“I will do all I can.” Socorro vowed silently to take the children even at the risk of life. The little girl wrenched her heart. “I’m sure my husband will, too.”
“He’s that lovely red-haired man with Mangus?”
Socorro laughed and for the first time dared to lightly touch the girl’s hair. “He is lovely, isn’t he? And kind.” She sobered. “What if Juh will let you go but wants to keep your brother, his son? Would you come?”
The child shook her head, moved quickly away. “No! I won’t leave James!”
A sullen-looking woman called something at the girl who broke step with Socorro but gazed wistfully at Shea. “I think my daddy looked like that.” At a shriller order from the woman, Talitha moved away, but her eyes clung to Socorro’s.
“We’ll find you,” Socorro promised. “Take good care of James.”
The woman who’d called the girl took the cradleboard and propped it against a tree, sent the baby’s sister running off on some errand. One of Juh’s wives who’d been unkind to Talitha’s dead mother?
It seemed wise to learn as much as she could before taking her request to Mangus, so Socorro looked around for Luz who was out gathering buds.
At Socorro’s questions, Luz frowned and concentrated on knocking a formidably thorn-guarded bud into her basket. “Juh’s wives would be glad enough to be rid of the children, even the boy who is his son. But I do not think Juh will let the boy go. He was very fond of the mother and her blue eyes, perhaps because his grandmother was a blond Spanish captive.”
“The little girl loves her brother. I think she wouldn’t leave without him!”
Luz’s glance said eloquently that was none of her concern and should be none of Socorro’s. “What do you know about the mother?” Socorro persisted.
The white woman, whose hair had been fair as her daughter’s, had been captured a year ago last fall, shortly after many soldiers with wagons marched from Santa Fe, the same ones that had stopped at Tucson and passed on through the land of the Yumas even further west, who could know where?
It was thought the woman’s husband was with the soldiers but no one really cared. The two older men with her were killed and Juh claimed the woman. He valued her though she cried a great deal, even after her fine baby was born, and even though she was impossibly clumsy at cooking and other chores. Juh’s wives were sorely tried with her and treated her as viciously as they dared without attracting Juh’s attention.
“I will talk to Juh’s wives for you,” Luz offered. “Perhaps they can persuade him that the little boy, who is not a year old yet, is likely to inherit his mother’s poor health and be a problem, especially if something happened to his sister who spends her time caring for him. Juh almost sold the girl last winter to a white slave trader who liked her hair.”
“Sold her?”
“Why, you must know that children—and others—are sold,” shrugged Luz. “Apache children, women stolen to sell to Mexicans, the same with Navajo. And Apache, Navajo, Ute, Comanche—all sell Mexican captives.”
“Then perhaps Juh will sell the girl and let her brother stay with her.”
“Perhaps,” said Luz, and went back to her work.
Socorro waited nervously by the huge mesquite till the council broke up and Shea came to her. The taut lines of his face relaxed and he gave her hand a squeeze.
“I think they’re going to agree, chiquita! They’ll talk it over and give an answer tonight. Looks like we’re going to be part owners of a copper mine!”
“There’s something more important,” she said, and told him about the little blond girl and her half-brother.
“God’s whiskers!” Shea breathed. “Juh was in that bunch I talked with. A real hawk. I can’t see him giving his flesh for a white man’s rearing.”
“Talitha won’t come without him.”
Slowly, Shea asked, “Are you sure she’s unhappy, lass? I’ve heard that often captives come to like the wild life and refuse to leave it when they have the chance.”
“Not this one. She remembers her mother’s pain. And she’s not wanted by Juh’s women.”
“Sure, then,” he said, flashing the smile she loved that deepened the cleft in his chin, “we must take her with us. Somehow. Guess I’d better go talk to Juh. That’s him, with Mangus.”
“I’ll come with you.”
He shook his head. “If Juh gets mad, I don’t want you mixed up in it.”
“But, Shea, we must convince him we’d take good care of his son. He needs to know what I’m like.”
Shea frowned. “Maybe you’re right. But if he gets ugly, stay out of it.”
“We have to get those children.”
