Gypsy Lady
GYPSY LADY is an original publication of Avon
Books,
This work has never before appeared in book form.
AVON BOOKS
A division of
The Hearst
Corporation .
17:90 Broadway-
New York, New York 10019
Copyright © 1977 by
Shirlee
E.
Busbee
Published by arrangement with the author
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 77-88906
ISBN: 0-380-01824-1
All rights reserved, which includes the right to
reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information
address Avon Books.
First Avon Printing, December, 1977
AVON 3RA9BMUCE KSO.
U.S.
PAT.
OFF.
AN'O IN OTHER COUNTRIES, MARCA, REGISTRADA,
HECHO EH U.S.A.
Printed
in
the
U.S.A.
CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dedicated with affection
and fervent thanks to my three
great
"helpers."
ROSEMARY
ROGERS, who gave the incentive and who nagged and encouraged me every step of
the way.
My husband, HOWARD,
without whose understanding and confidence in me, not one word
would have been written
.
My father, J. G. EGAN, who
volunteered, bless him, for the unrewarding task of making sense of my punctuation
and who helped me so much during the final typing.
The day was hot, and after weeks in the saddle
under the blazing sun, Jason Savage was glad their destination was in sight.
They—Jason; his boyhood companion, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian named Blood
Drinker; and Phillip Nolan, the actual leader of the trio—had been following
the Red River, so named for the muddy red color it gained as it flowed across
the rolling reddish clay plains of Texas. Now, deep in the Palo Duro Canyon,
Jason heaved a sigh of relief as the first tepee of the Kwerha-rehnuh or Antelope
Comanches came into view.
Frequently called
Kwah-huher
Kehuh
by others of
"The People," they were the most aloof and fierce of all the bands
that held sway over the vast area known as Comancheria. The Kwerha-rehnuh rode
the windswept ranges of the Llano Estacado and because of their very
fierceness commanded the richest hunting grounds of all. They made their camps
in the Palo Duro Canyon, and while actually being the smallest of the bands of
Comanches, they went unmolested.
Like eagles, they would
swoop down from the north, raiding as far south as Chihliahlia in Mexico and as
far west as Santa Fe in the New Mexico territory, leaving a trail of burned-out
ranches in their wake. There was no force in all of New Spain to control
them—they were the great lords of the high plains, arrogant in their power and
merciless in their dominion.
Like all of the bands of
"The People," they owned immense herds of horses—a single warrior
often owned two hundred and fifty horses, while a war chief might have up to
fifteen hundred animals in his herd. The Comanches were the most skillful at
horse stealing and more notably, of all the Plains Indians, were the only
successful horse breeders. Consequently most other tribes traded actively with
them for their horses.
The huge horse herds of the
Kwerha-rehnuh were what had brought the three men so far into Comancheria. They
had .done it before.
Once Nolan had lived with this
particular band for two years, so they knew him well.
Still they
approached cautiously, Nolan in the lead making signs that they came to trade.
A bit uneasily, Jason kept
his hand tight on the rifle carried handily across his saddlebow. The time for
trouble was now, for once the Comanches agreed to talk
trades,
they would not break the truce with their visitors. Nolan and one of the
warriors conversed in sign language, and a moment later, Jason relaxed a
little when Nolan murmured out of the side of his mouth, "They're
willing!"
The Indian camp was
scattered along the river, and their tepees could be clearly seen through the
breaks in the cottonwoods and willows that lined the river's sandy banks. The
three visitors were given a tepee in the middle of this encampment. Jason
never failed to marvel at the completely careless attitude of the Comanches towards
fortification. The camp was strung out all along the river; if attacked, it
would have been impossible to defend—but then, who in their right minds would
dare
such
a thing!
Smiling at his thoughts,
Jason helped Blood Drinker unload their pack horses and store, inside the huge
buffalo-hide tepee, the goods they had brought to trade.
The women eyed these tall
strangers curiously, and looking at the short, squat women with their cropped,
uncombed hair, Jason was glad "The People" did not share their women
with white men! He would have hated to insult some war chief by refusing his
extremely odorous wife; except for certain purification ceremonies, the
Comanches never washed.
