Kiss Of The Night Wind

by Taylor, Janelle

  “Your words are true, and it saddens me.”

  The chief offered, “If you wish to remain here with your woman for safety, no Apache will take your lives.”

  T.J. sighed heavily. “I cannot, my brother. There is something I must do. I will tell no one how to reach this stronghold. Your war is with the whites, not with me.”

  Naiche saw how troubled his blood brother was and knew the man needed to speak openly and honestly to someone he could trust. “Your word is your honor, Nighthawk. What bitterness eats at you?”

  T.J. looked at his friend and replied, “What I must do is hard, Naiche; I must capture and slay the brother of my woman.”

  “She does not know this,” the chief concluded aloud.

  “No, and it will cause her much pain. My task will endanger her life. The whites wish her dead. By taking her back to lead me to her brother, she could be captured and slain by the white law.”

  “Can you do this thing, Nighthawk?”

  “I must, for her brother killed my loved ones and friend. They ride as outlaws, murdering and robbing the innocent. I have promised the Great White Father to defeat them. She must be my path.”

  Naiche knew the truth about Thad Jamison. “You are a powerful man with the white law. Is there no way to save her?”

  “Long ago, she rode with her brother’s gang. She is guilty by white law and must be punished. My powers cannot save her.”

  “Can you not let her escape after you capture her brother?”

  “My word is my honor, Naiche. To do so I must turn my back on it. I swore justice and vengeance before I knew her. It is hard to deceive her and betray her, but it is too late to retreat.”

  “You must not leave the path marked for you, Nighthawk. You cannot show weakness and lose face for any reason.”

  “I know,” T.J. murmured. “It is a dark and dangerous path I travel this time, my brother; it will demand much from me.”

  “If there is a way to bring light and safety to it, you will find it and use it. But do not weaken and betray yourself.”

  “Her pull is powerful, Naiche,” he confessed.

  “But you are stronger and more cunning. Have you forgotten how to make an enemy a friend? Have you forgotten how you hated the Apaches and swore vengeance on us? It was that strength and courage which caused my father to adopt you. Nighthawk found understanding. He became a son, a brother, a man. Use what you learned amongst us. If you could run seventy miles across the desert in the heat, surely you can travel this path. You found the way to become one of us. When you left, you found the way to become a white man again. Can you not find a way to save this woman who causes your heart to burn?”

  “It’s different this time, Naiche. She has made many enemies.”

  “More than the Apaches have made?” he reasoned cunningly. “Yet we find ways to survive, to challenge our foes.”

  “Yes, Naiche, she has more foes than the Apache. They seek her everywhere. She has no stronghold such as this one. She cannot remain in hiding forever, for someone will find her. When she travels the land, she is in more peril than when you leave this place. You are a warrior, but she is a woman. How can she defeat such forces? How can she change what has been done in the past? She is like you, my brother; she is in a white man’s trap.”

  “From your words, there is no way to save her. You must do what your honor demands. As with us, find happiness until death takes her. As with us, if you side with her, you will also die. You were sent from us to find the path you were meant to walk. Travel with her for a time, then ride on without her when she is lost to you.”

  “I have lost many things, my brother.” T.J. told him. “I want this woman.”

  “As Apaches want survival and peace. Sometimes it cannot be.”

  Carrie Sue completed her bath under the curious gaze of Windsong who either couldn’t or wouldn’t speak to her in English. She sensed the Indian woman’s irritation and intrigue, and she wondered what T.J. would do if she weren’t with him on this visit. She had learned something new about her lover, his rearing and training by these Apaches and his adoption by the famed Apache chief who was now dead. Surely he felt a sense of loyalty to him, but how much? Which pull was strongest in a bind, the Indian or the white? And why, with his previous training and keen instincts, hadn’t he detected their presence? Or had he? No doubt he had allowed their “capture.”

