Apache Moon (16 page)

Lieutenant Dawes stiffened. “Watch your lip, soldier!”

“We're all a-gonna die fer that bitch you married!”

Lieutenant Dawes stared him in the eye. “You enlisted in the army, and nobody told you that you'd win every battle. If you say one more insubordinate word to me, I'll place you under arrest, and if you resist, I'll personally subdue you. Is that clear?”

Corporal Hazelwood measured Lieutenant Dawes, who was eight inches taller and approximately seventy-five pounds heavier. “Yes, sir,” he said sullenly.

Lieutenant Dawes balled his fists as he looked at them disdainfully. “Are you soldiers or little girls? If you wanted a soft life, you should've stayed home with
your mothers. Hereafter, half of us will be on guard, while the other half sleeps. And if any of you think you're smart enough to shoot me in the back, you'd better be accurate, because the next shot will be mine. Sergeant Mahoney—post the guard!”

The troopers looked at each other expectantly, but no one had the guts to make the first move. Sergeant Mahoney barked orders, as army tradition returned to the beleaguered detachment. Lieutenant Dawes looked for shelter, but there were few trees, none offering significant protection. He sat upon a boulder as rain streamed down his cheeks. We'll get out of this some-how, won't we?

Duane came to consciousness atop the mountain. He lay belly down as rain pelted him. His first thought was that something had gone wrong, for his rear legs felt shorter, he'd grown paws with claws and possessed a tail! He looked at himself, and growled in astonishment. Somehow he'd become a mountain lion!

He didn't want to be trapped in a lion's body, but there was nothing he could do about it. He rose on all fours, swished his tail, licked his chops, and wondered what to do next. This is only another dream, he tried to console himself. When I wake up, I'll be Duane Braddock again, won't I? He wasn't so sure but noticed that his sense of smell had become more acute, and he could detect rabbits and gophers farther down
the hill. His lungs filled with the musty fume of earth and vegetation, and he felt as though he could leap incredible distances, while his powerful jaws could crack the backbone of an antelope.

He bared his fangs and roared proudly. What's wrong with being a lion? I have ten claws that can tear enemies to shreds, and I'm very strong. Rivulets of water ran down his fur but didn't penetrate to his skin. He felt limber, alert, and invincible. He opened his maw wide and yowled at the heavens.

Then he heard a snarl behind him, and the hair stiffened on his neck. Turning apprehensively, he was horrified to see a black bear eight feet tall, with immense arms, long claws, and significant fangs. Duane stepped backward as the bear approached, its eyes filled with rage. It was as though it were challenging Duane for domination of the mountain, and Duane's lion's pride wouldn't let him retreat with his tail between his legs. He growled at the bear, which became more incensed. The bear arose on its back legs and raised its front paws in the air, as if proclaiming itself champion.

Duane knew that if he tangled with the bear, he'd be bloodied and maimed for life. But a lion doesn't run like a rat, a coyote, or a man. He reared back on his hind legs, extended his claws, and showed his fangs.

The gesture inflamed the bear further, for it, too, had pride. With a bellow that drowned out the thunder, it charged. Duane crouched for maximum springing power as he waited for the bear to come
within range. His sinews tightened and then he leapt into the air.

The bear braced itself for the inevitable collision, they crashed into each other, and Duane dug his claws into the bear's fur as he sank his teeth into the bear's throat. But the bear's hide was like iron, and the bear's great arms wrapped around Duane. The bear squeezed with such force that Duane felt his eyes bulge in their sockets. But meanwhile he sank his teeth deeper into the bear's throat, and musky blood burst onto his tongue. Duane and the bear were locked together in an embrace of death as the bear staggered beneath Duane's weight.

Duane felt his bones snapping as bear blood flooded his mouth. He feared that he'd die, but he'd die as a lion and not a rat. If you kill me, bear, you'll carry my scars to your dying day. Duane worked his jaws furiously as his fangs cut deeper into the bear's jugular.

