Blood Bond: Arizona Ambush
Page 10
Lady Augusta nodded.
“I can see how that would spark a confrontation. I’ve seen these other two around, sir, but not you. Who are you?”
“My name is Sam Two Wolves, ma’am. And before you ask, I really am half Cheyenne. No Navajo blood, despite what Lowry said down there.”
“Yes, I didn’t think you looked much like any of the Navajo I’ve ever seen, and there are plenty of them around here. This is supposedly their land, after all.” She turned her attention to Stovepipe and Wilbur. “What about you two? Who are you, and what’s your connection with all this?”
Stovepipe still had his black Stetson in his hand, and when he nudged Wilbur in the ribs with an elbow, Wilbur snatched his battered old hat off his head, too.
“They call me Stovepipe Stewart, ma’am,” the tall, skinny cowboy said. “This here’s my pard, Wilbur Coleman.”
Wilbur opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous squeak.
“You got to pardon ol’ Wilbur,” Stovepipe went on. “He ain’t much for talkin’, especially around beauti-some ladies.”
Lady Augusta didn’t smile, but Sam thought he saw a twinkle of amusement in her eyes for a second.
“Go on,” she said solemnly. “Why were you involved in that fight?”
“Because we were sidin’ Sam here,” Stovepipe explained. “Didn’t seem fair to us that so many fellas would jump one lone hombre and give him a thrashin’ ... especially when he was just tellin’ the truth.”
“Then you were sticking up for the underdog.”
Stovepipe nodded.
“Yes’m, you could say that.”
For a moment, Lady Augusta regarded them gravely, then nodded and turned to place the shotgun on a side table.
The sight of the Greener lying there on what was obviously an expensive piece of furniture was a little odd, Sam thought, a good example of the stark contrasts to be found in many frontier towns on the edge of civilization.
“I can respect such behavior,” Lady Augusta said, “although my tolerance is strained when it results in damage to my saloon. You gentlemen are forgiven for your part in the hostilities.” She crossed her arms over her bosom. “Now ... what about the Indians? You don’t believe there’s any truth to what Pete Lowry said, Mr. Two Wolves?”
“I don’t know for sure because I wasn’t there,” Sam admitted, “but it seems pretty unlikely to me that people who have been mostly at peace with the white men for more than fifteen years would risk starting a war again.”
“But what if they’re starving? What if they had to have those cattle in order to feed their families?”
She had a point there, Sam thought. Fifty cattle would feed Caballo Rojo’s people for quite a while.
But that isolated canyon where the Navajo lived was two days’ ride from here, and Sam hadn’t heard Caballo Rojo, Juan Pablo, or any of the other warriors talking about raiding a ranch in the near future, or any other time, for that matter.
It hadn’t appeared to Sam that the band was running short on food, either. Everyone seemed reasonably well-fed. Between the sheep they raised, the crops they grew, and the deer that roamed the area, none of the Navajo should have gone hungry.
They wouldn’t have risked everything by attacking the Devil’s Pitchfork. Sam was sure of it.
“I just don’t see it happening that way,” he told Lady Augusta. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
“What other explanation is there?” she asked. “Or do you believe the incident never occurred?”
Stovepipe said, “You mean maybe Lowry and his boss made the whole thing up? Why would they do that?”
She smiled at him.
“You tell me, Mr. Stewart.”
Stovepipe shook his head and said, “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t. This whole business don’t make heads nor tails to me.”
“Well, it’s really none of my affair. I was just curious what nearly got my saloon busted all to pieces, as you ruffians might say.” She went to the door and opened it. “There’s a door at the end of the hall that leads to the rear stairs. I suggest the three of you depart that way, rather than going through the main room downstairs. In fact, I insist upon it. Mr. Lowry and his friends may still be down there, and I don’t want a repeat of what happened earlier.”
“Neither do we, ma’am,” Sam assured her as he got to his feet. Stovepipe and Wilbur followed suit.
“It was an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” Stovepipe said. Beside him, Wilbur gulped, opened his mouth to say something, gulped again, and made a few incoherent noises. Stovepipe nodded toward his friend and added, “Wilbur says likewise, Your Ladyship.”
“You’re all welcome in the Buckingham Palace Saloon,” she told them, “but not until the boys from the Devil’s Pitchfork are gone. Agreed?”
Sam nodded and said, “That’s fine with me. One run-in with Pete Lowry is plenty.”
They stepped out into the corridor. As they did, Wilbur seemed to gather his courage. He turned around and said, “It sure was a pleasure to—”
Unfortunately, Lady Augusta had already closed the door behind them, so she couldn’t hear him. Wilbur stopped and looked crestfallen.
Stovepipe clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Come along, old hoss. Maybe you’ll have another chance to talk to the lady some other time.”
“Yeah, well, I could’ve talked to her now if you two blabbermouths would ever let a man get a word in edgewise,” Wilbur muttered.
Sam chuckled. He hadn’t ruled out the possibility that these two had some sinister motive in befriending him, but it was becoming more and more difficult to remain suspicious of them.
They took the rear stairs and went out a door that led into the alley behind the saloon.
“Where are you headed now, Sam?” Stovepipe asked.
