Chapter One
Tension and dust gave a gritty feel to the morning air. An unnatural quiet, broken only by the hiss and rumble as the locomotive came to life, hung taut over the town of Bowie, Arizona, on this seventh day of September, 1886. Soldiers, civilians, and Apaches alike seemed to be holding their breath waiting for General Miles to give the order so eagerly longed for by whites and Mexicans these past bloody years.
Geronimo, his chief Naiche, and the fifteen men and twenty-three women and children who had followed them as they outwitted, outfought, and outraged more than ten thousand combined U. S. and Mexican troops, were about to be sent to prison in Florida.
Jessica Colton felt a shiver of premonition race like icy fingers down her spine, and Jessie was not one given to premonitions. She wasn’t like her mother, who saw visions. Nor was she like her sister Serena, who could hear Pace’s thoughts. Neither did Jessie have her brother Pace’s bewildering knowledge of things he had no logical way of knowing.
No, Jessie was like her brother Matt and their father. Just an ordinary person. Practical, down-to-earth. No premonitions, no special gifts. Still, she glanced around sharply, looking for the source of the agitation and fear that bedeviled her. She could see nothing that would explain the churning in her stomach and the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
Word of Geronimo’s surrender had reached the ranch exactly when Jessie could have predicted it would—when no one was home but her. Her parents were both in Washington, D.C., lobbying for better treatment of the Apaches at San Carlos. Matt, Serena, Joanna, and the boys were in Chicago investigating new breeding stock for the Triple C cattle operation. Spence was away at medical school. Pace…well, no one ever knew where Pace was these days.
Yet Jessie knew that someone from the family should be on hand when General Miles brought Geronimo and Naiche in. If her mother had been home, she would have been the first to go. After all, Daniella Colton was Naiche’s adopted sister.
But Daniella hadn’t been home. None of the family had been, except Jessie. Therefore, the task fell upon her shoulders.
It was not an unwelcome task, nor one she had particularly looked forward to. It was simply something that needed to be done.
On the one hand, with Geronimo’s surrender, the territory could finally settle down to a more peaceful existence. No more fear of those lightning-swift raids that left isolated ranchers and travelers dead and made the five thousand U.S. troops trying to catch the two dozen renegade Apaches look like fools.
Not that Jessie minded seeing the Army, in particular General Miles, make fools of themselves. Not at all. Jessica Ann Colton had no use for the strutting, pompous liar now in charge of the Army in the Southwest. Unfortunately, when Geronimo made a fool of the Army, the Army tended to take out its frustration on the rest of the Apaches, particularly the Chiricahua who remained peacefully, if reluctantly, on the reservation at San Carlos.
All the way around, peace would be welcomed.
On the other hand, Jessie had heard enough passionate discussion around the dinner table all her life on the subject of Apaches to understand why Naiche and Geronimo and their warriors fought so hard. Sakes alive, Geronimo was nearly sixty years old—he certainly wasn’t doing it on a whim.
Except perhaps on the whim of the white man’s word—a whimsical thing if ever there was one, with regard to the Indians. Whimsical, fanciful, and about as worthy of trust as a rabid coyote.
The renegades had been fighting for their freedom, their very lives. Jessie wondered what would happen to Geronimo now that he had surrendered. She knew he was going to prison, but for how long?
Her mistrust of the Army in general and Miles in particular had her wondering with apprehension if Geronimo would even make it to prison alive.
The citizens of Arizona didn’t want him to go at all—they wanted him hanged. Jessie wasn’t the only person who’d come to Bowie to see the renegades, but she’d bet her secret dumpling recipe that she was the only one who hadn’t come looking for blood. The crowd of onlookers around the depot was quiet but edgy. The smallest spark would set them off. Representatives from Governor Zulich’s office were here, as well as several mayors, including the one from Tucson. Dozens of other civil authorities and just plain curiosity seekers had gathered, too—all crying for one of two things: Geronimo’s neck at the end of a rope, or his head on a platter.
