Night of the Cougar

by Len Levinson

  His hands and feet went numb, his breath came in gasps, and he had a splitting headache. Then he felt faint, black ink filled his eyeballs, his knees gave out, and he crashed to the floor, where he lay still, breathing deeply, trying to reorient himself. It appeared that something moved outside the cave, possibly a bear. Drawing his pistol, he crawled to the entrance and peeked out.

  In the chaparral, he hallucinated a battle between Mexicans and Apaches. Friends were mowed down by artillery and massed rifle fire, and Sunny Bear saw torn entrails and busted skulls. He kneeled in the cave, vomiting convulsively, engulfed with images of gore.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Esther sat down to breakfast with Beau Hargreaves and Rosita, and in the course of the meal Esther turned to the former officer and said, “I'm leavin’.”

  “Didn't think you'd last long,” he replied. “Next time we go to Fort Buchanan, we'll take you along.”

  “ ‘At's all right,” she replied. “I'll go myself.”

  He looked at her askance. “You were lucky to arrive here alive, but your return trip might not be so scenic. What's your hurry?”

  “I got things to do,” replied Esther.

  Captain Padilla sat at his desk, puffing a cigar, the gold braid of his shoulder boards gleaming in the morning light. News of the Apaches’ imminent arrival was recited to him by Lieutenant Magalenez, officer of the day. Colonel Padilla smiled as he ordered, “Take ten men and lead our friends into town.”

  Then Captain Padilla gazed out the window. The Apaches had paused atop a distant elevation, waiting for someone to greet them, while citizens returned home and bolted all doors. Consternation swept the town, and soldiers reported to their barracks, where they awaited orders to attack. Eager to kill Apaches, they believed God blessed their efforts, because Apaches had burned churches and murdered babies.

  Lieutenant Magalenez and ten lancers carried a white flag and smiles as they rode toward the Apaches. “Welcome,” said the Mexican officer to the lead Apache, who was taller than the others, heavily muscled, with mysterious Apache eyes. “What is your name?”

  “Cochise.”

  “Come, let us feast together.”

  The Mexican soldiers turned toward town, and after a hesitation the peace party followed. But the People felt unsafe, because they never could trust Mexicanos, yet desperately needed peace with one of their enemies. Cochise was prepared to give up raiding in Sonora and Chihuahua if the Nakai-yes provided a refuge for the People in the Sierra Marde Mountains.

  Only the bravest warriors and women had volunteered for the dangerous mission, and one was Dostehseh, wife of Cochise, who rode beside him, so the Mexicanos could see her clearly. The People wanted their ancestral enemies to know that peace involved not just warriors, but also their women.

  The People were doubtful as they neared the town. It would be easy for the Mexicanos to bushwhack them, yet they continued their ride, heads high. They knew the quest for peace required the most courage of all.

  Cochise glanced at the sky, hoping for a portent, but it was clear blue, no hint of danger. Perhaps the Mexicanos truly want peace, he thought hopefully. How wonderful if we could be friends after so many eons of war.

  Yet he could not forgive Mexicanos for the poisoning at Janos, and numerous other atrocities against the People. How can I make peace with these Mexicanos when I hate them so thoroughly? He carried a pistol in his boot, as Sunny Bear had recommended, just in case.

  It was with deep misgivings that he approached the town, and he peered into windows, searching for soldiers with rifles, but saw nothing, the townspeople hiding. His nose furled at the stench of outhouses, garbage, and cantinas mixing with the tobacco smoke and roasting meat.

  Tables had been set on the main street of Fronteras, and sides of beef turned over firepits. Soldiers and citizens waited with frozen grins, welcoming Apaches. Cochise looked at Dostehseh, who appeared cautious, but all hoped peace could be achieved.

  The People dismounted and were met by Captain Padilla, who shook Cochise's hand. “I am so happy to meet you,” he said. “Come and drink.”

  Bottles of mescal had been placed on tables, with tin cups, bread, pastries, and fruit. Some Apaches rushed forward to partake, as others searched windows in the vicinity, but no soldiers with rifles attacked, yet.

