Chapter 12
By late afternoon the sun had burnt off the clouds and slowly moved across the western sky like a giant fireball, taking the temperature to well over the century mark. Beneath the sun's merciless rays the rain-soaked parade ground cooked. A vapor of steam rose out of the mud.
Indy was miserably hot and sticky. Her simple calico dress clung damply to her back and she could feel perspiration trickle down between her breasts. The parlor was an airless oven sapping her energy. When she could stand it no more, she picked up her father's padded footstool, located the one and only parasol she had brought and went outdoors.
While trying to decide where the best place would be to set her stool, she noticed Aphra and Opal coming back from the sutler's store and felt a stab of envy for the close friendship they shared. Indy waved and they waved back, but as usual, they didn't give any indication that they would like to have her join them. They had each other and that seemed to be enough for them.
She placed her stool up close to the wall beside the parlor window, sat down, and leaned against the cool adobe. A small breeze, coming through the mountains off the San Simon Valley, made quick work of drying her dress.
Shaded by her parasol, she resumed watching the activities on the parade ground. The original ninety-eight troopers had been whittled down to thirty. Those remaining looked to be capable of most any task assigned them.
In making his selections, it appeared Jim had not concerned himself to a man's rank, but instead had selected each man on his individual merit. Ava's husband had been returned to duty at the onset of the selection process due to his impending fatherhood. Aphra's and Opal's husbands had been disqualified because of their ages.
Prior to her coming outside, a dozen horses had been brought up from the corral and picket pinned. All were lean and muscled. Their coats shone with good grooming and health. Docilely they stood by, swishing their tails at flies and occasionally blowing dust out of their nostrils.
The last Indy had seen of Jim Garrity, he had been walking with her father to the adjutant's office. That had been an hour ago. It came to her that with the exception of her talk with Prudence and this morning's jaunt to check on the stage, she had done nothing all day long but watch Jim, as if her eyes couldn't get their fill of him. No matter who or what drew her attention away, her gaze was pulled right back to him as if magnetized.
During Jim's absence, Captain Nolan taught the infantrymen, most of whom had no knowledge of horses or riding, how to clean stones and other debris out of their horses' hooves. "A stone, left in the hoof too long, can cause a horse to go lame," he explained. "Your new skills will be your most valuable asset when fighting the Apaches. Your horse is second, so take good care of him, treat him with the respect he deserves, and he'll bring you home."
Leaving the men to work on their horses' hooves, Captain Nolan hastily retreated from the parade ground. Beating his hat against the side of his leg, he made his way across to Indy. He was shaking his head as if there was something he just couldn't quite comprehend.
"Is everything going as well as you had hoped, Captain?" Indy thought he looked tired but exhilarated. He was certainly dirty, even dirtier than she had been last night.
He came up to stand in front of the hitching post and leaned against it. "Better than I'd hoped. We've got thirty able-bodied men, good men, who will give all they've got and more. There's probably a couple of troublemakers in the group, but there always are. It's unavoidable. Jim can handle them though."
During the welcome reception, Captain Nolan had talked briefly about his long friendship with Jim, but now Indy realized he looked up to Jim as well.
"Though I'm hardly qualified to judge, it seemed to me he was very hard on the men, demanding more of them than they were capable of doing." As soon as she said it, she knew it wasn't so. It was just her own frustration coming out. Watching Jim Garrity all day long demonstrating various physical exercises to help the men build stamina had strained her ability to remain indifferent to him as much as Jim had worked and strained the hard muscles of his magnificent body—to nearly the breaking point. The result was that she had spent the day in a continuous state of physical agitation.
"There's different kinds of hard, the mean-spirited kind and the for-your-own-good kind. Those men's lives are going to depend on Jim teaching them all he knows of fighting and survival. They may grow to hate him and some of them may even want to kill him before this is over, but if he's too easy with them, they won't survive their first encounter with the hostiles."
"I don't mean to sound pessimistic, but how much effect can thirty scouts really have?"
