“I know that, Running Free,” Clint said, “and I’m sorry about it.”
“You have never taken a scalp?”
“Never.”
Running Free didn’t comment.
They finished eating and Clint cleaned the utensils and stowed then away. He kept out the cups and made another pot of coffee.
“Running Free, those other two braves, the ones doing the shooting?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know who they were?”
“Not their names.”
“But?”
“They were riding with Many Words.”
“And you and your brother weren’t riding with him?” Clint asked.
“No.”
They finished the coffee. Clint decided he had to tie Running Free up before he went to sleep. He just couldn’t trust that the brave would not slip away in the night, even if it meant leaving his brother’s body behind.
“You will sleep?” the Apache asked him.
“I will,” Clint said, “but lightly, very lightly.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
As lightly as he had slept, Clint was surprised to wake up and find not only the sun in his eyes but the barrels of several rifles.
He looked over at Running Free, whose hands were being untied by another brave.
“You lied to me,” he said. “I asked if we were being watched.”
“I did not lie,” Running Free said. “We were not being watched. They followed the light of the fire.”
Precisely the reason Clint had built it.
“And the smell of the coffee and bacon,” Running Free added.
The reason Clint had cooked them.
One of the braves holding a rifle on him reached down and took his gun from its holster. Running Free came walking over to him.
“Now we kill him,” one of them said.
“No!” Running Free said. “He is not to be killed. We will take him with us.”
“Did he not kill Little Bear?” a tall, young brave asked.
“He did not,” Running Free said. “It was another who fell on Little Bear and knocked him over a cliff.”
“Another white man?”
“Yes.”
“Then what is the difference?” the other man asked. “We will kill this white man for revenge.”
The brave lifted his rifle and pointed it at Clint’s chest. Clint felt his stomach clench.
“No!” Running Free yelled, knocking the rifle barrel down. “We will take him with us.”
“Why?”
“You will understand when we get back,” Running Free said. “Bind him, and saddle his horse.”
Another brave said, “I claim his horse.”
“He is not dead yet!” Running Free said. “The horse is his. Saddle it.” Running Free grabbed another man’s rifle. “Go.”
Two braves started tying Clint’s hands behind him.
“Bind him in front,” Running Free said.
“He will escape.”
“He will not try.”
Now the others started looking suspiciously at Running Free.
“What is between you and this white man?”
“He treated me fairly,” Running Free said, “and with respect. We will do the same.”
“You are not in charge,” the tall brave told him.
“If you kill him,” Running Free said, “if we do not bring him back alive, you will pay the price.”
“No,” the tall brave said, “you will pay the price. And I will be there to watch you both die.”
He turned and walked away.
“Don’t make enemies on my account,” Clint said.
“Stands Tall Man has always been my enemy,” Running Free said. “He does not like anyone.”
“Stands Tall? Did they know at birth he’d be tall?” Clint asked.
“It is the warrior’s name he chose when he came of age,” Running Free said.
“So you’re taking me to see Geronimo?” Clint asked.
“We are taking you back to our camp with us.”
“Fine,” Clint said, “that’s what I want, to be taken to your camp . . . alive.”
“I will do my best to get you there alive,” Running Free promised. “You have been fair with me, and I will be fair with you.”
“That’s all I ask,” Clint said. “Thank you, Running Free.”
Running Free turned to two braves and said, “Put him on his horse.”
They rode all morning, keeping Clint right in the center of the nine braves he counted. No one spoke to him, but Stands Tall Man, riding in front of him, kept turning and giving him dirty looks.
Finally, as they were on the downslope of the mountain, he spotted a couple of braves on lookout. The men in his band waved, and the lookouts waved back. They were getting close.
Then they came around a curve and Clint saw the camp—several wickiups, a few campfires, some running children, and walking women. He did not see any men. Could it be that the nine men he was with were all the men in the camp? No, that couldn’t be possible. They must be out in another hunting party. Or raiding party.
They rode into the center of the camp, attracting the attention of women and children. The male children seemed fascinated by Eclipse.
“Take him off his horse,” Running Free said.
He went into one of the wickiups as Stands Tall Man dragged Clint from his saddle so roughly that Clint ended up sprawled on the ground. When he tried to get up, Stands Tall Man put his foot on his chest and pushed him back down.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Clint asked him.
“I would enjoy nothing more than to kill you, white man,” Stands Tall Man said.
“And why is that, Stands Tall Man?” Clint asked. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You are a white man,” Stands Tall Man said. “That is all I need to know.”
“Seems a silly reason to kill someone,” Clint said. “I don’t kill men for being red.”
“That would make you a rare white man.”
“That’s all I’ve been trying to say.”
Clint tried to get up, and again Stands Tall Man pushed him down.