  Cochise and Dostehseh filled cups with mescal, and pretended to enjoy the beverage. Soldiers moved among the Apaches, behaving like old companeros. It appeared that long-standing animosities were disappearing in the flow of mescal and good fellowship, but somehow it didn't feel right to Cochise. The history of the People was replete with massacres by the Nakai-yes under the very circumstances in which he found himself.

  Warriors forced themselves to be friendly with their sworn enemies, but the soldiers were accustomed to strong mescal, while some of the People spoke thickly and stumbled about, hoping that centuries of conflict were coming to an end.

  A band of guitarists plucked a spirited tune, and stalwart Apaches and their wives tried to dance. All wanted to be congenial, many interesting conversations developed, and Cochise thought, Perhaps peace can come after all.

  In the course of the festivities, Captain Padilla drew closer to Cochise and said, “Let there be peace between our peoples.”

  “We are willing to make concessions,” said Cochise.

  “Your every concession will be matched by ours. Let us drink together—to peace!”

  Cochise didn't like to drink firewater, but could not refuse under the circumstances. So he raised the cup and took a sip of the bitter, burning fluid.

  “You do not like our mescal?” asked Captain Padilla, an expression of suspicion coming over his face.

  “Oh no—it is wonderful,” replied Cochise, who summoned his will and gulped the glass's contents down. It sizzled his innards, and he felt as if steam shot out his ears, but he did not cough, and his voice betrayed no distress when he said, “To peace.”

  Captain Padilla studied the new chief, and Cochise didn't appear especially impressive, except he was taller than the average Apache. In the eyes of Captain Padilla, the Apache chief was dirty, smelly, animal-like, and poor. Captain Padilla distrusted Cochise, and suspected he had something up his sleeve.

  “Let us talk terms,” said Captain Padilla. “What do you want?”

  “We will not attack you, and you will not attack us.”

  “What about the Americanos?”

  “They will not be part of our peace treaty.”

  So that's their game, cogitated Captain Padilla. They want to raid the Americans and take refuge among us, but that would undermine Mexican-American relations. There never can be peace with these fiends.

  Meanwhile, especially selected Mexican soldiers spread through the backyards of Fronteras, while others entered the rears of buildings and crawled beneath windows overlooking the festivities, waiting for the signal to open fire.

  In the street, Dostehseh didn't like the way warriors and women were drinking, but free mescal was more than most could resist, and besides, they wanted to demonstrate goodwill and desire for friendship with the Mexicanos. The People seldom received such quantities of food at one time, and they gorged themselves shamelessly, washing the meat down with copious drafts of mescal.

  Cochise stopped drinking after his toast with Captain Padilla, but the small amount he'd consumed pickled his brain, his instincts dulled. He whispered into Dostehseh's ear, “I do not like this.”

  “Something is going to happen,” she replied. “And the warriors have let themselves become drunk.”

  “Such is their sincerity for peace,” said Cochise. “But let us not be pessimistic. Perhaps this is the dawn of a new era.”

  Captain Padilla grinned as he returned to Cochise. “I have thought over your proposition, and decided to accept it. But I will need approval from my government, and that might take a month or more. In the meantime, let us declare a truce on our word as warriors.”

  Cochise didn't
trust Captain Padilla, for he detected falsity in his voice, and the Mexicano gave off an odor that Cochise identified with deceit. But a warrior must be steadfast, although his brain drowned in mescal. Cochise held out his hand and intoned, “It shall be as you say.”

  Captain Padilla gripped Cochise's hand tightly, and bellowed, “Now!”

  In the corners of Cochise's eye, he saw figures appearing in windows on both sides of the street. For a second he was paralyzed, then realized he'd been tricked, but Captain Padilla held his hand tightly, as Lieutenant Magalenez walked up behind Cochise and fired a pistol at point-blank range.

  The explosion deafened Cochise, and the force of the blast knocked him forward. He twisted as he fell, landed on his back, and saw Chief Miguel Narbona riding his horse across the sky, calling out to him, “Arise, Cochise! No bullet can harm you!”

