by Martha Hix
“Wampum?”
“The miracle maker would leave the blue stones and the gold stones, plus the fine horse. And he would be pleased for the chief to help himself to cattle within the boundaries of the white man’s ranch. He could have as many head as needed to feed the women and children of this village for their journey deep into the Comancheria.” Braxton looked his adversary in the eye. “Does this sound fair to Stalking Wolf of the Comanche?”
“What about the firewater?”
“That, too.”
Studying the ground, then the sky above, the Indian pondered the offer. At last, he answered, “If Yellow Hair of Good Medicine cannot bring the dead back to life . . .” He made a slashing motion across Braxton’s forehead. “His scalp will decorate the flap pole of my tepee.”
“Fair enough.”
A gush of exasperation rushed from Skylla’s throat. Heaven help us, Braxton. Whatever is wrong with you that you would make such an outrageous claim?
“With one condition,” Brax added. “If Yellow Hair of Good Medicine fails, his women will have the freedom to leave this village and return to their home.”
Her heart skipping, Skylla listened to her husband barter. Her gaze swept to her sister, still trussed to a tree. The girl’s mouth had dropped; she didn’t move a muscle. Skylla’s gaze shifted back to Braxton. He had wagered his very life—to save the St. Clair sisters. He would have taken spears meant for his wife. Skylla loved him all the more for his selflessness.
“I will need a volunteer.” Braxton repeated those words, this time in the language of the Comanche.
All the Indians retreated, except for their chief.
“Your woman will be the volunteer,” said he.
Without missing a beat, Braxton replied, “Unacceptable. If my medicine goes bad, I will not have my woman suffer for it.”
The green-eyed tyke tiptoed forward. She held Electra at her side, at an uncomfortable-appearing angle. The calico, for some odd reason, didn’t protest being held thusly.
Braxton smiled. “I will kill the cat, then bring her back to life.”
“You will not!” screamed Kathy Ann.
“Quiet!” Stalking Wolf turned to the blonde. “This is a powwow, not a time for womanly advice.”
Skylla didn’t have a taste for cruelty to animals, but when it came down to a choice between a human’s life and a feline’s, there was no question in her mind. Let Braxton perform his wild stunt on Electra. Poor Electra.
“If my lady would hold on to the cat . . . ?” Braxton lifted a sandy-gold brow.
Somehow Skylla was able to nod in agreement. He took the cat from the little girl, leaned over to whisper something that sent her scurrying into the tepee she’d unlaced to fetch the cat, then handed Electra into Skylla’s shaking arms.
He turned and sauntered over to Impossible, began to search through his saddlebags.
Not a woman to kiss cats, Skylla nevertheless held Electra close and pressed a hard kiss to the top of her flat, furred head. The cat lay purring. A lamb in calico coat, she looked up with trust complete and replete.
Traitor to that faith, Skylla started to pray for a good end to this ploy, but stopped. She couldn’t ask Him for another favor. During the coin toss, she’d promised Him she wouldn’t.
“Sit down, please, lady of mine.” Braxton patted Skylla’s shoulder. “Hold Electra on your lap.”
She sat. She held fast. But when she got a look at what he held in his hand, she had to swallow her smile of relief. Braxton, infinitely resourceful, gripped a cotton-stuffed cone with a hole at the top, a short glass tube fitted with a pliant bulb, and a bottle of what she knew to be ether.
“Hold her steady,” he ordered Skylla.
He took the stopper from the ether and drew liquid into the bulb. While holding his breath, he settled the cone over Electra’s muzzle, dripped a small amount of the anesthetic into the cone, then rushed to push the cork back in the bottle.
The smell of ether swirled. Skylla, too, held her breath. Electra squealed, yowled and fought, then went limp.
In the blink of an eye, Braxton shoved the large end of the cone into the dirt. “She is dead,” he announced.
Kathy Ann cried out.
