Desert Hearts (7 page)

* * * *

Michael had made no bets. He wasn’t stupid: he was too new to the horses and riders to know who was likely to win. But his eye had been caught by that blood bay and he wasn’t surprised when he found himself screaming as loud as the men who had their money on him. He came from a good three lengths; behind, his rider settled down with the reins slack, just letting the horse bring him in. He overtook the black three hundred yards from the finish and passed him as if he were standing still. The Navajo were silent, but the soldiers went wild.

“Did you see that, Sergeant?” said Spratt, who was pounding Fisk on the back. Even Mahoney had lost his air of indifference and was tossing his hat up in the air.

Michael grinned. “Next time I’ll put a little of me own money on that bay,” he said.

“How about putting up more than money, mick,” said a voice behind him. It was Lieutenant Cooper. Mahoney grabbed his hat up and jammed it on his head as they all stood to attention.

“At ease, men. My horse was too tired to take his race after patrol yesterday,” said Cooper, “but I’d like it if some trooper beat one of these little savages.”

Día
, the man couldn’t admit that the Navajo’s horse was better, thought Michael.

“You are always grooming that wild-eyed gray of yours, Burke. You obviously think she has something. I want you to prove it. Or have you gotten too used to riding mules?”

“I hadn’t thought to race today, sir, just to watch,” Michael answered quietly.

“And if I ordered you to, mick?”

“Then of course I would ride, Mr. Cooper.”

“Consider yourself ordered then.”

“Yes, sir.” Michael saluted and was off to the stables. There was one more three-quarter-mile race, which he wouldn’t make, so that meant he was in the mile. It was Frost’s distance, it was true, but he hadn’t had the time to do any training these past few weeks. And the damned lieutenant would probably put money on him and then keep him on wood detail for the rest of his career if he lost!

* * * *

Elizabeth had been standing with the other officers’ wives for the shorter races. She had been thrilled to watch Serena’s husband come from behind and win. How proud his wife must be, she thought as she tried to find her in the small knot of Navajo women gathered near the finish line.

When the colonel’s striker brought out a pitcher of lemonade for the ladies, Elizabeth drank two glasses greedily. Standing still in the heat and dust dried her out even more than her walking and riding did.

“Oh, look, it is that handsome new Sergeant Burke,” said Mrs. Gray, the colonel’s wife. He must be riding in the mile.”

“My, he is a handsome man, isn’t he,” commented the doctor’s wife. “And look at him, he is riding like an Indian.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to look. She wanted to ignore him and forget how it felt to have had her arms around his waist. But her eyes were drawn to him, as indeed all the women’s were, and as he rode by, he took off his cap and waved to them before riding down the valley.

“He’s a charmer too, that one,” said Mrs. Gray.

Elizabeth watched him trot down the valley. He rode only with an old saddle blanket and girth. And she was almost sure it was a hackamore, not a bridle he was using. His oddly colored gray must be well trained indeed. She looked like a quiet and steady mount, but did she have both the stamina and speed for this race?

“Good afternoon, ladies,” said a voice behind them. It was Mr. Cooper. “I see you all have your eyes on my sergeant. We’ll see if the mick and his mare are any good today. He’s up against Antonio in this one.”

Mrs. Compton used to call them micks and Elizabeth had sometimes had the phrase “dirty little micks” run through her mind when she would see a bunch of ill-dressed, boisterous Irish children on Boston Common. And she didn’t trust Sergeant Michael Burke’s Irish charm. She was sure it was all on the surface. But she also did not like Mr. Cooper, whose own brand of charm was…well, oily and less charming. Right away, she felt herself shift into a defense of Sergeant Burke. “I would assume that the sergeant has confidence in himself and his horse if he is entering the last race of the day, Mr. Cooper.”

“Oh, he wasn’t intending to race today, Mrs. Woolcott. He is in the race because I ordered him to ride. I’ve lost to Manuelito too many times, and Burke won that horse of his in a race. I have a hunch we’ll beat the Navajo in this one.”

Her Thomas would never have abused his power that way, thought Elizabeth proudly. He might only be a second lieutenant under this West Point bantam rooster, she thought angrily, but at least he was someone to be proud of.

