She turned and walked away. Big Heart smiled at Clint, who slapped him on the back.
THIRTY-SIX
There was nothing for him to do in camp but watch the women and children, and talk a little bit with Big Heart, who turned out to be one of the least bloodthirsty Apaches he’d ever run into.
They walked around, stopped to eat a couple of times, even ended up playing games with the children. For Big Heart’s part, he ended up liking the white man, and hoped that Geronimo would not want to kill him.
They were eating late in the day when Golden Princess came over and joined them. One of the squaws handed her a wooden bowl with the same greasy meat.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked Clint.
“No,” Clint said, licking his fingers, “and I don’t want to.”
She laughed, throwing her head back and letting herself go with it. Then she started to eat with them.
“These children,” Clint asked moments later, “don’t you think they’d be better off living somewhere other than this mountain?”
Any semblance of humor fled from her face.
“You think you know where Apache children should live?” she asked.
“Not Apache children,” he said. “Any children.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “They’ll live someplace better.”
“Where? Mexico? How much better is that?”
“Mexico is not our home,” she said. “That is not where we belong.”
“Look,” he said, “I sympathize with the Apaches—not only the Apaches, but all Indians. The white man has come in great numbers and pushed you off your land.”
“Your people.”
“Not my people,” he said. “None of this has gone the way I wanted it to go. Not the way I would have done it.”
“And how would you have done it?”
“I would have tried to find a way to live together,” he said. “I don’t see why either side had to be so goddamned stubborn about it. There’s plenty of land out here for everybody.”
“The land was ours first.”
“I’m saying,” he told her, “that I agree with you. But what’s done is done.”
“And we should accept that?”
“It’s either accept that,” Clint said, “or be wiped out—and I’m not threatening you, I’m just telling you the way it is.”
She didn’t finish her meat; she tossed the bowl back to one of the squaws who was cooking.
“You sound like Geronimo.”
“That’s how Geronimo is talking?”
“He says what has been started cannot be stopped.”
“And what does he want to do about it?”
“What can we do?” she asked. “The white man lies.”
“The red man never lies?” Clint asked.
She rubbed her face with both hands. Big Heart stared at her. He’d never seen her this way before.
“There are lies on both sides,” she said. “On all sides.”
“That’s right.”
“And your General Crook? He doesn’t lie?”
“No.”
“And you?”
“Not this time.”
She stared at him.
“Not this time?”
He shrugged.
“Nobody’s perfect.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Big Heart did not take Clint back to the same wickiup to spend the night. It also was not Golden Princess’s wickiup. It was, however, the same wickiup from his dream—and from Golden Princess’s vision. So it was no surprise to him that, after dark, the tent flap was tossed back and she came in.
She didn’t speak. Clint approached her and, as in the dream, undressed her. The light from the fire he’d built made everything about her glow—her hair, her pubic thatch, her skin.
When he had her naked, he set her down on the blanket he had spread just for this occasion. He figured if he had dreamt it, and she had seen it in a vision, he might as well be ready.
Looking down at her, he removed his own clothes and then joined her on the blanket. He kissed her, ran his hands over her amazing body. There was not an ounce of fat on her. Her body was that of not only a warrior but an amazon.
He kissed her neck, and moved down to her full breasts and hard nipples. He nibbled and bit and sucked as he moved one hand down between her legs. He stroked her until she was wet, then pushed one finger inside her up to his knuckle. She moaned, and lifted her hips to meet the pressure of his hand as he inserted yet a second finger. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, bit her lip, and let her head fall back. He kissed his way down her body until he was nestled between her legs. He didn’t know if anyone had ever done this to her before. Probably not, since she’d lived all her life with the Apaches.
His thought was confirmed when his tongue touched her for the first time. She reached down quickly and pushed him away, then drew her legs up to her chest. The look on her face asked if he was crazy.
Without a word, he reached for her knees, exerted pressure until her legs were straight again. He kissed her legs, the sweet skin on the inside of her thighs. He touched her again with his fingers, which she allowed. Then he pressed his face to her and flicked his tongue out. She jumped, as if struck by lightning, but this time when she tried to push him away he pressed his elbows down onto her thighs, pinning them. She was a strong woman, but he had the feeling she was not using all her strength to try to resist him.
He continued to lick her, kiss her, suck her until she stopped all of her resistance. She dropped down onto her back and put her hands to her head. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but she had decided to put herself in his hands and let him do what he wanted.
He found her clit, licked and sucked it until she began to moan and cry out. He hoped that no one outside would hear and come bursting in. He moved his tongue up and down, and across, and around, moving faster and faster while she moved her hips, trying to match his tempo. He felt her belly tremble, knew her climax was coming, knew it would be something she had never experienced before, and knew she would react . . . violently.
