by Nan Ryan
“Just offering my assistance in mounting Dancer, the mare you’re to ride.”
Anna stomped her heel down hard on the toe of his boot. “Let me go! I need no help getting into the saddle. I rode with the Apache, remember?”
“So you did.” Brit dropped his hands away, stepped back. “What else did they teach you, Anna? Besides how to mount a horse, I mean.”
She could tell what he was thinking by the expression in his eyes. He suspected that she had been some brave’s squaw, had slept with an Apache. Or many Apache. Let him wonder!
“They taught me a great deal,” she said mysteriously as she brushed past him, unwound the long leather reins from around the hitch rail, stepped over to the sorrel mare and swung agilely up into the saddle. “About everything.” She wheeled the mare around and cantered away.
Brit felt his insides twist. Too clearly came the unwelcome vision of a grunting, sweating, red-skinned savage furiously pumping into her pale naked body. He gritted his teeth. He felt sick to his stomach.
Then he abruptly chided himself. What difference did it make? What the hell did he care if she had shared a blanket with half the tribe? It had nothing to do with him.
Brit climbed into the saddle, wheeled Captain around and galloped after Anna.
Despite the presence of her unwelcome companion, Anna enjoyed the ride. It was the first time she’d been on a horse in more than five years and it felt good. Right. Natural.
It was a perfect day—warm, but not hot. The sky overhead was a cloudless blue. And this part of the ranch, the high green meadows directly behind the mansion, was breathtakingly beautiful. Anna headed due north, straight toward the towering peak of El Capitán, its rugged spires shining in the bright Texas sun.
She knew—the priest had told her—that Manzanita Springs was in the shadow of the awesome monolith. Following the map in her head that she had so carefully memorized, she rode directly toward the springs. No more than a half mile from the house and perhaps two hundred feet above it, she could hear the splashing water.
Drawing rein on a rocky plateau, Anna dismounted. She carefully picked her way through the dense stand of shrubs and weeping willow trees enclosing the springs. She stepped out into a large clearing and, shading her eyes with her hand, gazed at the cool, clean water bubbling up out of solid rock. Her first thought was what a wonderful place it would be for a swim in the hot summertime. Totally concealed by the thick greenery, it offered a private, cozy place to swim and read and doze and daydream.
“Want to go for a swim?” Brit asked as he stepped up beside her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said haughtily.
“Am I?” He shrugged wide shoulders. “Tell me that’s not what you were thinking about just now.”
“That’s not what I was thinking about just now,” she declared, annoyed with him for reading her thoughts.
“I stand corrected,” he said. “I guess you were recalling the day the Apache took you from here.”
“I don’t remember that day,” she said truthfully.
“I see. So how did you know where the springs were?”
“I remember some things, not others.”
Brit nodded and let it drop. No use wasting his time asking questions. He would never get the truth out of her. His only hope was the Pinkertons. Surely he would be hearing from them soon.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s ride on up to the lower part of the mountain tract and head east toward Pine Spring Canyon. I need to check the water level of the tanks up there.” He turned away, musing aloud, “Damn, we need a good soaking rain.”
In silence they began to climb the face of El Capitán Peak, the last towering monolith at the southern end of the Guadalupes. In no time the scenery, and the flora, changed dramatically. The prickly pears, yucca and creosote bushes of the desert gave way to junipers and scrub oaks. As the two riders continued their ascent, the forest grew denser. Ponderosa pines, Douglas firs, evergreens and quaking aspen covered the peak’s face, rising above them.
The temperature dropped at least ten degrees as they rode in and out of deep shade. Anna grew chilly.
“It must get really cold up here in the wintertime,” she said.
Brit nodded. “We try to get the cattle moved down to the lower pastures before the snow begins to fly.” He smiled suddenly and said, “Back when I was just starting to work on the ranch—I was fifteen or so, I guess—I spent many a cold winter night up here in a line shack.”
“Why did you stay up here?”