Subsequently, all eyes moved to the inert cat in Skylla’s arms. Electra’s mouth lay slightly open; her beautiful tricolored coat was now clumped and ugly, her limbs slack and her eyes glassy. Still and all, Skylla sensed a slight breath in Electra, an ever so slight sign of life. She glanced up to see if the Indian chief noticed. He hadn’t.
Stalking Wolf was walking over to the sobbing Kathy Ann. He touched her cheek and said something that calmed her.
When he returned to the spent campfire, he directed an order to Braxton. “Bring the cat back to life. It troubles Sun In Her Hair to see the carcass.”
“The cat must stay dead for some time.”
“Stalking Wolf says bring the cat back.” He reached for a knife sheathed in the waist of his breechclout. “Now!”
“If the spell is interrupted,” Braxton replied calmly, “bad medicine will hail upon the peaceable Comanches.”
Stalking Wolf bent a skeptical eye on him.
“You must have patience, great chief.”
The minutes turned to an hour. An hour turned to two, then three, then four. The sun settled in the western horizon. Skylla’s arm had gone to sleep from holding the cat. The blind drummer began to beat the drum with bone drumsticks and to sing a mournful song. A restlessness pulsed through the village.
A lovely young woman stepped between Skylla and Braxton, offering Skylla a drink from a gourd of water. Nothing had tasted better on her parched tongue. “Thank you,” she said.
“You are welcome.” The Indian woman ducked her chin.
“You speak English?”
“A little.” Sloe eyes looked up at Skylla. “I am called Pearl of the Concho. What are you called?”
Skylla answered, then asked where Pearl of the Concho had learned to speak English. “From the first wife of Stalking Wolf. Sweet Spirit came from a land called Eng-land. We cry for the loss of Sweet Spirit. We pray for a new wife to bring the sunshine back into our chief’s eyes.”
Skylla studied the man. There was nothing dull in his eyes, especially when he turned them to Kathy Ann.
Stalking Wolf then gave a terse order that sent Pearl of the Concho rushing away. Skylla was sorry to see her go. She would have liked to ask many questions about these strange people known as the Comanche.
“You want? You want?”
Skylla turned her face to an aged woman holding a pot of some sort of stew.
“You want?” The Indian held the iron pot up. It was not unlike the one stolen from the ranch in March. “You want?”
Shaking her head, Skylla watched the frail woman moved to Braxton and make the same offer. Like the Indians, he tucked into a gourd filled with stew.
By the time the moon was high in the sky, the almost imperceptible movement of Electra’s chest under Skylla’s fingers began to still. Skylla telegraphed a silent and frantic question to her husband: Did you give her too much? Have you killed her!
Stalking Wolf ran out of patience. “You lie, Yellow Hair of Good Medicine. You lie!” He shook his finger. Gesturing with his head, he called his braves forward. He spoke quickly, in words that had to mean, “Tie up the charlatan!”
Fear got the better of Skylla. She did something she’d promised not to do. She asked the Lord above to grant one more favor. Help us!
Braves grabbed Braxton’s arms, pinning him to the ground, while another hit him twice on the shoulder with a primitive club. Also restrained, Skylla dropped the cat—and wailed for her husband’s life.
Then it happened.
Electra reared her head. She got to unsteady paws, moving drunkenly, before stopping at Stalking Wolf’s moccasins to wretch and vomit.
Stalking Wolf barked orders to his braves.
They let go their holds on Braxton and Skylla.
A great shout went through the Indian village. The blind brave beat the drum faster. The women began to dance, sing, and shake rattles decorated with feathers and beads. Before it was over, the villagers prostrated themselves at the mighty Yellow Hair of Good Medicine’s feet.
Yellow Hair of Good Medicine had been sent by the Great Spirit was the general consensus. A holy man.
Home. It had never been sweeter, given their brush with death. And given that Braxton had eased Skylla’s mind on the treasure issue by saying he’d hidden it.
Kathy Ann, though, didn’t celebrate their return. The moment they arrived, she headed for her upstairs room, sullen at being rescued. The girl just didn’t know what was good for her. On the parlor’s settee, Skylla took comfort in the warmth of her husband’s arms.
