“Bermaga.” He thrust a stick into the Indian’s hand. “Slater told me some Apache words, Summer,” he said, still looking at the Indian. “I’ll tell him to draw.” He said the guttural word, then said, “Tall Man . . . Tall Man.”
The Apache walked a few steps to a smooth, bare spot on the ground, stooped down and began to draw. The figure that emerged was a man lying down.
“Tall Man?” John Austin asked. The Indian nodded. John Austin screwed his face up in a grimace of pain, staggered a few feet and fell down. All eyes were on the Indian to see if he understood. He nodded and put his hand to his shoulder, then to his side and doubled over as if in pain. Then he stood and touched both his hands.
“He’s been hurt,” John Austin said. “Hurt in the shoulder, in his side and both hands.”
“How bad? Find out how bad.” There was almost hysteria in Summer’s voice.
The boy lay down on the ground and closed his eyes, then got to his feet and waved like a bird. The Indian shook his head, then held out his hand drawing his thumb and forefinger slowly together.
“He isn’t dead, but almost,” John Austin announced.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! Where is he? Find out where he is.”
Bermaga was drawing again. First it was a crude but recognizable horse. The straight lines he added brought a word bursting from the boy.
“A travois! Travois!” He said a variation of the word to the Indian and he nodded. John Austin ran to the cabin and patted the walls. The Indian nodded again. “They’re bringing him on a travois, Summer. That’s a thing they drag behind a horse.”
Summer was never more thankful for her little brother.
Bermaga went to Jack and touched him on the chest. With his stick he commenced to draw men. At first. he drew two men, then a third, from there on he held up his fingers one at a time so Jack would understand many men. Jack nodded. The Apache went to the cabin and patted the wall, as John Austin had done, then he went to Summer and touched her lightly on the shoulder.
“Many men are coming here to get Summer, Jack. That’s what he’s saying.” The boy’s grave face went from one to the other.
“That couldn’t be right, John Austin. Who would want to get me? Ask him again.”
“It is right, Summer,” Jack said slowly. “There’s been woman-stealin’ goin’ on. Try and find out when, John. See if he knows when they’re comin’.”
The boy drew a flat line, added a house and trees, then a sun and an arc. Bermaga watched him closely, and after he completed another house, he tapped him on the shoulder and with his own stick drew two lines, then rubbed out one of them.
“In two days, or maybe one day, Jack.” John Austin proudly grabbed Bermaga’s hand. “Slater said the Indians were real good people. I like him.” Bermaga loosened his hand and touched the boy’s head.
“Ride out and watch for the Indians bringin’ Slater, Luther,” Jack ordered. “For God’s sake don’t let anybody shoot ’em. Pud, you go on out and tell Arnie and ol’ Raccoon what’s happened, and tell ’em I said to keep their eyes peeled and to draw in a mite closer. Fire three quick shots if’n they see anything.”
Tom Treloar, the cowboy from the Rocking S and the three escort riders had joined the group.
“We’re here, Jack, we’re dealin’ in. Tell us where we’d be of a help.” The cowboy had turned his back to Ellen as he spoke. “Ain’t no question of us takin’ Mrs. McLean back till this is settled.”
“Thanks, Tom. If you’re of a mind to, spread out and stay here near the women. I’ll go over to the Keep and have the Mexican women brought in. Teresa’ll look after ’em, she’s done it afore.”
Bermaga jumped to the back of the spotted pony and followed Luther.
“Bermaga.” Summer ran after him. He wheeled the pony and waited. “Thank you, thank you,” she repeated, knowing he didn’t understand the words. The Apache looked deeply into the violet eyes before he bent down and touched the top of her head, much the same as he had done to her brother. He kicked the pony and raced after Luther.
Sadie, holding tightly to Mary’s hand, put her arm about Summer’s shoulder. “It’s goin’ to be all right, honey. It’s sure a lot better than I feared. Jack too. Indians know about doctorin’.”
