First things first, Jim told himself, getting his thoughts together. The men needed to know exactly where he stood and why. He couldn't expect them to trust him if they thought him a Judas.
As he opened his mouth to speak, he realized he was being watched from afar. He stole a glance at the austere line of adobe buildings that were Officers' Row. He knew it was Indy even before he saw her sitting in front of her parlor window. He had sensed her, felt her. It was curious how he had known. Quickly averting his gaze, he tried to think what he had been about to say before she distracted him.
"The Apaches have a saying," he began, somewhat uncertainly. "It's better to be dead than be tamed." He paused to add emphasis to his words, then went on to explain what his position had been with the Apaches and what it was now. He told them that he felt that the use of trained scouts would ultimately end the Apache wars and save lives. He made a complete circle as he spoke, studying their reactions. Everything from respect to contempt was reflected on their faces.
That out of the way, he said, "As many of you already know, last night, while you were busy enjoying yourselves, dancing and drinking, Chie and three of his braves paid Bowie a visit. They shouldn't have gotten anywhere near camp without somebody sounding an alarm. The fact that nobody did is called negligence." He pivoted and his gaze rested briefly on Colonel Taylor. "I will not tolerate carelessness, idleness, or cowardice." Among the men there were many long, sad faces. "Sergeant Moseley," Jim said brusquely. "Order the men to parade slowly in front of those corpses. I want them to see that Apaches are flesh and blood like everyone else, and that they can be killed—like everybody else." As soon as he had spoken, he walked to the flagpole and casually leaned against it.
Sergeant Moseley gave the order and the men tramped slowly through the mud, splashing the men in front of them and the men behind them. Jim watched each man's face as he looked down at the bodies. Any man who flinched, he ordered out of line. From a total of ninety-eight troopers, he eliminated twelve and returned them to their normal morning duties.
After the men had resumed their positions, Jim again stood before them and told them what he would expect from them mentally and physically. He spoke of the rigors of the training he planned, of the hardships and adverse conditions they would undoubtedly suffer, the dangers they would face, and when he had finished, he clasped his hands behind his back and cut a glance to Aubrey who was staring at him like he didn't know him.
From the west side of the parade ground, a freckle-faced infantry soldier stepped forward. Jim looked at his young face and imagined it facedown in the sand. "Do you have something you want to say, Private?"
"Yes, sir." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Clearly, he was nervous and scared. "You can label me a coward if you want, but I ain't riskin' my neck for no lousy thirteen dollars a month." He slapped his hat against his thigh and half ran, half walked away from the assembly.
"That goes for me too," said a veteran corporal. "I'm too damn old to go traipsing all over this godforsaken territory after them red devils. I've already killed my quota and I figure to take it real easy like till my enlistment is up."
As the corporal started to leave the parade ground, Colonel Taylor stepped forward and ordered him back.
"Let him go," Jim said, countering the colonel's order. "He's right. He is too old for this kind of duty. He couldn't stand up to it." Jim's hard-eyed gaze challenged the colonel to refute his authority. Wisely, he said nothing at all, but Jim knew his type well enough to know that someday, somehow, he would get even. Colonel Charles Taylor was a vindictive man.
In all, eighteen men abandoned the parade ground, which left sixty-eight, and of those Jim knew another twenty would be found unsuitable for one reason or another after closer inspection.
Impressive was the word that came to Indy's mind as she observed the way Major Garrity handled not only her father but the entire garrison. Throughout her life she had met dozens of Army officers and had come to realize that they were not all made of the same stuff and too many of them ended up martinets like her father.
Major Jim Garrity, though obviously a leader, who would demand obedience and punish disobedience, would never be more concerned with the methods of soldiering than with the soldiers themselves.
It had startled her when he suddenly glanced her way. His gaze, though brief, was profound. She had been staring at him, remembering how he tried to convince her that she wasn't responsible for her mother's and brother's deaths. His words had given her succor, and his arms had provided comfort.
He had felt her gaze upon him, she realized, the wonder of it making her breathless. She knew it as surely as she knew she had fallen hopelessly in love with him.
She got up immediately after he turned back to his men, defending her actions by telling herself that she needed to get dressed, fix herself something to eat, and then see if she couldn't find someone who could tell her when the next eastbound stage would be departing.
A short while later she stepped outside and adroitly avoided a pothole that had become a small pond. The sky loomed dark and forbidding and looked to open up and release its reservoir of water at any moment. It was odd, but instead of trying to identify the new smells brought on by the rain, all she could think about was that for the first time since she had come to Bowie she didn't smell dust.
She had gone but a few feet from her door when Prudence called her name. "May I speak with you a moment?" she asked.
There was a look of sadness in Prudence's china-blue eyes that made Indy curious as to what was on her mind. Maybe she was going to apologize for last night's bold behavior. "Yes, of course, but could you do it as we walk? I need to make inquiries about when the next stage leaves for the East."
"You're leaving? But I thought—" She made a small sound of distress that alerted Indy.
"You thought what?" Indy asked, frowning.
Prudence turned her back on the parade ground and partially covered her mouth with her hand. "I thought you and the major—" she said in a half whisper.