As the orgasm hit her, she opened her mouth to scream. He was quick, clapping his hand over her mouth as her body bucked and the tendons on her neck stood out. Her scream was muffled by his palm, and when it was over, her eyes rolled up into her head and her body went limp . . .
When she woke, he was stroking her, talking to her tenderly. She still said nothing, just looked at him. He kissed her, and her mouth opened beneath his. She hungrily took his tongue, then fed him hers. She reached between them and grasped his erection. She pulled him on top of her, pressed the head of his erection to her, and took him inside with a gasp.
She wrapped her powerful legs around him as he began to fuck her, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Her nails raked his back; her legs tightened even more around him. He thought she was going to scream again, but she bit her lip and muffled it herself.
He rode her then, with abandon, seeking his own release this time, knowing that she would find hers either just before him, with him, or just after. It didn’t matter really. For him this was a dream come true, for her a vision fulfilled. At this point they were both bucking against each other like wild animals. The tent filled with the sound of flesh slapping flesh, grunt over grunt, and the scent of their exertions. If they’d been in a hotel in a bed, he knew the bed would have been bouncing across the floor. Luckily, they were lying on the hard-packed earth, and no one outside the wickiup could tell what was happening on the inside . . .
THIRTY-EIGHT
They made love more gently the next two times, and were lying side by side on the blanket before she finally spoke.
“The visions,” she said, “did not warn me.”
“Neither did my dreams.”
“I have never lain with a white man before,” she said. “It is very different than with an Apache man.”
“You are unlike any woman I’ve ever been with,” he said, “no
matter what color.”
She turned her head and looked at him.
“This does not change anything, you know.”
“I know.”
“We are still enemies.”
“Maybe,” he said, “only until I’ve talked with Geronimo.”
“We shall see.”
She got to her feet and quickly donned her clothes, then looked down at him.
“No one must know of this.”
“It’s nobody’s business but ours,” he said, “but won’t your shaman know?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Be ready to leave in the morning.”
“I’ll be ready,” he promised her.
She stared at him, seemed about to say something else, then turned and left. He got dressed, wrapped himself in the blanket that still held her smell, and went to sleep immediately.
Golden Princess went back to her own wickiup and sank down to the floor. Her legs had no strength in them. She had never spent such a night with a man. Her vision had been absolutely true. And Clint Adams was right. The shaman would know everything. The question was, would the shaman tell Geronimo?
She had to get some sleep, or risk falling off her pony the next day.
In the morning Big Heart came into the wickiup.
“It is time.”
“No breakfast?”
“Come outside. You can eat while we continue to break camp.”
Clint had nothing but the clothes on his back. His horse, saddle, saddlebags, and guns had all been taken away from him. He went outside, and accepted a bowl of some kind of mush. He was just glad it wasn’t the same meat they had been feeding him.
Wickiups had already been taken down, campfires stamped out, and women and children had been given whatever they could carry.
As he finished eating, Big Heart came walking over leading Eclipse.
“I saddled him myself,” he said, handing Clint the reins. His saddle and saddlebags were there, but his guns were missing.
“Thanks.”
He handed a squaw his empty bowl.
“When do we go?” he asked Big Heart.
“As soon as Golden Princess mounts her pony. I must go and get mine.”
He walked away. As he did, both Running Free and Stands Tall Man came riding over to Clint.
“You will be riding between us,” Running Free said.
“If you try to escape,” Stands Tall Man said, “I will kill you right away.”
“Just don’t make any mistakes,” Clint said.
“When I kill you,” Stands Tall Man said, “it will be no mistake.”
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting so long,” Clint said.
Stands Tall Man was about to say something when Golden Princess came walking up, leading a beautiful painted pony behind her.
“I want no mistakes from anyone,” she said, as if she had been standing right next to them the entire time. “Is that understood?”
Running Free nodded. Stands Tall Man said, “Yes.”
She looked at Clint.
“I don’t intend to make any mistakes,” he told her.
“Then mount up,” she said. “We leave for Geronimo’s camp. We will be there before nightfall.”
She mounted up and rode away from them. Then the rest of them mounted up, and the Apaches took up positions on either side of Clint.
Stands Tall Man took the opportunity to lean over and say, “Then you will be dead before nightfall.”
THIRTY-NINE
As promised, they rode into Geronimo’s camp before nightfall. It was just on the other side of the Peloncillos, in Mexico.
They rode into the center of camp, becoming the center of attention. Golden Princess stopped her pony with Clint right behind her, between Running Free and Stands Tall Man. The rest of her band dispersed into the camp, including the women and children.
Golden Princess remained on her pony, so Clint followed her example and did not move. Neither did the Apaches on either side of him.
