Chapter Three

 

 

As it turned out, once a piled plate of steaming food had been placed in front of him, Hunnicut took to the advent of Catowitch with no hint of protest. Without saying a word she had gone into the larder and the vegetable garden and started cooking, soon a mutton stew was bubbling and mushrooms boiling, peas, beans and cut bread joined the dish. It was a veritable feast for the cowhand and his partner who were more used to Hunnicut’s dubious skills in the kitchen.

Gale Hunnicut was a fifty-nine year old man, a war veteran who had suffered a leg injury at Chickamauga and still limped under the effect. When Ender had met him three years before and they had agreed to build a log cabin and set up the homestead, he had still been fit enough. But the years in between had taken the toll and a steady roll call of physical complaints had beset the older man. It was a hard enough task running the place if young but with his advancing years Hunnicut was tiring fast.

He was a handsome enough fellow, with a heavy drooping mustache and a broad frame although the wide shoulders were beginning to slump now. His sun-bronzed, square-set face was lined and crinkled around the eyes but dark rings ran underneath like bruised stains and Ender often caught him rubbing his brow as if troubled by unseen dark thoughts.

“Care for a hand of cards?” Ender offered, as Catowitch removed their plates and began scrubbing them out in a galvanized tub.

“Sure,” agreed Hunnicut, taking out his pipe and stuffing tobacco into the burnt bowl. “Mighty fine meal, ma’am,” he called out but Catowitch paid him no attention and kept her elbows in the suds.

“She understand me?” asked Hunnicut.

Ender raised his eyebrows, “I guess,” he said, taking up the worn pasteboards and shuffling the sticky pack awkwardly.

“It’s a good thing that she’s here,” Hunnicut decided, patting his belly. He lit his pipe and eyed Ender over the burning match, “Look, Ender. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, this seems as good a time as any.”

“Sure, Gale. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I guess you know how it is with me, the years ain’t been kind.”

“I know it,” agreed Ender. “But we shuffle along okay, don’t we?”

“Sure, I know but now I’ve a mind to quit the labor part of things. I’m sorry Ender but it’s hard on a body and I can’t keep it up no longer.”

“I see,” Ender was thoughtful, his fingers toying abstractedly with the pack. “I know it ain’t the best arrangement, Gale. What with me being away so much on reservation business. Maybe I can get to help out a little more.”

“It ain’t that,” said Hunnicut. “I know you do your best, no, it’s just I’m tired and wore out and that’s the truth of it.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I guess I’d like to keep my end of the ranch here but just lay of the working part of it.”

Ender knew this would be a far from satisfactory solution, he did not have enough cash to buy out Hunnicut outright but the prospect of having the ailing man around, no matter how much a friend, did not appeal. Ender looked at the tired pack of cards in his hand. He made a quick decision, not unusual amongst men whose lives could so often hinge on a passing whim of nature. There was a simple answer.

“What say we cut for it?” he asked.

“Cut for it? You mean for the whole deal?” Hunnicut asked in surprise.

“Sure, low card wins the whole package, ranch, cows, everything. Hell, it’s the easiest way. What do you say?”

Hunnicut sniffed, he sucked on his pipe a moment, and then nodded, some of the old daredevil fire of his youth coming back into his eyes for a moment. “What the hell,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Ender pulled a deuce of spades. Hunnicut drew a red queen.

“Damn my luck,” he chuckled, stabbing the deuce with his pipe stem good-naturedly. “Don’t that beat all?”

“I guess it does,” grinned Ender.

They parted still friends, Hunnicut packing his few possessions and pulling out the next day and heading east, back to some relatives in Virginia he claimed.

It left Ender alone in the house with Catowitch. He wondered for a while how they would make out but soon the chores came along and Ender’s days were full and he had little time left to ponder on the presence of the female.

She was there at night when he had finished for the day, his meal ready on the table. The place was swept clean of dust and she often brought in bunches of wild ocotillo and placed them in a jar on the table. When he was finished eating she would put a glass and bottle of sipping whisky on the table and leave him, going out to the storage shed he had cleared and set up for her. That would be all Ender would see of her until the next morning.

They went on this way for three weeks after Hunnicut left. Ender working all day with the cattle or out in the grain field, she cleaning house or tending the vegetable patch, preserving produce and cooking the meals.

Then, one night she stood before him and remained there after she had placed his evening meal on the table. Ender looked at her curiously as he picked up his knife and fork. There was something different about her, he sensed it. They had not spoken much since Hunnicut’s departure, no more than necessary to get through a day and it was unusual for her to linger. What had been said had been fruitful and to the point and Ender appreciated her directness and it seemed the two had gradually warmed to each other.

He still remembered their first meeting. That frozen moment outside the wickiup, when their eyes had met and something had shifted in Ender’s heart. No words had been necessary then either, it had been the kind of silent communication his ingrained Apache nature approved of, where demonstrative emotion was subdued but feelings still kept alive behind a taciturn front.

