“Whatever name he wants is fine by me,” Clint said.
“He speaks several different Indian dialects, as well as Spanish,” Horn said. “Since we may end up in Mexico, I thought that might be valuable.”
“You know your men best, Tom,” Clint said. “Happy to have you, Reynaldo.”
“You are Clint Adams?” the scout asked. “The Gunsmith?”
“That’s right.”
“We have heard of you.”
“We?”
“The Apache.”
“Well,” Clint said, “it’s good to have that much confirmed.”
“We’re on the right track, then,” Crook said. “Reynaldo, do you believe that Geronimo has heard of the Gunsmith?”
“Oh, yes,” Reynaldo said. “He is a great chief. He knows all the white chiefs, and the white legends. He has even heard of you, General Crook.”
“Well, that’s flattering,” Crook said. “Horn, are you and Reynaldo ready to move out tomorrow morning?”
“We’re all set, sir.”
“Then I’ll let you all go,” he said. “Assemble right out front in the morning and we’ll see you off. Will you need an escort any part of the way?”
“No, sir,” Clint said. “We’ll be fine. Like I said, I want as few white faces as possible.”
“And Pershing? Are he and his men ready?”
“He’s talking to them now,” Clint said, “and I’ve met them. I’m sure he’ll be along, but they’re ready and willing.”
“Excellent. Clint, will you come back here and dine with me later?”
“If you don’t mind, sir,” Clint said, “I’d rather eat with the buffalo soldiers tonight.”
“I understand,” Crook said. “You want to start bonding with them as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I admire the thought,” Crook said. “Very well, then I guess I’ll see you in the morning—at first light?”
“At first light, General.”
Clint left with Tom Horn and the scout Reynaldo.
ELEVEN
Clint sat between two of the buffalo soldiers at chow, across from the sergeant and another man. Pershing was at the head of the table. Tom Horn was at the other end with Reynaldo.
Some of the soldiers around Clint were young, and they wanted to hear stories of his exploits. He decided to disappoint them and wouldn’t tell stories, but he did answer questions that they asked about Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, and Wild Bill Hickok.
Afterward, Pershing sent all the enlisted men back to their barracks but kept the corporal and the sergeant behind. They had a large pot of coffee brought out, and Clint, Pershing, Horn, Reynaldo, the sergeant, and the corporal talked about what they had to do—and how they were going to do it.
After that, Pershing told his sergeant and corporal to report to the quartermaster in the morning, before the sun came up, to collect the supplies and distribute them to the men.
“Reynaldo and I will be there, too.”
“So will I,” Clint added.
“Fine, then. You men can turn in.”
“Yessir.”
The sergeant, the corporal, and Reynaldo left.
“I am in your hands, gentlemen,” Pershing said when they were gone.
“You’re in command, Lieutenant,” Horn said.
Pershing made a face.
“As far as General Crook goes—and my men—yes, I’m in command, but it is the two of you who will be driving this assignment.”
“Well,” Clint said, “it’s Tom who’s going to get us there.”
“I don’t know,” Horn said. “I haven’t gotten us there so far.”
“Not true,” Pershing said. “The battles we’ve had with these renegades have been because you found them. I believe you can find them again—if you’re given enough time, and enough rope.”
“To hang myself?” Before Pershing could respond, Horn said, “No, I know what you mean.”
“This will be a time-consuming assignment,” Pershing said. “Clint, are you ready for this?”
“I’m ready.”
“The problem with that is . . . ,” Horn said, and then stopped.
“Go ahead, Mr. Horn.”
“By the time we get back,” Horn said, “everything here could be changed.”
“That’s true,” Pershing said, “but we’ll just have to do our jobs and wait and see.”
“How close is Crook to being replaced?” Clint asked. “I mean, realistically speaking.”
“Realistically speaking?” Pershing said. “I’ll be surprised if he’s here when we get back.”
“So any promises we might make to Geronimo . . .” Clint let his words trail off.
“Exactly,” Pershing said.
“That’s the army,” Horn said. “I gotta tell ya, if Crook’s gone when we get back, so am I. I mean, even if they wanted to keep me on.”
“I don’t have that luxury, unfortunately.” Pershing stood up. “Gentlemen, I am going to turn in.”
“Where are you sleeping while I have your quarters?” Clint asked.
“There’s a guest quarters,” Pershing told him, “but it’s very small. General Crook just wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible. I didn’t mind vacating my quarters for a few days. Gentlemen, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, sir,” Horn said.
After Pershing left, Clint said, “I like him.”
“I do, too,” Horn said. “I wish he had a higher rank, though.”
“We’ll have to make do with the rank we have,” Clint said.
“How about a beer at the saloon?” Horn asked.
“Why not?” Clint said. “Who knows when we’ll get another beer.”
“I could smuggle some whiskey into my saddlebags,” Horn said.
“No,” Clint said, “let’s not have any whiskey on the trail. This will be hard enough as it is.”
“Okay,” Horn said, standing up.
“We’ll have one beer,” Clint said, “and then back to the post. Agreed?”
