River of Love, page 13
Her smile faded slightly. “Yes, he is, Swift Arrow. He is all Cheyenne.” Her heart pained, for if a sad destiny awaited the Cheyenne and other red men, then it also awaited her son, for he would surely ride as a Cheyenne until his dying day.
Outside drums began to beat, and already the braves were pounding feet rhythmically, celebrating victories over the Pawnee. Bells jingled amid chanting voices, while scalps were displayed for all to see. They seemed a people born to war, and if those wars were only with enemy tribes, perhaps it would be more bearable. But she feared a much more dangerous war—the one against whites. Few, if any of them, understood just how many whites there really were east of the “great river”; nor did they understand the powerful weapons the whites could bring against them. She forced the thought to the back of her mind and continued with wrapping his wound. This was today, and today Zeke’s brother had returned to the Arkansas. She had learned to take one day at a time, for to do otherwise would be too much to bear.
Seven
Bonnie awoke to the sudden movement, to see Zeke viciously sink his huge blade into the head of a rattler. She gasped and scooted back as he plunged the knife twice more, then kicked the snake away. He stood there a moment, breathing rapidly and staring at the snake, muttering something in the Cheyenne tongue as though cursing. He bent down and quickly wiped blood from the knife onto some bunch grass, then slid the knife back into its sheath and whirled, his dark eyes gleaming frighteningly.
“The one called Lady Z once had me thrown into a pit of snakes!” he growled. “You speak of forgiveness and that men should not judge. But I do not understand such things. What I went through escaping that pit of hell will be in my mind forever. I do not forgive such things!”
He walked away and began gathering what remnants of wood could be found in the desolate area where they had rested. It had taken two days for him to feel strong enough to ride, but now as they rose with the morning sun, it was obvious he was anxious to be going.
Bonnie threw off her blanket and shivered, tightening the laces of the buckskin shirt she wore over her bodice. Again she felt the warm sensation of sweet desire at the masculine scent of the shirt he had given her to wear over her torn dress. It smelled of Zeke and man and leather and fresh air. Even though he was resting and healing while they were camped there, she knew he was also watching over her. Now there was proof in the dead snake. She had not known in her sleep that it was near, but Cheyenne Zeke had known.
She knelt down to stir the almost dead coals of the fire, then glanced over to where he stood staring out at the endless horizon ahead, a vast Texas wasteland dotted with strange rock formations. She wondered what he was thinking, and her heart tightened when she realized he was probably thinking about his wife; about the faceless Abbie whom he had called for when he was wounded. What kind of white woman had it taken to capture such a man? For he seemed as wild as a mustang, as stealthy as a preying wolf, and his skin was nearly as dark as that of his full-blood relatives. His black hair hung long and shiny in the morning sun that he now greeted, raising his arms and throwing back his head.
“Thank you, Maheo, for my life,” she heard him say quietly. “Guard my family, and give me the strength I need to find Yellow Moon and to have my vengeance.”
She wondered at the spirituality of the Indians she had known thus far. Even though they might be worshipping the wrong Gods, as she was convinced they were, she had to admit that their faith was strong, and some of the stories Zeke had told her of how he and other Cheyennes had been aided and their lives literally saved through prayer and through being true to rituals and restrictions had left a deep impression on her. Until their long talks over the past two days, she had not truly considered the viewpoint of the “heathen” Indians. But she was learning to appreciate their particular religion, and Cheyenne Zeke had patiently taught her about the many Spirits of the Cheyenne, the Arapaho, and the Sioux. He told her beautiful stories, about Sweet Medicine, who in the beginning was given the Sacred Arrows by a supernatural being, and presented them to the Cheyenne. The Sacred Arrows were apparently a central object in the Cheyenne religion, and the ritual of the renewal of the arrows was a very special and somber occasion. He told her about Heammawihio, the Sky Spirit, and Maheo, the all-powerful one, who created the sun and all living things and placed his people on the Plains to live a simple and happy life, providing them with the buffalo, the only thing they needed for survival.
