorable Mexican woman would allow the likes of you to touch her. Now get out of this cell! I am a prisoner here, not your personal slave!”
The slap came hard and quick. Nina had not even seen him move his arm. The blow sent her sprawling across the cot. Stan grabbed the food tray and threw it to the floor, and before Nina could get back up, he was on top of her, his full weight crushing at her stomach and making it hard to breathe. “That was to make sure I shut you up right off so you don’t try screaming,” he sneered. “Don’t talk to me about proper Mexican women, you little slut! You rode with that gang, and I don’t care what you say, it wasn’t because of your brother. You belonged to one of them, didn’t you? Maybe they all shared you!”
Nina could barely see him, the hard slap making her ears ring and her sight fuzzy. She smelled his breath, foul from chewing tobacco and from liquor. He had been drinking, just like the men who had attacked her mother! Her nostrils stung with the added smell of his perspiration, made worse by the heat and stagnant air in the upper room. She saw his blurred face, and she reached up and scratched at it deeply, making him cry out and leap up.
Nina quickly got to her feet, headed for the cell door she knew he had left open, but she felt a painful grip on her arm.
“Feisty little bitch, aren’t you!” Stan growled. He shoved her head against the bars, banging her forehead into them. “I’ll shut you up good and teach you a lesson, you little greaser,” he added, slamming her head against the bars again. “After this you’ll let me have whatever I want, whenever I want it!”
From somewhere deep inside, where a little voice told her she must fight back, she managed to draw in her breath and scream. A hand came around her mouth, and she kicked backward with a booted foot, catching him in the shinbone. He grunted and released his hold for just a moment, and Nina screamed for help before she felt herself jerked around. There came another blow, one that made everything seem suddenly dark and quiet. She could feel herself being thrown back onto the cot.
“Ain’t nobody gonna come to the aid of a slutty horse thief,” she thought someone said, although the voice seemed very far away. She felt a weight on top of her, felt her blouse being torn open. “And the sheriff went on an errand. It’s just you and me, little one. I ain’t had my own supper yet, but I’m about to get it.”
Her worst nightmare was being realized as she felt him grope at her breasts. Suddenly this seemed to be happening to her mother, and she was watching, a little girl sitting in a corner crying while her mother screamed for help. Now she heard the scream. Was it coming from her own lips?
“What in hell does it take to shut you up?” a man asked. She felt another blow, felt hands groping near her hips.
“Creighton!”
Someone had shouted the name. Wasn’t Creighton Stan’s last name?
“What do you think you’re doing! Get off of her!”
Nina felt the awful weight suddenly leave her.
“Get out of that cell!”
“I thought you were gone, Sheriff. Hell, I was just—”
“You were just going to rape a helpless woman! She’s a prisoner, Creighton, my responsibility—not your personal whore! Her sentence is three years in jail, not three years of rapes and beatings! Get out of there now!”
“Well…what the hell, Sheriff? She’s just a horse thief, probably layed with every one of them men.”
“I don’t give a damn if she’s the biggest whore in New Mexico Territory! That doesn’t give you the right to attack her when I’m gone. I trust you to behave like a decent lawman is supposed to behave! We’ve got enough trouble having her here in the first place. All we need is for those Mexicans out there to find out she’s been beaten and almost raped! Now get the hell out of here, and leave that badge on my desk on your way! Your job is terminated!”
There was a moment of silence. “Over a Mexican woman?”
“Over your own inability to control yourself! You’re drunk again, and I can’t trust you. Get going!”
Nina rolled to her side, drawing up her knees. She was vaguely aware of the sheriff leaning over her then. He told her everything would be all right, that he would send a doctor for her. After that everything was black, but for how long, she wasn’t even sure. She remembered some woman washing her and helping her put on clean clothes, one of her own red shirts and her suede riding skirt, clothes from her own gear, which she had been allowed to keep in her cell.
Everything hurt, especially her jaw and her head. She did not know that two huge blue welts had appeared on her forehead, that her lip was split and her face badly bruised. She was not at all sure whether or not Stan had done the worst to her, but in her own ignorance of such things, she was sure he must have, even though she didn’t remember that part.