General Miles might be an ass, Jessie thought, but he wasn’t a stupid one. Geronimo had surrendered to him in good faith, and while Miles wasn’t the least concerned with keeping his word, he would not have it said that he had mistreated a prisoner or allowed one to come to harm while under his protection. He’d thrown a cordon of troops around the Apaches to keep them alive. Soldiers stood guard, rifles in hand, keeping the civilians at bay. Guards were even posted on top of the train cars, ready to quell any disturbance.
Stripped of all but the most meager possessions, the Apaches stood erect, heads held high, shoulders straight with pride and dignity. Only a close look detected a glimpse of wariness deep in their eyes. Even the children, squatting in the dirt beside the train tracks, seemed unconcerned yet watchful.
The two Apache scouts who had arranged for Geronimo to talk of surrender with Lieutenant Gatewood stood apart from the prisoners, faces stoic and expressionless.
Two other Apaches stood with General Miles and the interpreter, George Wratten, away from the others. Even though she’d seen them only once, years ago, Jessie knew who they were. The taller of the two was Naiche, youngest son of the late Cochise, adoptive brother of Jessie’s mother, Daniella. He stood proud and straight, a full head taller than the other Apaches, his long black hair shining in the morning sun. Naiche was the chief of this small, fierce band of warriors who had eluded five thousand United States soldiers and a like number of Mexican troops for more than a year.
The other Apache was shorter, older. He looked…harder, more fierce, with those narrowed black eyes and taut, thin lips. Golthlay. Or, as he had been known for many years now, Geronimo.
Geronimo had never been a friend of the Coltons, but those members of the family with close ties to the Chiricahua—Jessie’s parents, Matt, the twins Pace and Serena—all knew him well. No, he wasn’t a friend, but then, he wasn’t precisely their enemy, either.
As Jessie studied the two Apaches from where she stood with the other onlookers behind the ring of sentries, she frowned. She’d sent two separate messages through two different guards, asking for a brief moment of General Miles’s time. She simply had to speak with Naiche and Geronimo before they were put on that train. Miles knew she was here representing her mother. He knew what she wanted. Yet he had ignored her for nearly an hour now and let her stew. Well, no more.
Jessie waited until the nearest guard holding the onlookers at bay turned his back. She stepped past him and crossed the cleared, restricted area to General Miles’s side.
While not as tall as Naiche, Miles was still a tall man, around six feet. He wore his graying sideburns long, his mustache straight. When he smiled, as he had until spotting Jessie, he was a handsome man.
He eyed her warily, and with reason. The last time they met, he had made a snide comment about Pace and Serena being half Chiricahua, and Jessie had taken him to task. Perhaps had the situation not occurred in the rather public setting of a church picnic at Tucson, where Pace and Serena were well known and well liked, he might not still be holding a grudge against her.
Jessie ignored his look and focused on his companions. Geronimo and Naiche stared at her with blatant curiosity. They had no reason to know who she was. She’d been a child that time her parents had taken her to San Carlos years ago.
She offered them a slight smile, then turned to Miles. “Good afternoon, General. I’m here representing my family and would like a word with your…prisoners.”
“Miss Jessica.” Miles tugged on the brim of his hat. “I must ask you to step back beyond the ring of guards. It’s not safe
for you to be here.”
“On the contrary, General. Once your interpreter informs Geronimo and Naiche of my identity, I’m sure I will be perfectly safe. Besides, they are unarmed, are they not?”
“Yes. Well. Nevertheless, Miss Colton—”
“Col-ton?” Naiche stepped forward, followed quickly by Geronimo.
Jessie did not speak the Chiricahua language, but she knew from her family that many Apaches spoke Spanish. “Sí, tio Naiche.”
Naiche’s eyes widened at her use of his name, and, she presumed, because she had called him “uncle.”
“Me llama Jessica Colton. Mí madre es tu hermana, the one called Woman of Magic.”