She had intended to talk to him more about her own God and His Son, but she found herself so fascinated by his stories, and the way he had of putting her under a kind of magic spell as he told them with his deep, mellow voice, that she had done more learning than teaching. He told her many Indian stories, about ghosts and monsters, stories that were often told inside tipis on cold winter days when the children could not play outside. And she saw through the telling that this sometimes wild and vicious man could be gentle and loving, and that surely he was a loving husband and father. Somehow she had not looked at Indians as having the same human feelings as whites. But she saw them differently now, and she was fighting her own all-too-human feeling of attraction to this forbidden man. He had a way of making her want him without even trying, and she knew that in his mind there were no such thoughts. But she could see how easily the white woman called Abbie could have been overwhelmed by this man of men.
He was walking back now with a few sticks of wood. She turned her eyes away from his long, muscular frame, the slim hips and broad shoulders, the handsome, high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. She was a white missionary, traveling north to meet her intended. She must control her thoughts and urges.
“We must ride soon, Bonnie,” he told her, bending down and placing the wood on the fire. “I must get you back to Santa Fe so that I can go on to search for Yellow Moon and my nephew. We have little food left. If I see any kind of game as we ride I will try to get it with my knife. I don’t want to use a gun if I don’t have to. Out here a gunshot can be heard for miles, and might bring unwanted company. That’s why I used my knife on that rattler.”
“I see,” she said quietly.
He watched her a moment. “Are you rested enough to ride?” he asked.
She met his eyes, and his face was close to hers. She nodded and looked down again, unable to look at him for too long. “Yes. I’m fine.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “I’ll get you there safely. I know this country.”
“What about Apaches?” she asked, nearly trembling at the touch of his hand on her.
He snickered. “I can handle the Apaches. And if we do run into any, or any suspicious-looking outlaws for that matter, go along with whatever I do or say, understand? I might have to be rough with you—make them think you’re my woman or perhaps a woman I’ve paid for. If they think you’re just an innocent woman I’m trying to rescue, they’ll be more tempted to try to take you. Remember that.”
She nodded, feeling a burning at her cheeks at the thought of being his woman. “I’ll remember.”
Lady Z strutted around the campfire, wearing a white satin dress one of her men had purchased for her in Santa Fe, as well as a ruby necklace and a fancy feathered hat. None of the items were designed to be worn together, and she wore no undergarments and no shoes. Her hair hung long and wild, making the fashionable hat appear ridiculous on her head.
“Now, do I not look as good as the white dance hall girls?” she bragged, her breasts billowing fetchingly over the satin ruffles.
“You look better than all of them put together,” Nick Trapper answered.
All the men watched hungrily, eyeing the silken skin that looked even darker against the white dress. Even with the gawdy, unmatched clothes, the untamed hair and the scars in her cheeks, she was exceedingly beautiful, but it was an evil, threatening beauty, the kind that brought out a kind of lust that was difficult to control, and all of those watching her were wondering anxiously which of them would have the privilege of sleeping with their Arapaho leader that night.
She strutted up to Nick Trapper, her favorite because he was bigger than the others, and because he had once supervised a whorehouse and knew all the tricks and pleasantly exciting sexual cavorting of the white prostitutes. He had taught her many new ways to enjoy a man, helping feed her voracious appetite for thrilling sexual encounters, including introducing her to the slave trade and to the pleasures of sometimes bedding her own female captives. That was something she had not contemplated but had found delightfully amusing, especially when the captives protested with tears and begging.
“You may take off my dress tonight, Nick Trapper,” she purred. “For you brought me the Arapaho woman, and through her I was able to get my revenge against those Arapaho women who banished me from their villages.”
She whirled and strutted again, her hands on her hips, her full lips smiling and revealing beautiful, even teeth.
