Daniella gave Travis what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and left the center of camp with Dee-O-Det.
The old shaman patted Daniella’s shoulder with his gnarled, wrinkled hand. “Do not worry. Your man will be seen to.”
“He’s not my man. You know better than that. He’s just a friend who needed my help.”
“Ah, but his eyes say he would like to be your man.”
Her heart gave a funny little leap. She chose to ignore it. “Is that the shaman talking, or just a well-meaning friend who is sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong?” she teased.
“Aiyee! Everyone is touchy today. Cochise is in a temper. Tonight he will waste good food on his sour stomach, then he will have a bellyache. He will blame me, a humble shaman, and demand a cure from me.”
“And why is Cochise in a temper?” she asked seriously. “He was fine until I mentioned the boy. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Is the boy all right?”
“Trust me, child. Everything will be fine. You will see.”
“But can’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“All in good time, child. I will send someone when the council meets. Until then, rest.”
Chapter Eleven
Travis had been toured around the rancheria, noting the various familiar brands on some of the horses and cattle.
It looked like Howard Blackwood, for one, needed to double his guard.
To Travis’s stunned amazement, he was treated with utmost courtesy all afternoon. But no one mentioned Matt. Travis learned quickly that his son was a forbidden subject until the council meeting. No one would even admit Matt was here. And Travis had not been allowed to wander around on his own for even a minute.
It was dark when Daniella joined him and the others at the council fire. A space was reserved for her at Dee-O-Det’s right. Travis was seated to the shaman’s left. The other council members fanned out in both directions, forming a large half circle at the fire. Directly opposite Dee-O-Det sat Cochise.
Travis was relieved to learn the meeting would be conducted in Spanish for his benefit.
When all were seated, Cochise rose with deliberate slowness.
The long fringe on his ceremonial buckskin jaqueta shimmied with his movements, each string tipped with a silver bead or turquoise spangle. On his left breast was a gold cross, the ends of its arms bent at right angles. On the right was a similar design worked in silver, inlaid with turquoise and mother-of-pearl. Around his neck he wore what the shaman said was the badge of the High Chief of the Chiricahua, a thunderbird emblem made of turquoise.
Cochise began to speak, and Travis felt the sheer power and magnetism of the man.
“When winter walked the land, before this Season of Little Leaves, a white captive was brought to us by our warriors. She was treated as any other hated white captive. Tortured, used, beaten, left to die beneath the limbs of the sacred pine. Several commented that night on the courage and determination of this captive, and that it was a shame such a brave woman had to be white, and therefore would die. We have not seen much bravery from her kind.”
The war chief’s dark, glittering eyes settled on Travis.
Travis worked at keeping his expression as blank as possible, refusing to respond to the deliberate taunt. The Apache could take pot shots at white men’s bravery all night for all Travis cared. Until Travis had Matt safely away, there was no way in hell he’d take such bait.
“During the night, while she lay waiting to go to Big Sleep,” Cochise said, “a miracle occurred. Yúúsń, in His great wisdom, asked the thunderbird to send a bolt of white light from the sky, and He placed it in her hair so all who looked upon her would know her as a Woman of Magic. It was a great sign from the Spirit World, for when the white light in her hair touched the ancient pine, the tree exploded with a tremendous crash. Even now it lays on the ground, split in half by the mighty thunderbird of Yúúsń and his chosen one, Woman of Magic.”
No wonder she hadn’t wanted to camp there!
“Our shaman spoke of protecting her, teaching her our ways, learning from her the ways of the white man. So I, Cochise, chief of the Chúk’ánéné, formally adopted her as my daughter, making her one of us. She left us to return to her white family, but was cast out by them.”
Travis glanced sharply at Daniella. Her head jerked up and her mouth flew open.
“Now she has come back to us,” Cochise continued. “She brings us a most serious request, of which she will now speak.”