“Miss Colton,” Miles said firmly, “I asked you to leave. You are interfering with military matters.”
Jessie raised a brow. “I hardly see how delivering best wishes from my mother can be considered interfering.”
Miles let out a sigh of exasperation. “I’ll give you ten minutes, young lady, and not a second more. Knowing your family’s relationship with these renegades, I assume you’ll be safe enough.”
Yes, and if she wasn’t, Jessie thought grimly, General Miles wouldn’t care a cuss what happened to her.
She turned back to the two Apaches, whose faces were, as expected, unreadable. That did not put her off. Having grown up with Pace and Serena, Jessie was used to what she called “that Apache look.”
She stepped toward them and asked in Spanish, “It’s true, then? You have surrendered and agreed to this?” She motioned toward the train.
Geronimo nodded gravely.
Beside him, Naiche clenched his fists at his sides. A muscle along his hard jaw bunched. “Sí. Es verdad.”
So, Jessie thought. Geronimo was willing. Naiche was angry. “And your men? Are they…willing?”
“Sí, since Long Nose Gate-wood has agreed to escort us.”
Jessie let out a small sigh of relief. Lieutenant Gatewood was an honorable man. He would treat his prisoners fairly.
She dreaded the answer to her next question, but knew she had to ask it. “What terms have you agreed upon? My mother will want to know.”
In a mixture of Spanish and their own language, and with the help of the interpreter, George Wratten, Geronimo and Naiche told of the terms of surrender. Miles had promised that if they surrendered, they would be sent to Florida to rejoin their families, who had already been sent there and imprisoned. After two years, all the Chiricahua would return to San Carlos.
Once returned to the reservation, they were to have houses built for them. Miles had promised to fence them “much land.” He would give them cattle, horses, and farming implements. Men to work the farms would be provided.
As Jessie listened to the outrageous promises, the muscles in her chest tightened. She could not bring herself to look at Miles standing less than three feet away, but neither could she look Geronimo or Naiche in the eye. Dear God in heaven, the Apaches were being had. Again.
“He promised us blankets and clothing in the fall, so we will not suffer when winter walks the land. Our homes will be built where there is plenty of timber, clean water, and tall grass.”
“And we are to see our families within five days,” Naiche added.
Jessie swallowed. Dear God in heaven, she thought again, her heart thundering, palms sweating inside her kid gloves. What should she do? Did she dare tell them there and then that there was no way on God’s green earth so much as a single promise would be kept? Heaven help her, why had her entire family chosen this particular time to be away from home?
Cautiously she asked, “Do you believe him?”
Naiche gave her a grim smile. “Does it matter, little one? We are tired of running and hiding and killing. We are tired of being hunted like the deer in the forest. We are tired of hunger gnawing at our bellies. We want to see our families. If we can be with them again, and if we can some day come back to this land, we will keep our word.”
Jessie swallowed hard. Would Miles and the government honor even those few promises? She seriously doubted it.
“It’s time,” Miles said from beside her.
Geronimo gave Miles a long, considering look, then nodded sharply. Without a word, he turned and motioned his people toward the train.
Guards straightened and tensed. Onlookers murmured among themselves. The sharp whistle of the train pierced the morning.
Under the watchful eyes of the guards, the Apaches mounted the wooden platform and started boarding the train. When nearly all were on board, a half dozen troopers came from behind the depot and filed past General Miles. He gave them a nod, then moved away from Jessie with a peculiar look of what she could only describe as vicious delight.
A tingling shimmied along the back of her neck. She followed Miles’s gaze, then stiffened. He was glaring, grinning evilly it seemed, at his own Apache scouts.
The tingling grew more pronounced. Something horrible was going to happen. She could feel it.
A guard shoved his rifle barrel into the back of one of the Apache scouts. Martine, Jessie thought. At gunpoint, the guard forced the furious, bewildered scout onto the train with the prisoners. Two other soldiers approached the second scout.
