“What tribe are they from?” she asked.
“They were all Cherokees,” Bradley answered. “The Cherokee Lighthorse troops are the same as marshals. They invited us to stay at their lodge tonight. They happen to be on the hunt for the Gunther gang and want to compare notes.”
He’d mentioned it earlier, but encountering men on their path made it more real. “Tell me about these outlaws,” she said. “Are they dangerous?”
“Very, and they have a particular dislike for me. Twice I’ve been involved in a showdown with them. Once I happened upon some marshals out of Fort Smith, who’d tracked the gang after a train robbery and found themselves outnumbered. The Gunthers got away that time. Then later, they came after my unit of cavalrymen. Ambushed us when we were on patrol. They’ve killed, so they know there’s no hope for them once they’re caught. They’re desperate.”
Amber thoughtfully arranged some pieces of deadwood for a cook fire. “I feel rather foolish. Here I thought I could scare you away with camel stories.”
“You’re frightening in your own way, ma’am.” He dropped a sack of potatoes next to the pot. “Is there anything else you need?”
But she wasn’t finished with the story. “Were you in danger?”
“Pinned down with one of our men injured and the others running out of ammo? Yeah, I suppose that’s no Sunday picnic.”
“How’d you get away?”
“I didn’t run.” His jaw clenched. “That is not what happened.”
Ambrosia raised an eyebrow. She’d touched a sore spot, and she wasn’t talking about her saddle sores. “I wasn’t accusing you,” she said. “I only wanted to hear the story.”
He took a stick and drew it against the ground. If he was hoping to make a mark, the sandstone was too solid to leave any trace. “We were outnumbered. They had us where they wanted us, and the gully at our backs would’ve been impossible to guard once night fell. I didn’t see any way out, so I jumped on my horse and took the fight to them.”
“You left cover and ran at them?”
“Yes, ma’am. Winged two of them. The rest scattered, and we were able to get us all home.”
Ambrosia looked at him with new respect. It was hard to imagine that the man who was lighting her cook fire had so recently faced death. While she’d been buying rugs and eating her green apples, he’d almost died.
“I didn’t know I was riding with a hero.” And him only two years older.
He looked up at her. “I ain’t no hero. My commander told me to hold my position, but I didn’t see much sense in that. Disobeying him is what got me this assignment. If I don’t get this done right, I’ll lose my living.”
“Wait.” Amber leaned forward. “You got sent to us as punishment? Riding with me was the worst thing they could think to do to you?”
There it was, the quick grin that told her he was going to be all right, and he thought she was just fine, too.
“If I’d known about you, they couldn’t have kept me away,” he said. “That I can guarantee.”
It was hard to judge at first, but when they reached the Lighthorse troops’ lodge before nightfall, Bradley had to admit that the camels were making good time.
“Are you sure it’s safe to stay with the Cherokees?” Ambrosia wearily stretched her arm as she passed her parasol to the other hand. Carrying the blamed thing had to be tiring. “I don’t want you to stop just for my sake.”
Getting her out of the elements was foremost on his mind, but meeting with the men who’d encountered the Gunther gang held a charm of its own.
“We’ve been crossing the Cherokee Outlet since we left Kansas. Nothing to fear from their lawmen.”
The sun was failing before they reached the Lighthorse lodge. Being warned about the camels, the police had left a young man to direct them to a corral where they could leave the camels for the night, away from the stables.
“Do you want me to stay with them?” Bradley offered.
The young Cherokee couldn’t keep his eyes off the animals. “Unless they can fly out of the pen, they’ll be fine.”
“They can’t, can they?” Bradley asked.
Captain Herald grinned as he unstrapped their burdens.
A quick shuffling through their bundles to get what they needed for the night, and they were on their way to the lodge.
“I don’t know how to act,” Ambrosia said. “I don’t want to offend them, but I don’t know their customs. The plains tribes we were stationed with out west were nothing like this.”
Bradley’s mouth twitched. After the whoppers she’d told about the camels, he owed her one. “The one rule you need to know is that a woman never sits by the chief or elder of their tribe, or her tribe either. It’s considered bad luck.”
“But wouldn’t my father be considered an elder?”
They’d reached the log structure with a rock chimney and a hitching post in front.
“You’d better play it safe.” Bradley deposited her bags at the door. “Just sit by me, and you’ll be fine.”
She’d entered with her senses as acute as the dry, pricking heat on her skin, ready to face the unusual. Ready to absorb the exotic. Instead, she saw a thickset man standing to greet them. His short, dark hair was parted crisply, and his blue uniform was buttoned up to his chin.
“Captain Sixkiller of the United States Indian Police at your service.” Introductions were made all around. Most of the men were dressed in identical uniforms, and maybe only half of them looked like Indians. “We were just sitting down to eat. Won’t you join us?”
Ambrosia beamed. Not only was she hungry, but she was curious. And as much as she hated making a fool of herself, she knew she could maneuver the tricky situation with Bradley’s instructions.