“My love, we’ll do our best, but we can’t take them in the teeth of this whole boiling of Apaches!” Reading her thought, he said grimly, “Can’t steal them, either. The women saw the girl with you. She disappears with the baby, they’d figure that out. Mangus couldn’t save us after such a trick, and, as far as Juh’s boy’s concerned, I couldn’t blame him!”
Juh, a stocky man of middle years with an imperious manner even around Mangus, didn’t speak much Spanish, which may have been fortunate. Mangus’s eyes narrowed as Shea asked for the children.
Before the chief could refuse, Socorro stepped forward. “Great Mangus,” she pleaded, “the girl was almost sold to a slave trader. Why can she not be sold to us?”
“The girl is not the trouble. How can you ask an Apache to give up his son?”
Socorro swallowed hard. Mangus loomed above her, Juh’s eyes glittered, and she was cold with terror. “The girl loves her brother.” It was hard to move her stiff lips. “He’s still very small. Juh’s wives cannot love him equally with their own children, look after him as well. He might die without his sister.”
“Then she must stay.”
It took all Socorro’s strength and will to persist. “Great Chief, I beg you for this.”
Their gazes locked, wrestled. At last, unwillingly, Mangus said, “Your heart is too soft. But it was soft for my people. You would have fought for their lives against the woman of the Desert People. You mean this thing. But it is Very difficult.”
“Juh could see the boy whenever he wanted to,” Socorro offered desperately.
“We would give Juh our own share of the mine profits till he was satisfied with the price,” Shea offered.
“If there is a mine,” reminded the chief.
“If. But we’ll be selling some cattle this fall. Juh can have the share of my wife and myself.”
“A man does not sell his son.” Mangus considered. “The only way would be if he thought you would give the boy more chance of living.” The chief’s eyes came again to Socorro. “Would you promise to let the boy come live with his father when he’s old enough, learn the Apache way?”
“I think we must consent to this,” Shea told her softly.
“What is old enough?” Socorro asked.
“Will you bargain on the rim of hell?” Mangus laughed harshly. “When the boy is seven—eight, old enough not to need a woman.”
“Supposing he doesn’t want to grow up Apache?” Socorro dared. “He is, after all, born of a white woman.”
“I will not even say that to Juh,” remarked Mangus dryly.
It seemed the most they could hope for. Socorro flinched inwardly to think of explaining to Talitha that she couldn’t keep her brother always. But by then the girl would be thirteen or fourteen, changing to woman, ready in a few years to marry. James might have become more aggravation than joy.
Anyway, there was no better hope.
“You will give up the boy when he is asked for?” insisted Mangus. “Without this word, I would not ask Juh such a thing.”
Shea’s eyes helped Socorro. “Yes. We will give him.”
Mangus turned to Juh. He spoke rapidly, lifting a hand when Juh recoiled, swung toward the guests. Mangus’s raised voice checked the warrior who listened reluctantly.
When Mangus paus
ed, Juh hurled an angry response, would have spun away, but Mangus called him back, rapped out several questions.
Juh scowled. The muscles in his jaws worked, but at last, with ill grace, he muttered something which Mangus seized upon. After a few minute, Mangus explained to the O’Sheas. “Juh says he has beat his women but they indeed do not like the boy. One nursed him under threat for a time after the mother died, but then claimed she had not enough milk for the white woman’s child and her own. The boy would have died, Juh admits, if his sister hadn’t fed him ground piñon nuts in water with honey, the way Luz showed her. He knows the boy may die without a mother but that might be better than giving him to whites.”
“He’s a strange father,” Shea said levelly, “to prefer a dead baby to a healthy seven-year-old.”
Mangus must have repeated this almost exactly for Juh’s eyes blazed. He stared at Shea, hating, measuring. At last he gave a bitter laugh, spoke quickly and watched Shea with malice.
“He says he must know if his son’s foster father is a brave man,” said Mangus. “He says, Hair of Flame, that the brand on your cheek is sometimes given to cowards.”
The scar stood out whitely as the muscles in Shea’s jaw contracted. “Does Juh want to fight me? I will, any way he chooses.”