“She can’t be serious.” Skylla snaked a hand around to his muscular back. “How could she wish to stay with such savages?”
“It’s not the worst life in the world. It has an elemental order to it that can bring a certain peace to a troubled individual.”
Skylla sensed that he referred to his own years with the heathen. Curiosity about her husband crowded to the forefront of her thoughts, but she did not wish to wait any longer to tell him of her feelings.
“You were wonderful out there.” She lifted her eyes to his. “I love you, holy man.”
“Say it again.” He waited with bated breath.
“Holy man,” she teased.
“Not that. The other.”
“I love you!”
His eyes now glowing in the reflected lamplight, he smiled. “I love you, too. With all my heart, Skylla Hale.”
Those wonderful words caressed her heart. She wanted him to be as content. She wanted and needed to understand everything about him. “Braxton . . . I know you don’t like Texas much, but please know I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”
“I am happy.” He touched his forehead to hers. “What pleases you, pleases me. You love this place, so I’ll learn to love it. Which calls to mind priorities. Getting those cows to the Army. I’d best ride out to the canyon. The boys will be wondering what happened to us. Furthermore, I’ve got to get to Camp Llano on the double, else Major Albright and his Blue Bellies will be charging the Comanches.”
“Braxton, it’s midnight. You mustn’t do anything until you’ve rested. You need it, with that shoulder.”
He chuckled. “I’m bruised, wife, not broken. I fought four years in a war. That was worse than a mere clubbing.”
“You win. Take off.” Not before they could spend a few minutes in the bedroom, she hoped. “Husband, where do we start spending our money?”
“On food and horseflesh. Then we’ve got to deposit the rest in a bank. They have some good ones in San Antonio.”
“In the meantime, why don’t I call on the county clerk?”
“We do need to know where we stand on the land issue.”
It was then that Skylla noticed the handkerchief Claudine has discarded after her tears of the morning. “Braxton, there’s something else. I know you and Claudine have been at odds. What can we do to make her happy?”
“Set her up in an establishment somewhere else.”
Stunned that he would send Ambrose St. Clair’s widow away, Skylla inched away from the warmth of his arms. “This is her home. I owe her a home, and if you think I’ll turn her out, you are mistaken.”
“Turning her out and setting her up are two different things altogether.”
“You sound as if you had this planned out for a while.” Skylla swallowed. “Would I be wrong to say you had California planned in advance, too?”
“Not on your life,” he answered smoothly.
Should she believe him? She must! To continue doubting his purposes would play havoc in their marriage, and why start out with conflict between them? Still, while she wished to settle the matter of Claudine, Skylla needed to settle her curiosity. “What made you think of California in the first place?”
“A fellow I served with in the Confederate Army had done some prospecting out there, ended up in San Francisco. It always sounded like a good place to make a fresh start.”
If the far West was so appealing, why did the man return to the South in the first place? Skylla wouldn’t ask. Some nebulous soldier wasn’t the problem here. “Braxton, in the beginning, you told me not to press you about your past. But as your wife, I’d like to know more about you.”
He left the settee, going over to the liquor bottle Claudine kept handy. “Look, it’s after midnight. I need to hit the trail. It’ll take me a good while to get to Camp Llano, especially since I’ve got to stop by Safe Haven Canyon.”
As he downed a shot of whiskey, Skylla said, “If you must go, fine. I understand. But I’d like to know one thing. Uncle said you first came to Texas to look for your father. Do you have some reason to believe he’s in California?”
“No.”
“Did you ever find him?”
“No.”
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it bothers me.” Braxton crossed to the hearth, placing his hand on the mantel and staring into the fireplace that held no flames. “I guess it isn’t in the cards for me to find out why my father damned his family to hell.”
Damned his family to hell? How could any father and husband do such a thing? She went to Braxton, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Now that we have money, why don’t we hire a detective to find him?”
