Apache Caress (26 page)

Nevada pushed his hat back on his black hair, looked at the train track from where he and his gang hid in the cottonwoods on the small creek. “Ben, you sure about that train?”

The grizzled old Confederate veteran nodded. “Sure, Nevada. We heard there’s a gold shipment coming through.”

“What do you mean,
heard?
I got a price on my head, and can’t afford to take chances. Oh, well, what the hell? I don’t expect to live long anyway.”

Nevada was philosophical about it. Times were changing, but he could not, or would not, change. He would be twenty-six on his next birthday, but tonight he felt fifty. The days of riding with Billy the Kid in the Lincoln County Wars were gone forever. He looked down at the gold signet ring he wore, thought of his heritage. He would not go back to that fine home, and maybe now he wasn’t welcome anyway.

“Nevada,” Charlie said. He looked lean and weathered as old leather. “You suppose the train’ll see those rocks piled on the track in time to stop?”

Rod snarled, “Who the hell cares? I’d like to watch it derail, see folks die!”

Nevada glared at the outlaw, wishing he hadn’t allowed Rod to join them. Five was the magic number of Nevada’s father’s people and the new man made six. “Rod, if you don’t beat all! Remember, we don’t hurt innocent people, and we only rob the train, not the passengers.”

“I don’t mind hurtin’ folks,” Rod said, and spat to one side. “And it appears to me takin’ nothin’ but railroad gold is foolish.”

“I’m still runnin’ things, Rod, unless you think you can outdraw me,” Nevada said as he stroked the neck of his strangely marked black and white stallion.

There was even a reason for his choice of railroads. A long time ago, there had been a rich, elegant beauty who had spurned him because of the scandal of his bloodlines. The beauty’s family was the major stockholder of this railroad.

Nevada didn’t want to think about her because he still loved her. “Jack, you and Charlie build up the fire in front of that barricade a little. We want to give the engineer plenty of time to stop; no use derailin’ it and hurtin’ anyone.”

The Whitley brothers rode off to do his bidding, and Nevada looked around at the others in his gang. Hard cases and losers, most of them, who had outlived their time. Nevada, he thought ironically. But he had been born and raised in Arizona Territory. Only old Ben knew his real name; the prominent name Nevada had cast aside.

Nevada deftly rolled a cigarette, lit it. Mex leaned over for a light and Nevada lit his cigar, but when Rod leaned forward, Nevada shook his head, blew the match out.

Mex said, “Not three on a match, Rod. The boss is superstitious.”

Rod grumbled to himself, got out his own matches. “Hell of a way to spend the holidays. I wanted to be back in Tombstone for Christmas.”

Christmas
. Waves of nostalgia swept over Nevada as he smoked and remembered happier times. But he couldn’t return to the family he had turned his back on.

“It don’t make sense,” Rod grumbled, rubbing his unshaven chin, “not to rob the passengers if there ain’t no payroll.”

Nevada shook his head, and a lock of jet black hair fell from under his Stetson across his dark face. “Rod, I won’t tell you again, we don’t rob passengers, we only take the railroad’s money.”

Ben nodded in agreement, and Mex shifted his weight in the saddle as the two Whitley brothers rode back to join them.

“Listen,” Ben said.

They all strained their ears.

Faintly, as if from a distance, Nevada heard the echo of a train whistle, then the distant rumble of wheels coming from the east. His Medicine Hat stallion moved restlessly under him, as if knowing they were about to ride into action.

Without thinking, Nevada crossed himself. He knew it was superstitious, but it was part of him. His beautiful mother was Spanish and Cheyenne; his father . . .

He wouldn’t think about that right now. There was too much pain in the memories of what had driven him away from a fine home and onto the outlaw trail.

In the dusk, the fire on the tracks flickered like a ghostly light or maybe a candle lit for the dead. In the distance now, he saw the black locomotive coming toward them from the east. It would have to top a rise to see the fire and the pile of rocks on the tracks; there would be enough time to stop but not enough time for the engineer to react before the outlaws were climbing aboard the cars.

Only a few more minutes, Nevada thought, throwing his cigarette away. He checked his ivory-handled pistol again. “Ready, boys? Any minute now the engineer’s gonna see that pile of rocks and the fire, and he’ll start hittin’ those brakes!”