Sam looked at the sky. The afternoon was getting to be well advanced.
“I thought I’d go check on my horse at the livery stable, then head for the boardinghouse where I’m staying. The lady who runs the place told me that supper was at six o’clock, and I’ve got a hunch she wouldn’t look kindly on any of her boarders who were late.”
“You gonna be in town for a while?”
“I don’t know yet,” Sam answered honestly. “Probably.”
“Then I reckon we’ll be runnin’ into you again. And if you get into any more trouble, let out a holler. Wilbur and me are liable to be around somewhere close by. Flat Rock ain’t all that big of a place, after all.”
“I’ll remember that,” Sam promised. He lifted a hand in farewell as the two cowboys ambled off along the alley.
He wondered if Stovepipe’s comments meant that the two of them planned to keep an eye on him ... and if they did, why?
Pablo Garralaga at the livery stable wanted to know if Sam had found Mrs. McCormick’s boardinghouse. Sam said that he had and thanked the liveryman for directing him there.
“Looks like a comfortable place,” he said. “And as it turns out, the fella who has the room next to me is a man I met at the café earlier.”
“And who would that be?” Garralaga asked.
“Noah Reilly.”
Garralaga smiled.
“The little hombre from the general store?”
“You know him?”
“I buy goods there. And he comes by here every so often to rent a saddle horse from me.”
Sam said, “He didn’t strike me as the sort of fella to go riding around the countryside.”
Garralaga shook his head.
“No, no, he tries to ride, but the poor little mucha-cho always comes back in such pain. He told me once that he used to live somewhere back East, and he came out here to Arizona for his health. He thinks that he should learn to ride so he will fit in better. I try to show him how to sit so he won’t be so sore from the saddle, but it’s no use. Some people should never get on a horse.”
Sam supposed that was true, even though he had spent so much of h
is life on horseback it was hard to imagine that there were people who just couldn’t ride.
He looked in on his own horse, said so long to Garralaga, and then strolled toward the boardinghouse. Along the way he mulled over everything that had happened since he rode into Flat Rock. He had met some people, gotten into a brawl, and had a beautiful Englishwoman who just might be nobility point a shotgun at him. It had been an eventful afternoon, but not a particularly productive one. He didn’t feel like he was any closer to finding the bushwhackers than he had been before he arrived in town.
But they were still here somewhere, his instincts told him. It was just a matter of drawing them into the open and figuring out why they had tried to kill him and Matt. Once he had done that, he could decide on his next move.
At least he didn’t have to worry too much about Matt right now, he told himself. That was one thing to be thankful for, anyway.
Chapter 19
Juan Pablo hadn’t returned to the canyon by the next morning, and Matt wasn’t sure what that meant. He hoped Sam and the Navajo hadn’t run into trouble, such as another ambush attempt.
Elizabeth Fleming wasn’t in the hogan when Matt woke up. He didn’t see any point in asking the older woman about her, so he just kept quiet, ate the bowl of stew she gave him for breakfast, and sat motionless while she changed the poultices on his wounds.
He felt stronger now, and as a result he was even more restless than before. That afternoon it grew so warm and stuffy inside the hogan that Matt felt like he couldn’t get a breath of air.
Finally he got to his feet, went to the door of the hogan, and stepped out into the sunlight.
This was the first time he had felt the sun in a long time. A week, maybe? Matt wasn’t sure. Because of his injury, he had lost track of time. All he knew was that although the light was blinding to his eyes, the warmth of the sun on his skin felt wonderful and was very welcome.
He drew in a deep breath. As in any Indian encampment, the air was filled with the smells of smoke, grease, and human waste. Even that didn’t bother Matt right now. He had been in plenty of so-called “civilized” places that smelled worse.
“Matt,” a voice said behind him.
He turned and saw Elizabeth standing there. From the looks of it, she had been on her way around the hogan when she saw him and stopped short in surprise.
After a moment she took a step toward him and lifted a hand as if she intended to reach out and touch his bare chest. Other than the bandages wrapped around his midsection to hold the poultices in place, he was naked from the waist up.
Plenty of people were around, including Juan Pablo’s wife, who had followed Matt out of the hogan. Feeling their eyes on him, he backed away from Elizabeth, then turned and pushed past the older women to go back inside.
His jaw was clenched in anger, most of it directed at himself. He had never in his life been one to run from trouble, and here he was retreating.
Not only that, as he turned away he had caught a glimpse of the hurt that flared in Elizabeth’s eyes. That ate at him as well, and he seethed inside with resentment for the unaccustomed awkwardness that had put the both of them in this position.
That was a long day and an even longer night. Matt was restless and had trouble sleeping. The bullet holes still ached at times and itched at others, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Elizabeth was doing tonight.
Juan Pablo was bound to be back tomorrow with news of Sam, Matt told himself.
But Juan Pablo didn’t return the next day, which increased Matt’s worries about his blood brother. More and more he wondered if Sam and Juan Pablo had been ambushed. The thought that Sam might be lying out there somewhere on the plains, wounded or even dead, gnawed at Matt’s guts.