Another half-said sentence! It was annoying. "Me and the major what?" Indy probed, determined to find out what she was inferring. It started to drizzle. Reluctantly Indy suggested they go inside before they got wet. "Now then, you were going to explain?"
Prudence's hands could not seem to keep still. "It's just that I assumed you and Major Garrity had become . . . more than just acquaintances."
Indy felt her cheeks grow hot. Obviously Prudence had observed her after she had left the reception and Jim had stopped her. At least she hoped it was then and not later when things had become a bit more intimate.
"You mean because of last night when Jim kissed me outside the mess?" she asked, trying to confirm her suspicions.
Prudence pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Indy did the same and then waited.
Gazing out the window at the parade ground, Prudence said, "Well, you have to admit, it would indicate that you were more than just friends."
"I can see where you might think that, but it isn't so. I was overwrought about what my father had said, which I'm sure you must have overheard, as did everyone else. I went outside and was going to run as far and as fast as I could, but the major stopped me, realized how upset I was, and refused to let me go. Next thing I knew he was kissing me."
"I see," said Prudence.
"No you don't. It was just his way of comforting me, nothing more, and then . . . Well, you know the rest." She drew a deep breath, then sighed and focused her concentration outside on the parade ground.
Prudence's hand covered hers and Indy gasped in surprise and scooted her chair back a few inches.
"You really are naive, aren't you, Indy?"
Indy resettled herself. "In some things, yes, I suppose so. In others, I'm wiser than Moses," she said with heavy sarcasm. "What does my naiveté or lack of it have to do with anything? What is all this about for heaven's sake?"
Prudence sighed wearily. "Part of me, the jealous side, says I shou
ldn't tell you what I know and the other part of me, Major Stallard's widow, says I should because you're the only one who's been nice to me and who hasn't gone around talking about me behind my back."
"Prudence—"
"No. Please. No interruptions. You may have something very different to say to me after I've finished saying what I have to say."
Indy sat back and braced herself.
"Late last night, very late, after everything had calmed down, I was on my way back from"—she cleared her throat—"visiting a friend, when I ran into Jim. He was coming away from the east side of this building, where your bedroom window is, I think. He said he was making sure everything was ready for this morning, but I didn't believe him. He was looking real unhappy, like he'd just lost his prized stallion. I asked him if he'd walk me back to my quarters, thinking that once I got him all to myself, he would make . . . Well, you know," she said, waving her hand dismissively.
"Yes," Indy said blandly. She felt benumbed, hurt. But she would force herself to wait until Prudence had finished her tale before making any judgment or drawing any conclusion. As if that was really possible!
"Of course, you've known all along how I felt about Jim. Even before I knew that he wasn't an Apache."
"Yes, you managed to make yourself perfectly clear." Resentment had a firm grip on her already.
Prudence pointed her index finger at Indy. "But you never made yourself clear. You were as taken with him as I was and you never said a word."
Indy opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. Her first thought was to deny it, but she knew that Prudence would know she was lying. "No, I didn't," she admitted at length, but was loath to say anything more. Enough had been revealed already.
"You can't leave Bowie, Indy," Prudence said with fervor. "You love that man and he loves you." She chuckled. "He may not know it, but he does. Men are slow to know their feelings."
It took Indy a few seconds to recover herself. "Dare I ask how you know this?" she ventured, half afraid to learn the answer.
The answer was a long time in coming. Head bent, eyes cast downward, Prudence said, "I know Aphra, Ava, and Opal have told you about me and what I was doing when Major Stallard found me. I'm not denying what I was: a saloon girl. I made my living off men. That qualifies me to understand them better than most, so when I tell you Jim Garrity is in love with you, you can count on it." She stood up. "You don't believe me. I can tell. You're going to make me tell you exactly how I know, right?"
Indy did nothing more than raise an eyebrow.
"All right. I didn't figure it out myself until after he had left and I thought about what happened." She hesitated, evidently not quite sure she was doing the right thing by telling. "When I ran into him, I think he must have just come from looking in on you. Maybe to make sure you were all right. Whatever he saw caused him to become . . . Oh, God, Indy. Tell me you know something about what happens to a man's body when he wants a woman."
Indy looked away, so embarrassed she could feel the blush heat climbing up her neck into her face, even her ears. "I have sort of an idea," she managed, choking out the words. She remembered now with vivid clarity when Jim had pushed her against the adobe building and she had felt his rigidness pressing into her skirts.
Prudence wiped invisible perspiration away from her brow. "What I'm trying to say is that it was you he wanted. Then I came along and thought it was me he desired, right up until the second I said your name. I've never seen a man turn cold like that before. Do you get my meaning, Indy? I hope you do because I sure don't want to have to get any more detailed than that."
Indy nodded her head emphatically. She couldn't bear hearing any more of the vivid details. Quite enough had been said.
Prudence moved toward the door. "This really isn't what I came to tell you. I'm leaving Bowie as soon as I can manage it and going back to doing what I do best, being a saloon girl. I thought I'd try my luck in Tucson. I wanted to thank you for being kind to me." She had one foot out the door when she turned back briefly and said, "And by the way, I've never told anyone this so don't you go telling anybody, but I really loved that old coot I married."
