The Golden Princess

by J. R. Roberts

  The man studied him, then took his knife out again and crouched down. He was either going to cut Clint’s throat or the ropes. Clint waited, and the ropes fell away from his hands.

  He brought his hands around in front of him and rubbed them as Stands Tall Man backed off, putting the knife away again.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you have enough wood?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  His hands began to tingle painfully as the feeling came back.

  “You know if you escape I will hunt you down and kill you.”

  “I know you’ll try,” Clint said, “but don’t worry. I was telling the truth. I don’t want to escape.”

  “I believe you.”

  Stands Tall Man started to leave.

  “And don’t worry,” Clint said. “I won’t tell anyone who untied my hands.”

  The brave looked back at him, then turned and went out.

  Clint moved closer to the fire and tested his hands out by tossing some more twigs and branches onto it. Then he sat back and stared at it. What was the difference? There was no night vision in here.

  He wondered what Stands Tall Man had actually come into the wickiup to do. Kill him? And had he talked him out of it?

  Well, in the end he accomplished what he’d set out to as soon as he saw the man standing there. He’d gotten him to untie his hands.

  THIRTY-TWO

  He stayed in that wickiup all day and all night. In the morning a squaw came in and brought him some food. The fire had gone out, so she brought more wood and started it again for him.

  The food was some sort of cold meat, chunks of it. Might have been dog, but he was ravenous—they had not fed him the day before—so he ate it. It was tough, and greasy. It wasn’t horse, because he’d tasted horse meat before. But the thought made him think of Eclipse. He hoped that someone was taking care of the big Darley Arabian.

  The squaw came in to get his bowl and brought him a skin filled with water. He drank half of it, then got to his feet. He’d awakened several times during the night and paced. He’d done it to keep the blood circulating in his legs. With his hands free there was no point in allowing his legs to go to sleep.

  The morning went by and afternoon arrived. He could tell by the way the sunlight played over the front flap of the tent. A different squaw brought him some more food. He ate some of it, but not all, and drank the rest of the water.

  He wondered when the flap would open to two men who would drag him out.

  Golden Princess had spent the night thinking about Clint Adams. She had not dreamed about him, and did not experience another vision. She did, however, talk with the shaman.

  He had come to see her late the evening before.

  “I have seen him, and spoken with him,” the old man said.

  “And?”

  “He is the one.”

  “The one . . . what?”

  “The one you have been waiting for.”

  “Because of my vision?”

  “All your life.”

  “You speak in riddles, old man,” she said. “And foolishly.”

  “I gave him a fire.”

  “Good.”

  “Someone must feed him.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I forgot.”

  “You forgot to feed him?” the shaman said. “You were hoping he would try to escape and someone would kill him.”

  She remained silent.

  “Then you would not have to take him to Geronimo, and you would not be forced to deal with your vision.”

  “You may leave my wickiup, old man.”

  He bowed and left.

  In the morning she had someone feed Clint Adams. Then she questioned the squaw who fed him. Yes, there was a fire, and yes, the man’s hands were free. It did not matter if the shaman freed him, or someone else. His hands were free, and he had not tried to escape.

  He truly wanted to talk to Geronimo.

  Running Free entered Golden Princess’s wickiup.

  “You sent for me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You and Stands Tall Man, bring Clint Adams to me.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” she said, “right now. And see that he isn’t harmed.”

  “I obey,” he said, and backed out.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Clint was surprised.

  Two braves came to get him, but did not bother grabbing him and dragging him from the wickiup. Instead they simply said, “Come.”

  When they reached Golden Princess’s wickiup, they said, “In,” and he was able to enter under his own power.

  “Sit,” she said as he entered. She was already seated, cross-legged, across the fire from him.

  He took the same position he had taken last time and stared at her.

  “Any dreams last night?” he asked.

  “No,” she said shortly.

  “Me neither.”

  “I have given your words much thought,” she said. “I have decided to take you to Geronimo.”

  “Good,” he said. “I think you’re making the right decision.”

  “We will leave tomorrow morning,” she said. “We must go before Many Words learns that you are here.”

  “That wouldn’t make Many Words happy?”

  “He would try to have you killed,” she said.

  “And would you oppose him on that?”

  “I would,” she said, “but it might not do any good.”

  “Is he a stronger warrior than you are?”

  She bristled at that, but said, “He is a man, and he is full-blooded Apache.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Then why not leave now?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said firmly.

  He shrugged. “The decision is yours.”

  “Yes,” she said, “it is, and I have made it.”

  “I have a question for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Back when Little Bear was killed and I captured Running Free, there were two other Apaches.” He explained about the braves on the other side of the pass, and how they were killed.

  “They were not your men?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Whose men would they have been?”

  “They were riding with Many Words.”

  “I assume that you and Many Words do not think alike,” he said.