Cochise sat on the ground. Daniella stood, took a deep breath, and unclenched her small fists. Travis could almost feel her trying to relax. What courage it must take for her to come back to these people, to stand before them with her head up, shoulders back, after what they did to her. When she spoke, her voice was calm.
“In the days just before I left the Chúk’ánéné to return to my first father, I looked into the flames and saw a face.”
Travis listened intently as she told of seeing him shot and Matt taken. She told of the other times she had seen Travis in the flames, and of her last vision, of Matt with the Chúk’ánéné in their winter stronghold.
Travis’s eyes scanned the dark faces around the fire. Some looked skeptical, others impressed. But most of them stared at her with expressionless black eyes as she went on speaking.
“This man, Travis Colton, whom some call Yellow Hair, walked today, weaponless, among people who nearly killed him, left him for dead, and took his son. People who consider themselves his enemies. I ask you to think of the courage it takes for a man to walk freely into the enemy camp, not knowing if he will even live long enough to voice his request. It is not a common thing for a man to do. I ask that you honor his bravery by allowing him to take his son home.”
She closed her eyes briefly and took a slow, deep breath. “Right now you are angry with the white men, and your anger is just and reasonable. But do not blame all white men for the misdeeds of a few. Someday you will grow tired of hating and fighting and watching your young men die in battle. Some day you will want peace. But the road to peace will not be easy. It must be taken one step at a time, and may take many seasons. Take that first step now, with this white man. Let him see that the Chúk’ánéné are a generous people, and word will spread of your kindness to him.”
Daniella crossed her feet and sank to the ground.
“Peace! Bah!”
Travis felt every muscle in his body tighten. He scanned the council, but couldn’t tell who had spoken.
Across the fire, Cochise rose again and fixed his steady gaze on the second man from his right.
“Woman of Magic speaks with much wisdom for one so young,” he said. “What she asks, that a boy be returned to his father, should be a simple thing.” He looked at the shaman. “But in this case, it is not so simple.”
Travis tensed with dread. Cochise sat and nodded to another man, a powerfully built, middle-aged warrior seated near Daniella. The Apache rose and studied Travis with wary eyes. Then he addressed the council.
“I am Hal-Say, son of Baishan. I am known to you as being strong of arm and brave in battle. I had two sons. They were strong and fine. They rode into battle together with courage in their hearts and were slain by the Ńaakaiye, the hated Mexicans. My wife and I cut off our hair, painted our faces black, and mourned our loss. For many moons we lived in sorrow, with no children in our wickiup.
“Then a white boy was brought into our midst. He was alone in the world, thinking his father had gone to Big Sleep, as our sons had gone. Huera and I took him in and shared our wickiup with him. After a time, we grew to love this boy, whom we called Little Bear, and adopted him as our son. Some objected, wanting the boy for themselves, but we defied them.” Hal-Say paused and settled his gaze on Travis.
“I look at this white man tonight, and I know he is the sire of Little Bear. But he is a young man. He can have more sons. My wife and I have already lost two sons. I fear Huera will die of a broken spirit if we now lose Little Bear.�
��
Travis listened, stunned. Daniella had seemed so positive there would be no problem. She obviously hadn’t known about this complication. The anxious look on her face now filled him with cold foreboding.
Dee-O-Det motioned for Travis to rise and speak.
Travis came to his feet slowly and studied the faces around him. Apaches. Every man here—and for miles around—was his hated, sworn enemy. In the past months these men and others like them had stolen horses and cattle, killed his friends, his neighbors, terrorized the entire territory.
He knew without a doubt that they hated whites every bit as much as whites hated them.
So why was he still alive, standing here among them, treated like a guest? Why were they willing to let him speak?
Magic. Or a miracle.
Daniella.
She was the reason he was still alive. She was the reason he was so close to Matt right now he could feel his son’s presence.
He gazed at her face, golden in the firelight. She met his look for a long moment. When she nodded, he turned away and faced the council.