She looked good, he thought. Her hair was fresh washed and tied up with a pretty nah-leen hair ornament, the blouse was one he had picked up for her from the trading post at the fort and she had never worn until now. She had sewn new trim on her skirts and with all her necklaces and bracelets she was certainly dressed to kill.

“You want something, Catowitch?” he asked.

“We should get married,” she said suddenly.

Ender gaped. “Married?” he gasped.

“It would be best.”

Ender went to scratch his unshaven chin and then realized he was still holding the knife and fork in his hand, carefully he laid them down. He looked at her long and hard; this was a serious matter alright. She was a pretty enough woman; there was no denying that, he thought. Argumentative some times and prone to speak her mind but he could see no real hardship in it.

It would work better with the People if he made their situation respectable, he knew that already the tongues would be wagging and gossip running wild as to their situation up at the reservation. Ender had never married; he had dallied some but never committed himself. Maybe it was about time. In the same manner in which he had risked the ranch on the turn of a card he made a similar spontaneous decision.

“Alright,” he said decisively. “I shall talk to the council and if they allow me privileges I shall see your mother and settle a bride price.”

“Good,” she said with a sharp nod of her head. “But you must see my brother. My mother died two weeks ago.”

“She did!” said Ender in surprise. “You never said.”

“What is there to say, she was not your mother?”

Ender nodded, understanding the practical Indian logic of it. “Okay then, I’ll go see Common Dog, they’re still holding him up at the fort guardhouse.”

 

When the Council of Warriors at the reservation had given permission, Ender went to the fort and asked permission to speak to the prisoner. He found a glum looking Common Dog sitting on his bed in a six by nine guardhouse cell with only the strap-iron bed and a bucket for his necessaries as company. The Indian had almost fully recovered from his wound but still wore a wide bandage wrapped around his middle. He wrinkled his nose distastefully as Ender entered the cell.

“I smell weak white blood,” he said, his glum features unmoving. “Pale like your face, En-da.”

Ender knew then it was not going to be an easy conversation but not to be put off he decided on a tactful approach.

“I brung you some tobacco,” he said, offering the peace offering.

“Keep your gifts, half-white. I want nothing from you.”

“Look, Common Dog. It was not me who put the bullet in you. If you remember if was you nearly put one in me.”

“You have put me in here though,” the Indian snarled. “I could not even get out to help my mother on her journey to the spirit world.”

“Yeah,” sighed Ender. “I heard about that, my condolences on your loss.”

“I miss the sky, white man,” Common Dog stole a look at the small barred window to the cell. “I need to breath free air again, this place is killing me.”

“They’ll get to it soon enough.”

“But when? Each day is like a year trapped in this box.”

Ender then saw a chink in the Indian’s armor and he thought to soften Common Dog’s resistance towards him. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? Might be I can help.”

“How can you help? You are the one who has locked me away.”

“I just brought you in. That’s my job. I don’t make the judgment as to right and wrong, there’ll be a court to decide that. But your case can be pleaded, your words can be heard.”

“No one here speaks the tongue of the Apache, how can they hear my words?”

“Because I will say them for you.”

Common Dog thought that one over in silence. He was a young man, only a few years older than Catowitch, although not as pretty as she. His hair was long and tangled and hung down over his shoulders. He was still naked to the waist with the bandage around his middle and an army horse blanket covering his shoulders, his pants were torn and his moccasins holed. He looked in a sorry state and Ender determined that Chatowitch should bring him some fresh clothes.

“I will tell you,” he decided.

Ender squatted Indian style and rolled a spill of the tobacco he had brought for Common Dog, he lit it, puffed a while and offered the cigarette to the Indian. Common Dog sniffed, thought about it, then took the butt and drew on it. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and nodded appreciatively. “It is good,” he allowed.

“Tell me then,” said Ender.

“It was this way,” he began, holding the cigarette upright between thumb and forefinger and jabbing it in the air to impress a point. “I had the allotment of cattle that the army gave me. It was three cows and I drove them from the fort to the reservation. On the road was this man, the one they call Jed Quinlan. He was a tall man, thin like a reed and he wore a big black hat with a wide brim. He came up to me and said – Those are fine cattle you have there, red man. Will you sell them to me? – And I said, no, the milk cow is for my family, my mother is sick and can only take milk to drink, the others are for the People, so I need these cows.

He was not impressed, this Quinlan and he began to badger me saying – Come on redskin, don’t be like that. You can spare those cows; you can always get more from the army. I said, no, it cannot be. Then he got angry and he said – How about I bust your head and take those cows? I said, let me pass I want no trouble with you. Then he took out his gun and held it on me and threatened to kill me. So, I killed him instead.”

“But then you took his hat, that was a foolish thing to do,” said Ender.

“Sure I took his hat, it was a good hat and he had no further use for it.”

“But then everybody knew it was you that had killed him.”

“Why not? It was a fair fight and he tried to rob me.”

Ender balanced his arms on his bent knees and chewed his bottom lip. “That will not help you in the white man’s eyes. Nobody else saw the fight, it is only your word that tells them it was so.”

Common Dog shrugged and sipped on the cigarette. “I do not lie.”

“What happened to the cows?” asked Ender, giving up on the cultural differences.