“I know, Sadie. I’m relieved he’s alive, but he’s bad off. Bermaga would know.”
“Come on, we’ll walk out a little ways. They’ll be comin’ from that way, the same as the Indian did. Jack said for us not to go past the cottonwood tree, so we’ll wait there, less ’n you want to go back and wait with . . . her.”
Summer hadn’t given Ellen a thought since the Indian rode to the house. She glanced back. Ellen was sitting on the porch.
“Let’s walk,” she said to Sadie.
Ellen had stood in the background, taking in every word and gesture during the meeting with the Apache. She understood one thing. Slater wasn’t dead yet. She’d have to wait and see how bad he was before she decided if she would bring her ace out of the hole now or wait until later. She had been completely ignored, disregarded, during the whole thing. It rankled. One thing was sure, none of her men would ever turn their back on her again and offer their services to someone else. When Jesse got back, Tom would go. He would go even if he had been on the ranch longer than any of their other men. She didn’t believe for one minute the story about a gang of outlaws riding on this ranch. There wasn’t a gang that big around here. If there were, Travis would have heard about it and told her. The idea was ridiculous. That little idiot Summer had a nerve walking off with that dance-hall girl and leaving her sitting alone. She wouldn’t forget that, either. It was going to be a pleasure breaking down her dream castle. Of course, if Slater died, she wouldn’t tell her.
The afternoon dragged on. To Summer and Sadie waiting beneath the cottonwood it seemed forever. This was the place, Summer thought, where Slater and I first . . . It would be the place where . . . She wished she had told him what she suspected. What she was almost sure of. He would have thrown back his head and laughed, picked her up, whirled her around and around and said this was the first of a dozen. Dear God, don’t let it be that he’ll never know.
When the horses were first sighted, Summer wanted to run to meet them, but Sadie held her back.
“Jack’s goin’, honey. Save your strength.”
When Summer first saw Slater it took all her willpower to keep from crying out. The man who lay there looked nothing like the one who had kissed her and smiled and said he would be back in a couple of days. His eyes were sunk back into his head, his lips were puffed and parched, and the week’s growth of beard on his face did nothing to keep the hollows in his cheeks from showing. He was tied to the travois with a blanket, and in his delirium waved his arms and rolled his head from side to side.
“We’d better take him to the Keep.” Jack spoke calmly and his unruffled voice had a soothing effect on Summer.
She glanced back toward the house. Ellen waited on the porch.
“Yes. Let’s take him home, Jack.”
Tom and one of his drovers came to take the ends of the travois.
“We’ll spell ya to the creek,” he said.
Summer walked alongside the strecher.
“I’ll do more good stayin’ with . . . her,” Sadie said.
“I know how you feel about Ellen. You can come with me.”
“No. Me and the kids will stay here. You go on and don’t be worryin’ ’bout a thing over here. And . . . Slater’ll be all right.” She squeezed Summer’s arm. “I just know it!”
Tears filled Summer’s eyes. She stumbled on the rough ground, but kept going.
When they reached the ranch house, Teresa came to meet them. The Mexican woman’s face showed her concern. This gringo was as dear to her as her own children. She had nursed him through childhood illnesses, and injuries she couldn’t even remember. Now he needed her again. She issued crisp orders to a girl, then sent for her son-in-law, who spoke the Apache language.
Summer squeezed water from a cloth onto his dry lips and into his mouth. Hoarse sounds came from his throat as if he were reliving the cruelties that had been done to him.
Bermaga and Teresa’s son-in-law, Santi, came to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Bermaga say the señor’s hands are burned. Bad white man hold them over fire.” A cry came from Summer’s lips before she could stop it. “Pulp from healing cactus is under cloth. Say burns are mostly on back and sides. Bermaga say leave cloth until he can bring more cactus in two days.” Santi listened to something Bermaga was telling him. “He say hands will be good again.”
Teresa nodded her approval. “I have heard of the healing cactus. Tell him I would like to have a plant.”