Phillip Nolan had gone
immediately to reopen acquaintances with those who knew him, and he looked
decidedly cheerful when he returned. He was a big man with black hair and blue
eyes. Standing six feet, four inches, he possessed the shoulders to go with his
height. Five years or so older than Jason, he had lived a hard, exciting life,
and the
outrageous stories and scandalous tales that surrounded him were legion.
Jason, barely eighteen and full of the quest for adventure, had a case of hero
worship that he would never outgrow—there was nothing that Nolan could do that
wasn't perfectly magnificent to Jason.
Blood
Drinker, even in those days, had taken it upon himself to be Jason's shadow,
and with certain reservations, he had watched aloofly the ripening friendship
between the white men. But Jason by his very nature had that magical power to
bind men to him, so the bond between Jason and Phillip Nolan was as strong as
the one between Jason and Blood Drinker. And because the same wildness that
drove Jason was in his veins too, Blood Drinker had become the third member of
this trio that came to trade with the Comanches.
Inside
the relative privacy of the tepee, Nolan said, "We should have no trouble
striking a good bargain, and they are very eager to trade.
A
word of warning, though.
Don't wager on any horse races. They're very
clever at having horses that look like nothing and run like the winds—fleecing
strangers is a favorite pastime."
They
followed Nolan's advice, and the visit passed without incident until the
morning they were preparing to leave. They had traded all their steel knives, and
axes, as well as some guns and quite a few mirrors—the warriors were fascinated
by them—for fifty carefully selected horses.
The
problem arose when Quanah, a warrior from a returning hunting party, demanded
payment for a spotted pony he claimed was his. Nolan explained patiently that
he had bought the animal from Nokoni, one of the war chiefs. Dissatisfied with
Nolan's answer, Quanah became belligerent, so Nolan tactfully suggested that
together they should go see Nokoni and resolve the question of ownership.
Unfortunately both Comanches continued to claim the ownership of the disputed
horse. Diplomatically Nolan asserted that he had no further interest in the
horse. He returned the animal and said, in effect, that the two angry warriors
could settle it themselves.
From
a distance, Jason and Blood Drinker had closely watched the exchange, and
Nolan's expression as he returned told them things were not well. "We'd
better get
out
of here, quick! I don't like the looks of what's happening, and the sooner
we're out of sight the better!"
The three men mounted their
horses, and herding the newly purchased horses before them, they rode out of
the camp.
Nolan was worried. If the
loser of the unexpected argument decided to vent his spleen on the departed
white men, all he had to do was cry for volunteers, and there would be a pack
of murderous Comanches right on their heels. It could come to nothing, but they
had better be prepared.
There was no need to speak
his uneasy thoughts, for Jason and Blood Drinker were well versed in sensing
danger, and instinctively, all three men scanned the barren canyon walls that
rose a thousand feet or more in the air. With practiced eyes, they searched the
incredible spires and pinnacles for some place of concealment or a niche that
would offer them some protection, hopefully one which could be defended. The
horses,
regretfully would have to be conceded to the
Comanches unless they were tremendously lucky—there would be no way to escape
with their lives and the horses. It was against his nature to give in so
tamely, and giving a shout, Jason pointed out a widening crack in the seemingly
endless walls.
The crack branched off to
their left, and leaving Nolan and Blood Drinker in control of the horses, Jason
guided his own animal into the space in the canyon walls. It was barely wide
enough for two horses. As he rode down this split in the walls, the sky above
him was only a thin strip of blue, and he felt a thump of excitement when he
discovered it led to another canyon, a considerably smaller canyon. With rising
optimism, he turned his horse and quickly rejoined the others.
Minutes later, the Indian
ponies were herded ruthlessly down the narrow passageway, and once again the
area was given a lightning assessment. The pass was defensible, but this small
canyon with its yellow, sandy floor littered only with gray-green sagebrush and
mesquite, could become a deathtrap. So they continued to zigzag their way
through what seemed like a maze of endless canyons that widened and then
narrowed to almost nothing, as they steadily pushed their way southeastward,
always with a wary eye thrown over their shoulders.
By late afternoon, they
were fairly certain that whatever the outcome of the disputed horse, the loser
would not be expressing his dissatisfaction by raiding the white men who had
inadvertently been the cause of the argument. Unfortunately, in their desire
to leave a trail as confusing and hard to track as possible, the three men had
managed to lose themselves. The situation wasn't desperate yet, for all three
were veterans of the trackless expanses through which they traveled, and at
present they had plenty of food and water for themselves. But water for their
horses was definitely a pressing need.