Her first memory of awakening to full reality held the sound of birds singing, the feel of sunshine on her face. She opened her eyes, feeling right away that one eye was swollen. She could see a barred window, and she slowly sat up, realizing she had been moved to a cell with a window. She told herself she had that much to be thankful for, though she winced with pain when she moved. Everything hurt from head to toe, especially her face and ribs.
Her agony and humiliation knew no bounds. This was worse than her treatment from Jess Humes. And who was to say it wouldn’t happen again? She was helpless here in this cell. If the sheriff hadn’t come along…She struggled to remember. How far had the deputy gone? What had the sheriff seen when he came to her aid? She put a hand to her belly, then gasped at the ugly memories.
She had to do something to keep her sanity. In spite of her pain she managed to drag a chair to the window and climb up onto it. She felt dizzy, but she clung to the window bars for support and looked out at the street. How wonderful it was just to watch people moving about below, to see so many people of her own kind, some selling fruit, a few taking a siesta, one man sitting near a watering trough with his sombrero pulled down over his eyes.
Life went on. How she longed to be a part of it again, to be out of this place. She thought about Clay again, how if he had been here, he never would have let Stan Creighton near her. Here she was in jail just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, while Creighton walked free after beating and trying to rape her. She did not understand American justice.
She watched the busy street, desperately wanting to keep from thinking about what had happened to her, afraid to take a mirror from her gear and look at herself. She touched her forehead and felt the welts, felt her swollen eye. She felt sick to her stomach, and decided she had better lie back down.
She started to turn away, but then she saw him, a uniformed man riding up the street. Her heart rushed with joyous disbelief when she recognized the handsome black horse he led behind him. Her horse! There was no mistaking her prize gelding! And if it was her horse, who else would be bringing it but…Clay Youngblood!
She stared transfixed as the figure came closer, stopping in front of the jail. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, and Nina recognized the sandy hair. “Clay!�
� she whispered. He was alive! More than that, he had come for her! Surely that was why he was here!
Chapter Seventeen
Clay entered the small jailhouse office, where Sheriff Marion Sinclair was sitting behind his desk drinking coffee from a heavy mug, a tray of food in front of him. He was an aging man, with gray hair and mustache; his potbelly indicated someone who liked to eat and drink. His pale-blue eyes showed surprise and respect when Clay’s commanding figure filled the small room. He stood straight and tall in uniform, giving an appearance of complete authority.
“Are you Sheriff Sinclair?” Clay asked, holding Nina’s release papers in his hand and praying that his idea would work.
Outside a wagon clattered by, raising a cloud of dust, some of it filtering into the hot room. Sinclair rose, setting down his coffee cup. “I am. What can I do for you…” He squinted, studying the silver bar on Clay’s Army jacket. “Lieutenant?”
Clay nodded. “Lieutenant Clayton Youngblood, Sheriff, from Camp Verde, Texas. I’m looking for a prisoner you might be holding here. Unless she might have been hanged. She was sent up from Fort Fillmore, a Mexican woman called Nina Juarez.”
“Miss Juarez? Yes, she’s right upstairs.”
Clay’s heartbeat quickened at the words. Nina! She was still alive!
“What the heck does the Army want with a worthless little horse thief like her?” Sinclair finished.
Clay handed him the papers. “She is to be extradited to Texas. She’s wanted there also on several charges. Those papers are from my commander, Major John Keller at Camp Verde. I’ve been assigned to take Miss Juarez back with me. The Army figured one man ought to be enough.”
Sinclair snickered as he sat back down and looked over the papers. “You’d be surprised,” he commented. “My deputy found out a couple of days ago that the hot little pepper is not as easy to handle as you might think. You’d better be damn careful, Lieutenant.” The man pulled at his mustache as he studied the order in his hands. “Hmm. Looks on the up and up. Must be some rich rancher in Texas who wants to see her punished personally. I expect there are a lot of victims of that thieving bunch who are out for blood. Miss Juarez will be damn lucky if she continues to escape the noose.”
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