“Because I wasn’t dry behind the ears and I drew the most hated job a cowboy can have—riding the fences.” Brit drew rein, slowly turned his gray stallion in a tight semicircle. Anna pulled up on the sorrel mare.
She asked, “Were you the only one who had to ride the fences?”
Brit chuckled. “No, it’s the hated job of lots of our young cowpokes. That, and bogging—pulling cattle out of mud bogs. Talk about a tough day’s work.” Hands folded atop the saddle horn, Brit gazed down at the desert below. He said, “Lots of work to be done on a ranch and The Regent is no small operation.”
“Are there really a million acres?” she asked.
“One million, one hundred thousand to be exact—all under fence.”
“That’s a lot of fence.”
“More than two thousand miles of it,” he replied, “and every mile of it has to be ridden every day.”
“Every day?” She was incredulous.
“Yep.”
“So some of the ranch hands actually live in line shacks scattered over the rangelands?”
“Yes. In line shacks and at the division headquarters. There are four divisions to The Regent, each with its own division boss. The main division, El Capitán, is here where the mansion is.” He turned in the saddle and pointed. “Out east is the Columbine. To the west is the Texas Star. And down south at the border is the Agua Fria.”
Anna listened with interest as he told her about The Regent.
“We have thirty-seven separate pastures,” Brit said. “You’ve seen only one, the Tierra Verde, directly below the house.”
“The name doesn’t fit,” she commented.
“I know. We need a rain,” Brit said. “Anyway, thirty-seven pastures, fifty thousand head of cattle, a thousand saddle horses and a hundred cowboys and vaqueros.”
Anna noticed that Brit’s chiseled features softened as he talked about the ranch. It was obvious that The Regent was a source of great pride to him, that he loved the land and his place on it.
“And you are responsible for running the entire operation?” she said.
“Yes, I am,” Brit stated, nodding. “I’m the general manager.” He paused. Then Brit’s eyes narrowed slightly and his firm jaw hardened as he added, “And one day I will be sole owner of The Regent.”
Anna didn’t like the expression on his face or his tone of voice. A moment ago he had been so pleasant she’d almost forgotten that they were enemies. Now he looked cold and cruel.
“If I were you,” she said icily, “I wouldn’t count on it.”
Seven
Sally Ann Horner was an outgoing young woman who loved life and adventure and excitement.
And gossip.
The short, pleasingly plump Sally had brassy brown hair that turned red in the sunlight and frizzed in the rain. Her slightly too wide mouth was usually turned up in a big smile, and her best feature—large green, almond-shaped eyes—often sparkled with merriment or mischief. The only daughter—she had four older brothers—of the wealthy town banker, Jameson Horner, and his gentle wife, Abigail, Sally Ann was a boisterous bundle of energy and curiosity.
Sally arrived at The Regent on a warm May morning in a cloud of dust. Driving the one-horse gig herself, she sped up the long pebbled drive and came to a gravel-flinging stop just outside the front gate. Tossing the reins to a stable boy, Sally leaped out of the carriage and went racing up the front walk. She lifted the door knocker and gave it a resounding w
hack.
“That’ll be Sally,” said LaDextra, smiling. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”
Before LaDextra could rise from her chair, Sally burst into the drawing room, all smiles and flushed face. “Morning, LaDextra,” she said, nodding.
Anna, on her feet now, was both taken aback and genuinely delighted when the spirited young woman crossed the room, grabbed her in a firm bear hug and said, “Anna, I’m Sally Ann Horner. You may not remember me, but we were once the best of friends and we will be again.”
“I’d like that,” said Anna.
Sally released Anna, stepped back and announced, “We’ve a lot of catching up to do.” She took Anna’s hand, determinedly led her through the house, down the long corridor and out the back door, where she turned to the east. Sally eagerly ushered Anna across the lawn, past the wishing well and out to the old grape arbor at the far corner of the vast yard where they used to play.