  She pondered the experiences and losses he had endured, at least those she knew about, and realized what had made him as he was. And, there was no telling what else had happened to him over the years to create the legendary gunslinger T.J. Rogue. He had been forced to become a strong, self-reliant male, a loner, a man feared by people on both sides of the law. He was a man driven by ghosts, scarred and molded by events out of his control, urged onward in search of peace and respect: a story similar to hers. Perhaps that was why he had taken her side and was helping her.

  But what had happened, she wondered, to him during the war between the North and South? Where had he gone? What had he done? How had he prevented becoming an outlaw, which usually happened to a man with his skills and nature?

  If T.J. didn’t seem to fit anywhere, what did he have to make his existence worthwhile? What did he want in life? Why couldn’t he, if he loved her and wanted her, escape far away with her? What could possibly hold him to this area? And, why did she perceive that expectant air about him again, one similar to the one in Tucson?

  There was, she decided, even more to this man than she had learned. But what were those secrets and how would they affect her?

  Carrie Sue knew that T.J. loved her hair unbound, so she brushed it and let it flow down her back like a wild river of tawny red. She donned the one dress she had brought along, as she would have time to change clothes before they left this Indian hideout. She wanted to look as lovely as possible, to tempt him, she admitted.

  Carrie Sue followed Windsong back to camp. It was nearly dark. T.J. told her to take a seat on a blanket near a campfire and to remain silent and respectful. She observed the ceremony of music and dances with awe. She watched the men drink mescal and talk, and she sipped the fiery liquid which her lover passed to her. She watched the women observe her, taking special note of her fiery mane.

  The hour grew late, and she was exhausted. The drum of the music seemed to fill her head and chest; yet, she began to doze, to feel utterly relaxed, limp and warm.

  “Why don’t you turn in, Carrie Sue?” T.J.’s voice asked.

  “Where?” she replied, too weary to argue or to be aroused.

  “In Naiche’s wickiup. We’re his guests.”

  “Good-night,” she murmured and headed that way. T.J. didn’t follow. She fell on the bedroll and was asleep quickly.

  T.J. finally joined Carrie Sue on the bedroll. She snuggled against him but did not awaken. He lay beside her in deep thought, musing over how their lives were so entangled.

  Last summer Quade Harding had learned he was Thad Jamison, undercover Texas Ranger, from a careless officer who unwittingly had exposed his name and task during what the man thought was a private conversation in a Brownwood livery stable. T.J. had been investigating rumors about the Hardings and their illegal actions, but he had been compelled for the first time to leave a mission unfinished because of the man’s rash slip, and that didn’t sit well with him. Luckily the villainous bastard hadn’t told his hirelings—Curly James and two friends—that secret when he had ordered T.J. Rogue’s murder at the end of September. T.J. hadn’t told Curly and his boys the truth either, as it wouldn’t have changed what they did to him, unless entice them to murder him quickly and with certainty instead of leaving him to die a horrible death!

  The Ranger who had been on the stage with Carolyn Starns had found him in time to save his life; now, his friend was dead at the hands of the Stover Gang. After healing, a vital mission had intruded on his search for Curly and his boys.

  T.J. knew that Quade Harding assumed he was dead and there was no
way the evil rancher would reveal his involvement with a Texas Ranger’s death, so his secret identity was safe. If possible, he’d like to stay out of Quade’s sight and hearing a while longer. Later, he would kill the snake for himself and his woman!

  Bitterness chewed at the handsome lawman. It had been those cases which had prevented him from seeing his brother again. Actually Tim had been the one to hear of Thaddeus Jerome Jamison, a lawman who was heading soon to Fort Davis to work secretly on a case. Major Timothy Jamison had contacted Ira Aten of the Rangers and asked questions. T.J. had gotten the shocking news of his brother’s survival and location in January, shortly before completing his mission in the Oklahoma Territory. Then, he had gotten wind of Quade Harding’s cohorts, who were reported to be in Sante Fe. In February, Tim and his troop had been ambushed and killed by Mexican bandits who kept raiding over the border. T.J. had gotten the infuriating news a few days later, just as he was about to set aside his pursuit in order to visit his brother. The reports on Curly had proven to be wrong.