"We're only going to be fighting the Chiricahua Apaches, Cochise's band. They have several strongholds within a few days ride. So far, they've made a complete mockery of our efforts, playing with us like a cat plays with a mouse. As far as they're concerned, we don't even qualify as worthy opponents. Once those troopers are trained and put out into the field, tracking down Apaches, sniffing them out of places they thought were inaccessible to the bluecoats, I think they'll have a tremendous effect.
"Ultimately, I believe the use of scouts, Apache scouts now, not white men trained to scout, will be the means to the end."
"It would have saved a lot of time if my father had agreed to let you hire Indian scouts, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, but it's not difficult to understand his thinking. Using Indian scouts in place of soldiers causes doubt about the capabilities of the regular troops, especially in the minds of the generals in charge. And besides that, there's a feeling that soldiers should be civilized men, not savages."
"Of course, you know, Captain," Indy stressed, "that assuming the scout company is successful, my father will take all the credit." She gave him a long, hard look, then added, "It's entirely possible that neither you nor Major Garrity will be recognized for your efforts."
He nodded. "I can't speak for Jim, Indy, though I'm certain he's of the same mind as I am. I'm not looking for accolades or medals. My goal is to bring this territory to peace with a minimal loss of lives."
"A very noble ambition, Captain. But then, I already had figured you for a noble man." The compliment came from her heart. Captain Aubrey Nolan was the kind of officer she wished her father was; someone to look up to, to be proud of.
He snuggled his hat onto his head. "If anyone is noble, it's Jim. He lived with the Apaches for six years. They gave him a home and called him their friend. He's bound to feel like a traitor even though the Apaches won't see it that way. Apparently they have a different way of looking at things than we do."
"I didn't think of that," she admitted. "It must have been a very difficult decision for him to make."
"It was."
Frowning, the captain shifted his weight. "Forgive me for changing the subject so abruptly, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened last night with Chie. Jim told me everything. It shouldn't have happened."
"It's over now, Captain," she answered slowly. "I wasn't injured. I'm hoping to be able to put it behind me."
"Well, just so you'll know it didn't get ignored, I checked into the matter and discovered that the sentries assigned to duty did a little celebrating of their own. I presented the men to your father and he's dealing with them."
"I hope not too severely. I wouldn't want to see anyone locked up in the guardhouse on a day like this."
"I don't know. It wasn't up to me."
Something—a feeling—a sixth sense—pulled her gaze away from Captain Nolan. She turned her head and squinted.
From out of the glare of the sun, Jim Garrity walked southeast across the parade ground toward Officers' Row. She would have thought that after observing him in his breechclout and open vest the whole day long, she would have grown accustomed to his near nakedness, to the breadth of his shoulders, muscled chest, and powerful thighs and legs. Every exposed inch of him was brown, not as dark as the Apaches, but shades darker than any of the other soldiers.
He exuded danger, like a predatory animal. But was he a danger to her? She hated being afraid of him. She reflected upon those incidents that had frightened her. At no time had he threatened her. In fact, he had rescued her. Saved her. Twice from Apaches. And twice from her father.
It was the predator in him then, Indy rationalized, that was causing her to be afraid.
Men weren't born with predatory instincts or skills, they learned them.
Fear was also learned. And could be conquered.
For the last hour, the colonel had been questioning Jim about Cochise. Jim was surprised when the colonel told him that until several months ago, after receiving orders to take command of Camp Bowie, he had never heard of Cochise.
Jim thought everyone had heard of Cochise. He had been a prominent war chief since before the war. The letters Jim's parents sent him through Captain Nolan often expressed concerns over his association with the famed Apache chieftain. From time to time he even got newspaper clippings that dramatized some of Cochise's grander exploits, making him seem an almost invincible foe who commanded legions of painted and feathered red men.
Sometimes the articles were amazingly close to the truth.