Mangus frowned. “You are a fool! If he picked lances—”
“I’ll show him in any manner he wants that his son will not grow up with a coward.”
Again, Mangus faced Juh. After a few exchanges, Juh smoothly proposed something that brought angry remonstrance from the other. Juh shrugged stubbornly, repeated some gutturals and waited.
Mangus spread his hands, turning to Shea. “Fighting is easy. He would have another thing. If you will be branded again, bear a brand for his son, you may keep him till he is old enough to join his father.”
“Branded?” Socorro gasped. “No! That’s cruel; there’s no sense in it!”
Juh smiled stonily at her, enjoying her distress. Mangus stood broodingly, his gigantic presence a force immobilized by his conflicting loyalties. “There has to be another way,” Socorro entreated Mangus.
“It is Juh’s price.”
Shea had listened as if stunned, blue-gray eyes dilating. Now they narrowed. He braced himself as if drawing strength from the hard earth. “Where’s the iron? Let’s get it done.”
Mangus jerked as if his own flesh had been seared. “My friend, don’t do this! The cub’s not worth it, not to you! Do not forget he’ll come back to the Apache. He cannot be your true son.”
“This should not be asked,” cried Socorro. “My love, it’s too much! We must just hope Talitha can raise him.”
“It’s she who must come with us,” Shea said, glancing toward the little girl who had edged up with her brother and the cradleboard so much too large for her. “And she won’t leave him.” He smiled and dropped on one knee, smoothing back the tangled yellow hair. “Get your things together, colleen, and your brother’s. We’ll leave in the morning.”
Her face crumpled. “They—they’ll burn your face!” Hampered by the cradleboard, she turned as quickly as she could to Socorro. “Go without us,” she begged fiercely. “Please, I can take good care of James! We’ll stay here!”
“Get your things,” Shea ordered. His big hand clasped her thin shoulder, sent her toward the shelters. He said then to Mangus, “I’m ready.”
XIV
The broken horseshoe glowed dull red in the flames. Socorro’s mouth was parched as she watched, unable to look away. There were no branding irons in an Apache camp, of course, and almost no metal.
One man suggested a musket barrel be heated but that idea was scorned because it might ruin the gun. Someone, though, had the old horseshoe and someone else had made primitive tongs from the fork of a willow strong and flexible enough to grip the iron firmly.
Juh held the tongs. Most of the warriors and many of the women and children had gathered. Luz came up to Socorro, gave her some chunks of pulped, peeled agave leaf.
“Use them quickly. I will have ready a tea that will dim the pain and help him sleep.”
Socorro had been too numbed with horror, too full of revolt against this useless torture, to accept that it would be and plan to ease Shea afterward. Luz jolted her back to reality and how to minister to his wound. It was something to hold to.
Brands did heal. Shea had survived one along with a flogging; he’d survived the thirst and despair of the desert. This was terrible; she wished she could bear his agony herself, but he’d live.
When Talitha came close beside her, though, she detested the girl and the brown-skinned blue-eyed baby. This was her fault—and hers, for asking Shea to help them. “You shouldn’t see this,” she told the child. “Go away!”
But Talitha only hunched her shoulders as if expecting a blow and looked up at Socorro with sorrowful eyes. “He’s doing it for us. I—I wouldn’t ever have asked to go away if I’d known this would happen.”
Socorro’s heart melted. “Poor little one!” she said. Kneeling, she put her arm around Talitha, cradleboard, James and all. “It’s not your fault. It’s Juh. But my husband’s strong, the brand will heal, and in time it’ll be only a mark of courage.”
But now, now was Juh’s gloating face, the rough crescent of glowing red. Mangus strode over to take the tongs from Juh. “I will do this,” he said.
Juh snarled but Mangus’s gaze quelled him. That was a mercy, at least. Juh might have purposely bungled, held the iron too long or used it to blind and maim. Mangus would brand, but quickly.
Arms crossed, Shea stood with his head thrown back as Mangus approached. Socorro saw Shea’s fingers bite in on his elbows, convulse at the sizzling. The smell of burned flesh made Socorro’s stomach twist. She broke into cold sweat and only held on to consciousness by a great effort of will.
