Only in My Arms

by Jo Goodman

  "No," Ryder told her.

  She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "There's shade there. It will be cooler."

  "Apache don't rest in the shade because it's so obvious. We'll rest there, among the mesquite and yucca." When Mary didn't argue, but obligingly turned around and followed him, he once again felt the enormous responsibility of her trust.

  They were up again at sunset. A patrol from the fort passed within a hundred yards of them a few hours later, but not one man in it glanced in their direction. Mary and Ryder stayed concealed in the rocks until Ryder was reasonably certain the danger had passed.

  "They weren't looking for us," Mary whispered as Ryder helped her up. Her voice was husky. She hadn't spoken a word for hours.

  "That was just a routine patrol. No scouts. They weren't searching for us, but they would have been happy to stumble on our trail."

  Mary realized that Ryder had not exaggerated the dangers. She fell in step behind him and found comfort in a familiar litany of prayers.

  Ryder found fresh water for them as the moon was on the rise. Mary filled the canteens and splashed her face while he kept watch. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed his still, waiting expression. He seemed prepared to sense even the slightest shift in the current of air.

  "I'm ready," she said.

  He reached for her, touching her hair with his fingertips. Her features were so perfectly composed, her manner so tranquil, that he took a measure of her peace for himself. Ryder nodded once. "This way."

  They arrived at Holland Mines when it was still dark, but there was no means of approaching that would not create a stir. Tents were set up near the perimeter of the track that led to the mine's adit. They were all fairly uniform and nondescript. No lantern light emanated from under any of the canvas. There was no way of knowing if any of them was being used by Rennie or Jarret or some other member of Mary's family.

  No one stirred in the camp. A guard was posted near the adit, but his head lolled to the side at such an uncomfortable angle that Ryder and Mary knew he was sleeping. A dozen horses and burros shifted listlessly in the corral.

  "Where is the track being laid?" Ryder asked.

  "It's coming north from Tucson," she whispered. "They work from the point of the completed section so they can carry supplies and timber as they go. Rennie is having this area graded and prepared." Mary massaged the back of her neck and rotated her head slowly. "If Rennie and Jarret aren't here now, they will be in the morning. We'll just have to wait."

  Ryder had been thinking the same thing. He looked around, examining their location again to make sure it was safe from a casual observer in the camp. In the morning, when the miners and track laborers began rising, he and Mary couldn't afford to be vulnerable.

  Satisfied, he leaned back against a rock and stretched his legs. He patted the ground beside him and waited for Mary to scoot back and join him. Her head fit nicely into the curve of his shoulder. "Sleep," he said.

  Her eyes already closing, she didn't require the soft command. There was no casual drift into sleep. This time she was overpowered by it.

  Ryder's hand relaxed on the Henry rifle at his side. The night sounds around him were familiar and unremarkable: the gentle snuffling of the horses in the corral; the rustle of the scrub grasses; the soft, even cadence of Mary's breath. Small animals like the burrowing owl and the raccoon moved out of their homes to investigate the mining camp's easy pickings.

  Leaning back his head, Ryder stared at the clear night sky. After so many nights spent in the confines of the cavern, this vast canopy of light gave him enormous pleasure. The heavens held the constellations of his father's teachings, characters of ancient Greek and Roman legends. They also held the stars of his Chiricahua upbringing. The same grouping of stars lent themselves to different myths depending on one's perspective.

  It was Ryder's destiny, his gift and his burden, to be in one place and absorb two views. In this moment, he enjoyed it as a gift.

  * * *

  Mary came awake abruptly. Her eyes opened wide above the hand that was clamped hard over her mouth and nose, but the sharp edge of her panic was dulled as she recognized it was Ryder who held her. A warning for quiet was clear on his face. She nodded slightly, communicating her assent and understanding.

  Ryder removed his hand slowly. He pointed to the ground, then her, indicating she should stay where she was. She looked at him questioningly, but agreed. Her expression became more anxious when he pointed to himself then toward the camp. He shrugged out of his Army coat and gave it to her, but when she would have put it around her shoulders, he stopped her. With quick economic gestures, he told her to sit on it.