Jim didn't object to telling the colonel what he could. He had been in Cochise's stronghold several times, smoked pipe with him, and learned as much about him as anyone could.
Upon the colonel's desk lay stacks of Eastern and territorial newspapers and a box of reports from the Commission of Indian Affairs. All were completely ignored while they talked.
"Tell me, Major. Have you thought ahead to the day the men are through with their training?"
"I have. I plan to send them all out together as one unit for a while. I have a feeling that once they're seen in action, word will get around to the various Apache bands that they're being hunted by white wolves. It should make them think twice before they go on another raid."
"White wolves, Major?"
"A wolf is a respectful term the Indians use for their own scouts. When I'm through with those men out there we'll have a company of wolves."
"I see. A Wolf Company. White wolves." It seemed to Jim he was testing the words to see how best to fit them together.
"Very good, Major. I don't like your arrogant attitude, but I do like what you're doing, and I guess that's what counts. I'll make a note in my report about your wolf company. But for the official paperwork to my superiors, I will call them Camp Bowie's Independent Scout Company."
At the onset of their conversation, Jim had reminded himself to be aware of the colonel's hands and gestures now that he wasn't wearing his gauntlets. His hands were balled into fists and his arms straight down against his sides, as if he had been called to attention. As to his gestures, he didn't make a one the whole time they talked.
It didn't seem natural, Jim thought, to talk without using your hands to gesture and express yourself. Yet, when the colonel was wearing his gauntlets, as he had been this morning, he used his hands expansively.
After leaving the adjutant's office, Jim went to see Doc Valentine to inquire about various conditions that might affect the hands.
"Doc's delivering a baby," the orderly told him, so Jim headed back to the parade ground to begin putting the infantrymen on horses.
Jim held his concerns and wonderings before him like an Apache war shield as he made his way across the parade ground. He thought about the colonel, his sudden interest in Cochise, the stacks of newspapers and reports, and the odd way he had responded to the mention of the company of wolves.
On that one last thought, it came to him what the colonel was thinking. Coalescing inside his head, he saw the bold, black lettering that was the headlines of an Eastern newspaper.
COCHISE CAPTURED!
APACHE WARS AT AN END!
COL. CHARLES TAYLOR LEADS WOLF COMPANY INTO BATTLE AT APACHE PASS.
WEST POINTER AWARDED MEDAL OF HONOR FOR BRAVERY AND VALOR!
ARIZONA TERRITORY OPEN TO SETTLERS, MERCHANTS, FREIGHTERS
Jim reminded himself to tell Aubrey what he had discovered at the first opportunity. That way, both of them could be on the lookout for signs of trouble.
Ambition, Jim thought grimly, could be a powerful force within a man, especially if it got coupled with vengeance. And the colonel had plenty of that in him. He had made it plain from the beginning that the War Department had mistakenly assigned him to Bowie. In a way, Jim didn't blame him for his anger. Colonel Charles Taylor wasn't cut out for the hardships of frontier duty; he was a textbook soldier, whose expertise was in engineering, not Indian fighting.
Jim was sure what galled the colonel the most was that the mistake had yet to be corrected, which led Jim to wonder if it really was a mistake and not a sly reprimand for some military infraction that even he wasn't aware he had committed.
Jim's whole life had been the military, from the day he had turned eighteen and entered West Point until he had escaped. In that time he had learned to expect the unexpected and count on nothing.
Aubrey was standing by the hitching post in front of Indy's quarters, waving at Jim to join him.
"Where have you been? The horses are anxious to teach these men how to ride." Aubrey had a jackass grin on his face, clearly anticipating a show.
Jim wished he could share his good humor, but he had too much on his mind. "Having a talk with the colonel. Remind me to tell you about it."
"I've been discussing you with Miss Taylor."
Glowering, Jim glanced behind him. He hadn't acknowledged Indy when he'd walked up. The cursory glance was all she was going to get. She had become a fire in his blood, setting him to boil every damn time he was near her and looked into her eyes. Even those few moments this morning in the adjutant's office had done their work on him.