“I am Travis Colton. Last winter the stage my son, Matt, and I were traveling in was attacked. I was wounded.” He touched his fingers to his cheek. “When I came to, my son was gone. I am not interested in who did this, or why. I’m only interested in getting my son back.
“And he is my son,” he said directly to Hal-Say. “I held him when he was a baby, I changed his diapers, I steadied his first shaky steps, and listened to his first words. His mother died when he was a few weeks old, so I did these things alone. If you tell him I’m alive, he’ll want to come home with me. If you don’t tell him, and deny me my son, then one day he’ll learn the truth. And when he does, he’ll hate you for keeping it from him, Hal-Say. I don’t think you want that. In any case,” Travis went on, his voice tinged with hardness. “I came here to get my son. I will not leave without him.”
Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest thing to do, Travis thought as he sat down. He wasn’t in any position to threaten or demand. But Daniella said these people appreciated honesty, and anger and determination were his honest feelings.
Next to him, Dee-O-Det rose. “I wish to address this council,” the old man said. “Not as your spokesman, but as your shaman.” He paused, waiting for the council’s approval.
“When ha’, winter, walked the land, our brother the shash, the bear, sought his den, as he always does when the cold comes. He lay down to sleep, and to wait for Yúúsń to speak to him. When spring came, the Season of Little Leaves, the bear awoke and left his cave. He found me in the woods and told me many things.”
The old man waved a gnarled hand toward Daniella. “He told me that although Woman of Magic had left the Chúk’ánéné, she would return many times to walk among us.”
With his other hand, the shaman motioned toward Travis. “He told me Little Bear’s father lived, and this white man would be a true friend to our people. Our brother the bear said if the boy leaves here with his first father, the boy, too, will return to us many times, just as will Woman of Magic.”
When the old man finished, Cochise led Daniella and Travis away from the council fire to the small family cooking fire before his own wickiups. Cochise sat on a blanket and began sharpening the knife he wore at his waist. Daniella knelt next to him, her eyes glued to his actions. The smooth, shiny steel caught and reflected the firelight as Cochise rubbed it across the sharpening stone.
Travis paced. And worried. And waited. If he was home, a good, stiff shot of whiskey might ease the wait and soothe his nerves.
He tried to cheer himself. They’d come this far…all the way to Cochise’s summer stronghold. And they’d made it in one piece. He was a white man, standing where, most likely, no white man had ever stood, and he was alive. The council had listened to him. The shaman spoke in his favor. Daniella spoke in his favor. And Cochise no longer seemed angry over Travis’s presence.
There was no telling how many miles he paced during the next two hours. He wasn’t aware of time passing. It wasn’t passing at all, he was certain. It was standing still. It would never move forward again. Hadn’t he already spent his entire life pacing before this same fire, with the scraping of steel against rock grinding his nerves into dust?
He stopped when a small child teetered across his path, stumbled, and fell. A woman rushed over and swooped the child up, casting a look of pure hatred at Travis.
He wasn’t surprised. What surprised him was that they hadn’t all been looking at him like that for the entire day. Why wait till now to show their hatred?
He must have spoken his thoughts aloud, for Daniella answered him. “The feasting has to wait until the council has voted. The woman blames you for the delay.”
Travis whirled on Daniella. “Well what’s taking so goddamn long?”
She swallowed at the fierce look he shot her.
The question uppermost in both their minds was one neither of them would voice. What if it all went wrong? What if the council voted that Hal-Say keep Matt? What would happen to Travis? What would he do? What would they do to him?
Suddenly, out of the darkness, Hal-Say appeared. He stopped and looked at Travis, his expression unreadable. After a brief moment he walked on.
The man would make a great poker player, Travis thought. Not one hint of the council’s decision showed on the bronze face.
Dee-O-Det walked up then, a similar expressionless look about him. Judging by the wrinkles on the ancient face, Travis was ready to swear the shaman was older than God Himself. Then the old man grinned. “Come, my friends!” he cried. “Let us feast and celebrate! When bellies are full, Hal-Say and Huera will bring Little Bear to you, Travis Colton.”
