by Len Levinson
Army officer and Apache rode toward each other, trying to hold their pistols steady, and each knew a shot at point-blank range was required. In seconds the adversaries were upon each other, and both fired at the same time. The air filled with smoke, and Beau was certain he'd be killed, but the Apache rode past, both men apparently unable to draw a steady bead atop galloping horses.
Beau cursed as Apaches and mules galloped toward the nether regions of night. Half-dressed soldiers ran toward him, carrying pistols and guns. No one asked what happened, the answer all too clear. The soldiers stood in the darkness, mouths agape, their transportation gone with the Apaches.
Ten
Colonel Bonneville was furious on the morning of May 3, 1857. He'd fought Creeks, Cherokees, Nez Percé, Osage, Cayuse, and Crows, among other tribes, but never had lost mules to the enemy. He imagined laughter in officers’ messes across the U.S. army. “Maybe it's time Old Bonny Clabber retired.”
Sitting at his desk, smoking his morning cigar, he wondered who to blame. Captain Covington stuck his head through the tent flap. “Captain Hargreaves is here to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
The corners of Colonel Bonneville's mouth turned down as Beau marched into his office, saluted, and said, “Captain Hargreaves reporting, sir.”
The colonel refused Beau a chair, and neither did he offer a cigar. “What's your side of it?”
“I have nothing to add to my report, which I already have submitted, sir. The Apaches appeared suddenly, the guards could not stop them, and mules were stolen.”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“Triple the guard.”
Colonel Bonneville wanted to have Captain Hargreaves put before a firing squad, but loss of mules wasn't his fault, and if anyone was to blame, it was the commanding officer himself. “I am appointing you responsible for protecting the livestock. If one more mule is lost, I'll have your captain's bars. You're dismissed.”
Everyone in the vicinity heard the colonel's voice through the tent's canvas walls, and George was waiting when Beau came out. “He'll get over it,” George said with a smile. “He's not the one who'll carry supplies on his back.”
“Nor will we,” replied Beau. “It's always the poor enlisted soldiers who pay, but now each knows the Apaches could've taken us last night, instead of the mules. They'll keep an eye cocked from now on, and if the Apaches come this way again, we'll be ready for them.”
Clarissa folded diapers in her living room, surrounded by satchels and trunks, with dresses and coats piled everywhere. Three stagecoaches had arrived from Santa Fe, accompanied by a military escort, all scheduled to return at the end of the week. Clarissa intended to be on the caravan with her child and maid.
It would be a dangerous journey through Apache territory, but Nathanial had taught her how to fire a pistol; she wasn't totally defenseless. We'll get through somehow, she hoped.
There was a knock on the door. Rosita opened it, exchanged words with someone, then returned to the parlor. “It is the other Senora Barrington.”
Clarissa turned to her husband's first wife, and after initial pleasantries had been exchanged, Maria Dolores said, “I have been in Albuquerque since the stagecoaches arrived, and I am leaving on one of them Friday. I have heard you are going too, so we can travel together, and perhaps protect each other from the men.”
“I'm more worried about Apaches,” replied Clarissa. “Occasionally, one hears about a wagon train being attacked on the Journado del Muertos.”
“I do not think we will have trouble with Apaches,” replied Maria Dolores confidently. “They have their hands full of Colonel Bonneville's army these days and will be afraid to show their faces.”
Geronimo lay beneath a yucca cactus and studied the army camp fifty yards away. Guards were everywhere, peering into the desert, guns at the ready. It appeared about half the soldiers were searching for enemies.
Geronimo threw a rock and immediately a guard jumped to his feet. “Halt—who goes there!” There was no answer, so the soldier cried, “Sergeant of the guard!”
It wasn't long before other soldiers came running. “What's wrong!” demanded one of them, with many stripes on his arm.
“I heard something out there.”
“Let's have a look, men. We can't take chances with these damned savages.”
The soldiers held their rifles ready to fire as they advanced into the wilderness. One passed Geronimo, but he was covered with dirt, motionless, eyes narrowed.
“I don't see no Injuns. You sure you wasn't imaginin’ things?”
