"I have to tell you, Major, Colonel Taylor does not have the authority to grant you a pardon."
Jim drew a deep, steadying breath. "I wasn't sure, but I went along with it anyway. I figured if it was to be, it would be. But now at least I've got the incentive to go back and find the proof that will exonerate me. It's there. I know it is. If anybody had looked before as I had asked them to, they would have found it."
"Which is, Major?"
"That those men I killed were Reb spies. I heard them call each other by name. I remember their names and their faces. But because they were wearing Yankee blues, carrying Yankee papers, it was assumed they were Yanks. Nobody even checked to see."
"They were troubled times, Major. A lot of confusion and such."
"Yeah, I know. But you know what, Commissioner? People will call these troubled times too. And the next generation will call theirs a troubled time, and the one after that and so on. It'll go on forever, Commissioner. Every time will be a troubled time to the people who live in it."
"Of course, you're right, Major." He took a broken-off pencil out of his pocket and a square of paper and began jotting down notes.
"What are you doing?"
"Your case is somewhat familiar to me. I'm a lawyer, you see, and sometimes, just to satisfy my curiosity you might say, I look into unusual cases that I find particularly interesting. Yours was one of those cases. However, I didn't begin looking into it until after you escaped. It was quite a story as I recall. I was in Washington when it came out in the newspaper. I was particularly impressed by your testimony and particularly unimpressed with the idiot who was supposed to be representing you, for to my way of thinking, he seemed to be doing everything but representing you."
"He was a lazy bastard," Jim agreed resentfully. "I promised myself if I ever got a hold of him, I'd wring his neck."
The commissioner cleared his throat. "Yes, well, be that as it may, I wanted to see for myself if those names you gave in your testimony coincided with the muster rolls."
Jim braced himself. "And did they?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes, Major. They did. All four of them. The problem was, as I recall, that you had two of the names spelled incorrectly, which could account for your lawyer not being able to find them, if indeed he actually looked. Actually I doubt he did because they were easy enough to find."
Jim leaned back against the corral railing. "They were Dardis, Sinnett, Dillehay, and Corwin—Will Corwin. Corwin was the one in charge.
"If you knew I was innocent, Commissioner, why didn't you tell someone?"
"You had disappeared, Major. No one knew where you were."
"But you could have contacted my family. They would have notified me through Captain Nolan."
The commissioner hung his head. "Yes, Major, there are indeed steps I could have taken to help you, but sometimes we don't always do the right thing by our fellow man. Because we're human we are often unforgiving."
"When did you lose your Southern accent, Commissioner?"
"When I lost my home and my family, Major, to a Yankee patrol heading to Atlanta."
There was a long pregnant silence.
Jim breathed a deep sigh. "I can't say that I blame you, sir. Like you said, that was troubled time for all of us."
"Consider yourself exonerated, Major. As soon as I get back to Tucson, I'll make a full report, which I will submit to the President. I have no doubt that he will grant you a full military pardon, reinstate your rank, and return your benefits."
"Thank you, sir."
A week later, on the parade ground, the commissioner stood before the whole garrison, with the exception of the sentries who had been placed around the entire perimeter of the camp.
"Congress has been deluged with complaints and investigations about crooked Indian agents, Army officers, and civilian contractors. Not to mention the government scandals. This June, President Grant appointed a board of Indian commissioners, of which I am a part. We are authorized to do many things as we see fit on behalf of the Indians, which includes negotiating treaties and establishing reservations."
The commissioner had made it clear that this was to be an informal gathering and that everyone was free to speak his mind.
Corporal Ryker pushed through to the front of the assembly. "Why not authorize four or five thousand troops to come in with cannons and a freight wagon full of dynamite and blow them red devils clear to hell!" His words drew a weak cheer from several others.
"Even as I speak, Corporal, there are powerful organizations working to stop all fighting against the Indians. Because of newspapers and churchmen, the Apaches have the sympathy of the entire nation, with, of course, the exception of the people of New Mexico and Arizona. The nation wants President Grant to send good Christian men into the territory as Indian agents to establish reservations, and they want missionaries to educate the savages in Christianity and agriculture. They do not want extinction."