Damn her hazel eyes, anyway! "I wish everybody would mind their own business and find someone else to talk about besides me."
"What's the matter with you? Did a snake crawl into your bedroll?"
Jim didn't dignify Aubrey's questions with an answer. Instead, he called Sergeant Moseley over and told him that it was time to get started. "Have the men who can ride help those who can't."
"Yes, sir, Major. This is going to be real interesting." The sergeant had abandoned saluting at the major's request but hadn't stopped the formal address. He headed back to the middle of the parade ground, briskly rubbing the palms of his hands together as though they'd been frostbitten.
Indy had pretended to ignore Jim's scowling glance and thought it was just as well; the less they had to do with each other, the better. Flashing him a look of disdain, she lifted her chin and focused her attention on the sergeant, wondering why he seemed so gladdened by lessons in horsemanship.
Even if some of the men had never ridden a horse before, they would learn quickly enough. There were some things men just took to naturally, the way women took to . . . quilting, she reasoned, although personally, she disliked quilting, or maybe she just disliked the gossip that always seemed to accompany it.
Sergeant Moseley stood before the company. "All right, you wolf cubs. We're gonna have us some learnin' in the fine art of horsemanship." Sarcasm dripped like tree sap from his words. "Untie them horses and get them in line."
"I've been waiting for this," Captain Nolan said. A look of mischief came into his eyes and a smile played at the corners of his mouth, reminding Indy of the first time she had seen him smile and how she had thought it flattered his face.
Out of the side of his mouth, Jim said dryly, "Don't take your eyes off that big roan. He's got a real unusual disposition."
Closing her parasol and leaning it against the side of the building, Indy got off her stool and went around the hitching post to stand next to Captain Nolan. She suspected that all of them were up to some kind of tomfoolery and found herself eagerly anticipating a good laugh. She remembered then the fan she had bought at the sutler's store and considered going back after it, but was afraid she would miss something.
In a voic
e loud as a trumpet, the sergeant blared, "Mount up!"
To a man, the infantrymen looked like the sergeant had lost his mind. "There's no saddles," one man braved.
"Is that a fact?" Sergeant Moseley thoughtfully rubbed his beard-bristled chin. "Well, I guess I'll have to see about that."
As if on cue, Jim moved to the invisible edge of the parade ground. "You heard the sergeant. Mount up. This isn't a cavalry unit; it's a wolf company. In case you haven't noticed, Apaches don't have saddles. Weights the horse down." When the trooper just stared at him, Jim said, "That's an order, mister!"
The young private scrambled to comply and ran to his assigned horse, grabbed on to his mane, and swung one long leg up onto the roan's back. Briefly, the look of victory lit his youthful face, then turned to horror when the roan reared up, sending him sliding willy-nilly off his back into the mud.
Indy let out a gasp of astonishment and looked to see that the young man wasn't hurt. Cursing like a teamster told Indy the only damage done was to his ego. She brought her hand up to stifle a giggle. Even as the private was picking himself up out the mud, his fellow troopers were making similar attempts to mount their horses, which resulted in more of the same.
Between the men sliding off sleekly curried backs, loud cursing the likes of which made Indy curl her toes, and several mounted riders whose rein-sawing made their horses go through all kinds of contortions, sidesteps and turns, the scene on the parade ground had become a circus, complete with a ringmaster, clowns, trick riders and dancing horses.
Indy had never laughed so hard in all her life. She laughed so hard her stomach hurt. Everywhere she looked horses were rearing and bucking, turning in circles and turning their heads around to bite the men hanging on to their manes. There were plaintive whinnies and disdainful snorts. The men yelled, cursed, and called the horses such startling names that Indy was left openmouthed and gaping.
There was no time to recover herself from laughing at one thing before discovering something else even funnier. But for having to wipe stinging sweat from her eyes, she hardly noticed the heat or the way the sun beat down on her head.
The Peacemaker Page 17