Geronimo permitted himself to breathe more deeply as they returned to camp. The White Eyes have learned their lesson, he surmised. But soon they will forget it and relax their guard. Then, when they least expect it, we shall strike again.
All eyes were on Sunny Bear covered with bear fur, as Cuchillo Negro and his warriors returned to the main Mimbreno camp. A crowd gathered, then Mangas Coloradas emerged from his wickiup, took immediate note of Sunny Bear, and realized that the Pindah apparently had killed a bear. Amazed, Mangas Coloradas stared like the others at Sunny Bear. There is much more to this Pindah than is apparent, mulled Mangas Coloradas.
Meanwhile, Cuchillo Negro climbed down from his horse, unrolled a blanket on the ground, and displayed weapons and ammunition. “Take your pick.”
Mangas Coloradas already possessed a musket, so he took a handful of cartridges. Then he nodded to Cuchillo Negro, who followed Mangas Coloradas into the wickiup.
“Tomas needs sheep,” reported Cuchillo Negro after they had seated themselves. “Soon we will go on another raid.”
Mangas Coloradas's mind was not on sheep. “What a warrior is Sunny Bear, and how odd that he has killed the one after which he has been named.”
“Nana has taught him well.”
Light from the smoke hole cast sharp shadows on the chief's face. “Do you trust him?”
Cuchillo Negro thought for a few moments, then said, “No, because a warrior cannot change his essence.”
***
After chores Sunny Bear found Seema at her fire, cooking a pot of shoots and a deer bone that someone had thrown her. A look in his eyes made her suspect he was going to kill her. She leapt to her feet, knife in hand, as he peeled the bear fur from his shoulders.
“Tan it,” he ordered. “And tonight you will sleep in my wickiup.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Seema would do nothing of the sort until meat was deposited safely before her, but she did not care to argue with a man who had killed a bear.
That evening she bathed in the nearby stream, then carried her few belongings to Sunny Bear's wickiup. She went inside as darkness came to the land. He lay naked near the firepit, watching her. Ill at ease, she found a place for her belongings.
“Come here,” he said.
She crawled toward him, and he took her in his arms. They made no declarations of love, but instead set to the business of satisfying starved desires. And thus were married Sunny Bear and Seema, according to the customs of the People, in the Black Range during the season of Many Leaves.
Next day, in her dirty little wickiup, Martita, the would-be sorceress, seethed with frustration. Ish-keh would no longer bring meat, now that Sunny Bear had taken Seema to wife. In addition, Jocita and Sunny Bear had not behaved as expected. Everybody was happy with the new arrangement, except Martita. I am doomed, she thought.
Everything bad happened to her ever since the day she'd been born deformed. Even her parents had been ashamed of her, but they were dead now, and once again she was reduced to eating the scraps and leavings of others, with no one to love her.
She felt desperate and wished she could speak with Chuntz, but he was off scouting for Mangas Coloradas. Surely, there must be something wicked I can do to make people respect me. But what?
A week later, midway between Albuquerque and Santa Fe, three stagecoaches were parked alongside a stream, while passengers and soldiers enjoy
ed lunch. Maria Dolores and Clarissa, plus Rosita and little Natalie, sat by themselves away from the others, trying to enjoy beans and bacon provided by the army, when suddenly, out of nowhere, Maria Dolores said, “Sometimes, when I think of Nathanial, I realize he was not so bad, as men go. Because in my experience, none of them are any good.”
“I was happy with Nathanial,” replied Clarissa vaguely. “He's the only man I've . . . ever been with.” This was a bald-faced lie, but one which she believed more every day.
“They cannot be trusted,” lectured Maria Dolores, “and they even lie to each other, but Nathanial never tried to harm me, and never interfered with my business, except for a few minor incidents. Our first year together was the happiest of my life, but I was very young and never believed he'd sleep with another woman.”
Clarissa didn't care to learn about her dead husband's peccadilloes, but kept contrary opinions to herself. Meanwhile, little Natalie lay a few feet away, a pink-faced blond baby on a Navaho blanket, tilted so she could see a medley of green bushes with red flowers, and in the distance a white-topped mountain that reminded the infant of her mother's breast. Natalie loved the smell of the desert, the feeling of wildness in the air, the splendor of bright-colored spring flowers, their aroma filling her lungs, becoming part of her.