“Them women was just jealous of your beauty, Lady Z,” one of the other men spoke up. “You can’t help it if their sons and husbands came sneakin’ over to your tipi. I’d crawl a hundred miles to get between them long legs of yours and feel them wrapped around my middle.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Perhaps I should be one of those whores who gets paid!” she teased. “I would make much money, no?”
“You’re making more money this way, Lady,” Nick told her. “Give us your favors for free and we go find your slaves for you, as well as take the risks in gun smuggling and whiskey trading. There’s a lot of gold stored away there in the cabin and more where that came from.”
She sniffed and turned to him with a pout. “I am tired of this hiding in the mountains—tired of this stinking little canyon! I want to go someplace and live like a rich lady, in one of those fancy houses like the white people live in, or maybe a big ranchero down in Mexico.”
“In time, Lady. In time. It won’t be long before you’ll have enough money to do just that. You don’t understand how much it takes.”
She kicked at a stone and ripped angrily at the expensive dress, tearing away part of the skirt to reveal a long, slender leg and most of one side of her naked hips. The men squirmed and stared, drinking in the long, voluptuous body, yet not daring to touch it without her permission. Others had tried and had been ordered whipped until they were dead.
“What good is a pretty dress when I cannot go out in public and wear it!” she fumed. She threw the torn piece of dress into the fire, then grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the men, completely unaffected by her partially exposed bottom. After all, she had slept with all of them at one time or another. “I think we have enough gold to split it all up and go have some fun!” she declared.
“I’d wait, Lady,” Trapper warned. “These are good times for gun running and slave trade. So far there isn’t enough law out here to stop us, and what’s even better is we can dress ourselves like Indians and let them take the blame while we get richer. The Comanches and Kiowas and Apaches have been doing a lot of raiding. It’s easy to make them look like the guilty ones. Let us keep this up a while longer, and we’ll have more gold than we can spend.”
She took another drink of whiskey. “I am bored.” She turned to face Trapper again. “You took Yellow Moon to the whorehouse?”
He nodded. “I did. Got the gold right over there in my saddlebags. Took her to Anna Gale’s place. Anna will fix her up real pretty, oil her down and all. She’s a fair piece of woman. Anna will get a good price for her.”
Lady Z grinned. “Yes. And I got my revenge when I touched her! She did not speak or move, but I saw the horror in her eyes,” she sneered. “But the best is yet to come! Cheyenne Zeke has not yet tracked her here. But he will! And when he does, I shall have the sweetest revenge I have ever tasted!” She spat out the words through gritted teeth, her fists clenched. “I shall torture him first, weaken him! I shall make him beg me to let him go.” She laughed again, strutting provocatively in the firelight, looking like an angel of Satan. “And I shall tell him the only way he will gain his freedom is to make love to me again, like in the old days.” Her voice and eyes softened for a moment. But then she whirled, her eyes fiery. “And when I am through using his body, I shall have him castrated!” Her lips curled. “Then he will be a woman! And he will never again bed that white bitch he married!”
Her laughter echoed out into the night like a demon spirit of the darkness, and she strutted up closer to Nick Trapper. “You must all be careful of a tall, dark man with a scar on his cheek who might ask about the slave trade. Watch the shadows.” She turned. “All of you—watch for him!”
“He won’t come, Lady,” Trapper replied. “Why should he risk his neck coming into outlaw country after one lone Arapaho woman?”
She turned back to face him. “You do not know him as I do. Perhaps he does not know I still live. Perhaps he only knows some outlaw slave traders stole her, for as you say, her husband was too drunk to hear you talk that night. But all Cheyenne Zeke needs to know is that his sister-in-law and nephew were stolen, and he will come searching.”
Nick waved her off. “He wouldn’t know where to begin. Besides, that Red Eagle probably died out there before he even got back home to tell anybody. No Cheyenne Zeke is going to show up.”
She stared past him into the darkness. “He is a man of stubborn vengeance.” She shivered and touched one of her scarred cheeks. “He will come. Cheyenne Zeke will come,” she repeated. “And I do not intend to be under his knife again.” She turned and moved her eyes around the circle of men. “That is why I keep so many of you with me at all times, and why I keep the guards at the top of the canyon. It is not soldiers or lawmen that I fear. It is Cheyenne Zeke. And yet I want him to come!”
