by Len Levinson
Beau felt stung by the criticism. “Why not?”
“He loved the People.”
“Perhaps I have seen too many babies killed by Apaches.”
“What about our dead babies? Did I come to your homeland to molest you, or did you come to mine?”
“What makes you think this land is yours?”
“It was given us by Yusn, the Lifegiver.”
“Prove it.”
Geronimo became angry. “You have no visions,” he said contemptuously.
“How does one have visions?”
“You must purify yourself, which may be impossible for a Pindah soldier such as you. And sometimes visions kill.”
“It's arrows and guns that worry me,” said Beau. “I'm not afraid of visions.”
Geronimo pondered the statement for a few moments. “We shall see.”
In Austin, Miss Lulubelle sat in her office, counting money. A former prostitute, she'd stolen a few wallets in her day, bopped some customers over their heads, and now was part owner of the establishment, unlike most old whores who died of disease, starvation, or somebody's knife.
The former Mary Lulubelle McCallister of Tennessee was proud of herself, for she'd dreamed great possibilities. Old, wrinkled, covered with cosmetics and dripping with precious stones, she smoked a pipe as she figured profits from the previous night.
There was a knock on the door, then Esther appeared. “Got a moment?”
“Have a seat, dear,” said Miss Lulubelle politely, because Esther had become one of her most lucrative employees.
Esther appeared uncomfortable, then said, “I'm leavin’, ma'am.”
“But you just got here!”
“Somethin’ I gotta do.”
“Comin’ back?”
“Maybe.”
Miss Lulubelle wanted to inquire about Esther's plans, but thought better of it. “It ain't somethin’ I said?”
“Oh no, ma'am.”
Miss Lulubelle turned pages in the ledger, found the amount owed Esther, and counted the coins. “I hope you don't give it to some son-of-a-bitch man.”
“I wouldn't trust any of ‘em,” declared Esther.
In Santa Fe, Cole Bannon and his Texas Rangers rode past the Palace of Governors, on the trail of the Culhane gang. Dusty, sweaty, they carried little money and therefore inclined toward Burro Alley, where they could find value for their dollar.
After devouring bowls of chili beans and stacks of tortillas washed down by home-brewed beer, Cole made his way to the sheriffs office, where he found a deputy with an acne-scarred face sitting behind a desk and reading a newspaper. “What can I do fer you?” asked the deputy, wearing a droopy walrus mustache and displaying bucked teeth.
Cole showed his badge. “I'm looking for stolen cattle.”
“I ain't got ‘em,” replied the deputy. “And don't know who has. Hell—half the men in this town have had cattle stolen from ‘em, and t'other half prob'ly done the stealin’.”
Cole left the sheriff's office, not surprised by lack of information, but a Texas Ranger checked local lawmen first, because a miracle might occur and a sheriff actually could know something. He continued down the busy sidewalk, anxious because he'd lived in Santa Fe for a time, and had enjoyed a romance with a certain Mexican woman, but it hadn't lasted, because Cole Bannon was a roving man. He came to a sign that said:
LESTER STRONG
I BUY AND SELL CATTLE
Cole entered the store and saw a clerk sitting at a desk. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Like to speak with Les.”
“Right back there.”
Cole knocked on the door, entered the office, and saw Lester Strong, a well-fed, florid-faced fellow, sprawled on the sofa next to his desk, a wet towel on his head. “What happened to you?” asked Cole.
“Got a headache. What're you doin’ in town?”
Cole straddled a chair before the sofa. “Looking for two hundred head of stolen cattle.”
“Don't tell me yer still a Texas Ranger. Why don't you git an honest job?”
“ ‘Cause I'm too lazy. Who do you think might buy a herd that size right now?”
“Anybody'd buy if the price was right”
“What if they were rustled?”
“Was they branded?”
“Don't know. To tell you the truth, I couldn't swear the rustlers came this way.”
“Findin’ a herd of unbranded stolen cattle is damned near impossible, and cattle changes hands all the time. I'd say give it up.”
“Give up, hell,” said the Texas Ranger.
