“I hope that Adam gives us cause to invite him to remain a part of our lives,” Runner said, wondering what Adam had in mind for the meeting arranged for today.
Chapter 21
Where I find her not, beauties vanish;
Whither I follow her, beauties flee.
—ROBERT BROWNING
It was midafternoon when Adam and Runner rode in a slow lope into Gallup. “What took so long for you to get to the train?” Adam asked. He gave Runner a sour look. “I had almost given up on you. I thought you might have decided to escort Stephanie while she took her photographs. She was gone this morning by the time I got up.”
Runner gave Adam no explanations, especially those that might include Stephanie, knowing where she was and what she was in the process of doing.
A bitterness swept through him anew at the thought of Sharon being dead, and over Jimmy now being in the hands of total strangers. If he ever found out who was responsible, he would not hesitate at choking the life from that person with his bare hands.
“You sure as hell are quiet enough today,” Adam said, screwing his face up into a dark frown. “If you had changed your mind about coming into Gallup with me, why didn’t you just come right out with it? I don’t like the idea of having to spend a day with someone who doesn’t even acknowledge that I’m talking to him.”
The false-fronted buildings were casting long, narrow shadows across the road. The sun was shining red in the windows of those buildings on the opposite side of the road as though the fires of hell were raging inside them. Runner stiffened when several men gawked and laughed and jeered at him as they rode past on their horses.
Women were standing at the doors of some of the saloons. They were shouting and making obscene gestures at Runner and Adam. Some turned and lifted their short skirts in the back, to display tight, brightly colored satin bloomers that outlined the curves of their bottoms so tightly it was almost no different than looking at them unclothed.
“You haven’t said yet why you insisted we come to Gallup to make peace between us,” Runner said, finally breaking the silence between himself and Adam.
“If I’d have told you, I doubted you would have come,” Adam said, giving him a shifty glance.
Runner drew his steed to a halt. “I was foolish to come with you at all,” he said, his eyes burning into Adam’s. “Had I not had other reasons for coming to Gallup, the minute you spoke that name to me I would have told you a flat no.”
Adam drew a tight rein. He edged his horse over next to Runner’s stallion. “What other reasons are you talking about?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you playing a game with me?”
“Games are for children,” Runner said flatly. “We are grown men now. And my reasons for being in Gallup are none of your concern.”
“They are if they include me,” Adam said impatiently. “Now are you or aren’t you willing to go with me to a place where we can talk over things and try and be best pals again?”
“This place where you are planning to go,” Runner said, his gaze drawn quickly elsewhere. “What is it called?”
His attention was drawn away from Adam. His insides knotted as he watched a pine box lifted onto the bed of a buckboard wagon, Stephanie watching from the boardwalk. His heart ached when he saw Stephanie wipe tears from her eyes as the casket was being secured by ropes on the wagon.
He felt that perhaps he should go with her to the cemetery at the edge of town, to comfort her when Sharon was laid to rest.
But Stephanie had insisted on doing it alone. She had wanted him to meet with Adam as planned. She put much importance on the outcome of such a meeting. For her, he had to give this relationship with Adam one last try.
“The ‘Big Tent,’” Adam said guardedly. “It’s a place where real men go.” Tauntingly, he leaned closer to Runner. “Are you a real man, Runner? Will you go to the ‘Big Tent’ with me to have a few drinks?”
Adam knew the reputation that Indians had gotten after having been introduced to alcoholic beverages.
Their metabolism did not allow them the pleasure of drinking alcohol in large amounts. When they did, they became lousy drunks.
They also got quickly addicted to the taste and its effects. The euphoria of being drunk dulled the pain of their lives since the white man had come. The Navaho were known to trade many things for even one drink of whiskey—squash blossom necklaces, bracelets, rings, and hair accessories.
Although Runner was not Indian, by heritage, Adam was counting on him not being used to drinking whiskey. It would not be the same as when they had been children and challenges had been made between them as to who could run the fastest, or who could win at wrestling. Today there was more at stake, therefore, it was important to make the challenges more difficult!