The moment the door closed Indy slumped in her chair, as if the air had gone out of her.
In the theater of her mind, she saw the entire performance as Prudence had described it from the time she and Jim had run into each other: the two of them walking together in the cloud-dark night, talking low so their voices wouldn't disturb, going into each other's arms with fevered kisses and hands reaching, caressing, touching. Touching everywhere. All the forbidden places, the places that longed and yearned and . . . Angered by what she saw, she dropped the curtain on the play, and when she pulled it up for the second act, the understudy, herself, had taken Prudence's place.
The imagined warmth of Jim's touch still lingered when she lifted her gaze and looked out the window. She saw Sergeant Moseley and Captain Nolan moving slowly down a line of men. They each had a canteen from which they poured a small amount of liquid into a tin cup. After the soldier had drunk it, he handed it back and started running around the perimeter of the parade ground.
For the life of her Indy couldn't figure out what they were doing. Jim was nowhere in sight and her father was heading for the sutler's store at a fast pace, looking for all the world like a man with a bad toothache.
"You love that man and he loves you," Prudence had said. Was it true? she wondered. Could it be that Major Jim Garrity was in love with her, as she was with him? Had he looked in her window because he'd been worried about her? It must have been after she had fallen asleep. How long had he watched her? But more importantly, what had he seen that would cause him to become aroused? She didn't think she wanted to know how Prudence knew that.
She had been sitting there in front of the window, still and silent for nearly an hour, when suddenly she remembered what she had been about to do before Prudence had confronted her. The stage schedule.
Even if what Prudence said was true and Jim did love her, they could never have a life together. There was no common ground between them; they were from different worlds.
Besides that, there was her fear of him. She wasn't sure exactly where it came from, but it was there, deep inside her, and it manifested itself every time he came near her.
She needed a quiet man, a placid man. A nice staid banker, perhaps. Or a merchant. Major Jim Garrity—Shatto—was too volatile, too unpredictable and given to impulsiveness. She would never have the peace of mind of knowing how he would react in any situation. He was as wild and untamed as the Apaches he had lived with. He could never be domesticated and made completely civilized. Add to that that erie wind that had circled him. She’d forbidden herself to think about that.
She jumped up and was out the door before she could change her mind about going home. In spite of her carefulness to keep out of the potholes and wagon ruts, her shoes were covered with slimy mud within seconds. The clerk behind the desk in the adjutant's outer office greeted her with a gap-toothed smile.
"I'd like to find out when the next stage will be heading east from San Simon please."
"You're not thinkin' of leavin' us already are you, Miss Taylor?"
Indy gave a half smile. "I'm afraid I have to get back home as soon as possible."
"Oh. I hope it ain't nothin' urgent, 'cause we got us a problem. Had a runner come in just a few minutes ago with word that Cochise has been terrorizing the whole San Simon Valley. All stage and freighting arrivals and departures have been suspended until the situation is improved."
"But that could be—"
"A long time," Jim finished for her, in a slow voice.
Indy swung around and froze. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, holding a piece of paper in his hands. He glanced down at it, ignoring her. She could see his fierce expression and wondered what had caused it. It was the same expression he'd worn when he challenged Chie, the same expression as when he plunged his knife between Chie's ribs. Th
e blood in her veins turned to ice and she felt herself tremble in reaction.
"But— You don't understand," she said in a small voice. "I need to go home. I shouldn't have come in the first place."
He looked up at her with those dark, killing eyes. "No, Indy. You don't understand," he contradicted her. "The stage isn't running so you aren't going anywhere."
She gave a nervous laugh. "Well, surely there must be other routes, other stage lines."
"There's one that leaves out of Prescott once a week." At her expectant look, he added, "But in order to get you there, we'd have to send a detachment out with you and that's not possible, especially right now. The only men I would trust to escort you are going to be with me. I'm sorry, Indy, but you'll have to wait. Arizona just isn't a safe place to be right now."
"No, it certainly isn't," she retorted, giving his statement a different meaning altogether. When she started toward the door, Jim stepped aside, but only slightly.
"If there's anything I can do—anything you need, Indy. All you have to do is ask."
"You've done quite enough, thank you." She stepped outside. The troopers had stopped running and were again standing at ease. One by one they leaned forward and spat a mouthful of water onto the ground in front of them.
"It's a test," Jim explained without her asking. Again, he had come up behind her without her hearing him. "Each man hold a mouthful of water while he runs twenty times around the parade ground, or approximately four miles. If he loses it or swallows it, he fails the test."
Indy frowned. "But what does it determine?"
"His ability to take orders, to concentrate—to do as well as an Apache boy."
Indy started back toward her quarters. "Seems like a pretty silly test to me," she mumbled beneath her breath.
Jim's laughter followed her halfway across the parade ground. Indy, however, was not in the least amused for she realized that it would be up to Major Jim Garrity and his yet to be trained company of white scouts to make those improvements in the Indian situation that would allow the stage line to continue operation.
The Peacemaker Page 16