“As I have said, two I gave to the People. The one I kept for my mother.”

“Then you ran away.”

Common Dog nodded agreement. “Yes, they sent soldiers to arrest me, what else could I do?”

Ender rose to his feet. “Very well, I will tell the white chief what you have told me. Maybe he will believe your story.”

“I think it will take more than that.”

“I guess so,” Ender agreed. “How about I go visit the man’s brother? Maybe he will see the truth of it and release you from the charge.”

“You would do that?” Common Dog asked doubtfully.

“I will do it.”

Slowly Common Dog stubbed out the cigarette on the earth floor. “Give me more tobacco,” he said.

It was a sign of his softening towards Ender and he knew it was the moment to present his case. “I have a thing I would ask of you.”

The Indian looked up at him balefully and jerked his chin. “Speak,” he said, realizing with chagrin that one good turn was going to call for another in return.

“Your sister, Chatowitch. I would take her as wife, what would you wish in bride price that I might do so?”

Common Dog thought about it a long time and Ender waited patiently.

“It will be this way,” the Indian said finally. “You will do as you promise and see the dead man’s brother, the one called Able Quinlan. You will tell him all I have said and see if he will accept the truth of it.”

“I will do it,” said Ender solemnly.

“Then you can take Chatowitch as your wife but only if you take her sister Delsay to wife as well. For if you fail and the white men kill me for the slaying there will be no one to care for them.”

“Chatowitch has a sister!” Ender was stunned, he had no knowledge of another member of the family and Chatowitch had never mentioned her. But, two wives instead of one! He knew it was an acceptable state amongst the Apache as many warriors had more than one wife. He decided quickly, thinking the girl could be no more than a child. “Then it shall be so,” he promised. “I will do all that you ask.”

“Huh!” grunted Common Dog, making a pass with his hand. “It is agreed.” Which was a firm seal of approval in the Apache way and could not be broken under pain of retribution.

 

Chatowitch was well pleased with the result and agreed readily to carry new clothing to her brother and fetch her sister from the reservation. Ender prepared himself to visit the Quinlan ranch and on the next day taking a pack mule and his Winchester instead of the shotgun, he set off.

Quinlan’s property was some days away and all that he had gleaned from men at the fort did not prepare him for the immensity of the place when he arrived.

He took the Tucson road and followed the Butterfield Stage route west, turning off south towards the town of Sierra Vista and eventually he came to the one hundred and thirty thousand acre Quinlan Ranch that lay spread between the Santa Rita Mountains and the San Pedro river. A vast tract of land covered with cattle and horse, it was said that Quinlan kept over forty thousand cows on the property and had an army of vaqueros to maintain them.

The long verdant valley occupied by the main ranch house was about a half mile wide and full of luxuriant growth. A twenty-foot wide stream, which was a tributary from the Coronado River ran through it midst and alongside the flowing water grew a profusion of willows and cottonwoods. The valley walls rose on each side and enclosed the stream, their slopes covered with scrub and wild oak. At the end of the spine that crested the valley on its eastern side the rocky wall ended in an abrupt cliff that dropped perpendicularly and overlooked the cleared ground surrounding the ranch.

Ender followed a well-used track running beside the stream until the ranch house came into sight. It had been built on the old fortified hacienda style. Thick, fifteen-foot high adobe walls surrounded the house and Ender could see guards situated on the fighting platform that roofed the rooms below, all of which surrounded a large courtyard inside beyond the massive gates.

At one end a high square tower rose above the property and a call went out from the lookout posted there at his approach. Ender made his way to the high gates situated facing him at the northern front of the walls and was met there by a trio of vaqueros.

The small tubby man who held his hand up to halt Ender in an imperious manner, was a strutting Mexican unarmed except for a glinting saber at his side but he was backed by two armed companions who carried rifles and held them as if they meant business. The Mexican came forward with one hand on his hip and posed dramatically. He was over dressed in a broad silver trimmed sombrero and much fancier looking clothes than his companions.

“What do you want here, gringo?” he asked as Ender drew up.

“I’d like to see Mister Quinlan.”

“And what is your business with the jefe?” the Mexican asked, eyeing Ender up and down disdainfully.

“That’s between me and him and not you,” Ender answered, not perturbed in the slightest by the officious tones of the creature who obviously considered his position as gatekeeper of major importance.

The Mexican bristled and brushed at the small mustache above his upper lip with one finger. “What is your name? You who comes with this business.”

“My name is Ender Smith. Now run along and tell your boss ‘cos I’m hot and dry and not about to put up with your nonsense, so get to it, mi pequeño pavo real.”

The guard huffed at the insult and with a mean glance at Ender, rattled instructions off to one of the others, who left at the trot to carry out the order.

Whilst they waited, Ender sat hunched dourly over his pommel and the Mexican marched up and down in front of him his saber rattling in its metal scabbard, occasionally he stared daggers up at Ender from beneath the shadow of his sombrero.

“You have a loose mouth, senor.” He muttered eventually.

“And you have a big ass,” Ender came back sharply. “Be careful I don’t pull it up over your ears.”