It was important to Adam that he come out the winner.
Adam waited for Runner’s response to what Adam thought he would take as an insult, giving him cause to meet the challenge head-on.
When Adam realized that Runner’s mind was elsewhere, as were also his eyes, he turned to follow Runner’s gaze. He jumped with a start when he saw Stephanie riding on her horse beside a buckboard wagon, upon which lay a pine casket.
“What the hell?” Adam said, circling a hand around his saddle horn. He leaned over the horn as he watched the slow procession, the buckboard wagon rattling up the uneven dirt thoroughfare, bouncing and swaying, Stephanie riding stiffly beside it.
He peered more intensely at Stephanie. He could tell that she had been crying. Her face was red and her lips trembled as though she might burst into another torrent of tears at any moment.
Runner sighed heavily, then nudged his horse with his knees and slowly proceeded on his way.
Adam watched Stephanie for a moment longer, then thrashed his reins back and forth over his horse and took off in a gallop toward Stephanie.
Runner’s heart leapt. He rode after Adam, and just before he reached Stephanie, Runner reached and grabbed Adam’s horse by the bit. “Let her be,” he said as Adam cast him a furious stare. “Stephanie does not need your interference in the duties she is performing for a friend.”
“Friend?” Adam said. “Who? What friend? Stephanie hadn’t been here long enough to make acquaintances, except with you and your people.”
“You are wrong,” Runner answered. “Last night she and I befriended a lonely, sad woman. This morning the woman was found dead.” He paused, to take a dry swallow. “This afternoon, Stephanie is seeing to her burial.”
Adam paled. “How . . . can . . . you have allowed my sister to become involved with a stranger to the extent she feels as though she must see to the burial?” he hissed, leaning toward Runner. He yanked his horse away from Runner. “I shouldn’t have allowed Stephanie from my sight. Not for even one minute. By offering friendships to strangers, who’s to say what diseases she may have been exposed to?” He started to ride away, but was stopped again by what Runner was saying.
“Disease did not kill the woman,” Runner said solemnly. “She was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Adam said, once again paling. “This woman. What was her name?”
“Her name is not important,” Runner said flatly. “Her blood kin is. She was Damon Stout’s sister.”
“My God,” Adam said in a low gasp. “Runner, tell me her name. I’ve never heard Damon speak of any kin. Who was his sister?”
“Her name was Sharon,” Runner said, sinking his heels into the flanks of his horse and riding away.
Adam stared at Runner’s back for a moment, then looked farther ahead. Stephanie had reached the far edge of the town. A shudder engulfed him, then he caught up with Runner again.
“Stop,” he said thickly. “We’re here. This is where I wanted to spend some time with you.”
Runner’s eyes widened as he gazed incredulously over at the “Big Tent.” The loud, boisterous music and laughter wafting from its raised entrance flaps made a burning resentment swim through him. Too many you
ng Navaho braves had gone in there to be taken advantage of. And not solely by evil white men, but also by the gaudy, wild and bawdy women that earned their living there. They not only pushed unwanted drinks on those who were innocent, but also sold their bodies at the price of the young Navaho braves’ horses, or jewelry that these whores took from the braves, priding themselves in showing them off to their friends.
“You bring me to this unholy place and expect me to go inside with you?” Runner said, shifting angry eyes to Adam. “You knew that I would not do this. Why did you bother to waste my time bringing me here?”
“It’s not as bad as you think,” Adam said. His eyes danced as he watched a pretty girl making eyes at him as she walked past, her breasts all but hanging out of the low bodice of her flashy dress. “Come on, Runner: Be a good sport. You don’t want me to call you a yellow-bellied coward, do you?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned over closer to Runner. “Or chicken. When we were best friends, nothing could rile you more than if someone called you a chicken.”
“That was then,” Runner said flatly. “This is now. And you can call me what you want, but I do not frequent places that are not good for the youth of my people.”
