The Peacemaker

by Chelley Kitzmiller

  Looking for a more comfortable position, Indy moved to the front of the wagon where she could lean into a solid corner. The ill-smelling Concord stagecoach with its lumpy leather seat cushions, had been luxurious compared to this.

  It was nearing dusk by the time they reached Siphon Canyon, a broad, sandy wash, leading into the mouth of Apache Pass. For the past hour the captain had talked continuously about Camp Bowie and the men who garrisoned it. His description of Army life had been so entertaining that she had all but forgotten her fear until Sergeant Moseley rode up next to the ambulance.

  "I've ordered the men to flank you through the pass, sir."

  "Very well, Sergeant. Let me know if you see any signs of trouble."

  "If we see any signs of them, Captain, it'll be too late to do anything about it." The sergeant touched the brim of his cap in salute, then fell back into position with the other troopers.

  Indy had to ask, "Are you expecting an attack, Captain?"

  If the captain was surprised by her question, he didn't show it. "I'm always expecting an attack, especially there." He pointed to where the mountains came close together. "Apache Pass."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand, Captain. I read that the pass used to be dangerous for travelers and freighters, but I was under the impression that Bowie had been built to protect the route and that, indeed, it had done just that."

  "You've got your facts right, Miss Taylor. Once Bowie was garrisoned back in '62, the trouble stopped, but recently—" He floundered before her questioning look. "There's been some incidents," he finished in a low voice.

  His hesitancy was disturbing. She wondered what he was trying so hard not to say and cautioned herself to leave it alone; it was none of her business. Or was it? A disturbing suspicion crept into her thoughts and she threw caution aside. "How recently, Captain?"

  He stiffened, obviously uncomfortable with the question.

  "Right around the first of June."

  Indy thought back. "That's about the time my father took command, isn't it?" She watched him struggle for a reply and knew that her father had something to do with the reason the pass was no longer safe.

  "Yes, I—" He broke off, turning his attention to Sergeant Moseley who had suddenly reappeared alongside the ambulance.

  "We've got company, sir." Moseley inclined his head toward a high ledge overlooking the pass.

  Nolan grabbed his carbine and swung around, his gaze lifting and searching the mountainside.

  Indy followed his gaze. A half-naked Apache warrior sat astride his horse, looking down upon them. A second later another appeared, then another, as if from out of nowhere, reining their war ponies side by side until there were more than a dozen of them.

  "I've never seen them sit out in the open like that before," said Nolan, his tone was touched with surprise. "They usually don't show themselves like that." To Moseley, he said, "Keep the men close to the ambulance, Sergeant. Order them not to shoot until we know their intentions." As soon as the sergeant dropped back to relay the message, Nolan untied his horse and let him go.

  Indy crossed her arms and hugged herself. Dear, God. Please don't let them attack. Fearful images of the savage atrocities described in the reports came back to her now in vivid detail— images she had chosen to disregard, thinking that nothing like that could happen to her.

  "Can you use a revolver?" asked Nolan, his voice jolting her from her thoughts. He was kneeling in front of her, a worried expression deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth. Indy nodded, even though her mind rejected the question. "Here, take this." He took the revolver from its holster and put it in her hand. "You've got six shots. You need to make every one of them count. Don't shoot until I do and don't shoot unless you're sure you can't miss. And, Miss Taylor," he paused, pinning her with a hard look, "I don't know how this is going to turn out, but save the last shot for yourself, just in case. You don't want to be taken captive. Understand?"

  Oh, yes, she thought, she understood all too well. This was one time when she wished she didn't. "Y-yes," she stammered. "I understand." His expression told her he was doubtful that she would be able to defend herself. "Please, don't concern yourself about me, Captain. I know how to use a revolver." Her brother, Justice, had indeed taught her to shoot, and she had become fairly competent, but she had never shot at a human being before, only bottles and painted targets.

  Seeming convinced, the captain moved up front to converse with the driver. The man acknowledged Nolan's orders with a nod, then shot a stream of tobacco juice out of the side of his mouth.

