Slocum and the Apache Campaign
Page 19
“See,” she said back to Slocum. “There are many here.”
These unarmed numbers did not count against Clanton’s pistoleros, but he nodded and they rode on. The hacienda stood on the rise and looked like a castle with walls. They rode in and Slocum saw that there was no guard.
“Maria! Maria!” shouted a gray-haired woman all dressed to ride in the coach out front. She rushed out. “Oh, I am so sorry, we heard they murdered Don Leguna and we feared for your life.”
“This is Franco and that is Slocum and Mary. They saved my life and saved Nita too.”
“Such brave people. Get down, get down. My husband is gone to avenge their raid. We got word of the raid as we were getting up to go to the wedding.”
“I hope Daddy will be careful.”
“When they brought news of your fiancé’s death, he left, afraid that you were dead or taken hostage also.” Her mother rang her hands. “I am so sorry this could happen on your wedding day.”
Maria shook her head and clung to Franco’s arm. “Leguna was in our camp when the raiders attacked. He ran past me like a coyote, with me crying for his help. He did not worry about me. Franco, he came and saved me—and his amigos, Slocum and Mary, they saved me and Nita.”
Nita nodded. “Leguna only wished to save his own skin. These three are the ones.”
“Why, señor?” Her mother looked pained at Slocum. “You wish a reward. My husband will pay you.”
“No.” He dropped his gaze. “Franco said we had to save her.”
“Franco? Who are you? Why did you want to save her?”
“I love her.” He patted the daughter’s hand.
“Love her? How?” The señora looked aghast.
“I saw her on the road in that coach.”
“But that is not love—”
“Only a man madly in love with a woman would have came back and fought like that,” Slocum said.
“Or just mad.” The woman told them to leave their horses; the help would take care of them. “Come inside. All of you. Her father should return, and maybe he can figure a way to repay you. You can’t have my daughter, no matter how brave you are.”
“Why can’t he?” Slocum asked.
“Why . . . why, you can tell he is . . . nobody. Maria is heir to all of this. He could never manage this.”
“But a coward who ran and left her in harm’s way could have? Or did the fact he was a rancher’s son make him better?”
“Better yes. Leguna knew . . .” She raised her chin and shook her head.
“Knew to save his back side and not her life?” Slocum asked.
“Did I say I was ungrateful? Maria, go to your room.”
“No, Mother.”
“Maria!” Her eyes slitted and her elbows jutted off her narrow waist.
“I am not a child. I learned a lot last night. When the man you promised would take such good care of me ran away.”
“All right, I misjudged him. But this boy is a peon.” She moved to separate her daughter from him. The two women struggled.
“I will hold who I want to hold,” Maria said and moved to protect him from her wrath.
“We will see when your father returns.”
“Yes, we will see,” Maria said and led Franco toward the house. “Come, we should eat. My father will listen to reason.”
Slocum shared a nod with Mary, and they came after the others.
“This looks like a castle in Europe,” Mary said when they entered the two-story living room under the great chandelier. “I have seen paintings of them.”
“This is only one of them.”
“One?” She put her hand to her throat. “They have more?”
Slocum nodded. “Several other great ranches with homes as nice as this.”
“How will Franco fare?” she asked under her breath.
“I think he has a damn good chance. A while ago I would never have guessed it. She may get over being grateful, but she’s a forceful young woman on her own.”
“Yes, I agree, and she truly felt abandoned last night.”
“Oh, she’d never have married Leguna had he lived after he left her and Nita to those wolves.”
“You said they tried to rape Nita?”
“One of them was raping her. I think she led him away from the coach to save Maria. She’s very loyal, and the only reason I even found Maria or she ever agreed to come with me were Nita’s words to the girl.”
“What will her father say when he gets here?”
“I don’t know him.”
Mary grinned. “I thought you knew everyone in Mexico.”
“Ah, only half.”
“Come, señor, and you, señorita, and eat. While my daughter and I have such bad manners we argue in public—I am ashamed we act so poorly, for you have saved her.”
“Sometimes things are trying,” Slocum said, and escorted Mary to the long dining table.