Tom Horn gave Clint a mock salute and said, “Yes, sir!”
TWELVE
Clint rose the next morning wondering if he’d bitten off more than he could chew this time. He got dressed, strapped on his gun, and decided those kinds of thoughts would do no one any good.
It was dark out, about five-thirty, when he picked up his rifle, left Pershing’s quarters, and headed for the quartermaster’s office.
Tom Horn rose with questions of his own in his head. This time, when they went into the mountains, would they find Geronimo? And if and when they found him, would Clint Adams be able to convince him to meet with General Crook—if Crook was not replaced by then?
He rolled over in his bed and looked at the girl lying next to him. She had coal black hair and dark skin, could have very easily been an Indian girl lying there. She was, however, a Mexican girl, who did laundry in town. He’d met her when he brought her his clothes the first time, and they instantly had a connection. He liked women who did good, honest work and did not sit back and wait for a man to support them.
Inez was a bit younger than he was, but she was an experienced woman, which was something else he liked. She rolled over while he was watching her. Her large, brown-tipped breasts flattened out from their own weight. In a few years she’d start to look overweight, but at this time in her life she was simply lush and full.
They had worn each other out during the night, but Horn had no way of knowing when he’d be coming back to Fort Bayard, so he ran his hand over her breasts, tweaked her nipples until she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
“More?” she asked. “Are you sure you are up to it?”
“I need enough of you to hold me until I get back, darlin’,” he said. “And we don’t know when that will be!”
She smiled, reached for his stiffening penis, and stroked it until it was swollen and full. Then she slid her big body on top of him and took him insi
de her steaming depths.
“Then this will be for both of us to remember,” she said into his ear . . .
The buffalo soldiers were up early, gathering their gear and talking among themselves anxiously. They were finally being given an opportunity to prove themselves, and not only that, they were going to be riding with the Gunsmith. They all respected their commanding officer, Black Jack Pershing, and also the scout Tom Horn, but Clint Adams was a legend. To ride with him would be an honor. To watch him fight—if and when it came to that—would be an experience.
Geronimo was a legend, as well.
“Goin’ be somethin’ ta see when the Gunsmith meets up with Geronimo,” Rafe Malone said. He was the youngest buffalo soldier, all of nineteen.
“Geronimo’s gonna have plenny of Apaches with him to back his play,” Moses Adams said. He was Rafe’s best friend, a few years older.
“Dat don’t mean nothin’,” Rafe said, “ ’cause Mr. Clint Adams, he goin’ have us backin’ his play.”
“Yeah,” Sergeant Washington said, entering the barracks at that point, “all thirteen of us. Come on, now, boys, less talkin’ an’ more gettin’ ready. We got some supplies ta be pickin’ up.”
In the small guest quarters Lieutenant John J. Pershing donned his uniform and checked his appearance in the mirror. He knew that with success on this assignment he would take a large step forward in his military career, and since he fully intended for the military to be his life, he was determined to make sure the assignment was a success. He knew his buffalo soldiers were competent, and he knew that Tom Horn was the best scout in the army. But his ace in the hole was the Gunsmith. The success of so many depended on this one man—his own, the buffalo soldiers’, and, not the least, General Crook’s.
With all that weight on the Gunsmith’s shoulders, Pershing only hoped the man could live up to his reputation.
General George Crook came out of his quarters buttoning up his jacket. He stopped to take a deep breath and a look around the compound. He might very well be sending seventeen men, including Clint Adams, to their deaths today, but he hoped to hell that wasn’t the case. Maybe having the Gunsmith along would have the desired effect. He was hoping Geronimo would respect the reputation of the Gunsmith and listen to reason.
But first Clint Adams was going to have to get close enough to the Apache chief to introduce himself.
THIRTEEN
When Clint got to the quartermaster’s, Pershing’s buffalo soldiers were tying gunnysacks to their saddle horns. Reynaldo was doing the same. Standing by were Pershing and General Crook.
“Morning, Adams,” Crook said.
“Clint,” Pershing said.
“General, Lieutenant,” Clint said. He decided not to use Pershing’s first name in the presence of General Crook. “Anybody seen Horn?”
“Here he comes now,” Pershing said.
Clint turned and saw Tom Horn walking toward them.
“Morning, Clint,” Horn said. “General, Lieutenant.”
“Let’s get our horses, Tom,” Clint said.
They walked to the stable and saddled their mounts.
“You ready for this, Clint?” Horn asked as they walked their horses out.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” Clint said. “You?”
“It’s a job for me,” Horn said. “I’m gettin’ paid. You’re doin’ it on your own.”
“Guess that doesn’t make me sound very smart.”
“That’s okay,” Horn said. “If you knew what they was payin’ me, you wouldn’t think I was so smart, either.”
They walked their horses back to the quartermaster’s, collected their gunnysack each, and tied them to their saddles.
“Mount up!” Sergeant Washington called out when Pershing nodded to him.
“Adams,” Crook said, extending his hand to Clint, “good luck.”