“Relax, Lady,” Nick assured her. “You’re safe here.”
She looked around at all of them and finally smiled again. “Of course I am! And tomorrow or the next day Boots and Charlie will show up with the Mexican gold from the stolen guns, no?” She laughed and tossed her head. “And maybe soon another captive will come to us who will bring much gold from the dealers in Mexico.” She looked at Trapper. “I wish to ride again on another raid myself. I have not killed a man for a long time. I will lead the next raid.”
“Fine, but it will be a couple of weeks or better. We’d best lay low for a while.”
She scowled. “Then go to Santa Fe and find me a woman, a willing woman. I need more than just you men to keep me busy. I want to have some fun while I am stuck here.”
The men glanced at each other, amused by her odd sexual hunger. Nick leaned forward and kissed her bared thigh.
“Let me show you some fun tonight, my Arapaho woman, and then I’ll go find a woman for you, if you promise to let me watch you with her.”
She grinned and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, excited by his size and his ruthlessness, and the fact that he wore nothing but black. She often teased him that his heart was as black as his appearance.
“I must be careful with you,” she purred. “Or you will be the leader instead of Lady Z.”
Nick grinned. “You’ll always be the boss,” he told her wisely, aware of how quickly she was capable of changing face and allowing her vengeful jealousy and her craving to be in command overtake her emotions. It was as easy for Lady Z to stick a knife in a man’s gut as it was for her to make love to him. To Lady Z it was all the same.
Zeke led the big Appaloosa down an embankment, handling the horse with the expertise of a man who knew horses as well as he knew his own body. Rocks slid and skipped down the steep hill, but the steed remained surefooted.
Bonnie sat astride the horse behind him, clinging to him with her arms about his waist, taking secret pleasure in the closeness, feeling sometimes a little lost behind the broad shoulders in front of her. It was odd that she could feel so uninhibited and free of all the social “do’s” and “don’t’s” she had been raised on. But with Zeke she felt a sudden desire to abandon all prim and proper thoughts, and she smiled at how the ladies of her social circle would whisper and gasp if they saw her now, straddled behind a half-breed she barely knew, part of her legs showing from beneath her torn dress, her hair a tangled mess, her fingernails torn and the creases of her knuckles stained from the smoky wood she handled making fires.
She knew that soon she would have to return to the old life, for it was right and fitting. But she liked to pretend it could be like this forever—this freedom and this pleasant feeling of being close to a man who was like one of nature’s wild things, his long black hair sometimes brushing her face. She found herself wishing they would never get to Santa Fe. But then she would feel guilty and sinful, and in the night she would beg God to forgive her for her wanton thoughts. Not only was a man with Indian blood forbidden to proper white women, but this man already had a woman, and children. Never had her body ached for anyone more and never had she felt more ashamed of her thoughts; and the most painful realization was that Rodney had never made her feel like this man made her feel.
They reached the bottom of the escarpment; and suddenly, like ghosts, five Apache Indians appeared from behind rocks as though they had been mere vapors a moment before. Bonnie gasped and clung tighter to Zeke, who reined his horse to a halt and waited cautiously as the wily band of Mescaleros came closer, their dark eyes and haughty sneers daring Zeke to make one wrong move.
“Don’t say a damned thing and don’t act afraid,” Zeke told Bonnie quietly.
The Apaches came close enough to reach out and touch, and Bonnie swallowed her fear as best she could. They wore next to nothing, only loincloths and moccasins. Bonepipe necklaces and breastplates adorned their dark-skinned chests, and their dull, coal-black hair hung straight and snarled. Their bare skin was covered with a light coating of desert dust, and although small in build, they were nonetheless fierce-looking and brought terror to Bonnie’s heart. She had heard many horror stories about the Comanche and Apache, and now these five were looking at the whites of her legs that were exposed, as well as the array of weapons Zeke carried, and the fine horse that he rode.
