Only in My Arms (41 page)

"If she will."

"She will," Mary said with serene confidence.

"Then we wouldn't have to ask your father's permission."

"No, we wouldn't. Does that make it more palatable?"

Ryder had to admit that it did. "It might work."

"You'd still have to ask for your uncle's help. We'd need a place to stay and assistance in finding Anna Leigh. Senator Stillwell could be invaluable to us."

"We
still
have to get to Holland Mines," he reminded her. He would think about his uncle later. Mary was so certain of her family's help it didn't occur to her there might not be aid from the other quarter. "There are troops all over this territory looking for us. That hasn't changed. It was a risk taking you to the Chiricahua encampment, but this is a greater one. We'll be crossing more open ground, and all of it will be on foot." He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "Besides, this may be for nothing, Mary. Have you considered that? Anna Leigh Hamilton may not be the key."

Mary had thought of it. "I don't have any other ideas," she said simply. "It's better to go off in the wrong direction, than to have no direction at all."

* * *

They left two days later but mistimed their departure and had to cool their heels in the mouth of the cavern until nightfall. Mary wore trousers and a blue chambray shirt. A bandana was tied around her forehead. Her upturned moccasins were laced to her knees. Ryder wore the uniform he had escaped in. They traveled light. No blankets. No change of clothing. He carried a Henry rifle in one hand and had a Colt at his hip. The saddlebags, filled with extra ammunition, maps, medicine, bandages, and a polished turquoise stone, were slung over his shoulder. Mary carried the canteen, its straps slung diagonally across her chest, and the pocket of her right moccasin concealed a knife.

They covered the ground at Ryder's half speed. Mary's stamina was a marvel to him but no match for his. Even with his recent injury still plaguing him at odd moments, he had to slow his pace to let her keep up.

She never complained, and she didn't waste her breath asking questions. Her trust in him was absolute. He felt this as a boon and a burden. They walked all night, resting only to drink. It was only when the sun was clearly overhead that Ryder indicated they would stop.

Mary looked around for shade and saw it in the narrow natural hollow of one of the red rocks. She immediately began to go in that direction.

"No," Ryder told her.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "There's shade there. It will be cooler."

"Apache don't rest in the shade because it's so obvious. We'll rest there, among the mesquite and yucca." When Mary didn't argue, but obligingly turned around and followed him, he once again felt the enormous responsibility of her trust.

They were up again at sunset. A patrol from the fort passed within a hundred yards of them a few hours later, but not one man in it glanced in their direction. Mary and Ryder stayed concealed in the rocks until Ryder was reasonably certain the danger had passed.

"They weren't looking for us," Mary whispered as Ryder helped her up. Her voice was husky. She hadn't spoken a word for hours.

"That was just a routine patrol. No scouts. They weren't searching for us, but they would have been happy to stumble on our trail."

Mary realized that Ryder had not exaggerated the dangers. She fell in step behind him and found comfort in a familiar litany of prayers.

Ryder found fresh water for them as the moon was on the rise. Mary filled the canteens and splashed her face while he kept watch. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed his still, waiting expression. He seemed prepared to sense even the slightest shift in the current of air.

"I'm ready," she said.

He reached for her, touching her hair with his fingertips. Her features were so perfectly composed, her manner so tranquil, that he took a measure of her peace for himself. Ryder nodded once. "This way."

They arrived at Holland Mines when it was still dark, but there was no means of approaching that would not create a stir. Tents were set up near the perimeter of the track that led to the mine's adit. They were all fairly uniform and nondescript. No lantern light emanated from under any of the canvas. There was no way of knowing if any of them was being used by Rennie or Jarret or some other member of Mary's family.

No one stirred in the camp. A guard was posted near the adit, but his head lolled to the side at such an uncomfortable angle that Ryder and Mary knew he was sleeping. A dozen horses and burros shifted listlessly in the corral.

"Where is the track being laid?" Ryder asked.

"It's coming north from Tucson," she whispered. "They work from the point of the completed section so they can carry supplies and timber as they go. Rennie is having this area graded and prepared." Mary massaged the back of her neck and rotated her head slowly. "If Rennie and Jarret aren't here now, they will be in the morning. We'll just have to wait."

Ryder had been thinking the same thing. He looked around, examining their location again to make sure it was safe from a casual observer in the camp. In the morning, when the miners and track laborers began rising, he and Mary couldn't afford to be vulnerable.

Satisfied, he leaned back against a rock and stretched his legs. He patted the ground beside him and waited for Mary to scoot back and join him. Her head fit nicely into the curve of his shoulder. "Sleep," he said.

Her eyes already closing, she didn't require the soft command. There was no casual drift into sleep. This time she was overpowered by it.

Ryder's hand relaxed on the Henry rifle at his side. The night sounds around him were familiar and unremarkable: the gentle snuffling of the horses in the corral; the rustle of the scrub grasses; the soft, even cadence of Mary's breath. Small animals like the burrowing owl and the raccoon moved out of their homes to investigate the mining camp's easy pickings.

Leaning back his head, Ryder stared at the clear night sky. After so many nights spent in the confines of the cavern, this vast canopy of light gave him enormous pleasure. The heavens held the constellations of his father's teachings, characters of ancient Greek and Roman legends. They also held the stars of his Chiricahua upbringing. The same grouping of stars lent themselves to different myths depending on one's perspective.

It was Ryder's destiny, his gift and his burden, to be in one place and absorb two views. In this moment, he enjoyed it as a gift.

* * *

Mary came awake abruptly. Her eyes opened wide above the hand that was clamped hard over her mouth and nose, but the sharp edge of her panic was dulled as she recognized it was Ryder who held her. A warning for quiet was clear on his face. She nodded slightly, communicating her assent and understanding.