  Cochise jumped to his feet, drew the pistol in his boot, opened fire. The square filled with gunsmoke as warriors and soldiers shot at each other at close range, but the warriors received the worst of it, outnumbered six to one. “Retreat!” shouted Cochise.

  The warriors scattered, some on foot, others managing to leap onto panicked horses. Cochise, about to flee, saw Dostehseh lying amid other bloody bodies, gunsmoke billowing over her. Cochise ran toward his horse as fusillades were fired at him, but he was not struck. He leapt into the saddle, spurred the horse, and rode through a hail of lead toward the inert body of his wife. Leaning to the side, he swooped down and caught her in his arm, as the horse stampeded onward, bleeding from three bullet wounds. Cochise laid his wife over the saddle as projectiles flew around him. In the sky, Chief Miguel Narbona held out his hand in protection.

  The Nakai-yes have deceived me, Cochise said to himself as his horse galloped out of Fronteras. But they will never deceive me again. From this day onward, and never to cease, I shall wage unrelenting war against them. He touched his fingers to the wound of his wife, then raised his fist high in the air. “By the blood of my dear wife, I swear eternal revenge!”

  Tattered, wounded, limping, the People retreated in shame. We trusted them, and this is the result, thought Cochise as he trudged alongside his horse. Blue and red birds flitted amid the cacti, looking for juicy insects, unconcerned about the column traveling through their midst.

  No one was more bitter than Cochise, for he had supported the peace proposal against the wishes of many respected warriors. I shall step down, he told himself. I have proven myself unfit to lead the People.

  Dostehseh drifted in and out of consciousness as she lay across the saddle. It was I who have brought you to this, my darling, he thought. How can I ever look you in the eyes again?

  Scouts came to meet them as they neared camp. The peacemakers were given water and dried meat for the final stretch. The guards didn't ask questions, because the defeat was clear. Meanwhile, a warrior rode to camp to notify Mangas Coloradas that Cochise had returned.

  Cochise felt disgraced before the People. I have led them to ruination, he told himself. He neared the camp, and could see expressions of concern because nearly all had lost family or friends in the catastrophe. Cochise's head was bowed as he walked toward them, his wife lying over his saddle, her blouse caked with blood. All was silent as the procession came to a halt before the wickiup of Mangas Coloradas.

  Cochise lifted his wife from the saddle, lay her upon the ground, and gazed sadly at her immobile features. Then Mangas Coloradas joined him, because this was his beloved daughter, the angel of his life. He placed his ear against her chest, heard faint heartbeats. Nana examined the whites of her eyes, then noted her coloring, respiration, the location of her wound. “She will live,” he said.

  His apprentices carried her away, and Cochise raised himself from the ground. He stood before Chief Mangas Coloradas, and said, “I am no longer fit to lead the Chiricahua People.” Then Cochise unsaddled his horse, put it to pasture, and retreated to his wickiup, where he hid under his animal-skin blankets, wept, and prayed for guidance.

  Esther rode across the desert, dozing in her saddle. It was night, her horse following an arroyo south to Nogales. Night birds chirped around her, and the occasional insect bit, but she had slept little during the past day, plagued with headaches. Sometimes she wondered if she was lost, or her compass had broken. She couldn't be sure she wasn't going round in circles, for the desert was endless and sometimes she thought she'd never reach Nogales.

  Is revenge worth it? she asked herself sleepily. But she had nothing else, and if she starved to death, it would be no great loss to the world, she didn't believe. What's one whore more or less? she asked herself, bringing a smile to her face. I've got nawthin’ to live fer anyways.

  Suddenly, out of the stillness it felt as if a stagecoach smacked her head-on. Screaming, she was thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of her, and when she opened her eyes, an Apache straddled her, ripping off her clothes.

  She could barely see him, but he was a muscular brute with an ugly snout and fierce eyes, speaking to her roughly. She realized there would be no point resisting, for he was considerably stronger than she, but an experienced whore is not lacking in certain skills.