“Thank you, General.”
“And take care.”
“I will.”
“Whatever happens,” Crook added, “you have my thanks.”
Clint nodded and mounted up. He was the last one.
“Open the gates!” Crook called out.
“Forward . . . ho!” Pershing called out.
The sergeant took point with Tom Horn and rode out of the gates with the buffalo soldiers behind him. Pershing rode out next, but would soon move to the front of the column. Reynaldo rode out next to last. Clint waved to Crook, who saluted him, and rode out through the gates last.
An hour into the ride, they had formed the column in which they’d ride for the duration. Reynaldo and Horn were up ahead, scouting. Pershing and Clint were at the head of the column, with the sergeant and corporal behind them.
Horn was leading them to a slot between the Chiracahua Mountains and the Peloncillos, which would lead them to the San Simeon Valley and Skeleton Canyon. If they didn’t find any sign of the Apaches there, they’d move on through the San Bernardino Valley to Guadalupe Canyon.
Skeleton Canyon was still in New Mexico, but once they reached Guadalupe Canyon they’d be chasing the Apaches in Mexico. The Apaches had been going back and forth, coming down out of the mountains to do their damage, and then going back again to hide.
Clint knew that luck was going to have to play a big part in finding them, and then more luck would have to come into play for Geronimo to even talk to him. But before any of that could happen, the Apaches had to become aware of him. That meant Clint was going to have to do something to make them aware.
Now they had to figure out what that was going to be.
Hours later Reynaldo and Horn reined their horses in and stared at the ground.
“You feel them?” the Apache scout asked.
“I feel ’em,” Horn said. “How long they been there?”
“Don’t know.”
“How many?”
“Maybe two.”
They continued to stare at the ground so the Apaches watching them wouldn’t know that they’d been spotted.
“What do we do?” Reynaldo asked.
“You ride back to the column and let them know,” Horn said. “I’ll keep goin’, see if they follow me.”
“Then what?”
“Then you’ll do whatever Clint Adams and the lieutenant tell you to do,” Horn said. “Do you understand, Reynaldo?”
“I understand.”
“Good,” Horn said. “Now go.”
They walked back to their horses and mounted up.
“What if they follow me instead of you?” Reynaldo asked.
Horn shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll have to think of a different plan.”
When Reynaldo reached the column, Pershing raised his hand to stop their progress.
“Where’s Horn?” Clint asked.
“Continuing on,” Reynaldo said. “There were two Apaches watching us.”
“Geronimo’s men?”
Reynaldo shrugged.
“Geronimo’s, Nachite’s, Many Words’s—it is all the same.”
“They didn’t follow you back here?” Pershing asked.
“No,” the scout said, “they continued to follow Tom Horn.”
Pershing looked at Clint.
“If they’ve seen Tom and Reynaldo, they’ve seen us, too,” Clint said.
“Probably.”
“I suggest we continue on,” Clint said. “I don’t think much of anything’s going to happen until we actually reach the mountains. They’ll just keep watching us.”
“Agreed,” Pershing said. “Reynaldo, catch up to Horn and tell him we will all continue on. You and he will join us tonight at camp.”
“I will tell him.”
Reynaldo wheeled his horse around and rode off.
“I didn’t expect anything to happen this soon,” Pershing said to Clint.
“Maybe nothing has,” Clint said. “All they’re doing so far is watching us. We’re going to need them to take us to the rest of their people.”
“And how do we accomplish that?
” Pershing asked.
“We’ve got some time to figure that out.”
FOURTEEN
They camped that night aware that they were still being watched. Pershing set two watches, to be relieved halfway through the night. Clint offered to stand watch, but Pershing told him that’s what his men were for.
They made two fires, and while the buffalo soldiers sat and ate around one, Clint, Pershing, and Horn sat at the other. Reynaldo ate with the soldiers.
“Excuse me,” Pershing said, “but I’d like to sit with my men for a while.”
As Pershing walked away, Horn said, “I guess that’s why his men like him.”
“Maybe we should all be sitting at the same fire,” Clint said.
“This many men, we need more than one fire,” Horn said. “We can probably build ’em closer together tomorrow night, though.”
“Good idea.”
There was some laughter from the other fire, as if someone had told a joke.
“Any chance they’ll come at us in the dark?” Clint asked.
“Always a chance,” Horn said, “but as far as I can tell, there’s still only the two.”
“What are the chances we could catch them and get them to take us to the rest?”
“Even if we took them alive, I doubt they’d do it,” Horn said.
“Well, maybe we can turn the tables on them.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean maybe we could follow them.”
Horn thought about it for a moment.
“If they’re switching off—two on, two off, the way we set our watches—then there’s the possibility of following them. But . . .”
“. . . but they’ll be able to tell if any of us leave the column.”
“Right.”
“So we have to make them think we’re splitting the column up,” Clint said. “They’ll follow whichever part continues forward, toward the mountains.”
“You’ll have to convince Pershing,” Horn said.
The Golden Princess Page 4