“In that case, Mr. Cooper,” she said with cool politeness, “I hope Sergeant Burke and his mare come through for you.”

* * * *

Michael was halfway out to the starting point when the next-to-the-last race began. He watched the four men gallop by. He could hardly see them with all the dust they were raising, but he was pretty sure the blood bay was not among them. Two races in a row would be too much, he thought as he rode on. But the gelding might be in this last one.

Indeed, and so he is, Michael thought, and only one other and him nothing to worry about atall. The blood bay was not quite the bundle of unspent energy as he had been when he entered the fort, but Michael could tell that his first race had merely acted as a warm up. The other horse was one ridden by a second lieutenant whom he knew by sight. The officer’s horse was high-strung and looked fast, but Michael could tell by looking at his narrow chest and long legs that he was not made for distance.

He smiled and nodded at the other two riders and dismounted. He walked around Frost, picking up and examining each hoof carefully, keeping up a quiet conversation with her. He stood in front and putting his hand on either side of the mare’s cheeks, he breathed into her nostrils and then remounted.

The second lieutenant snorted. “Do you think that sort of hocus-pocus will win a race, Sergeant?”

Antonio only looked curiously at both men and mounted his bay in one graceful movement. The dust had settled ahead of them and he knew that the starter would flash the signal any minute.

When the mirror flashed, Michael let the other two take the lead. Luckily he had thought to tie his handkerchief around his neck and he pulled it up to keep from choking on the dust. He let Frost sit right behind the blood bay while the second lieutenant kept a lead of two lengths for the first half mile.

Shortly after that, however, the chestnut began to slow. It was almost imperceptible, but by the three-quarter mark the bay had overtaken him and Michael was alongside of him. With one-quarter mile to go, the lieutenant was definitely out of the race and it would be between Frost and the blood bay.

Frost hung right where Michael wanted her, now a half length behind the bay. They knew each other very well, the mare and he, and Michael knew he had no worries about Frost’s ability to finish the race and finish strong.

But the bay was showing no signs of tiring, so it would all come down to the last eighth of a mile and who had a last burst of speed left. Michael was sure Frost did, but did the bay?

He let Frost narrow the distance until they were alongside. The post was going wild, but to Michael it seemed as though the screaming was way in the distance, so hard was he concentrating on Frost’s responses.

“All right, me girl, run!” he shouted, and he could feel the power in the mare’s hind legs as she pulled up nose to nose with the bay. They were almost at the finish line and Michael knew it could be a tie, depending on the bay’s responses. He gave one last wild shout and Frost pulled in front by a nose as they crossed the line.

“Did you
see
that! Did you see that!” Mahoney was hoarse from shouting. “Did you see our sergeant?” The boy was pounding Spratt on the back so hard he almost knocked him over.

Elwell heard him and the grin that split his face became even wider. Our sergeant, indeed. And tomorrow he’ll go back to being the stubborn little bastard he is! But by God, the boy was right to be proud. Master Sergeant Michael Joseph Burke was one hell of a rider.

* * * *

When Michael dismounted, he was immediately surrounded by soldiers clapping him on the shoulder and thanking him for keeping their pay in their pockets. When he finally was able to break away, he looked around for the other two riders. The second lieutenant had dismounted and was leading his obviously blown horse down to the stables. Michael waved and shouted, “Good riding, sir. Your horse would have been the winner in a shorter race.” The officer grimaced, but gave him a wave back.

Michael looked around for the blood bay. He was being led away by a young boy while his rider walked next to him, watching his front leg carefully. He motioned the boy to stop and knelt down to examine the bay’s left leg.

Michael gave Frost’s reins to Elwell, who had just broken through the crowd. “Josh…Private Elwell, could ye hold my horse for me? I’ll be right back.”

“The leg’s a little warm, is it?” he asked when he reached the Navajo, not knowing whether the man spoke English or not.

The man looked up. “A little. His leg was swollen last week and I am worried I pushed him too soon.”

“Then maybe I was lucky,” said Michael with a friendly smile. “With a completely sound leg, your bay might have beat us.”

“I make no excuses, soldier. Your mare is a very good horse,” Antonio replied quietly.

“She is, isn’t she,” said Michael with an infectious smile.