Santi talked to the Indian. Bermaga listened, but didn’t take his eyes off the still form on the bed. When he spoke, it was slowly and in an even, dispassionate tone.
“He has named you Healing Woman, Madre Politica, and will bring plant. He says ribs are broke and he wrap tight.”
Teresa nodded knowingly. “He did right, we will do the same.”
“He brought powder to take away the pain and make fever go away.”
Teresa now looked at the Indian with more respect, and said something rapidly in Spanish to Santi, who translated to Bermaga. As they started to leave the room, Summer called out to Santi:
“Santi, tell Bermaga thank you. Tell him if we can ever help him or his family to come to us.”
Santi spoke the guttural words and Bermaga listened, his face, as usual, expressionless. When Santi finished, he gazed for a long moment at the slender girl beside the bed, then turned and went out of the room.
Summer pulled a chair close to Slater’s bedside and sat down. She could hear their voices in the hallway talking in hushed tones. Slater moved restlessly on the bed, and she leaned over and kissed his forehead and commenced to talk to him.
“You’re home, darling. You’ll be all right. I’ll take care of you, not leave you, ever. Lie still, darling. Please lie still.” She stroked his bare arms and smoothed the hair back from his face. Dipping a cloth in the cool water, she placed it on his hot forehead. “There, there,” she crooned. “Is that better?” Her voice seemed to have a soothing effect. His head ceased to roll. She lay her head on the pillow beside his and talked softly into his ear. “I’m here with you, darling. Your summertime girl is here. I love you so much. You’ve got to get well, so I can tell you my wonderful news. I am so happy about it and I know you will be, too. I don’t care if we’re not married yet, darling. We belong to each other, that’s all that matters. Please get well. Please open your eyes and look at me. I want you to know that I’m here.”
Teresa moved in and out of the room. They mixed the powder Bermaga brought with a little water and spooned it into Slater’s mouth. It was bitter and he choked and gagged, but Teresa was merciless and held his mouth shut until he swallowed it. After that, he was calmer, but his fever soared. Summer bathed his face and changed the wet cloths on his head every few minutes. The Mexican women kept the basin filled with the coolest water from the deep well. Finally, Teresa threw back the covers, and they covered his legs and thighs with wet towels.
It was well after midnight when Summer noticed the small beads of perspiration forming on his temples. Almost afraid to believe the fever was breaking, she removed the wet cloth from his head and waited. Soon, the forehead was damp, and she called Teresa.
“Teresa. I think the fever is breaking.”
The Mexican woman bent over him and slipped her hand under the cover to feel his body. A smile lighted her face.
“Bueno, bueno, señorita. It is true. He will sleep now.” Quickly, she removed the wet towels from his legs and dried him.
“Will he be all right now, Teresa?” Summer held her breath while she waited for an answer.
“I pray to the Madonna it is so. You rest, señorita, so when the señor wakes he will see his bella novia.”
“I’ll sit here, Teresa. This chair is quite comfortable.”
She leaned her head back and for the first time in days let thoughts other than of Slater come into her mind. The Mexican women and children were bedded down on pallets all over the house, but only whispered sounds of them had come to Slater’s room. One had brought Summer a plate of food and smiled shyly. The food was still on the bureau, she had forgotten to eat it. She wondered how Sadie had managed with Ellen. Poor Sadie. She was in love with Jesse and had promised him she would stay here at the Keep, under Slater’s protection, until he worked out problems of his own. Jesse and Slater had had a long talk before Jesse left with the army. The only thing Slater had to say about it was to caution the women to take the children into the house and bolt the door if Travis should come riding in. When Summer questioned Slater, he kissed her and told her to do as she was told.
Sadie, on the other hand, was eager to do whatever Slater suggested, and her old, bubbly spirit returned, causing Summer to wonder, more than ever, if her depression of the last few weeks had anything to do with Travis. She had been so ecstatically happy since the night of the storm that Summer didn’t want to put a damper on her happiness by telling her she had doubts that she and Jesse could have a life together. She couldn’t imagine Ellen letting Jesse go. She was too possessive, had too great a hold on him, whatever it was, and the bond between them was strong. Summer was afraid Sadie was in for a disappointment.