  All at once, the warriors raised their rifles high over their heads. Shots exploded and they whooped and shouted like demons.

  "Go!" Nolan shouted to the driver.

  The whip popped and the driver called out a string of profanities sharp enough to slash through the mules' thick hides. Sand and pebbles, kicked up by the team's sudden burst of speed, flew back and stung Indy's face.

  She turned her gaze back to the rear of the wagon and saw the Apaches' horses break from their orderly position and come scrambling down the side of the mountain. They had the agility of a mountain goat and the speed of a cougar. Paralyzing terror stole her breath. No one had to tell her what their intentions were, and neither did she have to be a mathematician to know that the detachment was badly outnumbered.

  "Get down on the floor," Nolan ordered, shouting. "And take off that hat. It's too good a target."

  Indy slid off the seat onto the floor, curling her legs beneath her and unpinned her hat. The wagon's paneled sides rose up two feet from the floor, not much protection, but better than nothing.

  An arrow whistled over the top of her head and embedded itself into one of her carpetbags. She stared dumbly at its quivering feathered tail, realizing that but for the captain's command, she might now be dead.

  "Yo, you mules. Get on out there." Again and again the driver cracked his whip.

  Peeking over the side panel, Indy saw that the Apaches had reached the road and were now bearing down upon the detachment. Their war whoops mingled with the staccato bursts of rifle fire, the shouts of the six troopers, the driver's curses, and the wagon's rattling.

  Twisting half around in their saddles the troopers fired their carbines at their attackers. Beside her, Captain Nolan shot straight out the back of the ambulance, then ducked down behind the drop gate to reload.

  Indy cried out when the trooper riding directly behind the wagon flew off his horse. Without thinking, she clenched the revolver in both hands, raised it over the edge of the drop gate, aimed, and fired. Her shot went wild, missing the crouching warrior by a cannon length. She tried again, this time taking care with her aim. Squeeze the trigger gently. Don't pull it! The long-ago lesson came back to her, detail by detail. She nudged the trigger back another fraction of an inch and the shot exploded. The spine-tingling recoil threw her back against the mail pouch.

  "Good shootin'. You got him, ma'am," said Nolan, offering his arm to help her up.

  Regaining her position, Indy searched for the warrior and saw that both he and his horse had fallen. She gasped at the enormity of what she had done. Somehow it didn't matter that the Indian would have killed her had he been given the opportunity. He was a human being, and in spite of being a career soldier's daughter, raised in a home where the subject of war accompanied every meal, it went against her grain to deliberately take a human life. Even an Apache's, who, according to her father and everybody else, was something less than a human being.

  Mortified, she lowered the revolver and prayed that God would forgive her yet again, if indeed He had forgiven her the first time, seven years ago, when she had killed her mother and brother.

  Chapter 2

  Above the din of pounding hooves, rattling wheels, and savage war cries came the driver's bellow of pain. He stood up, frantically trying to reach his hands around his back to pull out the arrow that had lodged near the center of his spine.

  "Captain—the driver!"
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br />   Nolan twisted around. "Marcus!" He scrambled across the wagon bed on hands and knees toward the driver's seat. The wagon hit a deep rut a second before he reached him. The driver flew forward over the dashboard, down in between the rear mules and then beneath the wagon. "Marcus!" Nolan gained the driver's seat and leaned over, looking down. "Christ, Marcus!"

  "Oh, God," Indy breathed, seeing the driver fall. She swung her head to the left and through the cloud of dust she saw the driver lying face up, spread-eagled on the ground behind the ambulance.

  "Keep me covered, I've got to get the lines or the team will bolt." Nolan climbed over the seat and leaned down for the lines that had caught on the corner of the dashboard.

  Indy refused to panic. She accepted her task without question and raised her revolver. Squinting down the barrel, she rotated the sight until she found a suitable target, one close enough that she couldn't miss. Her thumb eased back the hammer.