Sierra had just started to move across the compartment when the engineer braked. The wheels seemed to lock, steel scraping against steel as tons of iron slid along the track. She was thrown off balance, into Cholla’s arms. Terrified, she screamed, “For God’s sake, what’s happening?”

He grabbed onto a wall to steady them, then shook his head, his face tense and nervous as he sat her down on a chair. “I don’t know. The train’s stopped.”

She felt a chill. Quimby Gillen had managed to reach the authorities somehow, and the troops had ridden out to stop the train.

“Dark Eyes, what is it?” He touched her shoulder.

“I ... I didn’t know how to tell you. I couldn’t decide what to do about it.”

“What?”

She realized suddenly what his expression meant. “No.” She shook her head. “I haven’t betrayed you.”

“What, then?”

“When I got off the train for food, I saw him.”

“Saw who? Tell me, damn it!”

He had both big hands on her shoulders, and she realized how strong he was, how dangerous he could be; but she wasn’t afraid he would use his strength against her. “Lieutenant Gillen is on this train.”

“What? How long-?”

“I don’t have any idea.” Sierra pulled away from him, peered anxiously out the window into the coming night.
Riders
. She saw riders coming out of the cottonwood trees toward the train.

Cholla looked out, too, began to swear. “He’s managed to wire ahead for a patrol.”

“I wasn’t sure he saw me.” She turned toward him, wondering how to assure him she hadn’t betrayed him. Somehow that seemed so terribly important to her. “And then I didn’t know what to do.”

The both looked out at the riders coming toward the train, guns blazing. The train had come to a complete halt, and smoke from the engine drifted past the window. So this is how it ends, she thought, a shootout in the barren reaches of New Mexico Territory. She wasn’t even afraid, she realized with surprise. Only sad that Cholla hadn’t made it across the border. Somehow it had become terribly important to her that he make it to freedom.

“Sierra”–he shook his head as he peered out the window into the growing darkness–“those aren’t soldiers.”

“What? Who are they?”

He laughed under his breath. “I’m not sure you’re ready for this, but I think the train’s being held up!”

She blinked, staring out at the six men who had ridden up to the train, were swinging aboard the coaches. The leader was tall and dressed much like a Mexican
vaquero
. She saw silver flashing on his clothes, on his horse’s bridle. “Mexican bandits.” She drew away from the window in horror.

“No.” Cholla shook his head. “They look like white men except for the leader; I’d say he’s Spanish and Indian. This might be a lucky break, but I’m going to hide you ’til I’m sure.”

“But what–?”

“Get down!” He pushed her gently to the floor. “I’m going to see if I can join up with them, at least temporarily.”

She suddenly felt bereft at the thought. Within a few minutes, he might be gone, leaving her on the train. “What about me?”

He looked at her a long moment, regret in his eyes. “So you go free sooner than you expected.”

“What about Gillen?”

“Tell him you were forced to help me back in Sundance. If you can get to Fort Bowie, my friend, Tom Mooney, will help you. Demand your share of the reward if they get me.”

“No! I–”

“Don’t argue with me; there isn’t time! Crawl under that table and stay there ’til it’s over.”

His tone left no room for argument. With a sigh, she looked at the skirted table. “All right, whatever you say.”

“Oh, Sierra”–he turned around–“give Tom a message for me, will you?”

She nodded, still unable to believe he was really leaving her.

“Tell him I’m sending him that gift I promised him. You got that?”

“A gift? What–?”

“Just tell him, all right?”

She nodded. In a few minutes, he might be gone with those outlaws. She should be thrilled. Why, then, did she feel so sad? “You’re sending that gift you promised.”

He seemed to think a long time. “Something else. Tell him: Usen’s own. Ke’jaa’s den.”

“ ‘Usen’s own; Ke’jaa’s den.’ That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t to you, but it will to Tom–after he thinks about it awhile. Good-bye, Sierra. I’m sorry about all the trouble I’ve caused you.” He pulled her to him and kissed her as if he never wanted to let her go.

Then he turned to leave and, abruptly, she didn’t want to be left behind. “Wait! I want to go with you!” She grabbed his sleeve.

“No!” He pushed her away from the compartment door. “You’ll be safe on the train. Gillen may be mad, but there’s really nothing he can do to you, not when I forced you to help me escape. You got that? You were afraid of me, had to obey me.”