His boredom at doing nothing but sitting around increased, too. His wounds had closed up and were healing. Some of his strength had come back, and while he knew he wasn’t in shape yet to do a lot of hard riding or fighting, he felt too good to waste his days in inactivity.
Through sign language, he managed to tell Juan Pablo’s wife that he wanted a shirt to replace his blood-soaked, bullet-torn one. She gave him a shirt made of soft, red-dyed wool that he slipped over his head.
“I’m going to take a walk,” he told her. When she stared at him uncomprehendingly, he pointed to himself and then made walking motions with his fingers. The woman shook her head, but Matt ignored her and stepped out of the hogan.
He hoped he wouldn’t run into Elizabeth this time. He needed to get a little exercise. That would just make him stronger, he thought.
As he strolled along the creek and passed some of the other hogans, he was aware that he was being given a lot of curious looks. Several children ignored the sheep they were supposed to be watching and started following him. They tagged along with him until their mothers angrily called them back. Some of the men watched him warily.
Even though Caballo Rojo had guaranteed his safety, having a white man around had to go against the grain for these people who had been rounded up, forced to walk hundreds of miles to Bosque Redondo, and kept there in captivity for years before they were allowed to return to their homeland.
Matt made sure he didn’t do anything that could be mistaken for belligerence. He gave everyone friendly nods and smiles.
As he approached Caballo Rojo’s hogan, he spotted the clan leader striding toward him. Caballo Rojo seemed to be bound on a specific errand, and Matt wondered if someone had gone to him and told him that the white man was wandering around the canyon.
Caballo Rojo stopped in front of him and rumbled, “Rest. Get stronger.”
“I’m already getting stronger, Chief,” Matt said. “I need to move around now. I need to do something.”
Caballo Rojo shook his head.
“Rest.”
“I will. I give you my word. I’m just taking a stroll.”
Caballo Rojo looked like he didn’t approve of the idea, but he didn’t try to force Matt back to Juan Pablo’s hogan. He stood there scowling as Matt walked over to the creek and continued following it.
He would walk a little farther and then come back, he figured. After being shut up in that hogan for so long, the warmth of the sun and the interplay of light and shadow through the branches of the cottonwoods along the stream were very welcome.
Matt hadn’t gone very far when a bend of the creek and the thickening of the trees partially obscured the hogans. He was about to turn around and go back when he heard voices up ahead.
The voices belonged to women, and instantly the possibility that they might be bathing occurred to him. Matt was too much of a gentleman to spy on any female in a situation like that, so he swung around to head away from the spot.
Then he heard a laugh that he recognized as Elizabeth Fleming’s, and that stopped him in his tracks.
“Don’t be a damn fool, Matt Bodine,” he told himself out loud. “You better just get away from here right now.”
He would have, too, but just then the voices got louder. With a crackling of brush, the women pushed into view behind him. His head was turned just enough for him to catch the motion from the corner of his eye. He heard a surprised gasp, and Elizabeth said, “Matt?”
He couldn’t stop himself from looking around. When he did, he saw the redheaded woman standing there with three young Navajo women.
Their hair was wet, and their colorful blouses and skirts clung to their damp bodies. They had been bathing, all right, and Matt was glad he hadn’t stumbled onto that scene. At least they were clothed now.
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be movin’ on now.”
He turned to leave, but Elizabeth hurried to catch up with him.
“You’re feeling better?” she asked.
Matt nodded.
“Yeah, I’m stronger now. Those bullet holes are healing. I felt like I needed to get out and move around some. But I’m going back to Juan Pablo’s hogan now.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Besides, that would have been rude. He didn’t want to cause trouble, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings any more than he already had, either.
The other young women followed behind them, talking in quiet but animated voices. Matt figured they were gossiping about him and the white teacher from back East.
That was all he needed, he thought. In some ways these Navajo were like anybody else. They liked a good juicy scandal.
Matt tried to walk a little faster as they approached the hogans. When he did, the pounding heartbeat and slight shortness of breath he felt told him he had pushed his recuperating body just about as far as it wanted to be pushed right now. He slowed.
“When Juan Pablo comes back, I may have to go.”
Elizabeth looked saddened by that prospect.
“You’re going to leave?”
“I need to find Sam.” Matt had thought it might take a week for him to be strong enough to ride out on Sam’s trail, but now he believed he might be able to do that sooner. Another two or three days ought to see him in good enough shape to leave.
And that would sure simplify matters with Elizabeth, too. Best he put some distance between him and her, Matt told himself, so she could go back to her teaching and not be distracted by him.
If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he didn’t want to be distracted by her, either. Not as long as Sam was gone and the mystery of who had bushwhacked them and why still went unanswered.
Those thoughts wheeled through Matt’s mind, and he wished they would go away. Getting caught in a gunfight was easier, in a way, than trying to navigate human emotions and figure out what was the best thing to do.
Elizabeth didn’t make it any easier by saying, “I wish you’d stay longer.” She sounded determined to make that happen, one way or the other.
Matt didn’t waste his breath arguing with her. They had gotten back to Juan Pablo’s hogan, so he told Elizabeth, “I’ll see you later.” She looked like she was going to argue, so he went on, “I’m tired. I need to rest.”