  Something hit her shoulder, making her lose her concentration. Turning sideways, she saw it was the captain's hat. "Captain?" When he didn't answer, she swiveled around. "Captain Nolan!"

  He was holding on to the driver's seat, his face a frozen tableau of shock. An arrow had entered his right shoulder from his back and come all the way through to the front. "Get down," he ordered in a strangled voice when he saw her starting toward him.

  Indy paid him no attention. He needed help, and though she had no idea what she could do, she was the only one available. On hands and knees, as she had seen him do, she crawled up the center of the wagon. By the time she reached him he was beginning to fade.

  "Captain!" She leaned over the driver's seat and grabbed his left arm and pulled him toward her. "Climb over the seat," she demanded firmly, brooking no resistance. If he fell into unconsciousness before she got him over the seat, she wouldn't be able to get him back into the wagon bed. She didn't have the muscle. The effort was almost his undoing, but he did it, evidently as determined not to be weak as Indy was determined to be strong. "All right, now, let's set you down." She was breathing hard; all one hundred ten pounds of her had gone into getting him into the wagon bed. The wagon pitched sideways, jerking him from her grasp. He fell against her, knocking the wind out of her. Momentarily, she caught her breath and tugged and pulled until she had him sitting down and propped against her carpetbag.

  He was as breathless as she, and obviously in a great deal of pain. "Re-remember wh-what I said." He clutched her hand and squeezed so hard she winced. "Save the last shot for yourself. Do you hear me? You can't let them take you!"

  His eyelids started to close. Indy called his name and brought him back. "Please, Captain. I don't know what to do. I need you— Please!"

  "Can't h-help— Wanted to bring more men, but the colonel, he wouldn't—"

  He slipped into unconsciousness.

  Feeling helpless and alone, Indy worried her bottom lip and stared down at the mail pouch. What was she to do? The troopers had all they could do fighting off the Apaches. They probably hadn't even noticed the loss of the driver or that Captain Nolan had been wounded. She had only herself to rely on.

  "The reins! I have to get those reins!" She made a dash for the front of the wagon and peered cautiously over the seat. The reins were nowhere to be found. Puzzled, she looked for where they came off the team's rigging and sighed when she saw them hanging down behind the mules' rumps, slapping the ground. Even if she climbed over the seat and laid down across the dashboard, she wouldn't be able to reach them.

  Tears seemed to fall of their own accord and she didn't attempt to brush them away.

  Another bone-jarring jolt sent the driverless team oft the road. Now, it was only a matter of seconds before they would bolt.

  The fusillade of rifle fire behind her sent her scurrying back into position against the drop gate. The Apaches seemed to be everywhere, on the right, the left, behind the ambulance. She picked up the captain's carbine and braced herself for the recoil, then squeezed off the last three shots.

  Another volley of fire came from somewhere in front of the ambulance. Indy whirled in that direction and saw a second band of warriors approaching from the west. Their war whoops resembled a thousand coyotes yipping and howling at the moon.

  "Oh, God!" Frantically she searched the wagon for the captain's revolver, looking beneath her skirt, then moving the carpetbags. Finally, she slid her hands beneath Captain Nolan's legs and gave a cry of relief when her fingers closed around the wooden grip. There were four shots left. Only four. Three to use and one to . . . .

  She refused to think about that last shot.

  The team turned sharply, throwing the ambulance up onto its right wheels. Tossed to the side, Indy struck her right temple against the long wooden seat. Blinding pain exploded inside her head and everything went blurry. Groaning, she lifted her hand and touched the side of her head. Warm blood trickled down the side of her face.

  "Please, God. Don't forsake me now. I need you!"

  Blinking and squinting, she located the new band of attackers and raised the revolver. If she hit anything it would be a miracle, but she had to try. Her first shot went high. Lowering the sight and willing her eyes to focus, she squeezed off another, then a third, but had no idea if any of them found their mark.

  They galloped toward the ambulance—a boiling mass of horses and hostile Apaches. In a blur of motion they rode on past. More than a little confused, Indy stared at the cloud of dust they left behind and thanked God that for whatever reason they hadn't attacked.