Outside drums began to beat, and already the braves were pounding feet rhythmically, celebrating victories over the Pawnee. Bells jingled amid chanting voices, while scalps were displayed for all to see. They seemed a people born to war, and if those wars were only with enemy tribes, perhaps it would be more bearable. But she feared a much more dangerous war—the one against whites. Few, if any of them, understood just how many whites there really were east of the “great river”; nor did they understand the powerful weapons the whites could bring against them. She forced the thought to the back of her mind and continued with wrapping his wound. This was today, and today Zeke’s brother had returned to the Arkansas. She had learned to take one day at a time, for to do otherwise would be too much to bear.
Seven
Bonnie awoke to the sudden movement, to see Zeke viciously sink his huge blade into the head of a rattler. She gasped and scooted back as he plunged the knife twice more, then kicked the snake away. He stood there a moment, breathing rapidly and staring at the snake, muttering something in the Cheyenne tongue as though cursing. He bent down and quickly wiped blood from the knife onto some bunch grass, then slid the knife back into its sheath and whirled, his dark eyes gleaming frighteningly.
“The one called Lady Z once had me thrown into a pit of snakes!” he growled. “You speak of forgiveness and that men should not judge. But I do not understand such things. What I went through escaping that pit of hell will be in my mind forever. I do not forgive such things!”
He walked away and began gathering what remnants of wood could be found in the desolate area where they had rested. It had taken two days for him to feel strong enough to ride, but now as they rose with the morning sun, it was obvious he was anxious to be going.
Bonnie threw off her blanket and shivered, tightening the laces of the buckskin shirt she wore over her bodice. Again she felt the warm sensation of sweet desire at the masculine scent of the shirt he had given her to wear over her torn dress. It smelled of Zeke and man and leather and fresh air. Even though he was resting and healing while they were camped there, she knew he was also watching over her. Now there was proof in the dead snake. She had not known in her sleep that it was near, but Cheyenne Zeke had known.
She knelt down to stir the almost dead coals of the fire, then glanced over to where he stood staring out at the endless horizon ahead, a vast Texas wasteland dotted with strange rock formations. She wondered what he was thinking, and her heart tightened when she realized he was probably thinking about his wife; about the faceless Abbie whom he had called for when he was wounded. What kind of white woman had it taken to capture such a man? For he seemed as wild as a mustang, as stealthy as a preying wolf, and his skin was nearly as dark as that of his full-blood relatives. His black hair hung long and shiny in the morning sun that he now greeted, raising his arms and throwing back his head.
“Thank you, Maheo, for my life,” she heard him say quietly. “Guard my family, and give me the strength I need to find Yellow Moon and to have my vengeance.”
She wondered at the spirituality of the Indians she had known thus far. Even though they might be worshipping the wrong Gods, as she was convinced they were, she had to admit that their faith was strong, and some of the stories Zeke had told her of how he and other Cheyennes had been aided and their lives literally saved through prayer and through being true to rituals and restrictions had left a deep impression on her. Until their long talks over the past two days, she had not truly considered the viewpoint of the “heathen” Indians. But she was learning to appreciate their particular religion, and Cheyenne Zeke had patiently taught her about the many Spirits of the Cheyenne, the Arapaho, and the Sioux. He told her beautiful stories, about Sweet Medicine, who in the beginning was given the Sacred Arrows by a supernatural being, and presented them to the Cheyenne. The Sacred Arrows were apparently a central object in the Cheyenne religion, and the ritual of the renewal of the arrows was a very special and somber occasion. He told her about Heammawihio, the Sky Spirit, and Maheo, the all-powerful one, who created the sun and all living things and placed his people on the Plains to live a simple and happy life, providing them with the buffalo, the only thing they needed for survival.