Travis felt his knees weaken with relief. He closed his eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks for this miracle. When he opened his eyes, Daniella was there, grinning at him. Without thinking, Travis matched her grin. With a shout of joy, he picked her up and hugged her tightly, then spun her around in circles.
Daniella was so pleased for Travis that she forgot to be afraid of him. It wasn’t until he released her that she realized he was the first man, aside from Cochise, Dee-O-Det, and Tucker, to put his arms around her without threat of violence since she’d returned to the Territory. She thought to herself, Dear God, but that felt good!
Then she blushed in confusion over the direction her thoughts were taking. She lowered her gaze and missed the knowing look that passed between Cochise and Dee-O-Det.
Travis had never seen so many fires or so much food in one place in his life. Cochise and Daniella led him to a small clearing in the forest near the center of the compound. It was surrounded by wickiups, and there were two larger fires going, each roasting an entire deer. But judging from the number of people gathered, there would barely be enough to go around.
Travis began to get some idea of why the Apaches raided so often. It must take a lot to feed and clothe this many people. And of all the Chiricahua he’d seen today, not one of them appeared to suffer the affects of overeating; they were all lean and trim.
There was, however, plenty of tiswin to go around. Travis was introduced to the homemade brew while he ate. It was, without a doubt, the most vile tasting stuff he had ever sampled. Thicker than cold molasses, it went down slow and tasted like pure yeast. He passed up the chance to refill his gourd.
But the doe they ate was delicious. The entrails cavity was stuffed with onions, garlic, potatoes, pinto beans, and corn. Travis couldn’t help wondering which farms and supply trains had unwillingly provided the vegetables.
By the time they’d eaten their fill, the celebration was in full swing and tiswin flowed freely. Mon-ache even donated his stolen whiskey to the cause. Cochise motioned for Daniella and Travis to follow him. He led them away from the crowd, back to Daniella’s wickiup.
“You two have shared a campfire on the trail for many days. Will you mind sharing a wickiup while you are with us? I’m afraid there are no others avai
lable.” Cochise looked at Travis expectantly.
Travis was about to voice his agreement when Daniella shrieked in rage.
“Shitaa! If you’re trying to be funny, it isn’t working! And if you’re trying to deceive our guest, to trick him, then I am ashamed of you.”
Cochise looked wounded. Dramatically so, Travis thought.
“I’ve already been accused once of trying to trap him,” Daniella said hotly. “How dare you suggest such a thing?”
“Daniella,” Travis interrupted, confused by her objection. “It’s no big deal. We can sleep on opposite sides of the wickiup, just like we slept on opposite sides of the campfire. I don’t mind.”
“You see, daughter? He does not mind.”
“Of course he doesn’t mind,” Daniella hissed irritably. “That’s because he doesn’t realize we could sleep a mile apart, or sit up and talk all night, but if we spent the night together under the same roof, we’d be married.”
A funny feeling stirred in Travis’s gut. “Married?”
“As married as if we stood before a preacher in church—to them. I swear, Travis,” she said earnestly. “I had nothing to do with this. Sometimes Cochise takes his role as father a bit too seriously.” She glared at Cochise. “He’d like to marry me off so someone else will have to worry about me. He doesn’t think I can take care of myself.”
Cochise shrugged and grinned. “A man must do what he must.”
At that point Travis lost track of the conversation. There were only a few people around in that part of the camp. He spotted Hal-Say walking slowly toward them with a woman at his side, but Travis’s gaze riveted on the young boy walking between the two.
Matt!
Travis rapidly blinked the moisture from his eyes. The child before him was taller than he’d been last winter, his hair was longer, and all he wore was a breech cloth and a pair of knee-high moccasins, but it was unmistakably, miraculously, Matt.
Apache-Colton Series Page 11