Her bright eyes caught an interesting shape on a far-away escarpment. It was a brown-skinned man sitting with his legs crossed, staring at her thoughtfully. She raised her little hand and waved, but no one paid attention to the seemingly random movements of a babe.
Chuntz pursed his lips as he contemplated the scene below. The prize was tempting indeed, but there were too many soldiers. Still, it was his duty to report everything of significance to Mangas Coloradas.
What makes one man a chief and another a laughing stock? he asked himself. Sometimes Chuntz hated the People and considered betraying them to the White Eyes. What if I walked down and told the blue-coat war chief I can deliver him to the camp of Mangas Coloradas? Then Juh and the others will be sorry they have mortified me, and as for Sunny Bear, I shall kill him myself if ever I find the chance. For he is the cause of my difficulties.
Chuntz imagined himself riding with Pindah soldiers, wearing a fine blue uniform with gold buttons, aiming a new pistol at Sunny Bear's head. Perhaps, if I show the flag of truce, Pindah soldiers will welcome me, thought Chuntz. How do I know if I do not try? He carried no flag of truce, but thought his bandanna would do. He removed it from his head, tied it to a stick, and waved it from side to side as he stood and smiled broadly, showing his free hand empty of weapons.
Then he noticed a Pindah soldier pointing at him, and soon several turned his way as the women ran to the stagecoach, carrying the baby. The next thing Chuntz knew, rifles were fired in his direction, a lead slug slammed a rock next to his knee, sending splinters flying through the air, and he realized that he could not betray his people that day. Perhaps another time, he thought as he scampered into the mountains and in seconds was gone.
Natalie did not like being rudely carried off. She cried because she'd been hoping to meet the little brown man, and next thing she knew, she was thrown into the stagecoach. Then her mother, Rosita, and Maria Dolores flopped on top of her.
“Oh, my God!” cried Clarissa, verging on hysteria. “You don't think they're going to attack, do you?”
“I suggest you prepare your gun,” replied Maria Dolores as she yanked her Colt Dragoon from the holster beneath her serape.
The soldiers hopped onto their horses, and the old stagecoach driver climbed to his bench. “Let's go, you son's of bitches!” he hollered at the horses.
These huge-muscled animals didn't need encouragement. They pulled and strained, the stagecoach began to move, and dragoons spread out around the women to protect them from attack. The stagecoach tossed and bumped down the trail, two women peering fearfully out the window, and a baby wailing disapproval, as frightened dragoons fired at anything that moved, including a stray javalina pig.
Jubilation swept the People's camp that afternoon after captured mules were spotted, but anguish followed when the Apaches perceived one of the returning warriors wounded. Soon he was identified to Mangas Coloradas as Victorio.
Dismayed by this unwelcome news, the chief dare not let it show while the homeland was under invasion. They lowered Victorio to the ground, and he lay still, eyes closed, skin an unhealthy hue. Nana pulled aside the bloody breechclout and saw the wound was in his lower stomach, far from heart, lungs, and guts, the bleeding stopped. Victorio's wife kneeled beside him, tears in her eyes, their children looking on, while Nana examined the gash. “He will live,” said the di-yin medicine man. “But his cure will take a long time.”
Sunny Bear dispersed with the others, aware that Mangas Coloradas had lost his best lieutenant. What will happen if Pindah soldiers find this camp? he wondered. I can't fight my fellow Americans, but that won't stop them from shooting at me in my Apache clothes.
He noticed Jocita walking toward him among the wickiups. Lowering his eyes as she approached, he hoped they could pass without incident, but instead she sidestepped brazenly in front of him. “Pig,” she said beneath her breath.
He tried to smile. “What is wrong, wife of Juh?”
“You are the kind who goes with anybody.”
“If I did not go with Seema, I would have crawled into your wickiup some night, and probably got both of us killed. You may find this difficult to believe, but I did it for you.”
