Desert Sunrise

by Raine Cantrell

  Delaney was quiet. His memory alive now with the words Eskiminzin had spoken when he killed his white friend Charles McKinney: “Any coward can kill his enemy. It takes a brave man to kill his friend.” This he had done to convince his people that there could never be friendship with the Anglos, after the cavalry detachment from Fort Apache rode through his new camp in Arivaipa Canyon and opened fire.

  There was more that he remembered, but the darting shift of his friend’s eyes reminded him of the danger to him if he was found here.

  Delaney rolled another cigarette and lit it. He gazed at the empty street, smoking, and then asked, “Is Yancy still working for Brodie?”

  “He rides for him. Sometimes he works for the Clantons.”

  “They still stealing cattle?”

  “Brodie buys them, as do others. It is not good to ask questions of these n’dé.”

  “My skeetzee is right not to ask questions of these men.” Delaney impatiently crushed out his smoke.

  “What of the iszáń who asks you to bring her to our lands?”

  Delaney glanced at Seanilzay and grinned. “Does my friend want her?”

  “Her skin is too white. Her tongue sharp. For many suns you have walked alone. This is not a good life-way for a n’dé.”

  “It’s good for this man. I like alone just fine.”

  “To see the eyes of this iszáń is to remember.”

  “Oh, I have, Seanilzay. Believe me, I have.”

  “It is not good to forget all teachings in the time away from us.”

  “I forgot nothing.” For all that Delaney spoke softly, there was an underlying harshness. “Tell Naiche that. Tell him I have forgotten nothing. And tell my brother that I’m coming home.”

  “It is time.”

  Delaney touched the stone hidden beneath his shirt. “Soon I will repay my debt.”

  “May we live and see each other again.” Seanilzay slipped away on his soft moccasins.

  Delaney wished his thoughts could slip away as softly. As easily. Home. Home and Elise. Once he wove those two words together as necessary to him as breathing. Elise, his woman. Now Brodie’s wife. Bitterness coated the inside of his mouth. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and glanced down the street. His duchess was finally heading in the right direction not too far ahead. He eyed his departed quarry for a long minute, deliberated his sanity, then followed her. He was not about to question why the sight of her helped him keep the past buried.

  The morning had bloomed cloudless and hot, as most of the days this late in spring. The clear skies and already burning sun promised another afternoon of hellish heat. If anyone moved, it was with slow deliberation. Delaney walked soft and easy for a big man. His duchess never once looked behind her to see him following.

  Faith ignored most of the men who braved the heat and loitered in front of the assay office. She shivered to hear them talk about the good citizens of Silver City who were offering two hundred and fifty dollars for every Apache scalp taken. Her attention was caught by the news that the Tombstone Mining and Milling Company was building a ten-stamp mill on the banks of the San Pedro. While Faith was uncertain what a ten-stamp mill was, she felt hope that the area near their land claim was being populated. She smiled as Opie Burgess doffed his hat and stopped her.

  “Miz Becket, how’s your father doing?”

  “Better, thank you. He’s able to hobble about for a bit.”

  “Glad to hear it. You finally get to talk to Delaney?”

  “I’m afraid he wasn’t interested.”

  “Figured he would be. Can’t understand why he quit working for the Santa Fe. They just got that land grant from Congress to finish laying track that the A and P started. Gonna see railroads running right through this territory. ’Course, the news don’t sit pretty with the freighters. I tell you that Delaney worked as a swamper for a while back?”

  “I don’t remember, Mr. Burgess. But, please, you must excuse me. I have an errand that can’t wait.”

  Faith hurried off, unaware that Delaney was closing the distance between them. He had heard the last of what Opie said, but he wasn’t reassured by the news. He had worked stints with the railroad since ’66, when the Atlantic and Pacific first made plans to build a line from Springfield across Arizona to San Diego. The line went broke in the panic of ’73 and he had quit, hoping that would be the end of them taking more of the Indian lands. But the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad officials grabbed the opportunity to pick up the lucrative land grants that had been awarded to the A & P. It took them three years, but they managed to get Congress to appropriate a grant of twenty sections for every mile of track laid in the territories of Arizona and New Mexico. All to aid the booming growth in California.