An officer began setting out bowls on the long table, and another followed, ladling out a chunky stew. Captain Sixkiller sat at the head of the table, and her dad took a seat next to him. The other officers filled in on the benches until Bradley was crammed in near the end. The only spot open to her was next to her father, and had she not had the warning, she would have taken it without thought. Instead, she sashayed to the end of the table and stood behind Bradley and a smooth-faced policeman.
“Excuse me,” she said.
The policeman’s eyes darted to the top of the table, then he fell all over himself getting out of her way. “I apologize, ma’am. Here, take my seat.”
“Very kind of you to join us,” Bradley said.
And he wasn’t the only one smiling. A few words in a foreign tongue were exchanged along with a few solemn nods. Had she surprised them with her knowledge of their culture? Whatever the case, her father didn’t look too happy when the Lighthorse officer took the empty spot next to him.
Captain Sixkiller prayed an eloquent prayer, and after the amen, the spoons started their work. Two more men came in, and room had to be found on the benches, squishing Ambrosia right up against Private Willis.
“Pardon my elbow.” Bradley switched his spoon to the other hand. “I’ll try to eat left-handed so I don’t get in your way.”
She laughed breathlessly as someone down the table got rowdy, bumping her against him again. “Pardon my whole self,” she said. “One more shove, and I’ll be in your lap.”
“That wouldn’t be—” He stopped and cleared his throat. His spoon lowered. “Hey, fellas,” he said, “give the lady some room.”
The policemen bumped a younger officer off the end of the bench, and he took his food outside. When a basket holding some sort of white pancake was passed around, Bradley took a piece, ripped it in two, and laid half in her bowl.
“You asked about them being Indians,” he said. “These men are all Cherokee—some full-blooded, some mixed, and some joined the tribe just like an immigrant might become an American. They’re all citizens of the Cherokee nation, though.”
Following the example of their hosts, Ambrosia ripped off a piece of the bread and popped it in her mouth. “The Indians we�
��ve been stationed around lived in tepees and wore buckskins.”
“Many nations do, but the Cherokee had brick houses, businesses, and plantations in Georgia before they were forced to move here and start all over. Financially, many of them are generations ahead of the white settlers just across the border.”
Captain Sixkiller motioned to Bradley. “My men tell me you were involved in a shootout with the Gunther gang.”
“Yes, sir. I hear you’re looking for them.”
“They have a hideout somewhere south of here, and we’d like to pay them a visit if we can find it. One of the witnesses of the bank robbery was murdered in Tahlequah. He was going to testify, and now the other witnesses are frightened.” Sixkiller paused and then addressed her father. “I don’t like you all making a crossing with just two men and no horses.”
Captain Herald shook his head. “In the morning, I’m going to get you on one of those camels. You’ll see what they can do.”
Ambrosia normally wouldn’t speak in company where she was so much in the minority, but this might be her last chance. “The camels really are impressive. Your troops might benefit from them. I’m sure Father would consider trading some for your very fine horses.”
Captain Sixkiller grunted. “When will the US government stop trying to improve on our ways? No, thank you. You are welcome to our hospitality, but you can keep your camels.”
It had been worth a try.
That night the men went to the bunkhouse, while she was given a private room. It didn’t matter much what it looked like, because Ambrosia fell asleep as soon as she hit the straw mattress.
But it didn’t last.
A rustling outside her window woke her. As quietly as possible, Amber got to her knees and pushed aside the curtain.
“Bradley?” She hadn’t meant to say his name, but finding him next to her window, watching the corral, was a surprise.
He was leaning against the wall, not a foot from her. His eyes never left the shadows huddled on the prairie. “Shhh . . . Do you hear that? It sounds like Omar is complaining.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I’m not sure, but something’s got him agitated.”
“Maybe someone is trying to steal the camels?” A spark of hope made her smile. “Please don’t interrupt them.”
There was a stir as the big camel pushed to his feet. “Someone’s there,” Bradley said. “I’m going, but just in case I don’t come back, I need to confess something.”
Suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. “Don’t go,” she said. “Not by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. You just need to know that I made up that story at dinner.”
“What story?”
“The rule that you couldn’t sit by your father. I wanted your company, so I made that up. If that annoys you, I’ll continue the pursuit. If you’re flattered, then I won’t do it again.”
“I’m not flattered,” she sputtered. “Not by your attention.”
“Perfect. Then I’ll continue.”
And he jogged off, taking away her opportunity for a retort and possibly ruining her last chance to be rid of the camels.
Chapter
7
At least Ambrosia had gotten out of the wind for the night, because here they were again under the blazing sun that sapped your energy until you were as useless as potato peelings.
It was tougher than the dickens, keeping his opinions to himself, but Bradley wished the captain had found another way to get Ambrosia home. The conditions were too harsh for a lady of her caliber, and she was having a time of it. The hot, southern wind had battered her parasol until it was a useless, mangled mess of cloth, ruffles, and wire. Declaring herself tired of wrestling with it, Ambrosia finally gave in and let the wind whip it away like a tumbleweed. Now she had only her sunbonnet for shade.
But as brutal as the sun was, it wasn’t their only danger.
