Warpath Read online

  “Sit down and drink some of this,” she commanded.

  She poured coffee for Samantha and handed it to her, then poured a cup for herself. She sat on a chair opposite the sofa and Samantha dropped onto the sofa, but as she did so, the bottle of whiskey popped up like a bad dream from between the cushions.

  Samantha turned red and pushed it down.

  “It’s all right,” Mrs. Braddock said. “I already saw it. Would you pass it to me, please?”

  With trembling hands, Samantha extended the bottle toward Mrs. Braddock, who took it, pulled out the cork, and poured some into her coffee.

  “Nothing like a little whiskey once in a while to restore the spirit,” Mrs. Braddock said, “but we wouldn’t want to use it to excess, would we, Samantha?”

  “No, Mrs. Braddock, of course not.”

  “Call me Martha, please.” She looked Samantha up and down, and then her eyes softened. “My dear, you look terrible. I’m sure you feel terrible too. Care to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “I’m not feeling well, I’m afraid.”

  “Would you like me to get Dr. Lantz?”

  “Not just yet, I don’t think. All I need is some rest.”

  “I suspect that’s not what you need at all. I’d recommend activity, something to do, a focus for your energies. What would you need rest from? You do no work, do you?”

  “Actually no.”

  “I didn’t think so. Like the rest of the officers’ wives, you have a maid. But while the rest of us engage in a variety of social and charitable activities, you stay home and mope, isn’t that correct?”

  Samantha wanted to throw the old biddy out on her ear, but Mrs. Braddock was the commanding officer’s wife. “I do stay home a lot, Mrs. Braddock.”

  “I asked you to call me Martha. Let me tell you something. I was once like you, the young wife of a young second lieutenant, and our first post together was in Kansas when it was wild like this. I too was alone and bored, as I imagine you are. I too wanted to return home, to Philadelphia. But I stayed with my husband, and I’m glad I did. I believe I’ve had a much more interesting and enjoyable life than if I’d remained in Philadelphia going to tea parties every afternoon and discussing the weather. Those people back there don’t know what weather is. This is weather.” Mrs. Braddock pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and patted the beads of perspiration from her forehead. “Now as I see it, you have two choices. You can go whining back home with your tail between your legs, like a pathetic little puppy, or you can remain with your husband and be a credit to him, your country, and the service. Those were the choices that faced me once, and now they face you. The decision is up to you, and no one can make it for you. But I’m afraid you’ll have to make it soon. A small military installation like this one thrives on gossip. Soon everyone will be talking about you. If you want to drag your name down, that’s your business, but I don’t think you should drag down the young man you’re married to. Lieutenant Lowell has the makings of a fine officer, and it would be a tragedy if his career were marred by something you might do.”

  “I would never do anything to hurt Josh,” Samantha said.

  “That’s nonsense,” Mrs. Braddock said. “You’ve hurt him already by keeping your windows covered throughout the morning. Do you think people wouldn’t notice that and think it odd? Look at you — in your nightclothes at one o’clock in the afternoon. This is not the way the wife of an officer behaves. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  Samantha had never been spoken to this way in her life. She leaned forward on the sofa and said with barely suppressed rage: “I hate Fort Kimball. It’s the most boring place I’ve ever been in my life. There’s no one to talk to, nothing to do, nothing to see. I think military life is absolutely ridiculous, ail that strutting and posturing, saluting and blowing horns. It would be laughable, were it not so demented.”

  “Demented?” asked Mrs. Braddock. “You think it’s demented? This nation wouldn’t exist right now, if it weren’t for its soldiers. Boston would be a colonial outpost, instead of the great city that it is, if it weren’t for men like the ones who proudly wear the uniform of the United States Army on this post. Military life isn’t demented, but you are because you’re nothing more than a simpering, whimpering little snob!”

  Samantha’s jaw dropped open. “How dare you!” she said.