“Okay, okay,” Clint said, “why don’t I just wait here for Geronimo?”
“Geronimo?” Stands Tall Man said, laughing. “What makes you think Geronimo is here?”
“Isn’t this Geronimo’s camp?” Clint asked, confused.
Stands Tall Man laughed, and the other braves standing around joined in.
Then they abruptly stopped.
Clint turned and saw that someone had stepped from the wickiup with Running Free. The presence of that someone—their leader—had stopped the laughter.
“Stand him up,” the tall, blond woman said, “so I can see what the Gunsmith looks like.”
TWENTY-NINE
Clint Adams was dragged to his feet by two braves so Golden Princess could look at him. What she saw shocked her. This was the man from her dreams—or vision. She felt as if she had been struck by lightning, but outwardly did not show it.
“Running Free tells me you treated him with respect,” she said.
“I try to treat everyone with respect,” Clint said. He was feeling shocked himself, because here was the tall, beautiful blond woman from his dreams.
“And you saved his life,” she said.
“Well,” Clint said, “I may have had a selfish reason for that.”
“What would that be?”
“I was hoping he would bring me here to speak to Geronimo.”
“About what?”
“About a meeting with General Crook.”
“For what pur—” she started, then stopped and looked around. “Take care of his horse, untie him, and put him in my wickiup.”
“Why do we not just kill him?” Stands Tall Man demanded.
She stared him right in the eye, standing almost as tall as he was. She was an impressive specimen of womanhood.
“Because I am in charge, and no
t you,” she told him. “You will do as I say.”
Stands Tall Man tried to stand his ground, but he ended up taking one step back. That was all that was needed to spur others into action.
Two braves untied Clint’s hands and took him to Golden Princess’s wickiup. As she approached it, both Stands Tall Man and Running Free followed. She turned, stopping them both with a hand on each of their chests.
“No,” she said. She put her hand on Running Free’s shoulder. “You must see to your brother. I will speak with this man alone.”
“You cannot!” Stands Tall Man said. “It is too dangerous.”
“For a squaw, perhaps,” she said, “but I am not a squaw.”
“You are a woman.”
“I am a warrior,” she said to Stands Tall Man. “You will remain outside. Is that clear?”
She locked her eyes on his in a hard stare, and he looked away.
“It is understood.”
“Good!”
She turned away from him and entered the wickiup.
From the moment the woman stepped out of the wickiup, Clint had been almost in the state of shock. And he sensed it in her, too. However, they had both managed to keep it from everyone else.
Now, when she stepped in, he turned to face her. She stopped just inside and they stared at each other. The fire in the center of the wickiup bathed the inside in a soft glow and warmed it.
He looked around, took in the interior of her wickiup, and determined that this was not where his dream had taken place.
“I had a dream . . . ,” he said.
“I, too, had a dream . . . ,” she said.
“How could that be?”
For a moment she seemed embarrassed, but then she asserted herself.
“Sit down by the fire,” she said, moving to the other side of it. “We must talk.”
He sat, and she sat across from him. The fire made her hair almost glow.
“My shaman,” she said, “called it a vision, not a dream.”
“A vision?”
“Yes.”
“So then, it’s something that . . . might happen?” he asked.
“Or will happen,” she said.
He smiled.
“Of course,” she said, “you would have to live for it to happen.”
“You speak English very well.”
“I learned from my mother.”
“Among my people you are something of a . . . myth,” he said.
“As you can see,” she replied, “I am more than a myth.”
“Considerably more,” he said. “Running Free led me to believe he was taking me to see Geronimo.”
“He lied.”
“No,” Clint said, “as I recall, he never actually said he was taking me to Geronimo, he just . . . let me believe it.”
“He says you did not kill his brother, and you saved his life.”
“His brother died . . . unfortunately,” Clint said. “I just made sure he didn’t follow. Actually Tom Horn saved his life, I just . . . helped.”
“Well, Running Free is intent on killing Horn,” she informed him.
“And Stands Tall Man is intent on killing me,” Clint said.
“All they need is for me to let them do it.”
“And will you?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On you, Mr. Adams. That is, if you really are the Gunsmith.”
“How would I be able to prove that to you?”
“With a gun, I suppose.”
“Well,” he said, “I guess I could do that, but haven’t you already determined that I’m the man of your dreams?”
“We will have to see about that, won’t we?”
THIRTY
“Tell me about your General Crook,” Golden Princess said.
“He’s a good man,” Clint said. “He wants nothing but peace.”
“And is that what you want?”
“Isn’t it what we all want?”
“I am afraid not all of us want peace,” she said. “Many Words and Nachite have other ideas.”
“But Geronimo makes the decisions, right?” Clint asked.