  Turning away from Mary, Ryder crouched behind the rock that served as their cover. He felt Mary's tug on his belt but gave it no attention. His hand gripped the Henry rifle now and he raised it, not to fire but to have it ready.

  The Chiricahua raiders were at the corral. Ryder counted four men, all on foot, slipping around the posted perimeter. The horses were not alarmed in the least by the quiet, calming movements of the trespassers. In the distance, out of the line of his vision, Ryder could hear the more agitated sounds of other horses, the high-strung shuffling and nervous energy of animals ready to be urged into a wild run. Ryder's best guess was that the raiding party included a dozen more warriors who were only waiting for the corralled horses to be released before they attacked.

  Ryder slipped out from behind his cover and cautiously worked his way down to the camp. The raiders were preparing to swing open the corral gates. Ryder's rifle was useless in this situation. If he fired it would rouse the mining camp, but it also would bring a volley of shots from the waiting warriors.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth he mimicked the cry of the great horned owl. All four Apache raiders stopped in their tracks. The owl's cry was an omen of danger and death, and they acknowledged this by pausing in their work. Ryder released the cry again, softer this time, capturing the eerie fierceness of the night predator, then he raised his rifle overhead and stood.

  The raiders, made hypervigilant by the night stalker's cry, saw Ryder emerge from his hiding place as if he had risen from the dust. Their momentary rush of fear was transmitted immediately to the animals, and the horses and burros began to snort and bray. Keeping his weapon lifted above his head, Ryder walked quickly toward the corral before the restless animals woke the camp's guard or alerted the more distant warriors.

  Mary's heart lodged firmly in her throat as she watched Ryder stride boldly across the open ground. It was a good place for her heart, she thought absurdly, because that kept her from making a sound. She found she could not draw a full breath until he made it to the corral without incident.

  It was unnerving to watch the action and have no role in the outcome. Mary could see that Ryder was speaking to the raiders at the same time he was drawing them away from the corral. She was aware of the animals quieting and of silence returning to the encampment as Ryder and the raiders disappeared behind the curtain of night.

  Minutes passed and he did not reappear. Mary's legs ached from her crouched position, and her promise to stay where she was tore at her conscience. It had never been her way to do nothing, but in this instance she had no clear idea of what she could do.

  In the space of a heartbeat, the decision was taken out of her hands.

  * * *

  Ryder carried his rifle at his side. Surrounded now by the raiders, it was no longer necessary to hold it overhead. After some arguing with him and among themselves they led him to the band of warriors who had been awaiting their signal. Ryder had no difficulty finding the great Geronimo among them.

  Geronimo's broad face was cut by deep creases, carved by the weather in much the same manner the earth was carved by sun and storms. The silver medallion he wore on a rawhide thong around his neck flashed briefly in the moonlight. He allowed his mount to advance a few steps, bringing him out of the phalanx of skittish animals.

  "R
yder." Geronimo pronounced it with a guttural harshness that could not be mistaken for a greeting. "You interfere."

  "My wife's family may be among those you intend to murder in their sleep," he said.

  The Chiricahua leader did not blink. He stared at Ryder stonily, unmoved by this information. "Naiche is my brother, and you are his son. That is why no one moves to kill you now. You may go and we will forget this trespass in our affairs."

  "I will bring you the horses," Ryder said.

  Geronimo's mouth flattened. "The animals were ours, and you stopped the raid."

  "I stopped the bloodshed." Ryder saw the truth of his words in Geronimo's flinty eyes. "My wife's father is powerful among his people as you are powerful among so many. There will be great retribution for taking the lives of his loved ones."

  "Your wife's family brings the iron horse," Geronimo intoned gravely.

  Ryder's chest tightened. He hadn't realized Geronimo knew that Mary's family was connected to the railroad. This did not favor Ryder's ability to bargain. "Yes," he said.