  Mrs. Braddock didn’t flinch a muscle or bat an eyelash. “There’s a stagecoach leaving for El Paso the day after tomorrow at ten o’clock in the morning. I will expect you to be on it, or here on this post with your drapes opened, dressed for the day, sober as a judge, and doing something for a change. Is that clear!”

  Samantha was at the end of her rope. She jumped up from the sofa, balled up her fists, and screeched: “There’s nothing to do here!”

  “There’s the post hospital — we can always use a hand there. And there are numerous hungry children in Santa Maria del Pueblo, which is a very interesting little corner of the world, by the way, although I’m sure you haven’t noticed because you’re the type of snob who can’t see anything except other snobs just like yourself.”

  Samantha stood in the middle of the room. “I am not a snob! How dare you talk to me that way! Who do you think you are!”

  “A former snob,” Mrs. Braddock said. “But I was able to overcome it and so can you, if you want to, but of course you might prefer to remain a snob all your life — many snobs do, you know. For my part, I prefer the company of the men and women who are fighting for an expanding America here on the frontier, instead of drinking dainty little cups of tea in the drawing rooms of Philadelphia and Boston, discussing the latest fashions, and who did what to whom. To hell with that! I’m a soldier’s wife, and proud of it!”

  Mrs. Braddock got to her feet and stood erectly, her shoulders squared. Although she was in her fifties, she appeared durable, capable of shooting Apaches with a rifle. She and Samantha looked at each other for a few moments, and then Samantha felt herself unraveling. Her body was wracked with a sob. Mrs. Braddock stepped toward her and wrapped her in her arms.

  “Easy now,” she said, patting Samantha on the back. “Let it all come out. You’ll feel a lot better if you do. We all go through something like this — it’s nothing new. You’ll survive just as I did, and after a while you’ll be quite happy and never dream of going back to Boston again. In years to come you’ll look back on this day and wonder what the big fuss was about. You can’t be a little girl forever, you know. Once you understand that, you’ll be just fine.”

  The Apache raiding party was gathered at the end of a large clear pool surrounded by rippled black lava and shaded with the leafy branches of ash, buckthorn, willow, and sycamore trees. Horses slurped water noisily as the Apaches filled their canteens.

  Coyotero screwed the top back on his canteen. He’d removed his shirt, and wore only his breechclout, moccasin boots, and two bandoliers of ammunition crisscrossing his barrel chest. He glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky, and saw that it was shortly after midday.

  Red Feather walked up to him, a stern expression on his face. “I think I know where we are going.”

  “Fill your canteen,” Coyotero replied. “We do not have time to waste with foolish chatter.”

  “If we continue in the direction we are traveling, we will come to the McIntyre ranch. Is that where you intend to conduct your raid?”

  Coyotero looked into his eyes. “Stay out of my way, Medicine Man. I do not have the great reverence for you that others have. You are here only because I have been forced to bring you. The less you speak to me, the better I will like it.”

  Red Feather stood his ground. “I must speak with you about this, Coyotero. It is a terrible thing you are planning to do, if you are going to raid the McIntyre ranch. The McIntyre people have always been our friends. We have taken their water and grass for many years, even when I and Jacinto were young warriors, even younger than you are right now. We have eaten with them in th
eir house, and they have drunk tiswin with us in our camp. Ralph McIntyre and Jacinto have cut their arms and mixed their blood together. Jacinto’s sons have played with Ralph McIntyre’s sons. The mountain spirits would not look kindly upon anyone who would disturb such a friendship.”

  “Friendship?” asked Coyotero sneeringly. “There can be no friendship between the people and the white eyes. We are at war, and anyone who does not understand that is a fool. If you do not like what we are doing, return to the camp with the women and the old men. We do not need you here.”

  “No,” Red Feather said. “I am not going back. Jacinto asked me to be here, and I shall continue.” He turned to the others and held out his arms to them. “Beware of what you are doing, warriors! Do not turn from the noble path of your ancestors. If you kill friends, the mountain spirits will not smile upon you. They will turn their faces from you, unless you stop now.”

