Iris

by Greenwood, Leigh

  "You'd rat on me?"

  "I'd never do that unless it was for your own good," Reardon said, "and passing up this kind of chance ain't for your own good."

  "You think she'll agree to marry you?"

  "If Monty don't want her, I don't plan to ask her. Either way I don't plan to spend the rest of my life looking at the wrong end of a cow. Agreed?"

  "Since you got me over a barrel, I'll think about it, but I don't like it. After her being so nice, it ain't right. Now put the cigarette out. If you start a grass fire, Monty'll get rid of us for sure."

  Joe took another drag off his cigarette. He didn't like the change in Carlos. Damn that woman. She seemed to be able to twist just about every man she met around her little finger. It was a good thing he was different. The thought of being married to her was enough to make a man's mouth water, but if he could trade her for gold, he would. He could buy dozens of beautiful women with a half million dollars.

  He ground his cigarette out under his heel and headed for his horse.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Frank and his men disappeared after receiving their money. No one tried to stampede the herd that night or any other. The days merged into one another, each long, hot, and exhausting, but each a steady march toward the high plains of Wyoming. The weather continued dry, but rain to the west kept the creeks and rivers flowing with enough water to provide for the entire herd.

  Timbered hills gave way to vast expanses of prairie. Periodic fires kept the plains free of trees except for an occasional grove along a river or a meandering stream. Zac filled the skin slung under the chuck wagon with a mixture of wood and buffalo chips, but there weren't many of the latter to be found after the great slaughter of the buffalo during the previous three years.

  Dips and folds in the land could have hidden rustlers, herds of buffalo, or the entire city of St. Louis, but they never did. An occasional antelope gave some variety to their steady diet of pork, but the sameness of their food challenged even Tyler's powers of invention.

  One day Monty took Iris to a high point where she could count six separate herds following in the distance. More than six hundred thousand longhorns had come up the trail four years earlier, enough to form an unbroken line from Abilene, Kansas, to Brownsville, Texas.

  But the dullness of routine was shattered one afternoon when they topped a rise and found themselves face to face with more than fifty Comanches, mostly women and old men on foot.

  "Let me do the talking," Monty hissed. "Everybody go about your business. Salty, watch for Hen. I don't want any guns."

  "I'm going with you," Iris said.

  "Stay here. It's too dangerous."

  "It's my herd, too."

  Iris hardly knew why she insisted upon accompanying Monty. She was more frightened than she had been the day she led the calf into the milling herd, but she had to go. She had to know what was happening to her herd.

  And to Monty.

  One man, obviously the chief of the band, rode forward and held up a hand as if to command them to stop. The cattle, still grazing forward, veered off to the right. The hands followed, keeping them close together.

  The chief apparently didn't speak English because he started making signs with his hands. When Monty addressed him in Spanish, he turned back to his band and signed for two young bucks to ride forward to translate.

  "They're Apaches," Monty whispered to her. "No doubt renegades. What does the chief want?" Monty asked the braves who spoke in heavy guttural Spanish.

  After the question had been properly interpreted to the chief, he dropped his blanket from his shoulders and dismounted. He was a fine specimen of a man standing fully six feet and perfectly proportioned even though well past middle life. He looked every inch a chief. Even though Iris didn't know sign language, she could guess the meaning of some of his gestures.

  He wanted beef. He claimed all the country in sight as the hunting grounds of the Comanche. He said the white men were intruders. He said the great slaughter of the buffalo by the white hide-hunters had left his people poor and hungry. He had always counseled peace, but his band numbered only squaws and old men because the younger men had deserted him for other chiefs who advocated war. He offered to allow them to pass through his country for twenty beeves.

  "Dismount," Monty said to Iris. "This is going to take a while."

  Monty dismounted and laid down in the grass. Iris had never seen him do that. Not knowing what else to do, she did the same. The Apache translators seated themselves in their own fashion.

  "It's no use being in a hurry with these people," Monty explained. "Unless you're willing to waste as much time as they are, they'll beat you every time."

  Showing no desire to hasten matters, Monty plucked a grass stem and began to chew on it. After listening patiently to the chief, he launched into a long, rambling conversation, avoiding all reference to the demand for beef. He asked how far it was to Fort Sill and Fort Elliot. He asked how many days it would take the cavalry to reach them. He then talked about the numerous times Indians had stolen cattle and said the white man's chief in Washington was very unhappy with the Indians. He said cattlemen had asked the government to send soldiers to protect them from Indians demanding cattle for the privilege of passing through the territory.

  He then said he didn't owe them anything.

  The chief invited Monty and Iris to come to their village to see his people.

  The invitation caught Iris by surprise. She didn't want to leave the protection of the trail crew, but she did want to see if the chief spoke the truth. Besides, the old men and women didn't seem very dangerous. At least not as long as Monty was with her.

  "Let's give them some of our supplies," Iris suggested to Monty.

  "That's a good idea." Monty called Salty and told him Iris wanted to take the Indians some food. Salty didn't look as though he liked the idea, but he soon came back with the food.

  Iris felt brave enough while the crew was close by, but when the Indians closed in on either side of her and the men disappeared into the distance, she found herself wishing she had stayed behind.