The warrior woman struggled to maintain her control. “If we were alone, I would kill you.”
“If we were alone, I would take the knife away from you easily, woman, and then tear off your clothing.”
Without another word, she walked away. Sunny Bear took a deep breath to calm himself, for her brief proximity had scrambled his brain once more. Then he shuffled to his wickiup, where Seema sat gnawing a leg of deer, her eyes smoldering like coals in the firepit. “Do not speak to me,” she said levelly. “I have seen you with Jocita, and I know that you love her more than me.”
Sunny Bear sighed as he trudged into the wilderness. That night he slept alone a distance from camp, wrapped in bear fur.
Inside Nana's wickiup Victorio lay naked beside the fire, his wound covered by leaves and mud. Beside him the medicine man created images by pouring colored sand on the ground. He sang incantations and pleaded with the mountain spirits to cure Victorio, because his skills were required by the People.
Finally, the ceremony ended, and Nana raised his eyes to Mangas Coloradas sitting on the other side of the fire. “I have done all I can. Now Victorio's life is in the hands of the mountain spirits.”
“I want your advice,” said the chief of the Mimbrenos. “Should I ask the Chiricahua People to help us, or should I steal more livestock?”
Nana replied: “The threat of bluecoat soldiers coupled with the wounding of Victorio have caused you to lose your balance, my dear old friend Mangas Coloradas. Because ultimately, victory is not a matter of men, guns, or mules. It is a matter of spirit.” Nana balled his fist and raised it over his head. “Our spirit comes from the land that the Lifegiver has provided us, and from this land comes a creature feared above all others. We must ask him to help us.”
Mangas Coloradas nodded. “You are right, Nana. I have indeed lost my balance. In the morning I will ask the snake society to begin the collection. The sacred Snake Dance has saved the People in the past, and shall do so again.”
The People consisted of many tribes and clans, of which the Mimbrenos, Nednai, Bedonko, and Chiricahua were only a few. Each lived in their own homeland, and the territory north of Albuquerque had formerly belonged to the Jicarilla Apaches.
Those brave warriors had been humbled by the U.S. army during the spring and summer of 1854, and most had been forced to reside in misery at reservations near Abiquiu, Taos, and Cimarron. However, some warriors refused to knuckle under to Pindah power and occasionally slipped away from the reservation to have s
ome fun.
One of these outlaw Apache bands was led by José Largo, and he lay on his belly, watching three stagecoaches pass on the trail below. He counted Pindah soldiers, all of whom seemed half asleep. The José Largo crawled back to his warriors, who were mounted, ready to charge. Due to hilly terrain, the stagecoaches would pass fifty yards from them. Glad to be on the warpath again, they couldn't wait to get their hands on the food the White Eyes were carrying. “They are more than we,” explained José Largo, “but if we surprised them, I think we can win. They are heavily armed, however. What do you think?”
“Attack,” said Vicente, who had seen the golden-haired lady in the stagecoach and wanted her as his slave.
The others nodded, for great wealth was carried in the stagecoaches, and the horses alone would provide meat for the rest of the year. The Jicarilla renegades hated bluecoat soldiers and didn't mind risking their lives to kill several, because anything was an improvement over the reservation. They heard the stagecoach wheels drawing closer as they readied their war ponies.
Inside the second stagecoach ladies and baby continued their journey to Santa Fe. “Isn't it odd how we've become friends,” Maria Dolores said to Clarissa. “By rights, we should hate each other.”
“You're right—it is rather strange,” replied Clarissa. “We fell in love with the same man.”
“I will always care for Nathanial,” declared Maria Dolores, “as long as I don't have to live with him.”
“Nathanial and I were perfectly suited to each other,” retorted Clarissa. “He was so vital, as if death couldn't touch him.”
“You are a dreamer, just like Nathanial,” sighed Maria Dolores. “Because death can touch anyone, at any time.”
Natalie began to cry, and Rosita bent to pick her up when an arrow slammed into the seat two inches from Rosita's head. Clarissa and Maria Dolores stared at the projectile, Rosita screamed hysterically, then a soldier shouted, “Injuns!”