Cole spent the rest of the day talking to cattle brokers, drifting through saloons, and taking liquid refreshment, but he learned nothing of value. He was drunk by sundown, and decided to have a bath before turning in. At the edge of town, he came to a fenced-off area with a shack in the middle. He entered the shack, paid, was given a towel and a bar of soap, then he stepped into the backyard, where fifteen large wooden tubs could be seen, several with customers inside, bathing beneath the open sky.
Cole selected his tub, two Negroes dumped a barrel of water inside, and he hung his clothes and gunbelt on a rickety wooden chair, then lowered himself into hot water. He kicked back and closed his eyes as stars twinkled overhead.
This might be a wild-goose chase, he admitted to himself, but there are two hundred head of stolen cattle out here, and somebody knows where they are. He dozed, but not so deeply that he couldn't hear foot-steps. Reaching for his gun, he was surprised to see a hulking figure above him. “Remembered something,” said Lester Strong, the cattle dealer, who sat on the chair beside the tub. “There's a feller in Arizona who bought two hundred head of South Carolina cattle from me some time ago, and come to think of it, they're long overdue. Thought you might be innerested. You know who he is, ‘cause you was a-plankin’ his wife after she divorced him. Name's Nathanial Barrington.”
The water grew frigid as Cole Bannon recalled his passionate but ultimately painful romance. “Where can I find him?”
“Go to Fort Buchanan and ask the first sergeant, ‘cuzz that's prob'ly whar he gits his mail. Otherwise, there ain't nothing in Arizona ‘cept Apaches and rattlesnakes, and I don't know which is worse.”
Nathanial rode among his cattle, who appeared healthy, clear-eyed and content. He was alone, trying to estimate how far the herd had spread to the west. As the herd grows, I'll build camps so the cowboys can keep an eye on them.
The cattle appeared stupid, and sometimes, during long hours in the saddle, Nathanial wondered how the ingestion of meat from such dull creatures would affect a man's mind. Since living with Apaches, he'd learned that everything was connected in subtle ways, and knew that Apaches preferred horse and mule meat, two more intelligent animals.
Nathanial wondered why he was devoting his life to raising dumb bovines, but it was too late, he'd invested too much time and money and didn't want to fail at another career. Moreover, Clarissa would become furious if he suggested running off with the Apaches.
He tried not to think of Clarissa, because he was becoming worried. She'd been gone too long, and not all Apaches were his friends, plus there were scorpions, bears, and cougars.
If there's trouble, I'm sure the cowboys will protect her, he tried to convince himself. Besides, no Apache would dare kill the wife of Sunny Bear. I hope.
Chuntz, covered with dirt and twigs, observed a column of White Eyes passing not more than fifty paces away, accompanied by a heavily laden wagon. Scouting for Chief Mangas Coloradas, he had found tracks earlier in the day. Mangas Coloradas had ordered that the White Eyes be left alone for the time being, but not all warriors followed the instructions of their leaders, because some believed they knew better. Chuntz decided to follow the White Eyes, steal items of value in the dark, and perhaps kill one of them, if conditions were propitious.
After supper, the Barrington cowboys washed tin plates in the bucket near the fire. Clarissa tossed her saddlebags over her shoulder, turned to
Blakelock, and said, “I'm going to take a bath a ways down the stream.” She drew her Colt. “And I'm going to carry this with me. If I see any of you skunks creeping about, I'll shoot your damned lights out.”
Blakelock spat a stream of tobacco juice near her boot. “Oh, who wants to look at you, you skinny pathetic li'l thing.”
She smiled condescendingly. “Blakelock, if you had any idea of how I loathe you, you'd be terrified.”
“Watch out fer injuns,” replied Blakelock lazily, “ ‘cuzz one of ‘em's liable to shoot an arrow into yer ass.”
“It's too small a target,” declared Dobbs. “Clarabelle practically ain't got no ass a-tall.” He turned to her. “You'd best have somebody stand guard, an’ don't worry about people a-lookin’ at you. We all seen nekkid women afore.”
“You're trying to frighten me,” she declared, “like the lowdown monsters that you are, but if I see anything suspicious, I'm going to shoot first, and ask questions afterwards. Get my drift?”
