Apache Moon (9 page)

A group of troopers hammered a broken wheel and laughed as Dawes passed. The lieutenant suspected that they were making a joke at his expense, but he realized that he'd behaved stupidly when he'd met the former Miss Vanessa Fontaine one day, married her a week later, and split apart from her approximately ten days after that. He'd probably laugh if someone had told him the same story about another officer.

Lieutenant Dawes felt humiliated by what he'd done. He came from a distinguished old army family, but he had behaved like a madman. The former Miss
Vanessa Fontaine had appeared when he'd been lonely, and in his deluded vanity, he'd thought he swept her off her feet. But now he knew that it was the other way around. Basically, she'd figured he was the best ticket in town.

Lieutenant Dawes passed a smirking trooper polishing his boots, and he looked vaguely like a Gypsy. The frontier army got all the world's rejects who couldn't or wouldn't find ordinary careers. It was rumored that a substantial number were wanted for committing crimes. Lieutenant Dawes believed that he was losing his grip on them. They don't respect me, soon they'll defy me, and possibly one of them will try to shoot me—all because I married that crazy woman.

He felt as though he should exact vengeance, although he knew that she hadn't done anything wrong except act in her own self-interest. I should've been more sensible, but I was unhappy and she was so lovely. He remembered burning nights in her arms, with her elegant legs wrapped around him. They'd got on fairly well in their ordinary domestic life, except she wouldn't stop praising a certain sadistic little killer. That was when Lieutenant Dawes had realized that his golden goddess had feet of clay. How could she not see through the facade of the Pecos Kid? Dawes had disliked Duane Braddock from the moment they'd first met, but every woman wanted to mother him, and older men tried to play big brother, choosing not to see his destructive spiteful nature.

But Braddock was still on the loose, as dangerous to the citizens of Texas as the Apaches. Maybe I should take the men out on a scout and see if we can track the little bastard down. The odds are that the Apaches have killed him, but maybe not. I'd love to see the look on Vanessa's face if I could bring back Duane Braddock in shackles and chains.

He altered his direction and made his way toward the tent of Sergeant Mahoney. That gentleman, a former resident of the notorious Five Points neighborhood in New York City, reclined near his fire, smoking his corncob pipe. He had a thick, drooping red mustache, a red nose, and a chin like the prow of a ship. Upon hearing footsteps, he raised himself to a sitting position.

“You don't have to get up,” said Dawes, dropping to one knee beside him. “We're going out on a scout tomorrow morning after mess. Bring enough food and supplies for an indefinite period.”

“But we just came back from a scout, sir!”

“And now we're going on another one. I've just given you a direct order, Sergeant.”

Sergeant Mahoney grimaced as he puffed on his pipe. “Sir, there's somethin' that you don't understand. You been a-pushin' the men pretty hard, and there ain't a damn thing to do in Shelby ‘cept get drunk. I think you oughtta let ‘em rest awhile, otherwise yer liable to have a problem on yer hands.”

Lieutenant Dawes raised his eyebrows. “Rest?” he
inquired. “This is the Fourth Cavalry, not a resort. Our mission is to keep the Apaches under control, and the best way to do that is to go where they are and let them know that we're not tolerating their foolishness.”

“But, sir,” Sergeant Mahoney pleaded, “even soldiers got to sleep, refit, and let the horses fatten a little. Mark my words—if you take the men on another scout so soon, you'll have a rebellion on your hands.”

“I'm still in command here, Sergeant. See that you carry my orders out, unless you're ready to give up those stripes.”

Lieutenant Dawes walked back toward his tent, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He dominated thirty-odd men through the authority of his shoulder straps and the strength of his will, with no one to back him up except Sergeant Mahoney. But Lieutenant Dawes was big, strong, skilled in the use of weapons, and relatively fearless. He believed that he'd prevail in the end because that's what they'd taught him at West Point.