Then it was done.
With a shuddering sob, Socorro released the children and hurried to Shea, covering with pulped agave the livid arc that interlaced with the old brand. Sweat stood out on him and his skin looked gray beneath its tan. But he hadn’t cried out or retreated from the iron.
“Go to my wickiup and rest,” Mangus told him. “You are brave enough to rear an Apache!”
The tea Luz brought put Shea into a sound sleep. “He may have strange dreams with strange beasts and colors,” said Luz. “Too much of this can kill. But used with care it dulls pain and brings rest. I’ll give you enough to get your man through the next bad days. And I’ll see that the children are ready in the morning.” She paused at the entrance of the wickiup. “The men will decide about the mines tonight. I think they’ll all say yes because your husband is so brave.”
Socorro thanked her, but looking down at Shea who moved in his drugged sleep and moaned, she loathed the thought of the mines because they had led to this.
Except for an old woman who noiselessly kept to one wall like an aged spider content to slumber in its web, Mangus’s household yielded the wickiup to their guests. One of his wives brought food, a gruel of corn, seeds and meat, and Luz fetched some honey for Shea, which she helped Socorro feed him, propping him up so that he wouldn’t choke. They gave him joint fir tea, also.
“Be sure he drinks a lot,” Luz advised. “It will help keep away fever.” As she was leaving, Mangus entered, squatting down at once because of his height.
His lips curved in a sardonic smile as he glanced from his niece to Socorro. “Well, this is the way of it, men hurt each other and women try to heal the wounds. Though I have known some women who enjoyed the wounding, too! When Hair of Flame wakes, you may tell him we accept his offer. The miners can work without hindrance so long as they don’t bring in families and erect forts. We ask for a tenth part of each conducta’s supplies and agree to take no ball and powder so long as the miners are supplied with only an amount reasonable for hunting.”
“Those are good terms,” Socorro said, though because of Shea’s branding she was now feeling revulsion for the whole enterpri
se. “You must have argued for my husband.”
“Until he took the brand for an Apache child, what I did for him was, in truth, for you.” With a curious lightness, Mangus touched Shea’s hair which even in twilight was dusky flame. “Now I will call him friend for his own sake.”
A hard-bought name. Socorro’s eyes filled with tears. When she could see again, Mangus was gone.
The long sleep restored Shea as nothing else could have done. “Some dreams I had, though,” he grumbled as Socorro bandaged agave pulp to the burn with a strip of her chemise, finding it difficult to fasten in place without covering one eye. “God’s whiskers! Horses with wings, all shades of the rainbow, some with men’s faces! And the women!” He grinned, winced as that tugged his cheek. “Lass, you wouldn’t believe those women!”
“So that’s why you moaned all night!” Socorro scolded. “And I was feeling sorry for you!”
“Skin like velvet,” he teased and the devilish gleam in his eyes reassured her that he would be all right. “And their breasts!” He made an expressive gesture with his hands, chuckled at her look of outrage. “Only trouble was, some had three and others four! Confused me something awful!”
“After such a night, can you ride today?” asked Socorro with a sniff.
“My head feels like it might float away.” Shea touched it with caution. “Mangus gave me the iron as lightly as he could but it still hurts like hell. Rather ride than sit around, though. Guess I’d better find out if we get to work the mines.”
“For a tenth part of the conductas and the safeguards you mentioned. You should talk with Mangus, but let me bring you some food first.” She added severely, “I don’t think I’ll let you have any more of that special tea if it’s going to make you dream of beautiful hussies!”
“Let’s save it for night,” he agreed wickedly. “Can’t enjoy such delights properly on horseback.”
Relieved that he was well enough in body and spirit to joke, Socorro took his face in her hands and kissed him. “Oh, my love! You were brave.” To hold back the tears that threatened to come, she laughed softly, ran her hand over his chest. “Should you moan pleasurably tonight, mi hombre, I’ll take advantage of your dreams of those so opulent ladies!”
The Valiant Women Page 18