  For a while he had been enraged and resentful. He had planned to quit his overlapping jobs for state, country, and President. He had intended to settle down with a lovely woman and her beautiful little girl, but the Stover Gang had murdered them in March. He hadn’t quit his jobs; he had sworn revenge on the Stover Gang and Quade Harding. He had sworn revenge on the Mexican raiders, but the Army had done that task for him in late March. In April he had picked up clues on Curly’s boys and tracked them down, to learn they were to meet their boss in El Paso on May first. Again fate had stalled him until May second. Assuming Curly had left El Paso, T.J. had gone to Tucson to await the bastard’s arrival.

  Along the way, he had met Miss Carolyn Starns, alias Carrie Sue Stover. If his life hadn’t been complicated already, it was now, for the woman who had stolen his heart and wits was connected to both enemies! And, she had known Curly James, a curious fact considering the blond gunslinger had worked for the Stover’s enemy. His love certainly had traveled with some vile types. Yet, he knew for a fact she hadn’t gotten cozy with any of those criminals. Didn’t that say something important and good about the woman he loved and desired?

  There was something else Thad Jamison wanted, his Texas Ranger badge with his name engraved on the back. He knew from reports that Darby Stover or one of the gang members was a collector of badges off the chests of slain officers of any kind of law enforcement, and his badge was among them. The Ranger who had been slain with Carolyn Starns during the holdup near Sherman had been keeping it for him until he completed a tricky case. That badge represented a lot to him, and he wanted it back! Soon, he promised himself.

  When it was safe and the opportunity presented itself, he needed to telegraph his superiors on several matters…

  He looked over at the sleeping vixen in his arms. What the hell am I going to do with you, woman?

  His warring mind shouted back, You mean, what the hell are you going to do about her, Thad?

  Chapter Twelve

  T.J. awakened Carrie Sue so they could head out soon. With the flap down, she washed her face and hands and donned her riding clothes. After packing her possessions, she lifted the entry covering and joined the two men outside.

  T.J. and Carrie Sue were served itl’anaasdidze and banxei, Apache mush and fry bread. They were given a supply of tsguust’ei and bii bitsi, Apache tortillas and dried venision, for the trail. When they finished eating, her lover went to bid old friends good-bye.

  Carrie Sue asked Naiche, “What does Tsine mean?”

  The Indian chief sent her a lopsided grin and responded, “It is what a man calls the woman he loves. You whites have many words for it, so it is difficult to translate. Do not tell my brother we have spoken of this word or he will be angry with me,” he teased, hoping his revelation might help Nighthawk get closer to the woman and carry out his mission as quickly and painlessly as possible.

  As T.J. and Naiche said their farewells, Carrie Sue wondered if the endearment had been used to fool the Indians into believing she was his woman to prevent problems, or if T.J. had meant it. Right now, her head ached from too much mescal to think clearly! She shouldn’t have consumed any of the potent drink, but she had been so nervous last night not knowing how to act with T.J. here. She still wasn’t certain of the Apache woman’s role, and she didn’t want to offend or insult any of them. Soon, she could relax.

  Relax? her throbbing head scoffed. When? Where? How? You’re on the run again!

  In Apache, T.J. told Naiche, “I will send the Great White Father another message about Jeffords and the San Carlos movement. If I can change his mind about them, my brother, I will do so. It will take time for my words to reach his hands and ears. If he takes them to heart, it will take more time for him to respond and take action. Until that day, try to work with the new Indian agent for peace and a compromise.”

  Naiche replied, “I will give your words to the council, but I can make you no promises, my brother. While your words travel to the white leader and his words travel back to my lands, the whites and soldiers will not be at truce with the Apache. If they strike at us, we must defend our lives and lands.”

  T.J. coaxed, “Try to encourage your tribe not to raid on the whites from this full moon to the next. That will give time to make a new treaty to halt more bloodshed on both sides.”

  Naiche inhaled deeply, expanding his broad chest. “I will try.”