Summer’s thoughts drifted to John Austin. How proud of him she was! He had been able to communicate with the Apache when the rest of them couldn’t. He had a new hero now. With a start, she realized that she hadn’t even thought of him since Slater had been brought in. Jack had promised to look after him, and Jack’s word was next to Slater’s.
Another thing Jack had told her was that he was going to invite Bermaga and his people to come onto the ranch land and stay as long as they wished. It’s what Slater would do, he said. Summer was glad that Jack had thought of it.
If Slater was better by morning, she thought drowsily, she would go back to the “little place” and get clean clothes and apologize to Ellen. There was the matter of the outlaws . . . and she still had to hear the story of how Slater got away from them and how he happened to be with the Indians.
Hours passed. She didn’t move. She kept her eyes on Slater’s face. She must have dozed, because suddenly she realized his eyes were open and he was looking at her.
“Slater? Darling,” she breathed, and slipped to her knees beside the bed. “Darling, you’re awake!”
“Summer . . .” His voice was the merest of whispers. “Kiss me.”
“Kiss you? Yes, darling . . . yes, yes, yes.”
She placed small, feathery kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes.
“I’m not dreaming?”
“No, darling, you’re not dreaming. You’re home and you’re going to be all right.”
“I thought I’d never see you again.” Weak tears fell from the corners of his eyes and rolled across his temples to the pillow. She kissed them away and murmured to him.
“Sleep, darling, and when you wake we’ll get some food into you. You must be starved.”
“Water.”
She spooned water into his mouth from the dipper. After a while he closed his eyes wearily.
“Go to sleep, sweet darling,” she crooned in his ear. “You’ll feel much better when you wake again.”
Morning came and Slater slept on. Teresa was sure now, barring infection, he would recover.
“He may sleep all day, señorita. When he wake he will be hungry as a bear.”
&
nbsp; Summer went to the veranda at midmorning. Santi, whose real name was something longer that no one could pronounce, waited there.
“Is Bermaga still here?”
“No, señorita. He go.”
“I wanted to talk to him. Do something for him.”
“He take nothing but tobacco.”
“We’ll never be able to repay him.”
“Bermaga say his life belong to señorita with eyes like the mountain flower. He be her friend and blood brother to Tall Man.”
To Summer, the day was exceptionally beautiful. The sky was a brilliant blue, with mounds of huge white clouds scattered about. The baskets hanging on the veranda were bursting with blossoms, honey bees buzzed, bluejays scolded, mockingbirds sang, muffled sounds of children playing came from the back of the house. Everything was wonderful! The tight hold she had kept on her emotions for the past days had loosened. Slater was back, her world had stopped tilting.
Warm, friendly violet eyes smiled at Santi.
“I need to go over to the other place.”
Santi took off his flat-crowned sombrero and smiled broadly.
“Santi will see the señorita there. Teresa, she say . . .” He rolled his eyes.
Summer smiled. She could imagine what it would be like to have the capable Mexican woman for a mother-in-law.
As they rode down the path toward the creek, they passed a drover armed with a rifle. He didn’t seem to notice their passing. On a rise above the creek, another man stood, motionless, looking toward the north, his weapon cradled in his arms. Until now, the threat to the ranch had been pushed to the back of Summer’s mind.
“Santi, are they expecting the outlaws to come here?”
“Sí, señorita. We watch. We wait. Every man has a post. Bad man come—we kill!”
The viciousness in his voice caused her to look at his face. It was cold, set, determined.
Fourteen
The house was quiet when they reached it. Summer dismounted and Santi took the mare down to the corral. Several men were talking by the new bunkhouse. Most carried rifles, all had six-guns strapped about their waists.
Dorothy Garlock Page 20