She had intended to talk to him more about her own God and His Son, but she found herself so fascinated by his stories, and the way he had of putting her under a kind of magic spell as he told them with his deep, mellow voice, that she had done more learning than teaching. He told her many Indian stories, about ghosts and monsters, stories that were often told inside tipis on cold winter days when the children could not play outside. And she saw through the telling that this sometimes wild and vicious man could be gentle and loving, and that surely he was a loving husband and father. Somehow she had not looked at Indians as having the same human feelings as whites. But she saw them differently now, and she was fighting her own all-too-human feeling of attraction to this forbidden man. He had a way of making her want him without even trying, and she knew that in his mind there were no such thoughts. But she could see how easily the white woman called Abbie could have been overwhelmed by this man of men.
He was walking back now with a few sticks of wood. She turned her eyes away from his long, muscular frame, the slim hips and broad shoulders, the handsome, high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. She was a white missionary, traveling north to meet her intended. She must control her thoughts and urges.
“We must ride soon, Bonnie,” he told her, bending down and placing the wood on the fire. “I must get you back to Santa Fe so that I can go on to search for Yellow Moon and my nephew. We have little food left. If I see any kind of game as we ride I will try to get it with my knife. I don’t want to use a gun if I don’t have to. Out here a gunshot can be heard for miles, and might bring unwanted company. That’s why I used my knife on that rattler.”
“I see,” she said quietly.
He watched her a moment. “Are you rested enough to ride?” he asked.
She met his eyes, and his face was close to hers. She nodded and looked down again, unable to look at him for too long. “Yes. I’m fine.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “I’ll get you there safely. I know this country.”
“What about Apaches?” she asked, nearly trembling at the touch of his hand on her.
He snickered. “I can handle the Apaches. And if we do run into any, or any suspicious-looking outlaws for that matter, go along with whatever I do or say, understand? I might have to be rough with you—make them think you’re my woman or perhaps a woman I’ve paid for. If they think you’re just an innocent woman I’m trying to rescue, they’ll be more tempted to try to take you. Remember that.”
She nodded, feeling a burning at her cheeks at the thought of being his woman. “I’ll remember.”
Lady Z strutted around the campfire, wearing a white satin dress one of her men had purchased for her in Santa Fe, as well as a ruby necklace and a fancy feathered hat. None of the items were designed to be worn together, and she wore no undergarments and no shoes. Her hair hung long and wild, making the fashionable hat appear ridiculous on her head.
“Now, do I not look as good as the white dance hall girls?” she bragged, her breasts billowing fetchingly over the satin ruffles.
“You look better than all of them put together,” Nick Trapper answered.
All the men watched hungrily, eyeing the silken skin that looked even darker against the white dress. Even with the gawdy, unmatched clothes, the untamed hair and the scars in her cheeks, she was exceedingly beautiful, but it was an evil, threatening beauty, the kind that brought out a kind of lust that was difficult to control, and all of those watching her were wondering anxiously which of them would have the privilege of sleeping with their Arapaho leader that night.
She strutted up to Nick Trapper, her favorite because he was bigger than the others, and because he had once supervised a whorehouse and knew all the tricks and pleasantly exciting sexual cavorting of the white prostitutes. He had taught her many new ways to enjoy a man, helping feed her voracious appetite for thrilling sexual encounters, including introducing her to the slave trade and to the pleasures of sometimes bedding her own female captives. That was something she had not contemplated but had found delightfully amusing, especially when the captives protested with tears and begging.
“You may take off my dress tonight, Nick Trapper,” she purred. “For you brought me the Arapaho woman, and through her I was able to get my revenge against those Arapaho women who banished me from their villages.”
She whirled and strutted again, her hands on her hips, her full lips smiling and revealing beautiful, even teeth.
“Them women was just jealous of your beauty, Lady Z,” one of the other men spoke up. “You can’t help it if their sons and husbands came sneakin’ over to your tipi. I’d crawl a hundred miles to get between them long legs of yours and feel them wrapped around my middle.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Perhaps I should be one of those whores who gets paid!” she teased. “I would make much money, no?”