Ryder removed his hand slowly. He pointed to the ground, then her, indicating she should stay where she was. She looked at him questioningly, but agreed. Her expression became more anxious when he pointed to himself then toward the camp. He shrugged out of his Army coat and gave it to her, but when she would have put it around her shoulders, he stopped her. With quick economic gestures, he told her to sit on it.

Turning away from Mary, Ryder crouched behind the rock that served as their cover. He felt Mary's tug on his belt but gave it no attention. His hand gripped the Henry rifle now and he raised it, not to fire but to have it ready.

The Chiricahua raiders were at the corral. Ryder counted four men, all on foot, slipping around the posted perimeter. The horses were not alarmed in the least by the quiet, calming movements of the trespassers. In the distance, out of the line of his vision, Ryder could hear the more agitated sounds of other horses, the high-strung shuffling and nervous energy of animals ready to be urged into a wild run. Ryder's best guess was that the raiding party included a dozen more warriors who were only waiting for the corralled horses to be released before they attacked.

Ryder slipped out from behind his cover and cautiously worked his way down to the camp. The raiders were preparing to swing open the corral gates. Ryder's rifle was useless in this situation. If he fired it would rouse the mining camp, but it also would bring a volley of shots from the waiting warriors.

Cupping his hands around his mouth he mimicked the cry of the great horned owl. All four Apache raiders stopped in their tracks. The owl's cry was an omen of danger and death, and they acknowledged this by pausing in their work. Ryder released the cry again, softer this time, capturing the eerie fierceness of the night predator, then he raised his rifle overhead and stood.

The raiders, made hypervigilant by the night stalker's cry, saw Ryder emerge from his hiding place as if he had risen from the dust. Their momentary rush of fear was transmitted immediately to the animals, and the horses and burros began to snort and bray. Keeping his weapon lifted above his head, Ryder walked quickly toward the corral before the restless animals woke the camp's guard or alerted the more distant warriors.

Mary's heart lodged firmly in her throat as she watched Ryder stride boldly across the open ground. It was a good place for her heart, she thought absurdly, because that kept her from making a sound. She found she could not draw a full breath until he made it to the corral without incident.

It was unnerving to watch the action and have no role in the outcome. Mary could see that Ryder was speaking to the raiders at the same time he was drawing them away from the corral. She was aware of the animals quieting and of silence returning to the encampment as Ryder and the raiders disappeared behind the curtain of night.

Minutes passed and he did not reappear. Mary's legs ached from her crouched position, and her promise to stay where she was tore at her conscience. It had never been her way to do nothing, but in this instance she had no clear idea of what she
could
do.

In the space of a heartbeat, the decision was taken out of her hands.

* * *

Ryder carried his rifle at his side. Surrounded now by the raiders, it was no longer necessary to hold it overhead. After some arguing with him and among themselves they led him to the band of warriors who had been awaiting their signal. Ryder had no difficulty finding the great Geronimo among them.

Geronimo's broad face was cut by deep creases, carved by the weather in much the same manner the earth was carved by sun and storms. The silver medallion he wore on a rawhide thong around his neck flashed briefly in the moonlight. He allowed his mount to advance a few steps, bringing him out of the phalanx of skittish animals.

"Ryder." Geronimo pronounced it with a guttural harshness that could not be mistaken for a greeting. "You interfere."

"My wife's family may be among those you intend to murder in their sleep," he said.

The Chiricahua leader did not blink. He stared at Ryder stonily, unmoved by this information. "Naiche is my brother, and you are his son. That is why no one moves to kill you now. You may go and we will forget this trespass in our affairs."

"I will bring you the horses," Ryder said.

Geronimo's mouth flattened. "The animals were ours, and you stopped the raid."

"I stopped the bloodshed." Ryder saw the truth of his words in Geronimo's flinty eyes. "My wife's father is powerful among his people as you are powerful among so many. There will be great retribution for taking the lives of his loved ones."

"Your wife's family brings the iron horse," Geronimo intoned gravely.

Ryder's chest tightened. He hadn't realized Geronimo knew that Mary's family was connected to the railroad. This did not favor Ryder's ability to bargain. "Yes," he said.

"You are a traitor to your people," the chief said.

Ryder knew Geronimo meant the Chiricahua. "The white leaders say the same," he said. "But I have betrayed no one. I live in one world and I remain true to all people as I am true to myself."

"How will you fight tonight?" Geronimo asked. "On whose side?"

"On my side," Ryder said, returning Geronimo's hard stare. "I will fight you to prevent more bloodshed, and I will fight my wife's people to bring you the horses."

Geronimo was silent, in no hurry to make his decision. "My heart is sad for you," he said finally. "For I think you live in no world and trust no one." There were whispers among the warriors as they anticipated their leader's decision. "Bring us the horses." There was the slightest pause, and then Geronimo spoke Ryder's name in the Apache tongue, "One-Who-Rides-The-Wind."

Ryder acknowledged this with a slight bow of his head before he turned. The irony of the similarities in his Christian and Chiricahua names had never been lost on him, but now the connection seemed more important than ever. Once again he was bridging both cultures, two lives.

Ryder returned to the corral alone. He climbed over the fence and dropped inside. Leaning his rifle against the fence, he began to run a leading string around the horses, tethering them together so they wouldn't stray when he released them. The animals were calm under his gentle direction. The horses lined up docilely, and the burros meekly went to another corner. Ryder was ready to raise the rope on the gate when a familiar but unexpected voice stopped him.

"I'm not going to let you do that," Rosario said lowly.