Blood gushed down Duane's throat, and the bear loosened his hold. Duane concentrated his jaw muscles on the point of contact, then the bear's lifeline snapped. The gigantic animal staggered, blood foamed from his mouth, and his eyes went glassy. Then the bear sighed, fell to the ground, and Duane leapt out of the way.

Rain soaked Duane's fur, he gasped for air and gazed at his dead adversary. He felt broken inside, while gigantic bolts of lightning smacked into the mountaintop. Weary, battered, bleeding, he lay beside the bear, closed his eyes, and drifted into unconsciousness.

Phyllis was awakened by shouts and cheering. She opened her eyes and saw darkness through the hole atop her wickiup. A terrific commotion was taking place in the camp. She strapped on her gun, put on her cowboy hat, and poked her head outside.

Rain poured upon her as everyone swarmed toward the edge of the camp, where several mounted warriors were returning from a raid. The warriors escorted forty horses roped together, plus two stolen wagons full of booty. Some of the women went hysterical at the sight of such tremendous new wealth.

The raid had been led by Delgado, now surrounded by his admiring wives and children. Chief Pinotay approached and Delgado made his report. None of the People had been killed or injured in the raid. Phyllis noticed the brand of the Fourth Cavalry on the horses, and the wagons were filled with U.S. Army bedrolls, ammunition, and equipment.

The warriors dismounted and their women embraced them. Unmarried warriors gazed meaningfully at unmarried maidens because horses could be bartered for brides. Huera sauntered closer to Phyllis, and a condescending expression was on the Apache woman's face. “You do not share our joy, White Eyes girl. That is because you live with us, but you are a White Eyes. Why don't you go home?” Huera laughed derisively.

“I will go home when my man comes back. But why do you want me to leave? What have I ever done to you?”

“Do not think I am a fool. I see how you look at Delgado.”

“I look at him the way I look at everybody. I'm not interested in your husband, I assure you.”

“Liar.”

Phyllis didn't like to be insulted. “Before you said you weren't jealous, but now it sounds as if you are.”

Huera scratched at Phyllis's face, but Phyllis uncorked a right hook, connecting with Huera's eye. Huera was stunned for a moment, and Phyllis grabbed Huera's hair, pulling out two handfuls. Huera screeched horribly and wrapped her fingers around Phyllis's throat. Phyllis felt herself being knocked off her feet and she landed on her back, with Huera dropping atop her. The rancher's daughter bucked like a mustang, while digging her fingernails into Huera's wrists, and Huera screeched as red dots appeared beneath Phyllis's fingernails. The women rolled about on the ground as they grappled with each other. Phyllis was about to punch the Apache woman's head through the ground when her arms were grabbed from behind.

Warriors pulled Phyllis away, while others held Huera. Both women glared at each other as they silently swore to continue the battle in another venue. Delgado shouted an order at Huera, who lowered her head. The
warriors released her, and she walked in measured steps toward her wickiup. Then Delgado shot a perplexed glance at Phyllis. “Please stop making trouble here.”

“She insulted me,” Phyllis explained, four vivid scratches on her cheek.

Delgado looked at the bruise on her forehead and the dots of blood erupting from the scratches. “What did you argue about?”

“She thinks that I'm in love with you.”

His eyes became cloudy, and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Women,” he muttered. Then he headed toward the wickiup where Huera had gone, ducked inside, and shouted, “Stay away from the White Eyes woman!”

I've just made an enemy for life, Phyllis realized, wiping the blood off her cheek. If she ever comes near me again, she'd better get ready to die.

M
ARSHAL
D
AN
S
TOWE SAT IN THE
E
L
Sombrero Saloon, smoking a cheroot and reading a worn old Chicago newspaper that he'd found at the bar. The front page reported the Gold Scandal of ‘69, which Stowe had read about in detail before, but the El Sombrero had no other printed matter, so he perused the amazing story again.