“Oh come on, Clarabelle,” said Joe Smith. “You couldn't hit the side of a barn with a barrel of shit.”
“Don't put me to the test,” replied Clarissa.
They grinned, and it angered her to know that no matter how severely she insulted them, it merely amused them. They enjoy making me angry, she thought, because they are so utterly contemptible.
Without another word, she stormed off. Claggett guffawed behind her back. Bullies, she thought as she made her way to the stream, the campfire soon behind her. She carried her Colt in her right hand, and couldn't help recalling New York, where she could turn a knob when she wanted a bath.
The stream was eight feet wide, lined with leafy cottonwoods, the air alive with insect sonatas. Clarissa found an open spot, glanced around for danger, lay her gun on the ground beside her, and removed her clothing.
The cool night air cut into her, and she shivered, wishing she didn't hate filthiness so. She found a rock at the edge of the stream, lay her Colt upon it, then looked around warily, to make sure no one was about. The night was peaceful, stars twinkling overhead, and the half moon a silver ship floating across the sky. If one of those damned cowboys comes slinking around, I definitely will kill him, she said to herself. It's the only way to make them respect me, and I simply will not tolerate horrid behavior anymore.
She stepped into the stream, her foot froze, and wind blew across her bare nipples. Do I really need this bath? she asked herself, breaking out into goose bumps, but she pushed onward, reminding herself how refreshed she'd feel afterward. She searched the bushes for movement, and was certain she'd see something threatening before it could disturb her. Cautiously she soaped herself, as tiny fishes tickled her legs.
On the far side of the stream, Chuntz lay still, watching the Pindah woman bathe. He felt aroused and wondered if he should abduct her. His lonely eyes drank in her form.
On the thin side, she lacked the large breasts that Chutnz so craved, yet meat was on her bones, her breasts by no means nonexistent. But her pistol was close and she appeared alert. He examined the curve of her rump, long shapely legs, strange pointed nose. Cowboys were near, but so was his horse. The thought of embracing her milky white flesh filled him with desire. His breath came in gasps, and his breechclout became tight.
He noticed her glance around once more, then she massaged soap onto her cheeks and forehead, still remaining vigilant. Finally she plunged her face into the water, and Chuntz leapt forward, to make her his own.
***
Clarissa's eyes were filled with soap and water, when she heard something large splashing toward her. She couldn't see anything, and she screamed as she reached blindly for her gun. She felt rough arms upon her, and her blurred burning vision showed an Apache! Squirming, shouting, trying to free herself, she became aware of more figures coming at her. Oh my God! she thought.
“Take yer hands offn’ her—you son of a bitch!” bellowed the voice of Blakelock.
Clarissa found herself unceremoniously dropped into the stream, then gunfire sounded. She wiped her eyes and saw cowboys firing at the Apache fleeing into brakes at the far side of the stream.
“Think I winged ‘im,” shouted Crawford.
The cowboys rampaged closer, and Clarissa was overjoyed to see them . . . until she realized she was buck naked! With a scream, she scooped up her towel and held it in front of her.
“Let's go after the son of a bitch,” said Joe Smith.
“Might be an ambush,” said Blakelock. Then he turned to Clarissa. “When're you ever gonna larn?”
The towel was small, unable to cover most of her legs, and she felt terrified to be naked before so many men. Her back completely exposed, her face red with shame, she had nothing to say for the first time in her life.
Then she heard footsteps behind her. She was tempted to turn around, but that would expose her to the other men. But if she remained where she stood, the newcomer would see her naked buns. The voice of Pancho sounded to her rear. “No Injuns in this direction,” he said.
She could feel his eyes on her bottom as he came closer, then he snickered as he passed, joining the other men. Blakelock looked her up and down skeptically, as if she were a sickly heifer. “Put on yer clothes,” he said. “And let's git some sleep.”
“Turn the other way, please,” she replied.
“Clarabelle—who wants to look at yer li'l tits?”
“I said turn around.”
Blakelock turned to Dobbs. “Maybe we should've let the Injun take her.”