  “Many Words would like me to be a squaw.”

  “His squaw?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t want that?”

  “I will be no man’s squaw,” she said forcefully. “I am a warrior.”

  They had already established that if Many Words knew of Clint’s presence, the Apache would have him killed in spite of what Golden Princess wanted.

  “Well,” he said, “then I’m glad I ended up in your camp, and not his.”

  “Your General Crook,” she said, “do you trust his words?”

  Clint decided to speak truthfully to her.

  “I trust his intentions.”

  She frowned. “What is the difference?”

  “General Crook’s word is not the last word,” he said, “just as yours would not be the last word. His intentions are unquestionable.”

  “I understand,” she said. “Any promises I would make to you could be changed by Geronimo.”

  “Then you do understand.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said, “I will take you to Geronimo.”

  “You are a wise woman.”

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  “Shall I go back to my tent?”

  “No,” she said, “you are free to walk around the camp. If you try to leave—”

  “I know,” he said, “someone will try to kill me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, getting to his feet. “I came here to see Geronimo, so when I’m this close to succeeding, I’m not going to make any mistakes.”

  “No,” she said, also getting to her feet, “you do not strike me as the kind o
f man who makes many mistakes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come,” she said, waving at the entrance to the wickiup. “I will walk you out, make sure everyone knows you have the freedom of the camp.”

  They left the wickiup together. Outside she called over a brave.

  “Let it be known that Clint Adams has the freedom of the camp, but he is not to leave.”

  “I’d like to check on my horse,” Clint said.

  She looked at him as if he might leap into the saddle and try to escape.

  “I just want to make sure my animal is all right.”

  “Very well.” She looked at the brave. “Take him to see his horse.”

  The brave nodded and started to walk away, but she stopped him by touching his arm.

  “You must stay with him always,” she said, making a split-second decision.

  “I told you I won’t try to escape,” Clint told her.

  “This is for your own protection,” she said. “If Big Head is with you, no one will try to shoot you.”

  “All right,” Clint said. “Whatever you say.”

  She nodded, and watched the two men as they walked away. She didn’t know if she was doing the right thing by taking the Gunsmith to Geronimo. She knew Many Words would have just had him killed, but she could not bring herself to do that.

  She turned and went back into her wickiup.

  “Big Head?” Clint said to the brave as they walked away.

  “It is a joke,” the man said. “My warrior name is Big Heart, but most call me Big Head.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  Big Head didn’t smile. “They think so.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  When Clint and Big Head reached the horses, they could see that Eclipse was in fine condition.

  “Somebody’s been taking care of him,” Clint said out loud, laying his hand on the horse’s flank.

  “I have.”

  Clint looked at Big Head, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties.

  “You?”

  “He is a magnificent horse,” Big Head said.

  “Yes, he is.”

  The Apache brave stroked Eclipse’s massive neck, and the horse stood for it, which surprised Clint.

  “You seem to get along with him,” Clint said.

  Big head smiled and said, “I think we both needed a friend.”

  “Well, I appreciate that you’ve taken care of him, Big Heart.”

  The brave looked at Clint for a long moment, then his face softened. He obviously appreciated being called by his chosen warrior name.

  In another part of the camp, Stands Tall Man approached Running Free. The day before, a funeral pyre had been built for Little Bear, and his spirit had been released in a blazing fire.

  “She has decided to take Clint Adams to see Geronimo,” he said.

  “I have heard,” Running Free said.

  “If Many Words hears of this, he will stop her.”

  “How would he hear?”

  Stands Tall Man stared at Running Free.

  “I will not tell him,” Running Free said.

  “I know where he is,” Stands Tall Man said. “I can ride and tell him.”

  “Why would you?”

  “This white man might convince Geronimo to surrender,” Stands Tall Man said. “Do you want that?”

  “No,” Running Free admitted, “but Geronimo is the chief.”

  “He is an old chief,” Stands Tall Man said. “An old man, more like an old woman.”

  Running Free laughed shortly.

  “What is so funny?” the other man asked.

  “I would like to hear you say that to Geronimo’s face,” Running Free said.

  “Even I am not that much a fool, Running Free,” Stands Tall Man said. “I will leave that to Many Words.”

  “When will we be riding out?” Running Free asked.

  “When the sun rises again.”

  “All of us?”

  “Yes,” Stands Tall Man said, “the entire camp.”

  “Good,” Running Free said. “I am eager to get back to Geronimo’s camp.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he is chief,” Running Free said. “I tire of Golden Princess and Many Words and their desire to be the new chief.”

  “And you would not like to be the new chief?”

  “Never,” Running Free said. “I will leave the decisions of how we live to someone else.”

  “You would rather be a follower than a leader?” Stands Tall Man asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Running Free said.

  “Well, I would not.”