The Mexican huffed and continued his patrol, he paused and was about to say more when the messenger returned and with a sharp nod of his head the gatekeeper begrudgingly bade Ender enter.

“I will be watching you, gringo,” the Mexican muttered as Ender passed.

Sometimes it was hard for Ender to forget the many scalping atrocities for bounty the Mexicans had carried out against the Apache, whom he still thought of as his own people, but he bit back on a retort, passing by with only a hard stare from his gray eyes at the man and fixing his face in his memory.

As he entered the large courtyard beyond the gateway, Ender took note of the adobe buildings that surrounded the yard and the profusion of colorful flowers that grew prettily in beds and in pots. Men loitered in the shade of a giant cottonwood growing in the center above a low-walled well. They looked a rough bunch, a mix of Anglos and Mexicans, all of them well armed.

A house servant ran forward as he approached and stopped before him.

“Senor Smith, Mister Quinlan will see you in the house. You can leave your horse here it will be taken care of. Please, will you follow me?”

Ender dismounted and as a matter of habit, took his Winchester from its scabbard and carried it slung in the crook of his arm. He followed the servant to a long, low building with a wide veranda and as he stepped up onto the porch a guard stepped forward and shook his head.

“There are no weapons permitted in the house. I am sorry, senor.”

With a shrug, Ender handed over the Winchester and undid his gun belt. “You be sure I get them back when I leave, you hear?”

The guard nodded and Ender followed the servant inside.

Able Quinlan sat, with one leg thrown up over the arm of a throne-like chair. Everything in the long, low-ceilinged room encouraged regal splendor with the rancher appearing at the end of the ornately decorated room on a stepped dais above a highly polished dark-wood floor. Behind him an arched and pillared doorway allowed sight of an enclosed garden outside and a woman at work there. She was a tall, well-proportioned creature, a white woman with a wide straw hat against the sun that hid her face.

Quinlan was in conversation with the man that Ender had met earlier on the road to the fort. The man with the scarred face and Sharps rifle, Cyrus Land.

Both turned as Ender made his entrance and trekked the long distance towards Quinlan on his throne.

“So, it’s Ender Smith, the Deputy Marshal from Fort Bowie,” Quinlan said as Ender came into earshot.

“Mister Quinlan,” Ender answered politely.

Quinlan was elegantly dressed in a loose cotton shirt that he wore outside of wide-bottomed black Mexican pants decorated in silver thread and shining concho discs. He was a clean-shaven, slender, fine-featured man with long reddish tinted fair hair that he wore bound at the back with a leather thong. Around his neck was a loose fitting and brightly colored bandana that covered one shoulder flamboyantly.

“Normally,” Quinlan said with a faint air of reprimand. “Men who come into my house remove their hats.”

Ender obliged with an inclination of his head in apology as Quinlan lowered his leg from the chair arm and turned his full attention in Ender’s direction.

“I believe you and Cyrus here have already met?”

Ender met the gaze of the small-headed man who looked back at him with cool equanimity.

“We have,” Ender agreed.

“You’ve come a fair lick to see me, Mister Smith. What can I do for you?”

“It’s about the Indian, Common Dog,” Ender began.

“You mean the murdering assassin of my brother,” Quinlan cut in.

“That has yet to be proven, sir.”

“Well, Jed’s dead isn’t he?” Quinlan asked, cocking his head to one side.

“He is,” Ender agreed.

“So, he’s dead at an Indian’s hand. What’s more to say? Other than I would like to have that redskin here in my possession to exact righteous justice for a murder done to my family.”

“He claims different,” said Ender. “It appears from his account that your brother fronted him on the trail and drew on him. Common Dog was unwilling to part with his reservation beeves and your brother was set to force his arm by shooting him on the spot and taking the cattle for himself. It was an act of self defense.”

Quinlan considered Ender for a moment; he turned to Land and nodded. The gunman poured and fetched a glass of wine from a side table and placed it in Quinlan’s hand.

“Do you know how many cattle I own, Mister Smith?” Quinlan asked.

“Forty thousand head, I’ve been told.”

“That’s right, give or take a few hundred. Why do you think my brother would want to steal a few miserable head from an Indian when he has access to all this?”

“That I can’t say, Mister Quinlan. I never knew the man or his inclinations. Might be he was of an overly possessive nature; perhaps he wanted to branch out on his own. Maybe he was just feeling particularly mean on that day and saw this lone Apache and thought to have some fun with him. I really couldn’t say. You knew him a whole lot better than me, I guess.”

“That’s right I did,” agreed Quinlan, leaning forward on his knees, his wine glass cupped before him. “Now Jed was a wild one, I’ll readily agree to that but I still find no excuse for an Indian to kill him dead and allow me to let the perpetrator go free of retribution.”

“Well, that’s the law, sir. Due process an’ all.”

“Down here, Mister Smith,” Quinlan said, his tone hardening. “I make the law.”

Ender slapped his hat against his thigh as he saw how it was going to be, “Well then, if that’s the way of it I guess there’s no more to be said.”