  Coyotero moved toward him belligerently. “You are a ridiculous old man. The people are being crowded out of their land because of the decisions of old men like you. I do not believe you know anything about what the mountain spirits want. I think they want us to fight and kill for what is right. I think they would rather see us die like warriors than live like slaves of the white eyes.”

  Red Feather wrinkled his brow. “You are not a medicine man. You are just a killer. You are blinded by hatred. Whatever you do will be turned into poison.” Red Feather turned to the other warriors again. “Do not listen to this man. I, Red Feather, a medicine man of the people, warn you most solemnly. This man will lead you to your doom. This man will—”

  With an angry snarl, Coyotero grabbed Red Feather by the throat and pressed his thumbs against his Adam’s apple. Red Feather wrapped his fingers around Coyotero’s wrists and tried to break loose, but he wasn’t strong enough. Coyotero squeezed with all his strength, and Red Feather turned blue. His eyes bulged out of his head and his tongue stuck out. The warriors watched in dismay as Red Feather’s life was choked out of him. No one dared defy Coyotero.

  Red Feather coughed and gurgled. Then something snapped in his throat and his body went limp. Coyotero let him fall to the ground.

  “Let us move on,” Coyotero said, striding toward his horse.

  Chapter Five

  Stone, Lobo, and Juanita passed through a thick tangled jungle of boulders, cactuses, trees, and bushes. Occasionally they had to stop so Lobo could scout the area on foot and find out which way would be the easiest to proceed.

  They lunched in the shadow of a butte that was wider on top than it was on the bottom, and then continued to work their way through the dense terrain, as cactus needles scratched their skin and tore their clothes.

  In midafternoon they climbed to the top of a hill and found themselves looking down into a wide basin that was green, flat, and stunningly beautiful all the way to the horizon. In the middle of the basin were farm buildings and a stream. Herds of cattle and horses grazed in bunches all across the basin.

  Lobo pointed down. “That is where we are going to get your horse fixed.”

  Stone stared in amazement at the bucolic scene below him. It was so completely unexpected. He’d had this experience many times since coming onto the frontier. Without warning the terrain would change into something different and astonishing, like a painting that was the work of a dreamer with an incredible imagination, instead of reality.

  “Those white eyes are friends of my father,” Lobo said. “I know them well. Their name is McIntyre.”

  “Why is it your people never bother them?”

  “I told you — they are our friends. Come, I will introduce you to them, and they will be your friends too.”

  Lobo urged his horse down the hill, and Juanita and Stone followed him into the lush green valley.

  Lying flat on another hill, Coyotero looked down at the McIntyre ranch. He was especially interested in the horses in the corral. There were nearly forty of them, all fine and sleek. Coyotero had visited the ranch in the past and coveted the horses. Now, soon they would be his.

  His eyes roved over the ranch buildings. He knew the McIntyres worked the ranch with about a dozen hired hands, but most of the latter would be out with the cattle. He spotted a young blond woman in a gingham dress near the well. It was Peggy, one of the McIntyre daughters, seventeen years old. Coyotero had always wanted to make her his own.

  Coyotero knew that an Apache warrior risked losing his luck in fighting if he raped a female captive, but he didn’t believe it. He was a renegade and an apostate among Apaches, and thought the old ways had led the Apaches only to defeat. Now it was time to get rid of the old ways and find new ways. He had contempt for Jacinto and those like him, but had to proceed carefully because most warriors still respected the old ways.

  He knew many of the warriors with him were disturbed by the way he’d killed Red Feather, but they were afraid to say anything because they knew he’d kill them too. Coyotero was confident that his warriors would overcome their dismay at the death of Red Feather when they had new horses and new weapons. Coyotero understood the power of greed.

  “Coyotero — look!”

  It was Black Bear, pointing to the east. Coyotero turned in that direction and saw three riders descending into the valley. He narrowed his eyes and tried to determine who they were, but they were too far away for clear identification.

  Coyotero frowned. This was a factor he hadn’t considered. Who were these riders? He thought they must be cowboys returning to the ranch. He’d have to wait until they were in the valley before he could proceed with his plan.