“I bet I can out-drink you,” Adam taunted, his voice low and guarded. “Come inside with me, Runner. Surely you are curious about why whiskey affects your people so badly?”
Adam straightened his back and tightened his jaw. “I challenge you, Runner, drink for drink,” he said. “If you win, I swear I’ll not bother your people again.”
“I can trust you as much as I trust that ant crawling up your leg,” Runner said, his eyes twinkling when Adam searched for the ant, then swatted it away from his leg.
“Aw, Runner,” Adam said, using the boyhood tactics he had learned so long ago, when he wanted Runner to participate in things that went against Runner’s mother’s teachings. “Come on. Pals do things together. For one day, Runner, let’s forget all animosities and be pals again. I’ll pay for the drinks. Come on and enjoy yourself. See how the other side lives.”
As before, when Stephanie had asked him to come to Gallup to eat in the fancy lunchroom, Runner could not deny that the part of him that was white was curious to experience the way he might have been living had he never been taken in by Sage and Leonida to raise as Navaho.
He felt that just perhaps he could prove something to Adam and at the same time get him to leave the Navaho in peace. If it was at all possible for Runner to hold his liquor better than Adam, he might succeed in helping his father more than he ever could otherwise.
“I will go with you,” Runner said, giving Adam a stern look. “But only for a short while. I must check on Stephanie’s welfare soon.”
“I thought you might have noticed,” Adam said, while dismounting and tying his horse to a hitching rail, “my sister seems capable of taking care of herself. I had hesitated allowing her to come with me to Arizona. Now, I think she sometimes fares better than me.”
“I do not doubt that,” Runner said. He gave Adam a half smile as he slid from his saddle and flung his horse’s reins around the hitching rail.
“Well? Ready to give it a try, old friend?” Adam said, taking a chance by slinging an arm around Runner’s shoulders. “Let’s pretend for a while that we’ve never had cause to dislike one another. We are boys again, making challenges and having a lot of damn fun doin’ it.”
Runner placed a stiff hand to Adam’s arm and lifted it from his shoulder. They exchanged steady gazes, then moved toward the “Big Tent.”
After entering, they paused and took a look around the smoke-filled interior. It was crowded with drinking and card-playing men and lewd women. As Runner listened, he frowned. He had never before been brought face-to-face with such vulgarity, profanity, and indecency. He could not help but think that what he was seeing and hearing beneath the roof of the “Big Tent” could disgust even the most hardened man. It was apparent that not only was this a place to drink whiskey, it was also a retreat for thieves and robbers of all shapes and sizes.
“I didn’t come just to gawk,” Adam said. He nodded for Runner to follow as he began making his way toward a bar that sported a supply of every variety of liquor and cigars, with cut-glass goblets and a splendid, huge mirror reflecting everything beyond it, as though there were two huge rooms, instead of one.
Adam elbowed his way to the bar, making standing room for himself and Runner.
The bartender stood behind the bar, a wide, thick mustache hanging low over his upper lip. A fat cigar was positioned at one corner of his mouth. He was polishing a glass, then set it aside and leaned both of his hands flat down on the bar, looking from Runner to Adam.
“What’ll it be, gents?” the bartender said, chewing his cigar over to the other side of his mouth. “A regular glass of whiskey is two pony glasses. If you like it in quarts, that’ll be forty cents. It’s ten cents a drink if you’ll take them one at a time.”
“I’ll take a double shot for starters,” Adam said, searching in his pockets for some loose change.
“And what for the ‘White Indian’?” the bartender said, leveling his squinty, gray eyes on Runner. “You are the one who’s called the White Indian, ain’t ya? You fit the description to a tee.”
His jaw tight, his mouth clenched, Runner glared at the bartender.
Adam shuffled his feet nervously. “Never you mind what my friend is called,” he said, slamming his coins down on the bar. “Get him a shot of whiskey. And make it snappy, do you hear? Or we’ll take our business elsewhere.”