Quinlan eased himself back in his chair. “Please, Mister Smith,” he said in a warmer tone. “Don’t take offense. I’m sure there’s more that can be said; after all you were raised by the savages, were you not? You will have a far better understanding of their motivations. Perhaps you can enlighten me. Here, I am forgetting hospitality, will you share a glass of wine. Cyrus, fetch Mister Smith a glass, will you?”

“I’ll pass on the wine, thank you,” said Ender. “Common Dog swore to me he told it true, Mister Quinlan. An Apache’s word is as good as any legal bond, I came down here as I promised him I would, to present his case in hope that when you heard the truth of the matter you might feel inclined to forego some act of reprisal.”

Quinlan spread his hands wide. “Then you have fulfilled your mission, Mister Smith.”

“Is that a ‘yes’ then? You bare no grudge against the Indian.”

Quinlan gave a long sigh, “An Indian to me….” He was interrupted as the woman from the garden came up behind him and placed her arms around his neck.

“What’s this, Able?” she said, her pair of deep ultramarine eyes fixed on Ender.

She had long black hair that was now released from her hat and flowed down in a river along her back. Her face was angular and rested on a long elegant neck and as she leant forward Ender could see the fullness of her breasts outlined against the low neckline of her blouse. There was an air of sexuality about the woman that she seemed to wear as easily as her loose fitting garments. It was a subtle, dark-night promise of uncertain excitements that were only held in check by a thin veil of propriety and hung about her like a heady perfume.

A truly beautiful woman with a cool calmness to her perfect ivory skin which emitted a glow of suggestion with each movement of her nubile dancer’s body. She was no immature fancy but a full-grown woman in the prime of life with experience and sensuality written in every gesture she made.

“This is Mister Ender Smith,” Quinlan introduced. “My wife, Caroline,” he placed an affectionate palm on her cheek at his shoulder. “Mister Smith has come to plead the case of Jed’s murderer, my dear. He is quite eloquent on the matter, you should stay and listen.”

Quinlan presented it as if it were a source of diverting entertainment not to be given much credence.

“Ma’am,” said Ender in greeting.

Her electric blue eyes grazed Ender from head to toe, there was a slight smile playing on her full lips and Ender felt uncomfortable, as if she were stripping him down to his naked skin.

“So nice to meet you, Mister Smith,” she said in a husky voice. She turned her attention to her husband’s neck, nibbling at his ear and stroking the skin under her parted lips. “Shall we have Mister Smith to supper, Able?” she murmured.

“If you so wish, my dear. Mister Smith, will you join us this evening?”

“I think not, sir. Thank you for the kindness but I have to get back.”

“I want him to stay,” Caroline pouted and wheedled into Quinlan’s ear. “We never have visitors. It’s so boring, you always frighten people away.”

It was a strange transformation for Ender to witness, a beautiful and elegantly cool woman suddenly becoming a petulant and sulking child and he guessed that maybe wealth would do that to people who were used to getting their own way.

“My apologies, ma’am, but I have matters to attend to and I believe my business with your husband is done.”

“You think so?” said Quinlan, a little surprised and at the same time disappointed, as if he had expected further conversation on the subject.

“It appears that you give no value to the Indian’s testimony, sir. I should go back and let him know that as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I really think you should stay. Mrs. Quinlan would so appreciate your company.”

“Like I say,” Ender said with finality. “I have to go.”

He turned to take the trek back up the long hall. “Can’t let that happen, Mister Smith,” Quinlan called after him. “I’m afraid I’m a slave to my wife’s wishes.”

Ender heard the hammer-click and turned to look over his shoulder and he saw Land with a pistol leveled at him. “Best stay where you are, Smith,” said the gunman.

“Let’s get Mister Smith dressed for dinner, shall we?” Quinlan muttered unctuously and Caroline chuckled and clutched her arms more tightly around Quinlan’s neck.

“You’re so good to me, daddy,” she piped, kissing his cheek wetly.

Land came down from the dais and motioned to Ender with the pistol. “Move out, half-caste,” he said with a wave of the gun barrel.

With one last look at the couple, who were enfolded in each others arms and kissing passionately, Ender was prodded from the room.

“What’s with them two?” he asked Land. “They got some kind of problem?”

“You could say,” answered Land. “But it’s just become your problem now.”

Outside in the courtyard, he ushered Ender into a side room and three brawny vaquero cowhands followed them in.

“You’re going to strip now,” ordered Land.

“Strip!” barked Ender. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You won’t? Then I guess we’ll have to do it,” Land motioned at the three vaqueros and the men lunged forward and grabbed Ender. He struggled and managed to free one arm, lashing out with his fist and connecting with one of the Mexicans, who cursed and spat blood from a ruined lip.

They held Ender tight, trapping his arms by his side as the vaquero with the split lip tugged at his shirt and ripped it open down the front. There was the sound of tearing cloth and the shirt was wrenched away from his body.

“Leave him his pants,” ordered Land. “We wouldn’t want to see all he has to offer the world.”

“Maybe the senora would like it different?” said one of the vaqueros slyly.