  The troopers, she thought, a second later. That's where they were headed. They would help their friends kill off the remaining troopers, then they would come after her and Captain Nolan.

  A screeching noise came from out of nowhere. "Hai-eee! Hai-eee!"

  Indy swung around. She was wrong. Not all the Indians had ridden past her after the troopers. One had stayed behind, watching from a rise the ambulance had yet to reach.

  Perched like a big golden hawk upon his pinto war pony, the Apache was tall, lean and proud—an invincible force of one. A sudden wind whipped his black hair and his horse’s mane. His piercing gaze touched upon her for a scant second, but it was long enough to let her know he had seen her. Again, came that dreadful sound, "Hai-eee. Hai-eee." He kicked the pinto into a gallop and raced down the hillside after the wagon, seemingly intent upon catching the runaway team.

  He was naked but for a tan breechclout and knee-high buckskin moccasins; his body was a sweat-glistened golden brown. The sun glinted off the brass cartridges in his belt, sending flashes of white light radiating from him in all directions.

  His horsemanship would have won him top honors at West Point, she thought absently. Inch by inch the pinto swallowed up the ground, gaining on the lead mule, and a moment later they were running side by side. Switching the reins to his right hand, the Apache leaned to the left and caught hold of the mule's collar.

  Indy's eyes widened in disbelief when, incredibly, he hurtled himself over onto the mule's back. And almost immediately the team began to slow. Now, it would be only moments before the Apache brought the team to a stop, and then . . . .

  It was as difficult to focus her eyes as it was her thoughts. Then she remembered that as long as she had the revolver she had freedom of choice and the power to decide her own fate. She tucked the six-shooter into her right skirt pocket. There wasn't going to be any and then, not if she could help it!

  Captain Nolan groaned and Indy moved to help him as he struggled to sit up. "Come on, Captain, lift up a little and lean against me," she whispered. Using his left arm, he raised himself up and moved back. Careful of the protruding arrow, Indy assisted as best she could. She was beginning to feel a little dizzy and disoriented herself, and realized she probably had a concussion. Once the captain settled against her, he sagged, his strength having given out.

  "Ma'am?"

  "I'm here, Captain." Wrapping her left arm around him, she held and comforted him. Blood oozed from his back and
penetrated the layers of her clothing.

  The team had been brought to a stop. Indy listened carefully for sounds that would tell her the Apache was on his way to claim his prize. Aside from the jingle of harness, the mules' winded blowing and stamping feet, there was only the echo of distant rifle fire. The Apache made no sound at all and without moving the captain, she was limited in what she could see. But there was no help for it, so she watched . . . and she waited.

  A flash of red caught her eye. She moved her hand slowly to her pocket.

  The Apache stood at the back of the ambulance, taller than most men and straight as a pine. His shoulders were wide, his arms bulging with muscle even now, when he wasn't straining. His skin was tight against the broad expanse of his chest and stomach, not an ounce of spare flesh anywhere. Around his forehead a faded red headband kept the mane of long, dark hair back from his face—a face that intrigued even as it frightened. Hadn't one of the Army reports described the Apache people as being flat-featured, with small, compact bodies?

  This Apache certainly didn't fit that description. In fact, he didn't fit any standard description she could think of. He was arrestingly handsome with dark slashing eyebrows, a straight nose with flaring nostrils, and a jaw and chin so unyieldingly set that they could have been carved from the mountains that surrounded them.

  But it was his eyes that made her die inside. Darkly cold—killing eyes that didn't even blink as they stole quickly but thoroughly over her face and body.

  With the captain's right shoulder providing cover, Indy slipped her hand into her pocket and curled her fingers around the revolver's smooth wooden grip. Until now, she had thought only of sparing herself from being taken captive, not a thought of what would happen to the captain! He was already in great pain, maybe even dying. She had no idea if his wound was fatal. But if it wasn't . . . She needed only to reflect on the conversation she had overheard at San Simon to know what the captain's fate would be.