“We shared many secrets here,” said Sally, as they sat down together on a white settee beneath the shelter of dense, tangled grapevines. She looked at Anna and said, “Oh, Anna, Anna, I’m so glad you’re home! I knew you’d come back one day. LaDextra never gave up hope and neither did I.” She drew a quick breath, then said, “I’ll fill you in on what’s happened around here while you’ve been gone, shall I?”
“Yes, by all means,” Anna said, smiling. Already she liked this lively young woman, felt as if she had known her forever.
“Well, actually, not all that much has happened, come to think of it. At least not to me. You may as well know, I’m an old maid.” Sally made a face and twisted a wayward lock of reddish-brown hair. “I’ll probably never marry, but so what! Marriage isn’t all there is to life. I almost got married a couple of years ago.” She frowned.
“Really?” Anna said. “What happened? Did you change your mind?”
Sally snorted. “No, he did. He got cold feet at the last minute. Jilted me at the eleventh hour, the spineless cad.” She shook her head and sighed loudly. “Naturally I was humiliated and brokenhearted, so I took to my bed, decided I would never leave my room again. I would become a pale, weak recluse who never ventured outside the house, and people would whisper and worry and wonder about me.”
“Oh, Sally,” Anna said. “How sad.”
Sally’s frown vanished and she laughed loudly. “Not really. After two or three days in bed I got so darned bored I couldn’t stand it. To heck with being a mysterious recluse. That’s not for me. I got out of that bed, got dressed up in my finest and drove straight into town. And you’ll never guess who I ran into on the plaza.”
“Who?” Anna’s eyes were wide with interest.
“J. Mitchell Pierce III, the weasel who jilted me!”
“No!”
“Yes! And that’s not all. He had the nerve to beg for my forgiveness. Well, I told him straight out that he’d be begging for his life if he didn’t get out of town and out of Texas and never come back.” Sally laughed again and told Anna, “I have four big brothers, all of whom were just itching to get their hands on the scoundrel who wronged their sister!”
Anna smiled. “So did he—did your fiancé—leave town?”
“With his tail between his legs and a promise that if he ever showed his cowardly face in Regentville again, it would be rearranged for him.”
Anna laughed.
The talkative Sally continued to regale Anna with amusing tales that usually involved her own escapades. The two laughed together, enjoying each other’s company. After a pleasant hour during which Sally had talked nonstop, there was a lull in the conversation. The two young women sat for a time in companionable silence.
Then Sally placed her hand atop Anna’s and said, “You can tell me, Anna, if you like, about those terrible years you spent with the Apache. I’ll understand, I promise.”
A tightness suddenly filled Anna’s chest. She realized with surprise that she did want to talk about it. She had never told anyone about those horrible days and nights down in Mexico. Everyone, including the sisters at the convent, the old priest and even LaDextra, had always assumed that she wouldn’t want to talk about her experience.
But she did!
She needed to tell someone about it so that she could put it behind her forever.
“Oh, Sally, it was a living nightmare,” Anna began. “The first thing I remember is waking up with a splitting headache and blood streaming down the side of my face from a wound on my head. A half-dozen fierce-looking Apache stood over me. I was bewildered and confused and terrified. I was alone and friendless in a wild mountain wilderness at the mercy of those brutal savages.”
“Bless your heart,” said Sally, squeezing Anna’s hand.
Her narrowed blue eyes gazing into the past, Anna said, “I was made to walk for miles and miles with no shoes on my feet. The soles of my feet were lacerated and bleeding, but I was not allowed to stop, not even to slow down. The mounted braves were merciless. No matter how carefully I tried to pick my way, I stumbled on stones and sharp rocks, and when I fell, unable to put one bloody foot before the other, they beat me.”
“Dear God,” murmured Sally.
“In camp, I was awakened each morning at five and sent out to gather roots and berries for my captors to eat. Of course, I ate some of the roots myself—I would have died otherwise. There was never enough to eat. I was starving, weak and sick, but made to work all day, every day from dawn to dusk.”
“I’m so terribly sorry.”