"One dollar. Do I hear one dollar for this fine chair, shipped all the way around the Horn from Boston?"
Indy raised her bruised arm as high as she could to signal the auctioneer. "One dollar," she shouted, though she hardly needed to. There weren't more than two dozen people in the audience, and all of them were soldiers and all of them were in a terrible hurry to get to breakfast.
"Miss Independence Taylor bids one dollar. Do I hear more? One dollar going once." The auctioneer pounded his gavel on the table in front of him. "One dollar going twice. One dollar going three times. Sold to Miss Indy!"
Indy was pleased with her purchase but felt badly for Prudence. The chair should have gone for at least two dollars and would have if any of the women had been in attendance. But because the items being auctioned off were Prudence Stallard's, the only buyers were men.
Indy placed a comforting hand on Prudence's arm and looked at her with sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Pru. You should have gotten twice as much as you did for everything. You had such beautiful things. I don't know what's the matter with the women around here. They don't have anything in their quarters that can compare with what you had here."
"It's all right, Indy. The soldiers always get everybody else's castoffs. I'm glad some of them finally got some nice things. I'll get pleasure out of knowing my things are making a few of them more comfortable."
Indy brightened. "Jim says that Captain Nolan's quarters are practically bare. I'm glad I got the captain over here and talked him into buying your table and chairs. At least he and Jim will have a place to sit down and eat at now." She shook her head impatiently. "I probably could have gotten him to buy some more things if he hadn't had to leave so fast. I guess Jim was taking the Wolf Company out around the boulders this morning to teach them to hide their tracks."
Prudence studied Indy for a moment and smiled. "So it's Jim now, not Major Garrity," she teased.
"Well—I—" Indy sputtered like a burned-down candle.
"You don't have to explain, Indy."
Indy grabbed Prudence's hand. "Yes, I do. You have to believe me when I tell you that I had no idea Jim cared for me. I know he didn't mean to hurt you and neither did I."
"Independence Taylor! Nobody ever knows when they're going to fall in love. It's just a thing that happens. Don't you think I know that? And you didn't hurt me. The night I ran into Jim, I was just feeling a little lonely is all and looking for a good man to share my bed."
"Shhhh!" Indy put her fingers to her lips and looked all around to make sure no one had heard Prudence. "You shouldn't say things like that. Somebody might have heard you!"
"Oh, pish posh. What do I care who hears me?" She deliberately raised her voice and then grabbed Indy by the arms and squeezed her excitedly.
"Ouch!" Indy pulled back and rubbed her arms where her father had hurt her.
"What's the matter?"
The bruising inflicted by her father was still tender. "It's nothing. I just strained my muscles."
"Doing what?"
Indy thought a moment. "Lifting an ol
d box." She dropped her arms back down to her side and tried to make light of it. "I should have called someone to help me, but you know how it is? You don't want to trouble people."
"Indy," Prudence said gravely. "Jim Garrity, he is a good man, isn't he?"
What an odd question. She seemed so serious. "Yes, Pru. He seems to me to be a very good man. I've come to greatly respect him . . . and love him."
"That's not exactly what I meant." Seeing Indy's confusion, she explained. "When he made love to you, he was gentle and kind, wasn't he?"
Indy gave a start. She couldn't believe anyone would ask such a bold and intimate question. Yet, when she met Prudence's gaze, she realized that it wasn't curiosity that had prompted it, but concern.
"I—I don't quite know what to say."
Prudence waved her hand dismissingly. "You don't have to say anything. It's none of my business. It's just that . . . well ... he did live with those savages for all those years. There's no telling the kinds of bad habits he picked up from them. I was a little worried he might have forced you to do something you didn't want to do."
In spite of her best efforts, Indy felt her cheeks burn with remembrance.