Runner turned his back to the bar and again looked slowly around him. When he caught sight of a couple of young Navaho braves on the far side of the room, he tensed up. When he saw that they had drunk far too much alcohol, he felt an ache encircle his heart. These young men were his brother’s age. They attended school together. Theirs was to be a much brighter future because of their abilities to read and write.
With their bellies filled with whiskey tonight, their brains fuzzy because of it, it would be impossible for them to attend school tomorrow and learn anything. He had to wonder how often they came to the “Big Tent.” He had to wonder what they had traded off to get the money that they were spending so foolishly.
“Runner?” Adam said, nudging Runner in the side with one of his elbows. “I’ve got your drink. Come on. Let’s find us a table.”
Runner took a last, lingering look at the two young braves, seething with anger inside. He turned to Adam, glared at him, then knocked both drinks from Adam’s hand.
Adam’s eyes lit with rage. “What the hell did you do that for?” he shouted. He placed his hands on his hips as he stared down at the broken glass and spilled drinks, then up at Runner again. “You came in here willingly. You knew that you were expected to drink. Why on God’s earth did you knock the drinks from my hand?”
The bartender came around the end of the bar with a broom and dustpan. He gave Runner a heated glare, then bent to a knee and proceeded to clean up the mess. “Get that White Indian outta here,” he ground out between his clenched teeth as he shifted a look up at Adam. “Now. Or, by damn, I’ll have you both thrown out.”
“Damn it, Runner, now do you see what you’ve done?” Adam said. But when he looked over to where Runner had been standing, he found him gone.
When he searched for Runner and found him talking with the two young Navaho braves, his gut twisted. He was seeing Runner getting angrier by the minute as the two drunken lads refused to leave the “Big Tent,” in spite of Runner’s insistence.
“Get outta my way,” one of the braves said in a slurred manner, falling over a chair as he tried to step around Runner.
Runner reached down and lifted the young brave bodily from the floor and started to sling him over his shoulder, as though he were no more than a mere bag of potatoes.
But he didn’t get the chance. Just a hint of a fight was all that it took to get the whole pack of men in the bar into small fistfights. This turned in
to a brawl that left no table untouched as some became upturned, while others were used to knock men over their heads.
“Now see what you’ve done!” Adam shouted as he struggled to defend himself from first one blow, and then another.
When a fist smashed into his right eye, he cried out and crumpled to the floor. When someone stepped on his groin, he screamed and rolled over to his side, curling into a fetal position.
Runner saw Adam’s distress and ignored it. He had the two young braves by their collars. He dragged them outside, leaving the “Big Tent” half destroyed in his wake.
“Runner, I do not want to go home yet,” one of the young braves said, his voice drunkenly slurred. His face blank, his gaze filmed over, he wiped his mouth with his hand and looked longingly at the flap that led back inside the tent. “Runner, I want more whiskey.”
Runner looked at the lad sympathetically and felt a tugging at his heart, which was quickly replacing the anger he was feeling toward these two Navaho braves who had disgraced themselves before many white men tonight.
Tomorrow, they would remember. Tomorrow, they would hold their heads in shame.
“No,” Runner said, leading the braves to their tethered horses. “You will go home. You will sleep. Tomorrow you will attend school. If your head is not cleared enough to study, you will go to school, anyhow. When others see that you suffer because of your careless behavior tonight, it will discourage them from setting the same bad example for those who are younger.”
One at a time, he helped the braves on their horses. He fit the reins into their hands and made sure they were sitting squarely enough on the saddle, then smacked their horses’ rumps and watched them ride away.
“God damn you all to hell,” Adam said as he came up behind Runner and grabbed him by the arm. He forced him around, so that their eyes were level. “Look at me, Runner. I’ve got a black eye. I might even have a tooth missing. And it’s all because of you. I should’ve known better than think that you could behave like a normal human being in a bar. You’re no better than the other savage heathens you live with.”
Wild Desire Page 19