  The Indians had made camp where a stream valley widened into a broad flood plain with ample groves of cottonwoods and willow clumps providing space and shade and water and wood. Leaves on the cottonwood rustled continually, their whitish-gray furrowed trunks larger than a man could reach around. The grey soil near the camp was covered with sparse vegetation, but up on the plain, there was plenty of grass for the poor, overworked ponies. The tepees, hide-covered cones, were set up in a large circle, the plain tan color of the buffalo hides blackened at the top from smoke. Emaciated dogs searched between the tepees for discarded bones.

  Iris had never seen misery equal to what she found in the Indian village. Women and children stopped their tasks to watch them ride in, the women's faces lined by years of hard work and too little food and rest, the children gaunt and unnaturally quiet. With arrogant indifference, the Apaches dropped the bags of food on the ground. Within minutes every scrap had been taken.

  Iris wished she could have brought more.

  The procession stopped before the largest tepee in the camp. It had been decorated with geometrical designs, religious symbols, pictures commemorating a warrior's deeds.

  "This is the chief's tepee," Monty whispered.

  "What is he going to do?" Iris whispered back.

  "Invite us inside to talk some more."

  "How long will it take?"

  "I don't know."

  Iris didn't want to get down or go into the tepee, but Monty dismounted without hesitation. She followed rather than wait outside alone. The chief looked uncertain when Iris started toward the tepee, but Monty told him through the translators that half the cows belonged to Iris. If he wanted beef, he would have to talk with her as well.

  At this point Iris would have been willing to give him twenty cows just to get back to the herd and as far away from this village as possible.

  The dim ligh
t inside the tepee made everything surreal. By the time the chief had completed the interminable ritual of lighting a pipe and passing it around, Iris would have given him thirty cows. She hesitated when Monty passed the pipe to her, but having forced herself into the midst of this exclusively male ritual, she knew she had to take the pipe. Taking great care, Iris inhaled a small amount. The smoke of strong tobacco mixed with aromatic herbs bit into her lungs. Only the greatest effort kept her from coughing.

  Monty smiled his approval. Iris felt dizzy with success. By the time she had breathed the smoke-fill air inside the tent during another hour of ambling deliberations, she was genuinely dizzy.

  But an even bigger ordeal lay ahead. Women entered the tent bearing bowls and trays of food. They were expected to stay for dinner.

  Monty might complain he didn't recognized anything Tyler fixed, but he didn't hesitate at a single dish even though most of them seemed to be made of the same indistinguishable mush. Iris did recognize a stew made with wild peas and prairie turnips seasoned with the faint taste of some kind of meat. She ate some small chunks of meat and hoped Monty wouldn't tell her later it was rattlesnake. She refused a dish of what had to be grasshoppers. A mush of pumpkin and wild berries wasn't bad. She actually enjoyed the peeled, sweet thistle stalks offered last, probably more because they signaled the end of the meal than because they tasted faintly like bananas.

  She knew the Indians had deprived themselves to provide this feast, so she ate just enough to be polite. She hoped they would give the leftovers to the children. Remembering their gaunt faces, she would gladly have given them the whole meal.

  "We've been invited to stay the night," Monty said.

  "Invited?"

  "It's something of a command."

  "Where will we stay?"

  "They'll show us."

  The aimless talk continued. As Monty translated less and less, Iris's mind wandered from the question at hand. The thought she would be separated from Monty nearly petrified her. It never occurred to her, when she insisted upon accompanying Monty, they would leave the herd, or that arriving at the Indian village, they wouldn't return after a little more talk. The discovery she was expected -- no, required -- to spend the night caused a band of fear to wrap itself tightly around her chest. She was petrified she and Monty would be separated.

  The longer they talked, the tighter the ban became. By the time the chief signaled the end of the talks for the evening, she could hardly breathe. She reached out for Monty and gripped his hand as though it were a lifeline. The chief, noticing, muttered something to one of his braves. The man motioned for Iris and Monty to follow him. He led them to a tepee nearly as large and fancifully decorated as the one they had just left. The man spoke to Monty and turned to leave. Monty, obviously surprised by what the man said, answered in rapid Spanish.

  Iris wished she could understand them, but Helena had refused to allow Iris to learn a language she considered suitable only for servants.

  Monty tried to argue with the Apache translators, but the man turned away. Iris grabbed Monty's arm when he started after the man.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "The chief means for us to sleep in the same tepee. He thinks you're my woman."

  Iris had never experienced anything like the shock that practically lifted her off her feet. Her entire body was invaded by a delicious excitement which had nothing to do with her present dilemma. She couldn't understand why she should be feeling anxious anticipation rather than fear and trembling, but she was sure of one thing. Monty must stay. He must not leave her alone.

  "There's plenty of room for two people," she said, glancing around the tepee. "It's very large."

  "This has nothing to do with space. I can't sleep in there alone with you. You'd be ruined."

  At the moment, Iris's fear of being left alone overrode any fear about her reputation. "You can't leave me. Not here. I'll follow you if you try."

  "They won't hurt you," Monty assured her. "We're their guests. It would violate their honor."