  When she was naked, he ripped off his breechclout, then dived on top of her, but instead of trying to scratch his eyes, she embraced him, and pressed a big wet kiss on his face. This astonished him, so he puckered up for another, and she provided a true heartfelt caress with all the accoutrements of ardor, for she had kissed far uglier men in her day.

  It was business as usual for Esther, and she hoped he wouldn't kill her after it was over. But it didn't end for a long time, and in fact, continued the rest of the night. This is a very lonely man, she said to herself as she stared at the full moon over his shoulder. And if thar's anythin’ I know, it's lonely men.

  In midmorning they breakfasted together, sharing each other's food. He couldn't speak English and she knew no Apache, but at one point he aimed his finger at her, then himself, and finally the mountains. It looks like the Injun is proposin’ marriage to me, she thought. But it wasn't the first time a customer had become enamored of her, and she had no better prospects. If I have to choose between gettin’ killed and gettin’ married, I guess I'll git married, she told herself. Culhane, I'll look fer you some other time.

  It was three o'clock in the morning in Nogales, and Culhane crouched behind a woodpile in back of a cantina. The aroma of the nearby outhouse drifted past, but he needed funds, and men who drank required an outhouse.

  A vaquero about Culhane's size weaved his way from the cantina. Culhane lowered his head behind the woodpile as the vaquero passed, then peered over the top. The vaquero, unsteady on his feet, reached for the door of the outhouse, but missed.

  Culhane came behind him quickly, cracked him on the head with the butt of his pistol, then dragged him behind the woodpile, finding twenty-odd dollars and change in his pocket. Culhane didn't bother to notice whether the vaquero was dead or alive, because it was immaterial to his interests. Instead, he stuffed the money in his pocket, stole the vaquero's clothing, and vanished into the shadows.

  Cowboys lined up like a military honor guard as the wagon rolled into the yard. On the front seat, beside the driver, sat Rebecca, just arrived from Fort Buchanan, with Beau II and Beth in back of the wagon.

  Rebecca looked calmly at the house and barn that would become her home. The daughter of a colonel, she had been in the army all her life, and disliked the uncertainty of being a civilian, but her husband had made a decision without consulting her, and now she had followed him to that desolate spot, for the sake of keeping the family together.

  She saw her husband pulling on his brown cowboy hat as he left the house. He wore a brown leather vest over a red shirt and appeared healthy, happy, strong. She'd always thought him virile-looking, plus his refined southern manners were a delight to behold.

  “My dear,” he said, helping her down from the wagon. He embraced and kissed her firmly, to let her know he meant business, th
en pounced on the children, who shrieked with joy.

  Rebecca wore a boot-length medium tan dress and a wide-brimmed straw cowboy hat. She turned to the row of cowboy and vaqueros, who studied her, not sure what to do. She held her hand out to Blakelock. “Hello,” she said warmly. “I'm Rebecca Hargreaves, and I guess we'll be spending a lot of time together.”

  Her mere touch melted Blakelock, who stutteringly mentioned his name. Then she continued down the line, shaking hands with every cowboy, asking about their families, aspirations, health problems, the weather, and numerous other details.

  “If you ever have any difficulties,” she told them, “and my husband is busy—feel free to come to me.”

  They stared as if she were a freak, because Clarissa Barrington had fought, insulted, and tried to reform them constantly. Rebecca smiled sweetly, then headed toward the main house for a showdown with her husband. The children were given a snack, then their parents repaired to the office. Beau could see that Rebecca was angry, but like a good staff officer he had prepared for every contingency.

  “I know what you're thinking,” he began as he closed the door. “But Nathanial made me his partner in this huge ranching enterprise, and there is tremendous potential for profit, because a railroad will come through these parts before long, and there's always the Shawnee Trail up through Texas. Besides, I became sick of fighting Apaches, who really aren't so bad once you get to know them.”

  “I thought you were dead,” she replied, standing with her back to the window, arms crossed beneath her breasts. “Then I discover you've resigned your commission, after making major no less, and now you're ranching in the most remote and dangerous section of New Mexico Territory. Sometimes I think that Nathanial Barrington has had a very bad effect on you, because you let him lead you around by the nose. Just because he's a lunatic, do you have to be one too?”