He arrived at his tent, lit the lamp, and spread out his map. The Pecos Kid and Phyllis Thornton would go straight through Apache territory to Mexico. If I swing far east and then turn due west, maybe I can cut their trail, he pondered. Or maybe they'll be holed up somewhere, surrounded by Apaches, and be glad to see the Fourth Cavalry riding toward them. It's worth a try.

Lieutenant Dawes's lamp burned long into the
night as he studied his map and plotted the capture of the man who'd destroyed his marriage.

Marshal Dan Stowe sat erectly in his saddle, peering into shadows for signs of danger as he rode through the endless sprawling night. He was determined that nothing and no one would take him by surprise, for he'd learned during the war that alertness spells the difference between victory and defeat.

Hunting outlaws was the most exciting civilian pastime he knew, because outlaws shot back, providing special ironies. He speculated that one day he'd find an outlaw just a little smarter than he, or the Apaches would get him and gouge out his eyes. It's my job to bring in the Pecos Kid—that's all I know. And if I find that girl, so much the better.

In his drowsy dreamlike state, he saw the castles of Northumbria rising out of the sea, with knights on horseback and ladies wearing long veils. I'll go to Stonehenge and pray with wizards of antiquity, and maybe I'll sail a boat to the Isle of Wight, or visit Glasgow, Shetland, and Sussex. My dreams'll come true when I get that two thousand dollars, and to hell with everything else.

Vanessa Dawes sat in her parlor, sipping whiskey diluted with water, while staring out the window at
the open range basking in moonlight. Boring day followed boring day, and she was becoming restless, particularly at night when she was alone. With her defenses down, she contemplated possibilities that she was able to avoid during the day, when she had to present a bright face to the world.

Vanessa Dawes appeared elegant, sophisticated, and cultured to the tip of her toes, but she was deeply troubled beneath her fashionable shell. I'm thirty-one, alone, virtually penniless, and relying on a divorce settlement to spring me out of this damned town.

She hated Shelby and all that it stood for, which wasn't much in her estimation. Everybody knew everybody's business, and she'd become the notorious woman because she'd arrived in town with Duane Braddock, married Lieutenant Dawes a week later, and now was filing for divorce. It was difficult for the provincials to understand, and she wasn't sure that
she
understood.

This is what happens to a woman who listens to her heart instead of her mind, she lectured herself. If I ever marry again, it'll be for dollars. I'll go where rich men congregate—Austin, San Francisco, or even New York—and find one for myself, the older and sicker the better, and when he dies, I'll become a merry widow. Or maybe I'll just give it all to Duane Braddock, if he'll come back to me.

Vanessa Dawes was obsessed with money, because a woman with no resources could end up a prostitute
in the Last Chance Saloon. She'd been raised in opulence, the only daughter of a wealthy planter, but then the War of Northern Aggression broke out, her brother was killed in action at Antietam, the family plantation was destroyed, her father died of the catarrh, and her mother of sorrow shortly thereafter.

South Carolina had been taken over by carpetbaggers and scalawags, she had no home, and all she could do was drift west, singing songs of old Dixie in saloons and taverns where Confederate veterans congregated. It hadn't been much of a living, and several men had taken advantage of her susceptibilities during her travels, but finally she'd ended up in Texas, and that's where she'd met Duane Braddock.

She'd committed certain indiscretions with Duane, but he'd been too beautiful to resist. The initial passion wore off when she realized that he was as impoverished as she, with no decent prospects, and their life together would be hardscrabble poverty. Shortly thereafter, she'd met Lieutenant Dawes. He'd looked splendid in a uniform, and his prospects were excellent, but he was the jealous type, and she soon grew tired of being persecuted.

The West Pointer had been a flash in the pan, but the Pecos Kid often came to mind in the dark of night as she prepared for bed. He'd been fun and helped her forget the misfortunes of the moment. A woman can't expect more than that from a man, she deduced.