“Would've been the best thing in the world,” agreed Dobbs. “And she ain't even thanked us yet.”
Clarissa shivered beneath the towel. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, and I'll never call you scum again, or utter swine, but I'd be grateful if you'll look the other way, so I can get dressed. A woman is entitled to privacy, even if her breasts are too small to be considered worthwhile.”
Groaning, they turned away. “Should've brung my mirror with me,” said Barr. “I allus liked skinny gals. ‘The closer the bone, the sweeter the meat,’ they say.”
Clarissa dressed quickly, still shaken by her near abduction. In another ten seconds, she would have been an Apache bride, but the cowboys could not have arrived so quickly had they not been close when the incident occurred. They were spying on me, she realized. Men are all bastards, but if it hadn't been for them, I'd be on my way to the Apache camp, where rape and dismemberment doubtless would ensue. No more baths till I get home, she swore. If I have to tolerate the stink of those rotten damned cowboys, they'll have to tolerate me.
And then she smiled, because in retrospect, it seemed funny. She couldn't suppress a snigger, then Blakelock chortled and Claggett gave a giggle. The rest burst into laughter, their voices reverberating off distant gorges, and even the coyote in his cave had to stop howling, and wonder what strange event occurred.
Chuntz heard the laughter as he wrapped deerskin around his horse's hooves. The warrior was bleeding from a hole in his left thigh, but an Apache is trained from birth to endure pain. Gritting his teeth, Chuntz climbed into the saddle, then rode silently away.
I focused my spirit on the Pindah woman instead of watching for danger, he thought. This is how women cast trances upon men, and lead us to peril. A warrior must forget women, but how can a warrior live without them? Perhaps I should marry a bi-zahn woman, otherwise I may die for a woman, as I almost did this day.
Something prompted Chuntz to look up, and dizzy with pain, he saw his former wife Martita, who had died in the Valley of Dead Sheep, dancing merrily in the sky, laughing at him.
Next morning, Beau lay on his back, hands behind his head, enjoying his first vacation in years. He understood why Nathanial had remained with the Apaches, because their Lifeway was conducive to meditation, when they weren't torching towns or beheading enemies. From their point of view, they're defending their nation, he analyzed. They aren't beasts by any means, and Nana certainly knows his medicine.
Sudde
nly, as if by magic, Nana was standing above him. “Pindah soldier—you are similar to Sunny Bear when first he lived among us. He too would forget himself, and it was easy to surprise him. Chief Mangas Coloradas is anxious to leave for Sunny Bear's ranch and wants to know how soon you can travel.”
“Tomorrow morning, but what about the Mexican girl?”
“She will go with you, because she is your property.”
Beau raised himself off the ground, stood in front of the medicine man, and gazed into his eyes. “You've saved my life, and if you ever get in trouble with the Pindah army, ask for me. I will help as best I can.”
Nana appeared touched by the offer. “You are a true friend of Sunny Bear—I see that now.”
“How soon do you think we'll leave?”
“A few more suns.”
Back to civilization, thought Beau after Nana had left. Why do I feel sad? He entered the wickiup, where Constanza sat near the fire. “What did he say?” she asked fearfully.
“Good news—we're going home soon.”
He expected her to be happy, but instead she frowned, then burst into tears. Kneeling, he placed his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. “Leave me alone!”
She fled out of the wickiup, and he couldn't imagine what had happened. Later in the day, the truth struck him. She's in love with me. At supper, she appeared heartbroken, and he realized the time had come to pay for his nights of joy. Because a man always pays, whether it's money, blood, or a piece of his soul.
Rebecca tried to be optimistic, although she'd never been so demoralized. Beau was gone, but she didn't dare mourn because he might return like Nathanial Barrington, although odds were she'd never see him again.
The children had become miserable, although they continued to attend school. Rebecca wanted to return to Virginia, where her father and mother had settled, but had to remain awhile, in case Beau escaped from the Apaches, or something more definite was heard.
After the children left for school, Rebecca kept busy cooking and cleaning, to distract her from sorrow. Often she cried suddenly, surprising herself. Uncertainty hurt most of all.