  "You are a traitor to your people," the chief said.

  Ryder knew Geronimo meant the Chiricahua. "The white leaders say the same," he said. "But I have betrayed no one. I live in one world and I remain true to all people as I am true to myself."

  "How will you fight tonight?" Geronimo asked. "On whose side?"

  "On my side," Ryder said, returning Geronimo's hard stare. "I will fight you to prevent more bloodshed, and I will fight my wife's people to bring you the horses."

  Geronimo was silent, in no hurry to make his decision. "My heart is sad for you," he said finally. "For I think you live in no world and trust no one." There were whispers among the warriors as they anticipated their leader's decision. "Bring us the horses." There was the slightest pause, and then Geronimo spoke Ryder's name in the Apache tongue, "One-Who-Rides-The-Wind."

  Ryder acknowledged this with a slight bow of his head before he turned. The irony of the similarities in his Christian and Chiricahua names had never been lost on him, but now the connection seemed more important than ever. Once again he was bridging both cultures, two lives.

  Ryder returned to the corral alone. He climbed over the fence and dropped inside. Leaning his rifle against the fence, he began to run a leading string around the horses, tethering them together so they wouldn't stray when he released them. The animals were calm under his gentle direction. The horses lined up docilely, and the burros meekly went to another corner. Ryder was ready to raise the rope on the gate when a familiar but unexpected voice stopped him.

  "I'm not going to let you do that," Rosario said lowly.

  Ryder did not drop the rope, but some small movement he made indicated his intention to go for his gun.

  Rosario stepped out of the shadows of the nearby mining machinery. "And I'm not going to let you do that." The Tonto scout was shielded by Mary's body. He held a knife to her throat.

  Ryder's face gave no indication of the jolt that went through him. He let the rope fall back into place. "Let her go." Though Rosario had spoken English, Ryder gave his order in the Tonto dialect of the Apache tongue. "You only want me."

  "I will have both."

  "You will have nothing." Ryder practically spat the words. "You hide behind a woman. There is no honor in that."

  Rosario recognized the ploy: attack his pride and force him to give up his captive. "It means nothing coming from a man who has no honor," he said tightly.

  The blade was no longer cold on Mary's throat. The edge of it had drawn blood once, and she could feel the trickle against her skin. She was afraid and she was angry, but anyone who knew her would realize in which direction the scales of emotion were tipped. "For God's sake, speak English," she snapped. "If I'm going to die over it, then I'll damned well know what the argument's about."

  Ryder didn't flinch. Rosario, he saw, was taken back by her tone and her vehemence: The knife was pressed more firmly against Mary's throat, the blade turned in just a fraction more lethally. "He doesn't want me to release the horses," Ryder told her. "And he isn't willing to release you in exchange for my promise." He looked past Mary to Rosario. "You're condemning everyone here to death."

  Rosario's head cocked to one side, but he said nothing.

  "You saw the raiding party, didn't you?"

  He nodded. "Less than twenty men."

  "You fool. Geronimo is with them. It makes them a hundred strong." He saw Rosario's confusion. "And they'll run over this camp if I don't give them the horses. No one will escape. Least of all you. You could have had the great Geronimo. You settled for the easy coup instead."

  Mary felt her captor's anger rise and knew the moment she was going to be pushed away so he could face Ryder. Prepared as she was, the vigorous thrust still sent her sliding forward onto her knees. Her palms scraped the ground as she came to a halt. Catching her breath, she looked up and saw Ryder vaulting over the corral to attack Rosario.

  Mary scrambled to her feet and removed the knife from her moccasin pocket. Ryder and Rosario were circling each other. Rosario's knife was darkened on the edge by Mary's own blood. Ryder was without a weapon save his Colt, and it was useless because he didn't want to fire it and precipitate the bloodbath he was trying desperately to avoid. Mary tossed her knife onto the ground between the men.