  “I can ask nothing more of you, my wise brother.”

  After a few more minutes of conversation in Apache, Naiche blindfolded them and led them out of the valley via the secret canyon. Miles away, the eye coverings were removed and they parted.

  T.J. and Carrie Sue headed across a terrain of mostly yuccas, scattered bushes, and desert grassland. There were mountains in all directions, some distant and some close. It was fairly easy riding, except for her headache and excessively dry mouth.

  They had traveled about twenty miles when he halted them for rest and water. T.J. knew she was in discomfort, but they needed to push on toward Apache Pass where he could conceal her in the Chiricahua Mountains while he rode to Fort Bowie to send critical telegrams. He had to complete his obligations to Naiche and his tribe before continuing his mission with Carrie Sue. He had to inform the President of what could happen out here if quick and fair decisions weren’t made.

  The lawman also needed to make certain the wanted posters on this beautiful fugitive had been withdrawn and that his superior knew all was going well on the Stover case. Too, he wanted to have an agent assigned to investigate her charges against Quade Harding. Since those events took place in June of ‘69, evidence would be hard—if not impossible—to find. But proving what had turned her bad was the only chance he had!

  To give Carrie Sue more time to rest, T.J. said he was going to scout ahead for a short while. He told her to remain in the shade and to sip water slowly. He smiled when she simply nodded in her misery.

  Carrie Sue watched the handsome Rogue leave, and frowned. She knew what he was doing, and it vexed her that it was necessary. She scolded herself for being so foolish last night. She knew that by nightfall the scorching sun would have sweated out most of the devilish liquid and she would feel like herself again.

  She leaned her head against the tree and closed her eyes to shut out the sun’s tormenting glare. She liked having T.J. be so caring and sensitive; she liked him calling her a romantic name, even if he didn’t know she understood it. Before she reached El Paso and then headed for the Guadalupes where Darby was hiding—if Curly had spoken the truth—the matter of T.J. Rogue would be solved one way or—

  Galloping hooves interrupted her musings. She jumped up, drew her revolver, and positioned herself for defense. T.J. came into sight, dismounted, and rushed toward her. She holstered the weapon.

  “Trouble ahead, woman! I need you to hide here while I ride back to Naiche’s camp and warn him. From those rocks, you can see miles beyond, even without fieldglasses. Several regimen
ts of soldiers are coming this way with Apache scouts and Gatling guns. You know what that means. They’ll be led straight to Naiche’s camp and those Apaches won’t stand a chance against those guns.”

  T.J.’s heart had pounded in dread when he had sighted those multibarreled weapons on their field carriages. He knew they could fire hundreds of rounds a minute. If the soldiers got into the secret valley or simply waited for the Apaches to ride out, it would be a slaughter. He had to do something to prevent such bloodshed, but he couldn’t go reason with the Army. Without authorization, they wouldn’t listen or change their minds, and his cover and mission would be destroyed for nothing. Besides, he had no proof he was Thad Jamison and he couldn’t reveal that he worked for the President, who had given the order to move the Apaches to the San Carlos Reservation. Even if he told the Army he was trying to reach Grant to change his mind, they wouldn’t back off on such weak words. “I have to persuade Naiche and his people to flee into Mexico until this current trouble settles down.”

  “How can you find their camp again?” she asked.

  “They have guards posted who can see everything nearby. I know which direction to take. Remember, the sun was to our left, then at our backs. I can guess how many miles we rode and which way. All I need to do is be seen by them. They’ll know something’s wrong.”

  Carrie Sue didn’t quite believe he didn’t know the camp’s location, but she didn’t challenge his code of honor. “Does this mean your loyalty lies more with the Indians than the whites?”

  “Nope, they’re usually divided in matters like this because I know both sides. But I can’t let a slaughter take place when I can stop it. There are women, children, and old ones in that camp, but those Gatling guns won’t know the difference between them and warriors. If they’ll just cross the border and lay low for a while, maybe things will cool down here with the new Indian agent in charge. At least I will have done the only thing I could.”