“You’re making more money this way, Lady,” Nick told her. “Give us your favors for free and we go find your slaves for you, as well as take the risks in gun smuggling and whiskey trading. There’s a lot of gold stored away there in the cabin and more where that came from.”
She sniffed and turned to him with a pout. “I am tired of this hiding in the mountains—tired of this stinking little canyon! I want to go someplace and live like a rich lady, in one of those fancy houses like the white people live in, or maybe a big ranchero down in Mexico.”
“In time, Lady. In time. It won’t be long before you’ll have enough money to do just that. You don’t understand how much it takes.”
She kicked at a stone and ripped angrily at the expensive dress, tearing away part of the skirt to reveal a long, slender leg and most of one side of her naked hips. The men squirmed and stared, drinking in the long, voluptuous body, yet not daring to touch it without her permission. Others had tried and had been ordered whipped until they were dead.
“What good is a pretty dress when I cannot go out in public and wear it!” she fumed. She threw the torn piece of dress into the fire, then grabbed a bottle of whiskey from one of the men, completely unaffected by her partially exposed bottom. After all, she had slept with all of them at one time or another. “I think we have enough gold to split it all up and go have some fun!” she declared.
“I’d wait, Lady,” Trapper warned. “These are good times for gun running and slave trade. So far there isn’t enough law out here to stop us, and what’s even better is we can dress ourselves like Indians and let them take the blame while we get richer. The Comanches and Kiowas and Apaches have been doing a lot of raiding. It’s easy to make them look like the guilty ones. Let us keep this up a while longer, and we’ll have more gold than we can spend.”
She took another drink of whiskey. “I am bored.” She turned to face Trapper again. “You took Yellow Moon to the whorehouse?”
He nodded. “I did. Got the gold right over there in my saddlebags. Took her to Anna Gale’s place. Anna will fix her up real pretty, oil her down and all. She’s a fair piece of woman. Anna will get a good price for her.”
Lady Z grinned. “Yes. And I got my revenge when I touched her! She did not speak or move, but I saw the horror in her eyes,” she sneered. “But the best is yet to come! Cheyenne Zeke has not yet tracked her here. But he will! And when he does, I shall have the sweetest revenge I have ever tasted!” She spat out the words through gritted teeth, her fists clenched. “I shall torture him first, weaken him! I shall make him beg me to let him go.” She laughed again, strutting provocatively in the firelight, looking like an angel of Satan. “And I shall tell him the only way he will gain his freedom is to make love to me again, like in the old days.” Her voice and eyes softened for a moment. But then she whirled, her eyes fiery. “And when I am through using his body, I shall have him castrated!” Her lips curled. “Then he will be a woman! And he will never again bed that white bitch he married!”
Her laughter echoed out into the night like a demon spirit of the darkness, and she strutted up closer to Nick Trapper. “You must all be careful of a tall, dark man with a scar on his cheek who might ask about the slave trade. Watch the shadows.” She turned. “All of you—watch for him!”
“He won’t come, Lady,” Trapper replied. “Why should he risk his neck coming into outlaw country after one lone Arapaho woman?”
She turned back to face him. “You do not know him as I do. Perhaps he does not know I still live. Perhaps he only knows some outlaw slave traders stole her, for as you say, her husband was too drunk to hear you talk that night. But all Cheyenne Zeke needs to know is that his sister-in-law and nephew were stolen, and he will come searching.”
Nick waved her off. “He wouldn’t know where to begin. Besides, that Red Eagle probably died out there before he even got back home to tell anybody. No Cheyenne Zeke is going to show up.”
She stared past him into the darkness. “He is a man of stubborn vengeance.” She shivered and touched one of her scarred cheeks. “He will come. Cheyenne Zeke will come,” she repeated. “And I do not intend to be under his knife again.” She turned and moved her eyes around the circle of men. “That is why I keep so many of you with me at all times, and why I keep the guards at the top of the canyon. It is not soldiers or lawmen that I fear. It is Cheyenne Zeke. And yet I want him to come!”