  Opie stopped him, just as Delaney feared he would. Delaney kept his eyes on his quarry’s rigid spine as she walked more slowly. He was aware that across the street Bet Tampas paused in her daily sweeping in front of her café to watch his duchess’s progress.

  “Del, tell us what you think about the Southern Pacific figuring on beating the Santa Fe with its line.”

  “Ain’t much to say, Opie. They’re planning to build across Indian land.”

  “They only got as far as Fort Yuma. You worked on the Texas line from Marshall. They lost it all, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah. Same as the A and P in seventy-three.” Delaney didn’t know the men with Opie and so kept his thoughts to himself.

  “You figure it’s worth investing in them?” Opie asked, sensing that Delaney was distracted.

  “If you hit a lucky strike and have money to throw away, it might be.” But Delaney knew he lied. The government inducements offered to the railroads would earn profit. They offered them free rights-of-way, free use of timber and minerals to build the lines, and twenty sections of land for every mile of track laid. Along with this were the monies paid, sixteen thousand dollars if the track was laid across flat land, thirty-two thousand if laid across foothills, and forty-eight thousand dollars if laid in the mountainous country. It was a damn profitable venture when you added in the wheeling and dealing that involved the Arizona and New Mexico legislatures.

  “I heard that Fred Harvey drove a shrewd bargain with the Santa Fe.” At Delaney’s questioning look, the man introduced himself. “Marcus Campbell.”

  “He’s a cousin to John, our new territorial delegate to Congress,” Opie explained.

  Delaney nodded but did not offer his hand. He saw that his duchess’s steps had slowed, and he wanted to leave.

  “Do you know about Harvey opening another of his establishments like the one in Topeka?” Marcus asked.

  “Know he got the Santa Fe to agree to give him all the profits while they foot the bill for his buildings, transportation, furnishings, and workers.”

  “That was privileged information.”

  “It sure was,” Delaney answered and walked away.

  Faith, unaware, turned the corner ahead of Delaney. She did not alter her stride on the uneven boards as she managed to open the ties of her bonnet to tuck a few stray damp curls beneath its back edge. She felt as limp as wet laundry after a rain and tried not to think about what she was going to be forced to do. Inwardly she cringed to hear the crude shouts and masculine laughter that came from the open doors of the saloons she passed.

  Delaney caught the sun’s bright gleam on her hair. The color reminded him of warm, golden brown honey. He licked his lips and wondered if there were remnants of the manners his mother had tried to instill in him before she died that kept him following the duchess.

  One man bolted from an open doorway as she walked by and was about to step out after her when Delaney’s left-hand shove sent the man flying back inside. A self-mocking smile played about his lips. He had never before been a guardian angel to anyone. But the duchess had to know that Whiskey Row and any of its saloons were not places for the likes of her.

  Faith’s thoughts parallel
ed his. She dreaded the act of walking into a saloon. Sparing a quick glance to newspapers stacked behind a grimed window, she wondered if Delaney Carmichael’s name had ever graced a front page. If it had, she hoped it was with a wanted offer. More likely, he would have been hailed as hero for another killing. He claimed that Prescott was becoming civilized, and she supposed that since it was once again the territorial capital it could be considered as such, but it was a far cry from what she knew civilized to be.

  She refused to allow thoughts of her past to intrude now. A mongrel dog growled at her as she stepped down to cross an alley. She glanced at the dog prowling among the garbage strewn about and raised her skirt to hurry along. Stepping up to the sidewalk, she nearly toppled a sign that advertised beds for two bits. Flustered, Faith could sympathize with the horses hitched before the hotel, twitching their tails in the growing heat.

  The slide of sweat trickled down her back, and she could feel a growing pool of wetness under her arms and between her breasts. She longed for a bath, a real bath with hot water and softly scented milled soap. It was almost impossible to keep herself and her long hair clean. Water, as she had been forced to learn, was far too precious to waste on bathing.