“That’s as maybe,” said Land, leaning back against the wall and shucking a cheroot from his pocket. He tipped back the brim of the bowler hat and looked across at Ender and gave him a feral grin that bared his perfect row of teeth in a bar of white. “But this here is mostly an American. She can save her fun in that way for the Indians and Mexicans, this here is a white man even under the Indian paint when he wears it.”

Holding each arm in a strong grip the three men forced Ender out into the courtyard and off to one end where an upright cross-brace of solid looking timbers had been set up in the form of a tall ‘x’. A crowd of gunmen was gathered around and they laughed and jeered as Ender was spread out and tied by ropes to each end of the timbers. The device looked as if it had been well used, there were gouges and chips in the surface and what looked suspiciously like ingrained bloodstains.

“What is this?” snarled Ender. “They thinking on killing me?”

“Could be, I just don’t know. It’s whatever takes their fancy,” supplied Land, puffing on his cheroot.

“And you’re a party to this? What kind of punk are you?”

“A well paid one,” said Land, checking the lashings. He bit down on his cheroot when he was sure all was secured and patted Ender on his naked chest. “You just wait there, bub, it won’t be long.”

A long table was set up at the other end of the courtyard beyond the central cottonwood. It was laid with a fine white cloth and silverware. Candelabra and flagons of ruby wine in long necked decanters were brought out as the crowd of gunmen backed away and murmured excitedly at the sidelines.

Ender hung there, flexing his arms and trying to work his wrists free of the tight ropes but he was held fast and no amount of bucking could free them. He wondered what kind of pit of snakes he had walked into and swore to himself that if he ever managed to get away, Quinlan and his perverse wife would suffer for the insult.

The sun fell through the sky and evening approached. By that time the crowd had settled down and they were busy sitting and lying around patiently waiting. Bottles of liquor and trays of tortillas made the rounds and Ender began to feel that he was the center of some medicine show or old-time Roman circus with a Christian about to be thrown to the lions.

Finally there was a rustle of expectation amongst the onlookers as Quinlan and his wife made their entrance. They were dressed in their finest with Quinlan richly clothed as a haciendado in a full charro outfit and ruffled shirt. His wife followed the pattern in a low-necked ankle-length Spanish style dress, her black hair piled high with a red rose set at her ear. The dress displayed Caroline’s ample proportions well, a slender waist and large breasts that pressed against the confines of the bodice with the fair skin of her long neck rising from the bared shoulders.

They came out as lord and lady, Quinlan taking Caroline’s ring covered fingers and offering her in a swirling circle to the onlooking crowd, who dutifully clapped their appreciation. When they were seated at the long table, a crowd of native servants all clothed in white hurried to bring silver salvers of hot food and bowls of fruit and sweetmeats to the table.

Ender could see they were all Indian servants. Apache’s of different tribes. He recognized Lipan, Mescalero, Chiricahua and Jicarilla amongst them and he guessed they had been taken in raids and forced to serve at the landowner’s table as a final humiliation.

“You like this?” a voice whispered at his side and Ender turned to see the officious gate guard standing there. “Not so pretty now, are you, senor?”

“Get away from me, you little cockroach,” snarled Ender.

“You will not be so bold when the senora has finished with you,” the Mexican grinned salaciously.

“Pedro!” Quinlan called from the table. “Stand away from Mister Smith, you are spoiling the senora’s view.”

The gate guard removed his sombrero and bowed towards Quinlan. “Forgive me, jefe. It was a moment of reflection shared with the prisoner. He is a most proud man.”

Quinlan fluttered his fingers in dismissal and Pedro backed away, his scabbarded saber clattering as he went. “I am still watching you, cabrone,” he whispered to Ender.

When the couple at the table had finished their meal, a cigar was brought for Quinlan and lighted. Two guitarists came out onto the veranda of the main house and began to serenade the pair who turned dutiful attention towards the players. They clapped fitfully as the guitars ended their recital and laying aside their napkins both climbed to their feet and came around the table and walked towards Ender.

A ripple of excitement ran through the watching crowd as the two crossed the courtyard in a leisurely and stately fashion more reminiscent of some kind of royalty.

Caroline cocked her head to one side and studied Ender for a moment, and then she walked up close and breathed in his ear. Her fingernails traced a scratching line down his chest and across his ribs.

“Underneath that taint of Indian you are a fine specimen, aren’t you?” she whispered hotly into his ear.

Ender could smell the chili peppers on her breath from the meal and he felt the touch of her extravagant earrings as they swayed against his cheek.

Quinlan was taking off his tight jacket and passing it to one of the servants who stood alongside.

“Excuse me, my dear,” he eased his wife aside. “Now, you must understand, Mister Smith,” he bit down on his cigar and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, speaking quietly so that only the two of them could hear. “I must demonstrate a certain level of control if I am to enjoy the loyalty of the scum you see around us here. I hope you will understand?”

He turned and took a braided leather whip from the servant. “Any man who pleads the case of my brother’s murderer cannot be seen to get away with it. It is an affront to my position. I have forged this place from nothing and it was not done by kind words and charity. It was done by hard effort and cold efficiency. This is not personal, sir. It is a matter of dignity.”