  “You and I,” Running Free said, “are not wise enough to be chief.”

  “I am wise enough to know we cannot live in peace with the whites,” Stands Tall Man said. “Wise enough to know we should have killed the Gunsmith right away.”

  “Not so wise, Stands Tall Man,” Running Free said. “You cannot recognize a good man when you see one, red or white.”

  “There are no good white men.”

  “You make my point for me,” Running Free said. “You are not so wise.”

  Stands Tall Man bristled, inflated his chest.

  “And now you want to fight me?” Running Free asked. “What good would that do?”

  “None,” Stands Tall Man said. “It would only do me good to fight with Clint Adams—and kill him.”

  “Then go and argue with him,” Running Free said. “You will get no fight, and no agreement, from me. But remember, if you kill him, you will have to answer to Golden Princess . . . and probably Geronimo.”

  “If Many Words were here . . . ,” Stands Tall Man said.

  “He is not,” Running Free said. “Golden Princess is. Perhaps you should go and join Many Words’s raiding party. But wait, you did try, and he would not have you.”

  Stands Tall Man firmed his jaw.

  “If I killed the Gunsmith, he would have me.”

  “You must make your own decision,” Running Free said. “But make a wise one.”

  Running Free walked away. Stands Tall Man stood there until his anger overcame his senses. Then he turned and stalked back to camp.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Big Head walked Clint through the camp, although there wasn’t much sense in showing him around if they were going to unearth everything and move on to Geronimo’s camp.

  “Do you know where Geronimo is, Big Heart?” Clint asked.

  “I could not tell you that,” the Apache said. “Golden Princess would kill me.”

  “But do you know?”

  “No, I do not.”

  A group of children came running up to them, boys and girls. They ran around and around them, laughing and shouting. Abruptly, they stopped and stared up at Clint.

  “Boo!” he snapped, and they turned and ran away.

  “Women and children,” Clint said. “Isn’t if odd to have them along on a raiding party?”

  “We are not a raiding party,” Big Head said. “Those who ride with Many Words, they are the raiding party. We look after them.”

  “After who?”

  “The squaws and the children.”

  “I’ll bet Golden Princess doesn’t like that,” Clint said. “Being put in charge of the women and children.”

  “She is a warrior,” Big Head said. “She does not like it at all.”

  “Is that why she sent out two braves to follow the soldiers?” Clint asked. “And why Many Words also sent out two braves? Because he did not know that she had sent her men?”

  “I cannot say,” Big Head said.

  “That’s okay, Big Heart,” Clint said. “I understand.”

  Big Head was about to say something when Stands Tall Man came running up to them. Clint could see the fire in the man’s eyes.

  “We will do it now,” he shouted at Clint.

  “Do what?”

  “We will fight,” the angry man said, “with knives.” Stands Tall Man took out his knife and brandished it in Clint’s f
ace.

  “I don’t have a knife.”

  “Big Head,” the other Apache said, “give the white man your knife.”

  “Stands Tall Man, Golden Princess did not say—” Big Head started, but Stands Tall Man cut him short.

  “I do not care what Golden Princess said,” he shouted. “Give him your knife!”

  “Stands Tall Man,” Clint said, “if he gives me his knife, I will be forced to kill you.”

  “No,” Stands Tall Man shouted, spittle shooting from his mouth, “I will kill you!”

  “Enough!”

  All three of them turned and saw Golden Princess striding toward them. As she reached them, she took out her knife.

  “If you want to fight someone, Stands Tall Man, fight me,” she said.

  Clint gave the man credit. He turned and faced her head-on. He was only slightly taller than she was.

  “I do not wish to fight my own people,” he said.

  “I have given this man freedom of my camp,” she said. “In the morning we leave for Geronimo’s camp. Is there a part of this you do not understand?”

  “I understand everything,” Stands Tall Man said. “I understand this man is my enemy. The first chance I get, I will kill him.”

  She looked at Clint.

  “After,” she said.

  “After what?” Stands Tall Man asked.

  She looked at him. “After he talks with Geronimo.” Then she looked at Clint. “Does that suit you?”

  “It suits me,” he said.

  She looked at Stands Tall Man again. “Now fight me, or walk away.”

  He glared at her, then Clint, then back at her. Finally, he put his knife away, turned, and stalked off.

  “Thanks,” Clint said to her. “I would have obliged him, but just on the off chance that he does kill me, I want to talk with Geronimo first. Otherwise, I’d be dying for nothing.”

  “Big Head,” she said, “keep him out of trouble. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Why do you call him Big Head?” Clint asked. “I understand his name is Big Heart.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why not call him that?” he asked. “Wouldn’t that be giving him the proper respect?”

  She stared at Clint for a few moments, then said, “Yes, it would.” She looked at the other man. “Remember what I said . . . Big Heart.”