  Two men, singing off-key and stumbling, nearly pushed her off the sidewalk. Faith shuddered and hoped she wouldn’t face more of the same when she found Chelli. It was better to think of how her younger brothers resisted the temptation to bathe once they learned they had to haul the water from a trickling stream. Pris was another matter. Her little sister ran off to the stream whenever she could. Sometimes she envied Pris her innocence, even as she swore she would protect it.

  Thoughts of Pris directed her back to the problem at hand. The journey to come would be through desert a good part of the way, if the map her father had was accurate. Not only was time pressing to find someone that knew what he was doing to take them to their claim, but the constant flux of miners into Prescott created a danger for her. She had to find someone today so that they could leave the area quickly.

  Lost in her musings, Faith tripped on a warped board and barely managed to keep her balance. Looking up, she saw the brightly painted sign announcing that she had reached her destination. In glaring red letters against a rough wood board was the name PRAIRIE DOG.

  She squared her shoulders, took a deep fortifying breath, and released it. Cursing Delaney Carmichael to the deepest hole in the desert, she stepped inside before she lost her courage. And gagged.

  The assault of odors nearly staggered her. Sweat, spilled liquor, smoke, manure, and others that were unidentifiable melded together, even as she felt relief from the sun’s glare and heat in the adobe’s cool, shadowed interior. A few quick breaths through her mouth helped to overcome the sudden roil of her stomach.

  It took her those few moments to realize that men had stopped talking, drinking, and playing cards. They simply sat and stared. She took one hesitant step forward. An absolute silence grew until it was almost tangible.

  She consigned Delaney Carmichael to hell for forcing her to come into this place. Faith refused to look at anyone directly. She directed her gaze to the hard-packed earth floor and then toward the long board set on two barrels that served as a bar. She wanted to turn tail and run. Although there had not been a sound, she looked behind her to make sure the doors were still open.

  The sight of Delaney Carmichael leaning against the doorframe, his thumbs tucked behind his gunbelt, a cocky grin splitting his lips and a suspicious gleam of devilry alight in his eyes, made her stand her ground.

  Inwardly fuming, she turned back. “I am looking for a man called Chelli,” she announced in a firm voice. When that brought no immediate response, she took another step forward and added, “Would any of you know where I can find him?”

  “Can’t anybody do? I’m—”

  “Shush yore mouth, Blucee. Can’t ya see worth a damn? Finish yore think juice, boy, or you’ll pile up grief for yoreself.”

  The young man addressed as Blucee, who had half-risen from his chair, sat down hard. Hard and fast. The battered-looking miner that had issued the warning leaned over the table they shared and gripped his arm.

  “That’s Carmichael with the little lady,” he whispered a shade too loudly. “Guess workin’ that claim done cost ya yore sight.”

  Faith’s cheeks flamed hot. Her teeth scored her bottom lip and broke the skin. She counted to three, prayed, and then suddenly rounded on Delaney.

  “You refused my offer. Don’t you dare prevent me from hiring someone else.”

  “Or what, duchess?”

  “Del? Del, that you?”

  Faith spun around and swayed. At the far end of the room a woman paused in a curtained doorway.

  “Chelli,” she called out over her shoulder as she tied the ends of her wrapper, “look who’s back.” And to Delaney she explained, “He’s got a faro game going with Holliday and Earp, so c’mon back. You know you’re always welcome here, Del.”

  It wasn’t the woman’s smile but the husky invitation in her voice that set Faith steaming. “Just a moment, please. I need to talk to Chelli.”

  “Honey, Chelli’s real good for anything a woman wants, but talking ain’t it. Get yourself out of here so there’s no trouble.”

  Faith clenched her hands at her sides. “You don’t understand. I want to offer him a job. A decent paying job.”

  “Like I said, we don’t want trouble.”

  “Edna Mae,” a male voice called out from somewhere behind the curtain, “bring us another bottle. An’ you tell whoever’s givin’ you a hard time that you got yourself a deputy sheriff back here name of Virgil Earp.”