  The valley was covered with grass nearly as high as a man’s hip. Coyotero’s plan was to creep unseen with all his warriors through the tall grass to the ranch buildings, and then rise up and attack the McIntyre family. He knew the McIntyres had many rifles and much ammunition, with bridles, wagons, clothes, tools, and all manner of wonderful things. The McIntyres were rich, and soon everything they owned would be his.

  “There is a woman among them, I think,” said Eagle Claw, squinting his eyes at the three riders approaching the valley. “She is the one in the middle, no?”

  Coyotero looked in that direction again and looked at the figure in the middle. They were closer now, and he could see that she was wearing a dress. Then he noticed something familiar about the rider in front. He sat in the saddle similarly to someone he used to know, but who was it?

  Then suddenly he recognized the rider. “It is Lobo!” he said.

  The others turned in that direction.

  “It is so,” Black Bear replied, nodding his head. “That surely is Lobo.”

  “The mountain spirits are smiling on me today,” Coyotero said. “They have delivered my enemy Lobo to me. Long have I waited to see him again. This time I will cut his heart out, and no one will dare stop me.”

  Tom McIntyre was splitting wood behind the main house when he noticed three riders approaching in the distance. At first he thought they were his father’s ranch hands and continued hacking at the rounds of wood at his feet. Tom was twenty years old, working with his shirt off, raising the two-and-a-half-pound axe over his head and bringing it down with all his strength, driving it through the length of wood on the ground.

  His sister Peggy walked by, carrying a bucket of water toward the back door of the house. Tom placed another chunk of wood on the block and raised the axe. Nearby, in the corral, Bob Smith, one of the ranch hands, tossed a lasso around the neck of a horse, which he was trying to break. Smoke arose from the chimney of the main house; Tom’s mother was preparing dinner.

  Tom placed another chunk of wood on the block and looked at the approaching riders again. They were closer now, and he was surprised to realize that they weren’t his father’s ranch hands. The first was an Apache, the second a woman, and the third a white man.

  “Riders!” he called out loudly.

  Inside the house, his father, Ralph McIntyre, patriarch of the Double M Ranch, was seated at the desk in his offi
ce, doing paperwork. He heard his son’s voice and looked out the window behind him.

  He saw the three riders, but couldn’t recognize who they were. The ranch was in isolated country and visitors were an occasion. Ralph McIntyre took out his old brass spyglass from a shelf and focused it on the three figures approaching down the hill in the distance.

  Ralph McIntyre had white hair and long thick sideburns. He was six feet tall and wore red suspenders over his shirt. The figures in the distance became clearer.

  “It’s Lobo!” he shouted.

  In the backyard Tom looked up from the chopping block. He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked at the approaching riders again. Now he could see Lobo on the lead horse. He and Lobo had known each other since they were children. Lobo visited the ranch many times, and Tom had visited Apache encampments. Tom and Lobo had played together, and Lobo had taught him many interesting things about the desert.

  Tom leaned his axe against the chopping block and walked toward Lobo and the two people with him. Meanwhile, Ralph McIntyre came out of the house. Father and son stood in the front yard, watching Lobo approach.

  They hadn’t seen him for a long time. Other Apaches had passed through the area during the past several months, but not Lobo. Relations had been tense lately between Apaches and white people, but the McIntyres thought they’d always be safe because of their long-standing friendship with Jacinto.

  The riders came closer. Peggy came out of the house and joined her father and brother. She too knew Lobo and liked him, having played on the desert with her brother and Lobo when she’d been younger. Blond and slender, with pale blue eyes, she wore a white apron over her dress.

  Ralph McIntyre, Bob, and Peggy turned their attention to the two riders with Lobo: a young Mexican woman with black hair, and a tall husky American wearing a wide-brimmed hat low over his eyes, his shirt torn and covered with dried blood. It was a strange combination appearing in their front yard suddenly out of the vast expanses of desert.