"I can see I need not have concerned myself," Prudence said, the teasing back in her voice.
It occurred to Indy then that it was her own lie about lifting a box and straining her arm muscles that had prompted Pru to ask such a question in the first place. A thoughtful smile came to her lips. "I truly do appreciate your concern, Pru," she said in earnest. "Please believe me when I tell you that Jim didn't force me to do anything I didn't want him to do." Indy decided a change of subject was badly needed. "When do you leave?"
"Day after tomorrow." Prudence drew herself up proudly and gave herself a look of importance. "Commissioner Moorland will be accompanying me. We're going to Tucson together."
Indy played along, glad for a lighter mood and a safer subject. "Oh, well! La-dee-da! Aren't you the one?"
"I certainly am. But believe it or not, I'm going to miss Bowie, not this Bowie but the old one, across the way. That's where my husband and I came after we were married. We went through a terrible rainy season there together."
Tears smarted at the backs of Indy's eyes. "I'm really going to miss you, you know. Once you leave, I won't have anybody at all to talk to."
"You'll have Jim. I used to talk to Major Stallard for hours and hours at a time. He said the most interesting things." With a faraway look in her eyes she continued, "He used to tell me about all the places he had visited and the amazing things he had seen. He made everything so exciting and he described everything so clearly. Why I could see those places in my mind, just as though I had been there myself." Her head bent. She looked up at Indy through her lashes. "That's what I miss most, him taking me to all those distant places."
Indy solicited the help of two young enlisted men on their way to the mess hall to take her new chair back to her quarters and then spent the next ten minutes trying to decide where to put it. She wished now she had thought to purchase it from Prudence privately rather than at the auction. That way she could have offered her more money for it. Prudence would need all she could get to start her new life in Tucson.
Before beginning the morning dusting, she stepped outside a moment to shake out her dust cloth, when she saw Jim at the far end of the officers' quarters talking with Doc Valentine. She had thought Jim was with his men this morning outside the camp, but apparently she had misunderstood.
Whatever Doc was saying, he was certainly adamant about it. He showed Jim the palm of his hand as if it represented whatever point he was trying to make.
"You've seen smallpox enough, Jim, to know what it can do," Doc was saying. "A few days after the fever comes the rash, most times on the face but just as prevalent on the extremities," he explained. "As to scarring—depends on the individual. Some people are lucky and don't scar at all. Others, the rash leaves terrible scars on the face. Or like me"—he turned his hand over, palm up, for Jim to see—"this is my little reminder." Jim looked closely at the deep scars crisscrossing Doc's palm. "There's more on the soles of my feet, but ain't nobody gonna see them 'cept an undertaker."
Fury flashed white and hot within Jim. He looked toward the adjutant's office where he had seen the colonel go a few minutes ago. You son of a bitch. You blamed her, but it was you! Jim turned his gaze to Indy, knowing she had been watching him. It was everything he could do to keep his anger under control so that she couldn't see it, feel it.
How was he going to tell her that her father had lied to her—that all these years he had been hiding his smallpox scars from her so she wouldn't know he'd had it too? On second thought, maybe he shouldn't tell her; she'd already mentally distanced herself from him. Knowing about the scars would only hurt her more, but knowing about them would also free her from her guilt—a guilt that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
She smiled at him when he glanced her way and he took it as a sign that telling her would be the right thing to do.
He smiled back and Indy felt herself go weak with wanting him. Ever since that night he'd made love to her, she couldn't look at him or think about him without becoming all warm and tingly inside, the way she'd felt when she had realized he was outside her window watching her. Even now, she couldn't imagine what had possessed her to act so boldly wanton. Just the thought of what she had done made her blush.
She thought it uncanny that she could feel his eyes upon her and understand what it was that he was thinking. She wondered if this sort of thing happened to other people, or did she and Jim have something rare between them? It would be nice to think it was indeed an uncommon ability that only they shared.