  “It’s a lady looking to talk to Chelli.”

  The mocking laughter that followed mortified Faith.

  “Hey, Virg,” Delaney yelled, “thought you were heading south to prospect.”

  “Waitin’ on my brothers. Wyatt and James are comin’ from Dodge with their families.”

  “Dodge?” Faith whispered almost to herself. Panic tremored through her body. For a moment she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

  “Want a drink, Del?” Edna Mae asked, moving to stand behind the bar.

  “Please, I need to talk to Chelli now,” Faith said.

  “Chelli! Get out here!”

  Faith shot Delaney an exasperated look at his shouted command. But when she looked back, she couldn’t deny it had gotten her results. A buckskin-clad man now stood in the curtained doorway.

  “You have need of me, amigo?”

  “When hell chills. No, it’s the duchess here.”

  Faith swore that every man there could hear her teeth grate together. Delaney’s brutal assessment of Chelli’s character seemed to be born out by the sight of the man himself. Her gaze was quick and sharp. His clothes were dirty, and while he was almost as tall as Delaney, he was heavier in build. A jagged scar marred his left cheek. His hair was thick and black and curled at the temples from sweat. His smile widened as he leisurely inspected her, but there was no warmth to be found in his dark eyes. A chill began somewhere deep inside her and spread out to her skin. Faith wanted to run.

  “Well, ask him, duchess.”

  “I will. Mr. Chelli, we need a guide south. My father is willing to pay whatever you ask, but he wants to leave immediately.”

  Chelli didn’t answer. He pulled out a chair from under a snoring miner and dumped him on the floor. A light kick of his boot sent the body rolling toward the corner. The miner never woke. With a sweep of his hand Chelli cleared the tabletop of glasses and empty bottles.

  “Please,” he offered with a sweeping gesture, “sit.”

  Faith had no desire to step farther into the saloon. She most certainly didn’t want to get any closer to Chelli, but she felt as if Delaney was silently goading her to do just that. I am not a helpless woman, she repeated to herself. I am going to walk over there, sit down, and discuss the terms with him.

  Sh
e managed two steps forward. Chelli smiled.

  Suddenly from behind her Delaney whispered, “Remember what I told you, duchess.”

  “You would not think to cheat an amigo from honest work?” Chelli asked, tossing the chair aside and starting toward them.

  “The day you work honest, Chelli, I’ll hang up my gun.”

  “A man could die for such words.”

  “Anytime, amigo, anytime,” Delaney drawled. “Let’s go, duchess.” He knew Chelli was about to get ugly, and he grabbed her arm. “Edna Mae, save that drink for me, I’ll be by later.”

  Faith glared at Delaney’s hand on her arm and then up at his face. “Have it right now. I’m not going anywhere with you. I haven’t finished my business here.”

  “You sure have.”

  Toe to toe they stood. Faith looking up, blue fire blazing from her eyes, and Delaney coolly gazing down at her face. Neither one was about to give an inch.

  Fool, irritating woman, he thought. “Now, I’m a right accommodatin’ man most times, calico. This ain’t one of them.”

  His other arm snaked out, hooked her around the waist, and then he hauled her over his shoulder.

  “Not a word,” he warned her.

  “Del!”

  He glanced back at Chelli. The man had braced his weight on the balls of his feet, and his hands were splayed out from his sides.

  “I’ve got my hands full at the moment; otherwise, I’d oblige you. You’ve heard of women changin’ their minds, ain’t you? This is one of those times.”

  To the sounds of whistles and catcalls, Faith left the Prairie Dog saloon.

  And now that he had her, Delaney wondered what the hell he was going to do with her.

  Chapter 3

  “Hand tight, Duchess.”

  Faith could do nothing else. It was a long way down to the ground.

  Delaney glanced up and down the street. His scowl warned off the few men who shot curious looks their way until they drifted out of sight. He gazed at Tolly’s livery sign and began to walk toward it, his steps soft and easy so he wouldn’t jounce his burden.