“They made me take care of their children, and if I failed to heed every cry or whine of the babies, I was severely beaten.” She inhaled, shook her head. “One day they lifted me up onto a pile of brush, then formed a circle around me—men, women and children, some naked, some dressed in blankets, some in skins. They started pounding on stones with heavy clubs, and one played a horn, another some crude kind of fiddle. They ran and jumped and danced and made bloodcurdling sounds. The women dashed up to me and pulled my hair and ripped my doeskin dress. I thought they meant to torture me to death, to light the brush and burn me alive.”
“Oh, dear God!”
“They only wanted to frighten me. After several dreadful hours they finally tired of the game and cut me down.” Anna turned suddenly, swept back a portion of her heavy blond hair and showed Sally the ugly black tattoo beneath her right ear. “They did this.”
Eyes round with horror, Sally said, “How? It…it won’t come off?
Anna shook her head. “They lacerated the skin with quills, and when the bleeding had just about stopped, they stuck a quill back into the wounds and used the juice of a berry to permanently stain the skin. It was painful and I was ordered to sit totally still throughout, but I didn’t obey. I thrashed about and screamed when they told me they were going to tattoo my entire face. I fought and pleaded and howled until they gave up in disgust, saying I was not worth the trouble. My ear and jaw hurt afterward, and by night I was running a fever. The medicine man came and rubbed a foul-smelling salve over the wounds, and in a day or two I was back to hunting berries all day long.”
“Anna, dear Anna, why didn’t you try to run away?”
“I did. I tried to escape many times, but they always caught me and took me back. And the last time I tried to get away, they taught me a lesson I would never forget.” She shuddered, remembering. “They dragged me back to camp, shoved me down onto the ground, and two huge braves sat on either side of me, restraining me.
“An expectant crowd quickly gathered and I knew something horrible was about to happen. Then the music began, the throbbing of tom-toms, the chanting of the men. I looked up to see a poor captive Mexican girl being led to the center of the circle, and I stopped breathing. The wretched creature, who looked as if she hadn’t been fed in days, was so sick and weak they had to drag her.
“They tied her to a pole not fifty feet away from me and began piling brush and sticks around her bare feet.” Anna stopped speaking. She swallowed hard and goose bumps covered
her bare arms. She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and continued. “I can still hear the poor suffering woman’s screams as the flames engulfed her. I begged them to shoot her, to put her out of her misery, but they refused. And they assured me that if I ever again tried to escape, I would suffer the same fate.”
Anna trembled, hugged herself.
“So I stayed. And I was beaten and worked like a slave and treated like an outcast. The only form of mistreatment to which I was never subjected was sexual torture. I have nothing good to say of my captors, but I am eternally grateful that they never raped me, never touched me in that way at all. I don’t know why. I saw other white women brutally raped, heard their screams, knew of their suffering. But I was spared.”
“Thank the Almighty,” said Sally.
Anna continued telling of that terrible time, reliving those pain-filled days. She talked for a solid hour. She had needed, badly, to tell someone of the fear and horror of those lost years—and no one had ever let her. She poured out her heart, and when she was finished, the two young women were crying and clinging to each other.
By the time Sally Ann Horner went home that afternoon, Anna and she were the best of friends.
After that day, Sally was out at The Regent often, almost every day. She and Anna never again talked about Anna’s wretched life among the Apache. The two young women gossiped and giggled and had a good time together. Sally helpfully supplied memories of the days when they were children.
And she talked dreamily about the sinfully handsome Brit Caruth, telling Anna that he was the catch of southwest Texas.
“All the pretty women are after him,” she confided, “and I don’t blame them, do you?”
Anna shrugged noncommittally.
“Heck,” Sally admitted with a laugh, “I’d give myself to Brit in a minute if he wanted me!”
Anna did not comment.
And she was relieved when, finally, Sally changed the subject. When she wasn’t swooning over Brit, Sally was great fun, and Anna enjoyed her company. She had never had a girlfriend, so her relationship with the effervescent Sally was precious to her. As was her relationship with the indomitable LaDextra, whose very presence made her feel safe and secure.