Last night Bradley and one of the Cherokee officers had chased off two men snooping around their supplies. The visitors had managed to rummage through a few things, but nothing was missing. The only thing of interest was Bradley’s canteen—the cavalry-issued one with a bullet dent in the side. It had been pulled from the pile of goods and set up on a post of the corral, almost like they wanted Bradley to find it. Almost like it was a message. Whatever the message, it was full of foreboding.
Bradley had told the captain that they should reach the Cimarron River for their midday meal, and there it was ahead.
“Hanging in there?” he asked Ambrosia. Sweat had left streaks down her face, but her hat seemed to be keeping the sun off.
“I can’t wait to get down,” she said. “And every step we travel, I think how disappointed Mother will be when she realizes her garden is going to be ripped up and turned into a camel corral.”
“Think how pleased she’ll be to see Captain Herald revived.”
She watched her father on Omar. “I have to admit, he has made a remarkable recovery. You can’t imagine how concerned we’ve been. I only hope it lasts.”
The Cimarron River ran nearly even with the rest of the prairie. At some point in the year it would swell and spread wide, depositing soil along both banks. If they’d had wagons, it would have gotten sluggish here, but the camels’ wide, soft feet padded over the sand without a hitch.
The slow, shallow river didn’t look too challenging, but it was the largest water they’d come across yet.
“How exactly do we cross?” Ambrosia asked. Bradley wondered the same thing. Could camels even swim?
As they approached the bank, the camels showed their first hesitation. They grumbled deep in their chest. Ruby paused as the sand turned damp. She paced sideways rather than go any closer. Captain Herald walked to the edge with Omar, then returned.
“It’s not in their nature to be drawn to water,” said the captain. “It makes them a bit skittish.”
“A bit skittish?” Bradley tugged at the reins to keep Melda from turning. “I’ve seen cows go to the branding iron with more enthusiasm.”
“We’ll get them there. They just need some encouragement. Now, stay in your saddle, Ambrosia. It might take Ruby a while to remember.” He jabbed at his camel with his heels and shook the reins.
Omar blew raspberries with those massive lips but continued forward. The water swirled slowly around the sandbars. His big feet left giant double prints in the wet sand, which filled up with water from below.
Lowering her head to sniff at the river, Ruby blinked and then contentedly followed Omar into the water.
“Private Willis,” the captain called from midstream. “Kindly lead the pack animals across, would you? Now would be the best time, while they’re watching the leader.”
What Bradley wouldn’t give for a horse right now. He turned to gauge the reactions of the pack animals. They weren’t as vocal about their complaints but were more hesitant to approach the water. Bradley looked ahead. The water was hitting the captain at the knees, proof that Omar was indeed swimming. Ambrosia looked back at him. Was she afraid to follow into the deeper water? He waved her on. Her father wasn’t waiting on her and she shouldn’t cross alone. If she didn’t hurry . . .
He turned back toward the calves and saw a loose rope on one of their packs. There was a good chance of losing that bundle in the water if he didn’t tighten it. With a quick command, Bradley had Melda and the pack animals kneel. The two pack camels balked at being made to wait as he untied the cargo. He didn’t mean for it to take so long, but readjustments had to be made, and he wanted to put some thought into which crates should be at the bottom, since they risked getting wet. The mattress should be at the very top.
By the time he was done, Ambrosia and the captain had made it safely to the other side. Ambrosia’s split skirt was dripping wet, but she looked refreshed. Bradley couldn’t wait for a dip himself.
“Looking for firewood,” Captain Herald called. Bradley waved him on and smacked the furry side of one of the youngsters to
get him up once the packs were secure.
Turning back toward Melda, Bradley jogged across the sand. His boot sank in a soft patch, nearly causing him to lose his balance. He steadied himself with his other foot, but it began to sink, too. Shifting his weight from one side to the other did nothing to help. At first he thought if he could slip his boots off, he could climb out, but his boots had tightened around his legs.
Then he realized how much trouble he was in. Quicksand.
Standing absolutely still, Bradley tried to call Melda to him, but she wanted nothing to do with him. He looked out to the river. Could Captain Herald hear him? Maybe not, but Ambrosia was already on her way back.
She was midstream, balancing atop Ruby as she swam toward him. What a lovely sight. Oh, sure, he’d never hear the end of it, but at least she wasn’t leaving him to bake under the Cherokee sun.
She slowed Ruby as they came out of the river. “Are you stuck?” she asked.
“Stay back,” he said. “There could be more.”
“I’m not going to leave you,” she huffed.
“No, you’re not, but a tossed rope will do the trick. Get the rope off Melda and throw it my way.” Although the mud hadn’t reached his knees yet, the pressure was incredible. He wasn’t sinking and help was right there, but he didn’t like the feeling of death being that close.
Pinned down again, but this time there was no running.
She wrapped the end of the rope around her saddle, tied it off, and then tossed it out to him. He had to stretch for it, which sunk him another inch or so. No reason to panic. He wasn’t going under. He tied the rope beneath his arms, then got a good grip with both hands.
“Let’s go, Ruby,” she said. The camel wasn’t a roping horse. It didn’t know how to back up, but Ambrosia could at least turn it around and walk away.
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