  "Maybe, but I don't intend to find out. You've got to stay. No one will ever know."

  "I'll talk to the chief." But when Monty attempted to return to the chief's tent, the Apaches blocked his path. Monty's body tensed as he prepared to force his way though the barrier.

  "Don't," Iris called. She grasped Monty's sleeve and pulled him back. "They won't let you. They may get mad if you try."

  Realizing the futility of trying to appeal to the chief, Monty said, "I'll sleep outside."

  "It's going to rain." It had already begun to sprinkle.

  "I've got my slicker."

  "Don't be so stubborn. There's plenty of room inside for both of us."

  When Monty didn't move, Iris took him by the hand and pulled him toward the tepee. One brave smiled and nudged his companion, but Iris was not deterred. Her mind had leapfrogged all her doubts. No matter what, she wanted Monty at her side.

  "This is a mistake," Monty said, still rooted to the spot.

  "Maybe, but we can't talk about it now."

  "We've got to. If I go in there, I don't know if I can come out again."

  "I don't want to you."

  Monty stared at her. "Do you know what you're saying?"

  "Yes." She pulled again, and this time Monty took a step forward.

  "Maybe we--"

  "We'll talk inside."

  Iris's legs felt so weak, her belly fluttered so nervously, she nearly stumbled when she stooped to enter the tent. Light coming through the smoke flap and from the coals of a small fire relieved the darkness of the interior, but she could barely make out a bed of buffalo robes at the back of the tepee.

  One bed.

  Until now Iris hadn't considered how loving Monty would affect her. There had seemed little point. Now she realized in one flash of discovery she wanted to make love to him. Her body was crying out her need to be held by him, to feel the incredible pressure of his lips on hers, the joy of being held close to his heart.

  She didn't know if he wanted to make love to her. If he did, she didn't know if he would let himself.

  Monty halted just inside the door and looked around the interior the tepee. He chuckled, but it seemed strained. "I bet you never slept on a buffalo robe before."

  "No. I never ate whatever we had for dinner either, but I survived it."

  "They're close to starving. They served us the best they had."

  "Will they let us go in the morning?"

  "Yes. The chief is just hoping to get as many cows as possible."

  "How many are you going to give him?"

  "Two."

  "But they're so hungry."

  "They'll only eat everything now and be hungry again."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I've got another deal."

  "What is it?"

  "I'll tell you tomorrow."

  Iris knew they were talking around the one thing that occupied both their minds. She eyed the buffalo robe out of the corner of her eye.

  Monty also eyed the bed uneasily. Iris was desperate to know what he was thinking, but he looked so tense she didn't dare ask. She didn't think she could stand to know he didn't want her.

  "I don't know if I can stay here and not touch you," Monty finally said. "I wouldn't have succeeded that night at the creek if Carlos hadn't found us."

  Iris felt the hard pressure of fear give way to the supple tension of excitement. Monty did want her. He wanted her so much he didn't think he could control himself. Iris felt a growing tautness. She felt the same way. She didn't know how to tell him she wanted him to touch her without making him think she was like the women he was used to. She could sense that while he might welcome such a revelation now, he would reject her for it later.

  "I trust you."

  "You shouldn't."

  "You wouldn't hurt me."

  "No."

  Iris walked over to the robe and knelt down on it. "Then I'm not afraid."

  She didn'
t know if he understood. Even though she searched his face, it was too dark in the tepee to catch any nuance of expression.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  Monty lowered himself next to Iris. He had tried to keep his distance. If she had been upset or cowered in the corner or simply tried to keep as far away from him as possible he could have controlled himself. At least he would have tried. But her calm acceptance of their intimacy, her virtual invitation, swept away any desire to resist. For months he had been tortured by dreams of making love to her Iris.

  Now his whole body trembled with excitement. He was tight again just with the thought of her.

  He wondered what Helena had told Iris about men. Clearly Iris hadn't listened to all her mother's advice. He didn't know why Iris wanted him, but there was nothing manipulative in her now.

  She simply wanted him.

  And he wanted her. God, how he wanted her. He reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She didn't pull away. She didn't strike his hand down.

  She didn't move at all.

  She felt so soft. She looked so thin, almost gaunt, in the shadows as the light played on the planes of her face. Helena had combined medium height with an erotic plumpness. Iris's height and athletic slimness was nearly the opposite of her mother's indolent allure. Where Helena gave the appearance of inviting an excess of pleasure, Iris made him feel keenly alive, lean and hungry for more.

  "Are you frightened?" he asked. She sat so still. Silent. She hardly seemed to breathe.

  "No." Her voice was a bare thread.

  "Do you want me to stop?"

  She shook her head.

  Monty didn't think he could.

  Her skin felt so warm and soft. He couldn't remember being so aware of a woman's skin before, not that he would attempt to compare Iris to any female he had known. It was gradually being borne in on him that Iris was unlike any woman he had ever known.

  Iris moistened her dry lips. Her stomach seemed to shoot up into her throat, find her heart already there, then plummet back down with a jolt. The force and rapidity of her pulse made her feel unwell, yet she had never felt more intensely alive.