Finally, the flap on a wickiup was flipped and an old man walked out. He looked withered and tired, and moved slowly. And like the shaman, he could have been sixty or eighty. But he commanded the attention of every person in the camp, and Clint knew this was Geronimo.
Then another man came out from the wickiup, a taller, younger man. Clint watched Golden Princess stiffen when she saw that man.
Geronimo walked to Golden Princess and she stepped down. They spoke in their own language. Clint did not understand a word.
Geronimo then turned and went back into his wickiup, followed by the younger man.
Golden Princess turned and walked to where Clint was mounted and waiting.
“You’ll be taken to a wickiup,” she said.
“Will Geronimo talk with me?”
“I must speak with him about it.”
“Who is that other man?” Clint asked. “You didn’t seem happy to see him.”
“That is Many Words,” she said. “He got here before we did.”
“And he has something to say about it?”
“Yes.”
Clint nodded.
“Step down,” she said. “Running Free will take you to your wickiup. You will wait there for Geronimo’s final decision.”
“All right.”
He stepped down from Eclipse’s back. Golden Princess turned and entered Geronimo’s wickiup.
Running Free came up alongside him.
“I will take care of your horse,” he said.
“Thanks.”
Stands Tall Man came up on the other side of Clint.
“Many Words will see to it that you die,” he said. “And I will do it.”
Before Clint could say anything, the Apache brave walked away.
“Come,” Running Free said, taking Clint’s arm.
It was several hours before someone came for him. It was neither Stands Tall Man nor Running Free. And it wasn’t Golden Princess.
“I am Many Words,” the man said.
“I know.”
“I have come to take you to Geronimo.”
“To take me to him,” Clint asked, “or to kill me on the way?”
“I told him to kill you,” the brave said, “but he wants to talk to you, and he is chief.”
“Good,” Clint said. “Lead the way.”
Many Words smiled.
“You first.”
Clint entered Geronimo’s wickiup, saw the old man sitting at a fire with Golden Princess on his left and another man on his right.
“Sit,” Many Words said.
Clint sat across from Geronimo.
“That is Nachite,” Many Words said, pointing to the man on Geronimo’s right.
Many Words walked around the fire but remained standing, just behind Geronimo. Clint knew that he would probably only need to make a move and Many Words would kill him. It would be a mistake to think that Golden Princess would be of any help.
“Golden Princess tells me you want to speak with me,” Geronimo said in remarkably good English. “Talk.”
Clint knew his pitch would have to be good, so he started talking. He told Geronimo everything General Crook wanted him to know—that eventually he and his braves would all be wiped out, just by sheer numbers. That Crook did not want that to happen, that he was prepared to make certain promises. Before Clint left the fort, Crook had told him where he wanted the meeting to take place. It was the Canyon de los Embudos (Canyon of the Funnels).
When Clint was done, he sat and waited.
“There is truth in what your General Crook says,” Geronimo remarked finally. “Some truth.”
“Some,” Clint agreed.
“Golden Princess tells me that your General Crook does not have the last word on these things.”
“That’s true, he doesn’t.”
“You could have lied and said he did.”
“I would not want to lie to the great Chief Geronimo,” Clint said.
Geronimo stared at him and then nodded.
“You will be taken back to your wickiup,” the great chief said. “I will think about your words, and the words of your General Crook, and let you know what I decide.”
Clint stood up. “Can I ask when?”
Geronimo stared at him with no expression.
“Soon,” he said.
Clint nodded. Many Words took him out and back to his wickiup.
“I hope the food is better here than the last place,” Clint said.
Many Words started to leave without an answer, then changed his mind and said, “It is not.”
FORTY
Hours later Golden Princess entered Clint’s wickiup.
“I was wondering who was going to bring the bad news,” he said.
She didn’t smile.
“It must be bad news.”
“Many Words spoke against you,” she said. “So did Stands Tall Man. Running Free spoke for you, even though his brother was killed.”
“And you?”
“I spoke for you.”
“And Geronimo’s decision?”
“You must face Stands Tall Man, man to man, with knives,” she said.
“Well, that’s what he’s wanted all along,” Clint said. “And if I beat him?”
“You must not beat him, you must kill him.”
“Okay, so if I kill him, Geronimo will agree to meet with General Crook?”
“No,” she said, “if you kill him, you must then meet Many Words.”
“With a knife?”
“With whatever weapons are available,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, “and then . . .”
“If you defeat Many Words—”
“Kill him?”
“Yes,” she said, “if you kill him, you will have proven yourself, and Geronimo will meet with your General Crook.”
“So all I have to do is meet two Apaches in hand-to-hand combat, one right after the other? And if I kill them both, he’ll meet with Crook.”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he said, “can’t say they’re making it easy. What if I don’t agree?”
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