“While he is chief.”
“And is there a chance he won’t be chief soon?”
“There is always a chance,” she said.
“And where do your allegiances lie, my princess?” he asked.
“Mine?” She touched her chest with her fingertips, a move he found erotic. “I bend to the will of Geronimo. He is my chief.”
“Then take me to him,” Clint said. “Let me talk to him, and make my case, and then we’ll all bend to his will.”
“You would abide by his decision?”
“It has always been my understanding that Geronimo is a wise and honorable leader.”
“That is true.”
“Then yes,” Clint said, “I will abide by his decision. All you have to do is take me to him.”
She stared across the fire at him for a few moments, then stood up and looked down at him.
“I have to think about it.”
“For how long?”
“I do not know.”
She left the wickiup, and for a while he thought she was going to leave him there. Moments later, however, she was back with two braves.
“Take him,” she said. “Guard him. I will call for him when I want him.”
The two braves hauled Clint to his feet and hustled him out of the wickiup before he could say anything else to the Golden Princess.
THIRTY-ONE
Clint was taken to a considerably smaller wickiup and tossed inside. There was no fire, and very little light. Also, his hands had been tied behind him. There was little chance of escape. He was going to have to depend on his ability to talk Golden Princess into what he wanted, and then his ability to convince Geronimo.
The other thing he had working for him was her curiosity. Just like him, she wanted to see if the dream was a vision, and if it was going to come true.
He thought she was even more beautiful in real life than she had been in his dream. Or had what he’d seen also been a vision?
He was still thinking about it when the flap on his wickiup was thrown back and a man entered. From the look of his ceremonial headdress—and his obviously advanced age—this had to be the shaman.
“You are he,” the man said, pointing.
“Well,” Clint said, “I’m me.”
“You are the man in the vision.”
“I think I may have had a vision of my own,” Clint told him.
That seemed to excite the old shaman.
“Then it is all preordained, and shall happen,” he said.
“Maybe,” Clint said, “but how is that going to help me?”
The shaman remained standing in front of the tent entrance. He could have been sixty or eighty. He held a staff and leaned on it, but did not seem in any danger of falling over.
“You wish to talk to Geronimo.”
“Yes,” Clint said. “Did she tell you that?”
“No one needs to tell me things,” the old man said. “I . . . see them.”
“Okay, so we’re all seeing things,” Clint said. “Maybe you can tell me how this will all come out?”
“No one can say.”
“You just said it was preordained.”
“Some things are.”
The shaman just stood there and stared.
“So I guess that means that some things aren’t.”
The man stared at him.
“It’s kind of dark in here,” Clint said. “And it will probably get colder. Can you get someone to build me a fire?”
The shaman blinked, maybe for the first time since entering.
“I will see to it.”
“Thank you.”
The old man backed out.
It was only moments later that a brave walked in carrying a torch. There were the remnants of a fire in the center of the tent. He gathered them together and relit them. Then
he left and came back with more wood he’d collected. He left some additional wood on the floor and then left without ever having said a word. When the fire started to fade, Clint would be able to kick some more wood onto it.
“Thank you,” Clint said, to nobody.
Clint was asleep the next time someone came in. He woke with a start and saw Stands Tall Man looking down at him with no expression on his face.
“Damn Apaches,” he muttered. “Can’t you make a little noise when you move?”
“Like white men move around?” the Indian asked. “Making much noise?”
“Sure, it would warn me that you’re coming. If I’d had a gun, I would have shot you.”
“I would have killed you long before you could have shot me.”
Clint rolled over. It was difficult with his hands tied behind him the way they were, but he finally got into a seated position.
“Is that what you’ve come here for tonight?” Clint asked. “To kill me?”
“I could do it very easily,” Stands Tall Man said.
Clint studied him, then said, “No, you couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because she would be angry if you did,” Clint said. “Besides, you could only do it if my hands were tied.”
“You would need your gun.”
“No,” Clint said, “I wouldn’t. I could kill you without a gun.”
Stands Tall Man took out his knife.
“With a knife?”
“Yes.”
The Apache stared at him.
“Untie me,” Clint said, “and I’ll show you. We could do it in here. That way if you kill me, the Golden Princess will never know it was you.”
“And if you kill me,” Stands Tall Man said, “you can escape.”
“Except that I don’t want to escape,” Clint said. “I want to talk to Geronimo.”
Stands Tall Man stared at him for a few moments, then put his knife away.
“You want me to untie you.”
“Yes.”
“And you think you can trick me into doing it.”
Clint smiled.
“I hope so.”
“And if I untied you, you would not try to escape?” the Indian asked.
“No. But I’d get some feeling back in my hands. That would be nice. And I’d probably sleep better.”
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