“Let me go with you!” She caught Cholla’s arm.

He tried to shake her hand off. “No. Gillen can’t hurt you; ask the conductor for help. You’ve got money enough to go on to Fort Bowie–”

A sharp rap on the door. “Open up!”

“Sierra,” Cholla snapped, “get under that table! You want to get raped by this bunch?”

Someone was slamming against the locked door now. “Come out! Come out with your hands up!”

“Sierra, hide.”

Reluctantly, she let go of his arm, crawled under the table, to be completely concealed by its long white cloth just as the door splintered. She heard jingling spurs as someone entered.

“Get your hands up,
señor
.”

“Easy,
hombres
,” Cholla said in a soothing tone, “I’m not giving any trouble, see? I’ve got my hands up. I want to go with you.”

“What?” The voice had a decided Southern drawl. “You must be loco. Jack, get Nevada.”

“Sure, Ben. Where is he?”

“Helping Mex and Rod break into the baggage car.”

She heard the man leave, but she could still see two pairs of boots besides Cholla’s. Now she was afraid. She didn’t want to be raped by a bunch of outlaws, but she was afraid for Cholla. Suppose they decided to kill him and leave him lying in a pool of blood?

She heard someone else come in, wearing a pair of boots with spurs that jingled–a man who walked with an easy grace. Under the edge of the tablecloth, she saw fine, handmade black boots with fancy silver spurs. He had small feet for a man. “What’s the trouble, Ben?”

“Nevada, this
hombre
wants to go with us.”

“Now why the hell would a wealthy Spaniard want to leave with us?” Nevada sounded like a Westerner.

“I’m not all Spanish, any more than you are, despite your clothes.”

Sierra gasped at Cholla’s daring, but Nevada must have thrown back his head and laughed. “I like your guts, pard, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Let’s just say you’re not the only one the law is looking for. I’ve got a horse in the baggage car.”

“Mister, there’s two fine horses in the baggage car, and I recognize the brand. How did you come by stock from the Triple D and how come there’s two?”

“I bought them.”

Nevada swore. “I know Trace Durango from a long time back. He might give some of his best stock to a friend, but he wouldn’t sell it!”

“Does being a friend of the Durangos help or hinder my chances of going with you?”

The sound of boots coming in, and another voice. “Nevada, we got all the gold from that strong box. What’s holdin’ us up? We could be robbin’ passengers.”

“Rod, this
hombre
wants to go with us.”

“Some greaser gent wants to play outlaw? Hell, no!”

“I give the orders here, and I told you we only steal from the railroad.” Nevada’s voice sounded cold, dangerous.

“Listen you two,” the Southerner drawled, “we can’t stand here jawin’ all night! When this train don’t make it into the next station on time, they might begin to wonder.”

“You’re right, Ben. Stranger, if Trace Durango thinks you’re all right–”

“Aw, Nevada,” Rod growled, “why don’t you just let me kill him? I ain’t killed nobody in a long time–”

“And won’t, Rod, unless there’s good reason, not as long as you ride with me. Stranger, I’m still wonderin’ how you came by those horses?”

“Maybe I killed Trace and stole them.”

“Even more unlikely!” Nevada laughed. “I’ve seen Trace Durango handle a gun. Are you a friend of his,
señor?
”

“Is it going to cause him trouble if I am?”

Nevada shifted his weight. “That’s what I like, loyalty. You’re all right.”

“Hey, what’s this?” She recognized the voice of the man called Rod. “I see some blue velvet under that table.”

Sierra’s heart froze.

“Leave her alone!” Cholla shouted, but already Sierra saw the outlaw’s hand reaching to pull her out.

“Get your hands off me!” She struggled, but he dragged her out from under the table, a grin on his unshaven face.

“Leave her alone!” Cholla tried to come to her aid, but the handsome, dark one with the silver spurs held him at bay with a pearl-handled pistol.

“So the gent was hiding something more valuable than gold. I don’t blame you,
señor
. A woman like this one, I’d hide her, too.” This handsome, dark rascal had the voice of Nevada. He touched the brim of his Stetson politely, and his ring reflected the lamplight; an unusual gold ring with a wolf’s-head design.

Rod looked her up and down slowly, rubbed his unshaven chin, and leered. “Let’s take the gal, leave the man.”