“You, there!” Outraged, Jessie pointed a finger at the troopers. “What is the meaning of this? These men are not renegades, they’re Army scouts. You’ve made a mistake.”
One of the soldiers in question shot her a brief glance. Jessie flinched at the guilt and self-blame in his eyes.
“Why?” she cried. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Miss Colton.” General Miles approached swiftly. He took her by the arm and led her away. “The men are following orders.”
Jessie shook off his hold and turned on him. “Your orders? You ordered the imprisonment of the very men who enabled Lieutenant Gatewood to get near enough to Geronimo to talk about surrendering? Are you daft, sir?”
Miles narrowed his eyes. “I’ve cautioned you before about interfering in military business.”
“Military business?” Jessie gaped at him. “This isn’t military business, this is betrayal of the worst sort. It’s a mockery of justice and an intolerable misuse of authority.”
“It is the determination of the commanding officer of the Department of Arizona that true peace cannot come to Arizona Territory until all Chiricahua are removed from the area.”
Jessie’s hackles rose higher. “The commanding officer? That would, then, be yourself, wouldn’t it, sir?”
“I have complete authority, I assure you.”
Complete authority, in the hands of a power-hungry egomaniac.
All Chiricahua. That was what was behind the removal of so many from the reservation, then. Lay down your arms and live with us in peace, the government had told the Apaches, and we will take care of you.
A great wave of pain and desolation and outrage washed over Jessie and rang in her ears, like a thousand betrayed, bewildered souls crying out.
Suddenly she was fiercely glad the rest of the family wasn’t here to witness this final betrayal. Pace in particular would have taken it hard. He would have torn himself in two, wanting both peace for the territory and freedom for the Apaches. To see the Chiricahua sent to prison would have weighed on his soul, even though he knew, as did she, that prison in Florida might be the only thing that kept the tribe alive. If they stayed in Arizona, it was more than likely the citizens themselves would rise up and slaughter every man, woman, and child of the Chiricahua band, so fiercely did the whites hate them.
Pace knew all that. It would hurt him, but he would live with it. But to be forced to stand and watch the scouts, whose loyalty had been firmly with the Army, being shoved onto the train at gunpoint would have been more than Pace could bear. He would have tried to intervene. He would have fought and landed himself in serious trouble for his efforts.
“Thank God Pace isn’t here,” she whispered fervently.
General Miles laughed. The sound sent another shiver o
f dread up her spine. Why should her comment elicit such a reaction from him?
As if responding to her silent question, Miles signaled to a guard beside the farthest wagon. Two other guards grabbed something, an obviously large and heavy burden, and started dragging it from behind the wagon.
No sooner had Jessie realized that what they were dragging was a chained, unconscious man, than she knew instinctively who it was. Her heart jumped to her throat.
“Pace!” She started to run to his side, but someone grabbed her arm and halted her. She whirled, her stomach heaving, and glared at General Miles as he held onto her. “What in the name of God do you think you’re doing? That’s Pace!”
“That,” Miles told her with cold triumph in his eyes, “is a Chiricahua.”
Jessie’s blood turned to ice. …until all Chiricahua are removed… Heaven above, Miles was serious! He actually intended to have Pace put on that prison train and sent away to Florida with the renegades! “You’re out of your mind,” she whispered.
A commotion behind her spun Jessie around. Two soldiers had Pace by the arms and were dragging him toward the same car into which the scouts had been forced. His moccasined feet left twin furrows in the dirt.
It was only then that the full horror of the situation struck Jessie. They hadn’t simply knocked him out. They’d beaten him. Severely. His face, hanging low toward his chest, was bloody and battered, already swelling. The same was true of his hands. His chained hands. Huge, obscene manacles clasped each wrist and ankle. Heavy, grotesque chains connected wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and another chain connected those two chains to each other.
The copper taste of fear filled her mouth. Her heart beat so hard she could scarcely breathe.
Apache-Colton Series Page 110