With that he moved away and lashed backhanded with the whip. The slim leather snaked out, snapped and raised an instant weal of purple across Ender’s chest. He gasped in sudden shock at the thin lightning rod of pain. A loud cry of applause echoed around the courtyard from the army of watching gun hands.

Caroline quivered at the edges of Ender’s vision, she gave an echoing gasp to his but hers was of twisted pleasure. The ring-clad fingers flew to her mouth and she bit down hard on one knuckle.

“My lady wife,” Quinlan said quietly. “Enjoys this kind of thing. It excites her. For me personally…” he lashed out another stinging blow. “Well, I am indifferent but afterwards, oh, Mister Smith, afterwards she is the very essence of mountain cat in the bedroom.”

The whip snapped again and this time an uncontrollable cry burst from Ender’s lips.

Caroline moved quickly forward, her trembling fingers reaching out and touching the sore weal marks running across Ender’s chest. He could hear her breathing fast and saw that her eyes were wide open, almost glaring as the pupils dilated and the whites showed.

“Yes,” she panted, moving back out of the way. “Do it again, Able.”

“As you wish,” said Quinlan, delivering another blow.

Shortly after, Ender lost consciousness.

When he came around, Caroline was pressing up against him. His tender flesh could feel her erect nipples hard against his chest. She was licking his face, tasting the sweat on his cheeks.

Her voice growled throatily with incoherent words and he could feel her hand groping between his spread legs. She seemed to Ender to be in an ecstasy of perverse arousal. Then she stepped suddenly back and slapped him hard across the cheek.

“Don’t you look at me,” she sneered, her beautiful face twisted into spiteful anger. Her hair had fallen in disarray and the rose hung at an abject angle over her ear. She hit Ender again, this time harder.

“You want me don’t you?” she asked in a peevish voice. “You all do.”

Ender could see Quinlan over her shoulder, he had a sly, half-grin on his face and watched his wife’s play with abstracted amusement.

“Well, you-can’t-have-me!” each word was punctuated by another blow. The rings on her fingers were cutting into Ender’s face and he could feel the blood beginning to flow down his chin. “Nobody can unless I say so!” she cried, her voice taking on a maniacal edge to it.

She lunged forward, enfolding him in her arms, wrapping herself around his wounded ribcage and rubbing herself against him. Then stepping back she began to laugh wildly, she turned to the watching army of gunmen and tugged down the top of her dress exposing her ample breasts that were stained with Ender’s blood and she proffered them to the mob. The men cheered uproariously, urging her on.

Sweat was beading Caroline’s forehead as she turned back to Ender, her crazed eyes were glazed with a mist of unseeing.

“Able,” she purred. “Take me inside. I need you now.”

Quinlan offered a smug smile to Ender, then a little shrug as if to say – I told you so.

The smile dropped suddenly from his face and Quinlan stepped forward and struck a heavy blow to the side of Ender’s head and he knew no more.

 

He awoke to hear the sound of the Apache tongue in his ear.

“Are you with us, brother?”

The courtyard was empty and silent, darkness had settled and a moonless night enfolded the adobe ranch house.

“Who are you?” Ender managed through cracked lips.

“We are of the Chiricahua,” came the answer and Ender lifted his bruised head to see two of the table servants standing before him.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“They are done with you for the time being but they will begin again tomorrow. It will be all week if you last that long.”

Ender looked down at his ravaged chest, ripped with bloody wounds. His arm sockets ached with struggling and his face felt bruised and sore.

“Can you cut me free, my friends?”

“That is why we are here,” came the answer.

“How are you called?”

“I am Alchesay,” said the larger of the two men. “This is my cousin, Juba.”

A knife flashed in the darkness and Elder felt his left arm drop free, the pain ran in rivers through his body as the circulation slowly returned and there was the additional ache of his skin folding over the wounds on his chest.

“Listen,” whispered Juba. “We have deer fat here, it will hurt but we must rub it on the cuts once you are down. Can you stand?”

Ender’s limbs felt as if they were cut from solid timber and his head was leaden and thick. “I do not know,” he gasped as his other arm was cut free and another spasm of pain flowed through him.

They rested him back against the timbers and began to smear the fat across his torso, Ender almost screamed in pain but Alchesay quickly held his hand across his mouth and stilled the sound.

“Silence!” hissed Alchesay. “There are guards above us on the walkways around the walls. We only do this now as it is the dark of the moon, we have waited a month for this moment to escape. Now we come to take you with us to save your life but do not make a murmur or we will leave you behind.”

“I am grateful,” husked Ender. “I will be quiet.”

“Good.” They continued to lay the fat on until Ender’s raw body from neck to waist was covered in a coating.

“Now come,” said Alchesay. “We will help you. We must get to the wall, we have a rope. The gate is too heavily guarded but there is only one man on the wall. We will kill him and climb down. Then we must run.”