  Rosario was small of stature, lithe and quick. A bandana held back his long ink black hair, but his locks swirled about his shoulder as he stabbed at Ryder to keep him from retrieving the weapon. Ryder easily removed himself from harm's way, feinted left then dove right, capturing the hilt as he somersaulted forward. He came to his feet again easily, this time on the other side of Rosario.

  Now that Ryder was armed, Mary turned her back on the combatants. Nothing she could do there could affect the outcome, but she must save the camp. Raising the looped rope on the gatepost, she let the corral gate swing open and grasped the leading string of the first horse to sidle up to her. With a firm, commanding tug, she led the animal out of the corral. Tethered together as they were, the others had little choice but to follow. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rosario's arm make a wide sweeping arc, saw Ryder duck the lethal pass. Mary pressed on.

  She didn't know where she was taking the horses. She was aware of the general direction in which Ryder had gone when he'd left the corral with the four Chiricahua raiders. She supposed, correctly, that they would find her.

  A band of six warriors stopped her, blocking her route with the animals. Giving herself to God's care and grace, Mary faced them squarely. She held up the leading strings in a tight fist. "These are for you."

  No one moved. No one commented. They simply stared at her. Mary was a woman outside the realm of their experience. Her shirt and trousers gave her an appearance they were not accustomed to in a white woman. The upturned moccasins, similar to their own, identified her as the one Ryder had married. They wondered at her cropped hair and oddly serene expression as she faced them. She did not cower in terror or raise her fist defiantly. If she was afraid, she had learned to accept the fear and absorb its strength for herself.

  One warrior moved forward. "She is One-Who-Rides-The-Wind's woman."

  Mary did not understand what was said, but there seemed to be general agreement among the other warriors. "These horses are a gift for the great Geronimo. My husband and I wish to make him this gift."

  The warrior who had come forward now reached for the leads and took them from Mary's hand. "What do you know of Geronimo?" he asked in English.

  Mary held her ground, but it was difficult with the horse and the men towering over her. "I know he has the mark of a powerful man," she said clearly.

  "How do you know this?" was the deeply graveled reply.

  "He is both feared and respected by his enemies."

  The warrior considered this a moment, then he translated for his band. There was another general murmur of agreement. "And would you tell him this if you met him?"

  Mary shook her head.
"Respect and fear would shut my mouth."

  There was deep, rich rumbling laughter when this was translated. "A cunning fox would have to steal her tongue to shut her mouth," he added in Apache and laughed at his own humor.

  Mary did not have to understand the language to know she was the object of their joking. It was clear they had no intention of harming her. Having made her gift, she was anxious to get back to the corral and Ryder. "I must go," she said. "My husband is—"

  "Is going to turn you over his knee."

  Mary spun on her heels as Ryder's voice came to her from behind. Moving past the horses, she launched herself into his arms and planted kisses over his face. Only half aware of what she was doing, she patted him down, exploring for puncture wounds.

  "I swear I am, Mary," he said between kisses. "Right over my knee."

  The warrior holding the horses nodded approvingly and offered his opinion in Apache.

  Still holding Ryder's dear face between her hands, Mary drew back slightly. "What did he say?" she asked.

  "Geronimo says I should beat you now and save myself years of agony."

  Mary blinked. "Geronimo?" Her hands dropped from Ryder's face, and she turned quickly in the direction of the band of warriors. They were already moving away, the great man himself leading the captured horses. She stared after him, awed by her close encounter, amazed at her own temerity. She closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross.

  Ryder lifted Mary against him in a hard, solid embrace. "I can't turn my back on you for a moment." He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her ear. "God," he whispered against her hair. "Thank God."

  "Does this mean you're not going to beat me?" she asked when he set her down.

  A wash of moonlight highlighted her mouth. Ryder's decision was easy. He kissed her. Mary gave herself up to it, forgetting all her questions and losing herself in the taste and texture of that kiss. "Oh," she said a little dazedly when he lifted his head. "Oh, my."

  Ryder smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."