“I know where he is. Or was. I got a clue from a Yankee soldier, the one who took charge of my weapons at Appomattox. ‘I know a Hale from Mississippi,’ he told me. ‘A sawbones. He’s with our Medical Corps, down in the Dry Tortugas.’ A strange coincidence, but it didn’t take much to deduce Dr. John Hale, late of Natchez, was one and the same with the Unionist doctor.”
The rank hurt in her husband’s admission tore at her. “How frustrated you must feel, knowing where to find him, but not being able to do it.”
“There was always something to hold me back. Raising the younger Hales, at first. Then being held in captivity by the Indians. Then my marriage to Song of the Mockingbird. After she died, I thought I could make my search, but my mother needed money. So I took a job with Titus and sent my salary home. You probably know all this.”
“Uncle did mention your search.” The pitched battles from 1861 to 1865 had deterred him, she knew. “Why didn’t you go after John Hale, once the war was over?”
“Hell, Skylla, I was in shreds. General Lee’s defeat, you know. And I had to get back to Vicksburg. Geoff’s mother was there. We needed to make certain Bella was okay, which she was. By then I’d decided to hell with John Hale.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d decided I needed me a wife.”
“That you have.” Her hand moved to his chest. “I pray your heart will heal, now that you have a home and family.”
“We’re a family all right. But we’ve got a troublemaker in our midst. Claudine.”
“Braxton, we’re her family. Can you accept her as such?”
He took a long time answering. “She can stay. As long as she doesn’t cause trouble.”
Claudine should have been content. In the hour before dawn, she eyed the handsome Yankee who snored softly in her arms. They rested on a pallet in the log cabin that was quarters for Major Webb Albright. While Webb knew how to make love to a woman, this particular one wanted more than that satisfaction.
She hoped the Indians hadn’t raised Brax’s scalp. She wanted the pleasure of doing it.
Recalling those red demons, she shivered despite the warmth of her lover. It was good that she’d shown concern over Kathy Ann, but what about Skylla?
Claudine would have gladly choked her stepdaughter for demanding to go into the Comancheria. If something happened to Skylla, where would that leave Claudine? Once more, she’d know profound loss. And once more her future would be shaky. A lifetime interest in the Nickel Dime wouldn’t mean much, should Skyl
la go to a grave, especially with a surviving widower.
She yearned for word to reach Camp Llano before the major and his men were forced to fight the Indians. If anything happened to Webb Albright—well, it just couldn’t. Her eyes settled on him. He’d be her salvation. Salvation in marriage would give Claudine a firm foundation to stand on as she made trouble for Brax Hale.
Nineteen
It was just one thing after another keeping Skylla from town. First, Claudine returned home, flushed with romantic interest and filled with plans to marry a stranger! Skylla tried to reason with her, tried to make her understand there was no need to rush into anything. By late afternoon—too late to call on the new county clerk—she even confessed that luck had come their way.
“We’ll have everything we need,” Skylla said brightly. “We’ll never wish for a thing. You can take all the time in the world to find a proper husband.”
“Webb Albright is proper enough. And at least he’s marrying me for myself instead of a ranch and resulting dowry.”
“I got my man by a coin toss. Fair and square.”
“That’s not what Charlie says.”
Skylla wondered what Charlie would say now, once he’d found out Claudine’s head was turned by another man. The bedraggled cowhand had been encouraged by her, and encouraged plenty. And who could guess how he would react to losing out?
“Brax used a trick coin,” Claudine elaborated on her theme. “The whole toss was a setup.”
“Which only proves the lengths my husband would go to to win my hand.”
“Which only proves he wanted the ranch enough to cheat for it. If you’re smart, you’ll watch your purse, or he’s liable to start picking it.”
The nastiest thought popped into Skylla’s mind. Braxton had helped himself to the stash, though Skylla couldn’t fault the result.
“Daisy, a decent fellow would’ve at least brought you a box of chocolates when he showed up to marry your ranch. Brax didn’t even give you that cameo.”