The
bilagaana
was not bragging, thought Antonio. He was just naturally rejoicing in a fine mount. This man knew how to win without being offensive. “She is a very interesting-looking mare. What do you call her?”

“Frost.”

Antonio nodded his approval. “A good name for a horse that color. Where did you find her?”

“She is an Appaloosa…a horse of the Palouse River. Bred by the Nez Perces.”

“An Indian horse then? Won in battle?”

“Of a sort. I won her in another horse race, in Nebraska. But not from a Nez Perce. From a soldier who traded for her.”

“I don’t suppose you would be interested in a trade?” Antonio asked with a smile.

“Trade Frost? She’s too much me friend. Even if she were slower, I’d not trade.” Michael hesitated. “Em, me name is Michael. Sergeant Michael Burke.”

Antonio knew that the
bilagaana
custom was to give your name to strangers. Since Antonio wasn’t his war name, but only a name given him by the Mexicans, he didn’t mind telling it, but he identified himself first by relationship, in the Diné way. “I am Manuelito’s nephew. Antonio.”

“You are the headman’s nephew then? That is why you speak English so well.”

“Not so well,” Antonio said modestly.

“Very well,” insisted Michael. “I hope we will meet again. Not just in a race.”

“I would be interested in getting to know a
bilagaana
soldier who takes care not to disturb a Diné shrine.”

It took Michael a moment to realize what Antonio was talking about. “You mean to say, there I was, washing meself with not a care in the world and all the while I was being watched? And how did ye know it was me?”

“The Diné keep a close watch on the soldiers. And your horse is distinctive, as we’ve just agreed,” Antonio added with a grin.

Antonio was amused to see the
bilagaana
soldier flush. “ ‘Tis glad I am it was me horses ye were paying attention to and not me arse!”

There had been another observer, Antonio remembered. But he wouldn’t embarrass the man further by telling him that one of the officers’ wives had seen him too!

On race days, there was always a dance in the evening so that winners could celebrate and losers commiserate. This one was open to all the noncommissioned officers and their wives as well, while the enlisted men caroused in the mess hall.

“You look lovely tonight, Elizabeth,” said Thomas to his wife when she emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing her second-best dress, a dark blue lawn shirtwaist with a white lace collar and pearl buttons up the front.

Elizabeth blushed. She usually did not spend much time in front of the mirror, but tonight for some reason she found herself experimenting with her hair, trying it up on top of her head, then loose with a dark blue velvet ribbon, before she finally just twisted it into her usual knot at the base of her neck.

Thomas put his arms around her waist and pulled her up to him for a kiss, which she returned eagerly. The smell of his bay rum and the familiar taste of cigar and coffee were reassuring. She didn’t know where her restlessness was coming from, but she felt a wave of affection and gratitude for the steady love and security Thomas had been offering her for years.

“Now you be sure I get to waltz with you, Lizzie,” he teased her as he placed her shawl over her shoulders.

She reached up and patted him on the cheek. “As if you didn’t always get a waltz, Thomas!”

* * * *

There hadn’t been many respectable women at Camp Supply and Michael hadn’t been to a dance in over a year. He certainly hoped he would remember the steps, he worried as he pulled on his gloves and smoothed his jacket.

When he arrived the music had already started and he was surprised to see Joshua Elwell with the musicians. So Elwell was a fiddler, was he, thought Michael. And a good one too. He would have to hum a few tunes to the man and see if he could teach him a couple of reels.

Although it was a mixed dance, Michael noticed that the noncommissioned officers and their wives were clustered together and only Lieutenant Thomas Woolcott was dancing with a master sergeant’s wife. Michael offered his hand to the quartermaster’s daughter, who ducked her head and blushed, but put her hand in his nevertheless. Miss Mary Baker was only seventeen and was very aware that she had just been asked to dance by one of the handsomest men in the room. It took her halfway through the
schottische
to recover her composure and show Michael that she was a fine dancer.

“Thank you very much, Miss Baker,” he said when he returned her to her parents. “I was a lucky man indeed to capture you before a stampede starts over here,” he added, smiling down at her. “But sure, with such a fine-looking mother, it will be hard to tell who they’re stampeding after.” He winked at the quartermaster and his wife.