It was the search for that
precious commodity that led Jason to check out a tiny passage. It was very
narrow; his legs brushed the sides of the rock and limestone walls when he
spurred his horse down the opening that was barely noticeable behind huge,
fallen boulders. It was cool and dark between the canyon walls as he explored
this queer, blade-thin slice in the unending sea of rocks and canyons, and with
a sense of satisfaction, he noticed the dampness that seemed to permeate the
area. The crevice appeared to snake its way between the majestic canyons for
miles, and lured on by the increasing signs of moisture—little beads of wetness
on the walls—he continued. Eventually reaching a place where water oozed out
of the encroaching walls, he knew there must be a spring hidden within the
rocky barrier that encased him.
Abruptly, the passage
ended, and Jason found himself overlooking a small doll-like valley, the floor
covered with lush buffalo grass and dotted with small blue lakes where willows
and cottonwoods grew greenly upwards. Astonished at such an oasis hidden deep
within this dry desertlike tract of canyons and cliffs, he stared, unable to
believe his eyes. But even more startling sights awaited him as his bemused
gaze scanned the incredible scene before him, and he stiffened suddenly in amazement.
He saw row upon row of pueblos carved out of the rock walls and huddled under
the overhanging cliffs. The dwellings appeared to cling lovingly next to the
perpendicular walls of the encircling canyon. His disbelief growing, Jason's
gaze was drawn irresistibly to the huge, soaring pyramid that rose loftily high
above the canyon floor.
His eyes fastened on the
endless steps leading upwards to the massive platform that must command a
breathtaking view from its towering height. After a dumbstruck moment, he
dazedly guided his horse down the steeply sloping wall from which he had
emerged and cautiously approached the canyon floor.
That he was being extremely
foolish never occurred to him. Mesmerized, he slowly rode towards the houses
that effortlessly roosted like eagles against the vertical orange and yellow
walls that towered hundreds of feet above them. There was a narrow, winding
track that led upwards to the first row of houses, and Jason's gaze swept the
empty-eyed dwellings for any sign of life. They appeared deserted.
Belatedly aware of the risk
he was running, he explored no further. Making a hasty appraisal of the box
canyon, he spurred his horse back towards the barely discernible opening
through which he had come. He returned to the outer world, as it seemed to him
just then, and shared his discovery with Nolan and Blood Drinker.
It would be dark in less
than three hours, and after a hurried discussion they decided to camp in
Jason's newly discovered canyon. There was some trouble forcing the horses into
the narrow channel, but finally, with Jason in the lead pulling one of the
Indian ponies behind him, they were able to herd the recalcitrant horses in
single file through the twisting passage.
Once again back in the
canyon, Jason dismounted and watched the horses spill from the opening and race
down to the deeply grassed floor. Expectantly he waited for Blood Drinker and
Nolan, and the expressions on their faces when they caught sight of the valley
made him smile with real enjoyment.
"I told you it's
unbelievable!" he said. "Have you ever seen the like?"
Nolan, his blue eyes
riveted on the great pyramid, nodded absentmindedly. His voice blank, he said,
"In Mexico, the Aztecs built such pyramids for temples."
"Do you think—?"
Jason asked excitedly, unable to complete the sentence, his young face
betraying the thrill he felt at Nolan's matter-of-fact words.
Nolan shot him an
affectionate look. "I've never heard of any Aztecs this far north, but
its
not impossible. When the conquistadors conquered
Tenochtitlan—Mexico City to you—many of the Aztecs fled. And there's nothing to
prove that some of them didn't flee this far."
Blood Drinker eyed the
pyramid uneasily. A feeling of brooding evil feathered across his skin, and
almost as if he knew the purpose for the high platform that crowned the stone
edifice, he muttered, "This is not a good place. It is cursed!"
But Nolan and Jason paid
him no heed, and with lagging steps Blood Drinker followed them as they slid,
leading their horses to the canyon floor. He was not afraid, but being
sensitive to things beyond the ken of normal man, he disliked intensely the
currents of evil that blew softly over his body.