With their help, Ender managed to lumber alongside them as they moved in fits and starts past the shadowed apartments that circled the courtyard. They left him and he waited below whilst the two climbed the steps up to a section of wall beyond the gateway. Ender hung there, trying to recover some sense of his surroundings and bring his numbed brain into focus. The pain helped, it sharpened his mind and he began to feel some response from his limbs.

“Come!” it was a brief whispered command from above and as swiftly as he could Ender climbed the steps on all fours up to the fighting platform that roofed the courtyard rooms. He saw the dark heap of crumpled clothing that marked where the guard lay to one side, a slick black pool spreading outwards from the throat.

Juba was lashing one end of the rope around a chimney support, the other he lowered over the side of the hacienda wall. In seconds, Alchesay was over the wall and down. Juba nodded at Ender and with great difficulty he began his descent, the agony was extreme as his strained arms accepted his weight. Biting his lip against the pain, Ender clambered down, dropping heavily the last few feet.

Then, Juba was beside them and the three, moved at a crouching run away from the walls.

“We have three hours until they change the guard,” whispered Alchesay. “We must get as far away as possible in that time for then they will come after us with every man they have.”

They set out at the loping run favored by the Apache, a rate at which a brave could normally cover seventy miles a day on foot. It was an easy pace, steady and even and they followed the flow of the stream, which was easier to see in the darkness. Within an hour, Ender was beginning to stumble, the effects of his torture catching up with him. He urged himself on, using the Indian technique to repress pain and shove the ache to the back of his mind, focusing on each step forward and every barrier that blocked his path.

The two Chiricahua forged ahead. Elder knew they could do no more for him. With their pragmatic mentality they had risked enough by releasing him and now it was up to himself alone to survive. They would not bring themselves down for his benefit; it was only the white man who would offer up two lives to save one.

Ender knew he could not go the distance. He must rest and that meant finding a hiding place where he could stay until he was fit enough to journey on. With this in mind he plunged into the shallows of the stream, forging his way through the water and losing his scent against any dogs the pursuers might bring after them.

He estimated that two hours had passed; he had another one if the guard was not discovered until the relief arrived. Already the two Indians were gone in the darkness ahead but Ender could see that the horizon beyond the end of the valley was lightening. Dawn was approaching and at least by its light he might find somewhere to rest up. He crossed the center part of the stream and made his way along the shallows on the opposite bank, here the valley reached up higher beyond the cover of the tree line and he reckoned there might be somewhere on the slope to hide. Stepping on broad stones where he could he left the stream.

Ender began to scale the valley slope, working his way through the verdant brush and finding that the constant movement was freeing his limbs and making the going somewhat easier. The continuing pain from his chest wounds was relegated to a muted blanket of ache that he kept thrust to the back of his mind as he climbed.

He fell into the hole more than discovered it. The small cavity was barely big enough to take his size and it was covered by brush. In the gloom Ender dropped into the opening, the jagged branches tearing at his already wrecked flesh. Grunting in pain, Ender searched the small cavity.

It was enough. A hole excavated by a tumbling boulder that had fallen free he surmised. Bare stone made up the walls and the floor was covered in soil, with small animal bones and leaf debris lying scattered. Ender snuggled down as best he could, dragging leafy branches across the opening and feeling a wave of exhaustion as his activity ceased. Before he even knew it he was asleep.

He awoke to the sound of baying dogs.

He was cold and clutched his arms around his naked torso, feeling again the sharp reminder of the lash marks. Cautiously, he peered between the branches across the opening. Down in the valley forty feet below, an army of men was scouring the banks of the stream, leashed dogs barked and moved ahead of the men.

Ender checked the position of the sun. It was still early, maybe he had slept for two or three hours and he felt better for it. But he was thirsty and hunger gnawed at his belly. Pushing the thoughts aside he watched the men below where he could see them between the tree cover amongst the cottonwoods and oaks.

There were a great many of them and they called and shouted to each other, their cries echoing along the length of the valley. Ender sunk back down again into the hole and considered his situation. He was glad the Indians had covered him with the deer fat, it kept filth and flies from his wounds and he stood a better chance of healing as a result. Water would be a problem. Maybe later he could creep down to the stream.

A great cheer went up from the searchers below and Ender hurried to peep out. He saw horsemen returning from the head of the valley. They pushed a prisoner before them. It was Juba. He had been beaten badly and stumbled along with one arm hanging limp and bloody by his side.

Behind the horsemen two Indians came carrying a long pole on their shoulders, hanging from the limb and lashed by wrists and ankles was the dead body of Alchesay, his whole upper body soaked in blood. It looked as if they scalped him too. Ender watched the passing cavalcade with bitterness at the savage treatment and sadness for the two Indians who had saved him.

He heard footsteps crunching through the undergrowth and ducked down, covering his face with dirt from the cavern floor. There were the murmur of voices and the crackle of broken twigs as the searchers neared. A shadow passed across the cave mouth, the opening thankfully unseen by the man outside. Ender trembled, he did not know if it was the cold or fear but he gritted his teeth until the footsteps had faded into the distance.

In a while the noisy sounds of the search retreated as the men moved further up the valley and Ender relaxed. He fell again into a deep sleep that was populated by unremembered dreams.