Jim turned back to Doc who was still talking about the effects of smallpox, when he caught sight of a cloud of dust rising out of the mountains to the east. His first thought was that it was a stampeding herd of wild horses. He had seen them many times. They numbered more than a hundred, but he had never seen them this far west.
Putting a silencing hand on Doc's shoulder, Jim lifted his head to listen. He could hear them now—hear the rumbling of horses' hooves. At least a hundred, he thought. Riding fast. Riding hard. Too hard!
Not wild horses! Apaches!
He grabbed Doc's shoulder. "Get to cover. It's a raid!" Bolting away from Doc, Jim raised his carbine and shot into the air. "Apaches!" he called out. "Sound the alarm!"
He ran toward Indy, who was standing out in the open. He had to get her to safety.
Indy heard the shot and saw Jim running toward her, but before she could fathom what had happened, the camp erupted into chaos and everything seemed to happen at once. She whirled around at the sound of rumbling hooves.
From out of the blaze of the morning sun, dozens of warriors spewed forth from between buildings at a thundering gallop to pound down on the parade ground.
Nearly deafened by their savage war cries, the rumble of hooves, and the shouts and cries of Bowie's men, women, and children, Indy couldn't think what to do. Fear held her captive. She couldn't move.
"Indy! Get inside!" Jim called to her as he ran.
The bugle blared, drowning out the warning.
Indy watched in horror as a group of soldiers, armed only with knives and forks, ran out of the mess hall, squinting and shading their eyes. They barely had time to digest that they were under attack when the Apaches wheeled their ponies into their midst and cut them down where they stood with bullets and lances.
Over and over the trumpet sounded the alarm, then ended on a sour note and didn't blow again.
Indy saw Prudence running just a few yards in front of a warrior on a galloping horse. Fear for Prudence mobilized her and she picked up her skirts and ran to save her friend. She saw Prudence stumble and prayed she wouldn't be trampled beneath the Indian's horse.
The warrior was nearly upon Prudence now, leaning off the side of his horse, ready to sweep her up and carry her off.
"Pru!"
T
here was only one thing Indy could think to do. She positioned herself directly in the path of the galloping horse and jumped up and down, frantically waving her arms and screaming.
As she had hoped the horse shied. While the warrior attempted to regain control, Indy grabbed Prudence and pulled her to her feet.
"Come on. Let's get out of here!"
"I can't," Pru cried. "I've twisted my ankle."
"I don't care if you broke it. Hop if you have to, but come on!" Indy put her arm under Prudence's and half carried, half dragged her toward the closest row of buildings. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the Apache was heading toward them. "Hurry, Pru, hurry!" They had made only a few steps when Prudence's ankle gave out, and despite Indy's efforts to keep her moving, she fell.
Jim stopped, knowing he couldn't reach them in time. "Get out of my way," he yelled at a young private who had bumped into him. He ripped his knife from its scabbard and put it between his teeth. Then he raised his carbine, aimed, and fired.
Concurrently, Indy heard the report of the carbine and saw the Apache fly backward off his horse. She silently thanked whoever had saved her and Pru. Again, she bent and struggled to pull Prudence to her feet but she was a dead weight. "Help me, Pru."
"Leave me, Indy," Prudence begged.
Indy caught a glimpse of her father running out of the adjutant's office. He was only thirty feet away. "Father! Help us!" She saw him turn to look at her. Relief washed through her. Then he looked away and took cover behind a buck-board next to his office.
It was then that Indy saw the two warriors bearing down upon them, leaning low over the sides of their ponies. One of them was Chie's son.
"Oh, God." Indy wheeled around. "Father! Please, we need you. Help us for God's sake!" But she knew it was useless. He wouldn't help her. Jim! she thought. Where was Jim? She had seen him only a moment ago. "Jim!" she called, turning toward the direction she had last seen him.
It was bedlam. People, horses, mules, everywhere! Fire licked at wagons. Desert dust whirled and lifted. Arrows fell from the sky like rain. Black smoke coughed from revolvers and carbines.
The Peacemaker Page 22