“Relax, Lady,” Nick assured her. “You’re safe here.”
She looked around at all of them and finally smiled again. “Of course I am! And tomorrow or the next day Boots and Charlie will show up with the Mexican gold from the stolen guns, no?” She laughed and tossed her head. “And maybe soon another captive will come to us who will bring much gold from the dealers in Mexico.” She looked at Trapper. “I wish to ride again on another raid myself. I have not killed a man for a long time. I will lead the next raid.”
“Fine, but it will be a couple of weeks or better. We’d best lay low for a while.”
She scowled. “Then go to Santa Fe and find me a woman, a willing woman. I need more than just you men to keep me busy. I want to have some fun while I am stuck here.”
The men glanced at each other, amused by her odd sexual hunger. Nick leaned forward and kissed her bared thigh.
“Let me show you some fun tonight, my Arapaho woman, and then I’ll go find a woman for you, if you promise to let me watch you with her.”
She grinned and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, excited by his size and his ruthlessness, and the fact that he wore nothing but black. She often teased him that his heart was as black as his appearance.
“I must be careful with you,” she purred. “Or you will be the leader instead of Lady Z.”
Nick grinned. “You’ll always be the boss,” he told her wisely, aware of how quickly she was capable of changing face and allowing her vengeful jealousy and her craving to be in command overtake her emotions. It was as easy for Lady Z to stick a knife in a man’s gut as it was for her to make love to him. To Lady Z it was all the same.
Zeke led the big Appaloosa down an embankment, handling the horse with the expertise of a man who knew horses as well as he knew his own body. Rocks slid and skipped down the steep hill, but the steed remained surefooted.
Bonnie sat astride the horse behind him, clinging to him with her arms about his waist, taking secret pleasure in the closeness, feeling sometimes a little lost behind the broad shoulders in front of her. It was odd that she could feel so uninhibited and free of all the social “do’s” and “don’t’s” she had been raised on. But with Zeke she felt a sudden desire to abandon all prim and proper thoughts, and she smiled at how the ladies of her social circle would whisper and gasp if they saw her now, straddled behind a half-breed she barely knew, part of her legs showing from beneath her torn dress, her hair a tangled mess, her fingernails torn and the creases of her knuckles stained from the smoky wood she handled making fires.
She knew that soon she would have to return to the old life, for it was right and fitting. But she liked to pretend it could be like this forever—this freedom and this pleasant feeling of being close to a man who was like one of nature’s wild things, his long black hair sometimes brushing her face. She found herself wishing they would never get to Santa Fe. But then she would feel guilty and sinful, and in the night she would beg God to forgive her for her wanton thoughts. Not only was a man with Indian blood forbidden to proper white women, but this man already had a woman, and children. Never had her body ached for anyone more and never had she felt more ashamed of her thoughts; and the most painful realization was that Rodney had never made her feel like this man made her feel.
They reached the bottom of the escarpment; and suddenly, like ghosts, five Apache Indians appeared from behind rocks as though they had been mere vapors a moment before. Bonnie gasped and clung tighter to Zeke, who reined his horse to a halt and waited cautiously as the wily band of Mescaleros came closer, their dark eyes and haughty sneers daring Zeke to make one wrong move.
“Don’t say a damned thing and don’t act afraid,” Zeke told Bonnie quietly.
The Apaches came close enough to reach out and touch, and Bonnie swallowed her fear as best she could. They wore next to nothing, only loincloths and moccasins. Bonepipe necklaces and breastplates adorned their dark-skinned chests, and their dull, coal-black hair hung straight and snarled. Their bare skin was covered with a light coating of desert dust, and although small in build, they were nonetheless fierce-looking and brought terror to Bonnie’s heart. She had heard many horror stories about the Comanche and Apache, and now these five were looking at the whites of her legs that were exposed, as well as the array of weapons Zeke carried, and the fine horse that he rode.