But you're nothing without money, she reminded
herself, and Lieutenant Dawes had offered the life of an officer's wife, far better than the poverty of a common cowboy like Duane Braddock. She'd made the determination with her mind, not her heart, which always would belong to Duane Braddock.

I'm getter older every minute, she reminded herself, and it's time to make use of whatever ammunition I have left. I don't want to be a toothless old crone begging for nickels in dark alleyways. She shuddered at the mere thought and hugged herself. As soon as I receive my divorce settlement, my hunt shall commence. I'll never marry again save for money, and when the old son of a bitch dies,
then
I'll buy myself anything I want, including maybe Duane Braddock.

D
AWN APPEARED THROUGH THE SMOKE
hole as Duane opened his eyes. He smelled animal skins, heard a dog bark, and felt naked Phyllis snuggle against him. Wind rustled the outer branches of the wickiup as she stirred. “Where are you going?” she asked sleepily.

“I have to see Cucharo. He's going to teach me how to be an Apache warrior.”

She rubbed her eyes as he dressed in the darkness. “Fighting is all you care about,” she complained. “You wouldn't get into so much trouble if you were more peaceful.”

“If I let people push me around, you'd leave me for sure.”

“No, I wouldn't. If there's one thing in life that you can rely on, that's me.”

He didn't say anything, because the former Vanessa Fontaine had made the identical remark before running off with the overzealous Lieutenant Dawes. Duane strapped on his gun, then leaned forward and kissed her right nipple. “Stay out of trouble,” he whispered.

Then he was out the door and nearly bumped into Cucharo sitting before the wickiup. “You are late,” the medicine man intoned.

Duane stared at him in disbelief as the first sliver of sun appeared over the mountains. How'd this arthritic old fogy get so close without me hearing him?

“Follow me,” said Cucharo.

Duane pulled his hat tightly on his head and walked beside the medicine man. They soon found themselves on the open land, moving away from the camp. Duane realized that the old man was spry and limber as he dodged Spanish bayonet cactus plants. It was all Duane could do to keep up as sharp thorns tore his pants and shirt. The sun rose higher in the sky as Duane and Cucharo proceeded toward a steep-cliffed canyon. A roadrunner cut in front of them like a gentleman in a suit hurrying to his office, while a flock of bobwhite quails flew overhead.

Cucharo stopped suddenly. “You are so slow,” he said reproachfully.

“I generally ride a horse,” Duane alibied.

“You must keep your body strong, because someday you might not have a horse. Are you hungry?”

“We should've brought food with us, and I'm getting thirsty, too.”

Cucharo pulled a plant out of the ground, dusted off the bulbous root, and took a bite. Then he handed the plant to Duane, who looked at it suspiciously. It tasted remotely like a potato. Cucharo dusted the spines off a yucca fruit and handed it to Duane. Then the medicine man dug a hole in the dry sand. At the depth of approximately one foot, cloudy water appeared at the bottom.

“The White Eyes want to tell us how to live, but we know more than them.” Cucharo gathered more food, while Duane munched on his impromptu breakfast. He'd never realized that food was available in such abundance in the desert. What's so great about living in a house when you can roam through the mountains like an Apache?

Cucharo sat opposite him, and they dined as the sun cleared away the morning clouds. A hummingbird floated in front of a yellow cactus blossom and sipped nectar. The peace and silence reminded Duane of the monastery in the clouds.

“Yusn has given us everything we need,” Cucharo said. “Look up—do you see the stars?”

Duane pushed back the wide brim of his cowboy hat and looked at the blue sky. “You can't see stars during the day.”

“The warrior trains his eyes by looking at stars during the daytime. Go ahead—try.”

Duane stared at the sky, saw dots before his eyes, but they weren't stars. He exerted his vision and felt a headache coming on. “It's impossible to see stars during the day.”

“What the White Eyes can't do himself, he thinks is impossible. The White Eyes has such small spirit.”