In an audacious, scurrilous plot, two New York financiers named Jay Gould and Jim Fisk had tried to corner the gold market. They managed to disrupt the finances of the entire civilized world, with disastrous results for American farmers, and would've succeeded
in their mad quest for wealth had they not been stopped by President Grant himself, when he ordered the Secretary of the Treasury to dump government gold on the market, depressing the price and ruining the scheme.

After the smoke had cleared, it was discovered that Gould and Fisk had bribed Gold Exchange officials, judges, and politicians of all parties, including the president's brother-in-law! There were even rumors that they'd tried to buy Ulysses S. Grant himself! Numerous bankruptcies and suicides resulted from the nefarious business shenanigans, but did Gould and Fisk go to jail? Not for even one day.

Stowe puffed his cheroot cynically as he considered the vagaries of justice. I'm chasing a man who defended himself in a saloon fight, while Gould and Fisk are still alive, richer than ever, and thumbing their noses at the world. The lawman took a sip of coffee, while keeping one eye on the door. He had a recurring nightmare that an outlaw from his past would hunt him down someday and shoot him in the back.

Then the bat-wing doors were flung open, and Miguelito appeared covered with the dust of the trail. The smile on the midget's face told the story.

“You found her!” Stowe said.

Miguelito sat opposite him, leaned forward, and replied, “She is in an Apache camp, but you could never go yourself. I will take you for another fifty dollars.”

“Now you're trying to hold me up, you little son of a bitch. Our deal was twenty dollars and no more.”

“I have been thinking about you, senor. If you offer me twenty dollars to do the dirty work, how much are
you
getting?”

“You're under arrest,” Stowe said. “For selling whiskey to the Apaches.”

“Prove it,” Miguelito replied.

“Let the judge decide.” Stowe grabbed the midget by the bandanna around his misshapen neck. “Come with me, half-breed.”

Miguelito smiled, showing pointed teeth. “Do not be so excited, amigo. I was only making joke, yes?”

Stowe narrowed his eyes. “How did she look?”

“Very pretty. The chief told me that she and her man found his grandson nearly dead in the desert and saved his life.”

Marshal Stowe could smell blossoms in the meadows of Nottingham as he said, “I want to hit the trail by noon.”

Duane lay atop the mountain, while the sun neared its zenith in the clear blue sky. Raising himself to a sitting position, he was pleased to note that the storm had stopped and his body was that of a man, not a lion. Neither did he have broken bones or bloody gashes. It was a dream, he realized. But is
this
a dream?

He didn't know what was real anymore. Maybe I can fight a bear, but how do you fight madness? He slapped his palm on the face of the mountain. At least I know this is real, but
how
do I know? In fact, I don't really know
anything.
But who the hell am I, and who's dreaming this dream? He smelled tobacco and spun around. Cucharo sat on the ground, smoking a corncob pipe. Duane leaned forward and gazed into the old man's eyes.

“Start at the beginning,” Cucharo said. “Tell me everything.”

“I'm so glad to see you,” Duane said with a sigh of relief. “I've had a very confusing time.”

“That is because you are a White Eyes and fear is your favorite food. I am surprised that you are still here, but tell me—what happened to you?”

“I'm not sure,” Duane replied, “but this is the way it seemed. After you left, I drank some cactus water. Then I slept for a while. When I awoke, I got the scare of my life. It seemed that a lion was standing in front of me, and he was in a bad mood. Before I could do anything, he attacked. I thought he was going to kill me, but he disappeared just as we touched. I guess it was a dream.”

Cucharo looked at him with exasperation. “You speak of a dream as if it is nothing. You do not understand anything, White Eyes. The lion has given you his power!”

“I don't feel any different.”

Cucharo appeared demoralized. “He was trying to tell you something important. Did you try to fight him?”

“I tried to cut his belly with my knife.”

Cucharo's features softened. “At least you are not too dumb. What happened next?”