Don Peralta and crew arrived with worn-out horses; their heads in the dust, coughing and snorting at sundown. The don dismounted and turned to see his daughter in the doorway, attached to Franco’s arm.
Slocum had already begun to consider how Franco would have to ride on with only memories of this day, the time when an angel clung to him for hours and he stood at heaven’s doorway with her. Heady business for a boy his age—Slocum knew. And Franco could look hard all his life in the face of every female he crawled into bed with, to see if it was her—then, when he learned the truth, look away and screw her ass off.
“Maria. My baby!” Peralta shouted at the sight of her. He rushed over and hugged them both. “I thought you were dead. Men, she is fine.”
“Father, this is Franco.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
“He and Señor Slocum and Mary along with Nita saved me last night.”
‘I am sorry but . . . Leguna . . .”
“Father, he ran like a coyote with his tail between his legs and left me. Ran past me to save himself.”
“Oh, no!” Don wailed and hugged the two of them.
“Father, I am going to marry Franco.”
He stopped and blinked his eyes at her. “Has he asked you?”
“Yes, he has.”
“And you said?”
“I would marry him.”
“Then it will be, my child.”
Slocum watched them kiss like starving pups and winked at Mary. “I’ll be damned.”
Maria Anita Consuela Peralta and Franco Consales were married five days later. After the elaborate ceremony, Slocum on Morgan and Mary on the dancing mare rode north with Uno carrying their provisions and bedding. Their at-arm’s-length relationship continued. He didn’t want to breach it without her consent, and she seemed happy. So they rode and camped under the stars each night. The final night they made camp up in the cooler junipers of the Muleshoes, at a stock tank watered by a spring.
“I may take a bath and wash my dress tonight,” she said as the sun set and they sat on a log eating supper.
He nodded. “Last chance. We will be in Bowie tomorrow night.”
“I know, and in ways I am sad. It has been very nice. You are a strong person. I have used your strength to recover since the first day you burst into that room.”
“Apaches believe that if you kill a man you steal his strength.”
She smiled. “I don’t need to kill you. You were generous. You lent your strength to that boy too. If he had not ridden with you, he’d never have dared even speak to Maria, let alone steal her heart in that long ride.”
“So?”
“So I will go back and teach school and find my place. But, Slocum, I will never again be afraid, for I have taken your strength and it is in my heart. What horrible things those two did to me are gone.”
She began unbuttoning her dress. “You will excuse me now. I’ll bathe and wash this dress.”
“Yes, of course.” He went off and smoked a cigarette. Squatted on the rimrock, he watched a blacktail buck make his way up t
he deep canyon in the twilight, flicking his tail, then clamping it down and browsing as he went. Testing the air, he kept his velvet rack high and never knew that his moves in the dying day were taken in by a human. Slocum could feel her hands slipping from his.
A week later, on the Prescott square, Slocum sat on the bench outside Hines Mercantile and read the latest edition of the Prescott Miner:
Apache Bronco Chief Caliche Killed This Week by International Troops in the Sierra Madres.
Combined forces of the U.S. and the Mexican armies surrounded the Apache and his band in a canyon deep in the bowels of the mountains. Army scouts were led by an Apache woman, Kee, to his stronghold.
Slocum dropped the paper down a little to see who had stopped. The man getting off the parked wagon in the street looked familiar from the back. More so the hard-eyed woman coming after him. It was Thorpe and his wife, Claudia. Slocum kept the newspaper up, as they appeared to be headed for the store’s door beside where he sat on the bench.
When they went past, he stood up, drew his six-gun and then slipped in behind them. “Keep your hands high, Thorpe. I’m arresting you for gunrunning, kidnapping and several more offenses.”
“You—I should have kilt you that day down there!” Her part-Indian eyes snapped with anger.
Slocum nodded to her. “Yes, I guess you should have. But since the jail is just across the street, I won’t have to go too far with him this time, will I?” He stuck Thorpe’s six-gun in his waistband and shoved him around toward the courthouse.
“You no-good sumbitch—”
“Oh, as religious as you are, ma’am, I can’t believe you would cuss like that. Get going,” Slocum said and laughed. He laughed all the way to the jail across the square.
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SLOCUM AND THE CITY SLICKERS
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