She stared at all of them. Besides Nevada and Rod, the third man looked like an older Southerner.

A fourth man, a swarthy Mexican, stuck his head in the compartment. “What the hell’s keepin’ you
hombres?
We need to clear out
muy proto
. . . .” His voice trailed off as he saw Sierra.

Rod said, “How many’s in favor of killin’ the sonovabitch and takin’ the girl for ourselves?”

The others looked at Nevada.

He glared at Rod, then looked at Sierra. “A woman along is bad luck. You two really want to go with us?”

“No,” Cholla said. “I go; she doesn’t.”

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Sierra stuck her chin out stubbornly.

“Hell! I don’t have time to sort this out.” Nevada grinned. “Both of you come along, we’ll figure it out later!”

“No,” Cholla protested.

She heard the clicks as the hammers on all the pistols were pulled back.

“I give the orders,
señor
,” Nevada said. “Ben, get those two horses out of the baggage car. I don’t know who the hell this pair is, or how they came by those horses, but I intend to find out what they’re doin’ with Triple D stock.”

Ben turned and left.

The handsome outlaw leader gestured with his pistol. “Okay, you two. Walk ahead of me into the forward passenger car.”

Sierra hesitated. Lieutenant Gillen was in that car.

“Get movin’, lady!” Rod snarled.

“Watch it, Rod,” Nevada said softly. “I don’t hold with scaring a lady.”

“What would you know about
real
ladies?” Rod sneered.

“More than you would,” Nevada replied, and his face grew sad, thoughtful.

There was nothing Sierra could do but hang on to Cholla’s arm, walk ahead of the outlaws at gunpoint through the next car. When she passed Lieutenant Gillen, she saw the fury in his eyes, the sweat of fear on his face.

At the end of the car, Nevada turned around and waved his pistol at the passengers. “Everyone just keep their places; no one’ll get hurt. I’m taking these two with me.”

Gill seemed to forget himself and came halfway up out of his seat. “You can’t do that! This man is wanted for everything from murder to assault!”

Nevada looked him over coolly. “Would you like to make a little wager, Lieutenant?”

Gill hesitated.

Old Ben stuck his head in. “Nevada, we got that pair of horses unloaded, the gold, too.”

Nevada’s white teeth shone in his dark face as he grinned. He turned to the conductor. “Tell the president of the railroad I send regards again to his beautiful daughter.” He tipped his hat in an almost arrogant salute. To Sierra and Cholla, he said, “Move! We’re getting off this train!”

I might be better off dealing with Gillen than these outlaws, Sierra thought with a sinking feeling. But she wasn’t getting any choice.

She and Cholla stepped out onto the platform and then went down the steps into the darkness. Another man came galloping from the direction of the baggage car, and he had Sierra’s horse and Cholla’s by their bridles.

“Mount up,” Nevada ordered.

She looked over at Cholla.

“Do as he says, Sierra.”

“Sierra?” Rod leered at her as they all mounted up. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Cholla swore under his breath. “Don’t you even think about touching her, you bastard.”

“You’ll answer for that later,
hombre
.”

“Shut up and let’s get out of here!” Nevada ordered. He spurred his horse forward. As the light from the train window caught the sleek, spotted hide of his unusually marked horse, Sierra saw that the handsome outlaw rode a Medicine Hat stallion.

The group galloped away from the train, Sierra fearing they might be in more danger from the outlaws than they had been from Lieutenant Gillen. But it was too late for regrets, and besides, there was nothing she could do. She and Cholla had temporarily escaped from the Army only to be riding with six of the toughest-looking gunslingers who ever held up a train.

They rode for hours through the darkness, stopping only long enough to cool the horses. Where they were headed, Sierra could only guess except that she was certain they might have gone off in one direction, then turned in another to fool anyone who might try to follow them. Toward morning, when she thought she couldn’t sit the saddle another minute, they rode into a box canyon in some low-lying hills and reined up in front of a cabin so hidden in the mesquite that she didn’t see it until they were upon it. A lucky horse shoe hung over the door.

She whispered to Cholla, “Have any idea where we are?”

He shook his head as he dismounted, came around to help her down. “Only that we changed directions in case anyone was trying to follow us, then turned back west. We’re somewhere in western New Mexico Territory, is all I know.”