The Peacemaker (28 page)

Jim didn't move. He couldn't. He was mindless and numb. The years of stored-up need drained from his body into hers. He heard her soft sobs and was overcome with tenderness and love.

Toriano was right, he thought, bending down to kiss her soft, tear-wet cheek. She was such-a-woman. His woman. "I love you, Indy," he whispered.

Jim had gone straight from Indy's bed to meet with Toriano whose smoke signal he had seen yesterday but had kept to himself for fear it would bring suspicion about his loyalty.

It had not been an easy meeting for Jim despite his resolves about what he was doing and Toriano's approval.

At first they talked of small things, insignificant things. Of Toriano's family. Of Jim's life at the soldier fort.

"They say you have the power of the wind spirit," Toriano commented solemnly.

"Who says this?"

"Diablo. The son of Chie. He has much hate in his heart. He has promised the mountain spirits he will kill you and hang your scalp from his war lance for all to see."

"Chie came to steal the woman and I killed him. I told Diablo to go back to his camp and tell his father's braves that Shatto had taken Chie's power and that they should return to Cochise."

"Such-a-woman?"

Jim laughed. "Yes. Such-a-woman."

Toriano nodded his head and gave Jim a knowing look. "She will make a good wife, I think. You must watch her with eyes of the hawk. She is in great danger. Diablo will try to honor his father and take her as his father would have taken her."

Mr. Moorland had been up since before daybreak to see his escort off to Tucson. Afterward, he inquired about where Major Garrity was and found Jim as he was coming back from the desert.

"Yesterday, you mentioned something about a bargain you made with the colonel. I want you to explain exactly what you meant."

Jim was leading his horse to the hitching post by the corral. "To train the men in Apache warfare in exchange for a full pardon and reinstatement of my rank and benefits," Jim told him offhandedly.

"A pardon? For what?" Jim had assumed either the colonel or Aubrey would have told the commissioner about his court-martial, but obviously not. "Six years ago I was court-martialed and sentenced to hang for a crime I didn't commit," he began, even as he wiped down the big paint. He hoped the commissioner wasn't going to stand around and make a pest of himself. He had supplies to get ready for today's training. He had planned to take the men out into the desert where he could teach them to read various signs, some of which he had made himself earlier this morning.

He finished his story at the same time he finished getting everything together. "The fact is, I probably would have done it regardless of the bargain because of what I said last night. Toriano and I figure that if something doesn't happen soon, there won't be any Apaches left to tell about the great spirits who look out over these mountains. Then too, I figured if there was a chance the colonel could get me a pardon, I'd take it. The way it was, I could never go home."

The commissioner leaned his head to the side inquiringly. "In other words, the captain promised to hold off sending the men's petition if the colonel allowed you to train the men. Do I have that right, Major?"

"I think that's how it was. You'd better ask Captain Nolan to make sure. All I know is that the men—most of them anyway—weren't satisfied with things the way they were. Every time a patrol would go out under the colonel's orders, some of them would get killed."

Jim told him about the day Indy had arrived and how there had been too few men sent out on the patrol. "It was just luck that we came along when we did. We were hunting when we saw them being chased by Chie and his braves so we ran them off."

"I have to tell you, Major, Colonel Taylor does not have the authority to grant you a pardon."

Jim drew a deep, steadying breath. "I wasn't sure, but I went along with it anyway. I figured if it was to be, it would be. But now at least I've got the incentive to go back and find the proof that will exonerate me. It's there. I know it is. If anybody had looked before as I had asked them to, they would have found it."

"Which is, Major?"

"That those men I killed were Reb spies. I heard them call each other by name. I remember their names and their faces. But because they were wearing Yankee blues, carrying Yankee papers, it was assumed they were Yanks. Nobody even checked to see."

"They were troubled times, Major. A lot of confusion and such."

"Yeah, I know. But you know what, Commissioner? People will call these troubled times too. And the next generation will call theirs a troubled time, and the one after that and so on. It'll go on forever, Commissioner. Every time will be a troubled time to the people who live in it."

"Of course, you're right, Major." He took a broken-off pencil out of his pocket and a square of paper and began jotting down notes.

"What are you doing?"

"Your case is somewhat familiar to me. I'm a lawyer, you see, and sometimes, just to satisfy my curiosity you might say, I look into unusual cases that I find particularly interesting. Yours was one of those cases. However, I didn't begin looking into it until after you escaped. It was quite a story as I recall. I was in Washington when it came out in the newspaper. I was particularly impressed by your testimony and particularly unimpressed with the idiot who was supposed to be representing you, for to my way of thinking, he seemed to be doing everything but representing you."

"He was a lazy bastard," Jim agreed resentfully. "I promised myself if I ever got a hold of him, I'd wring his neck."

The commissioner cleared his throat. "Yes, well, be that as it may, I wanted to see for myself if those names you gave in your testimony coincided with the muster rolls."

Jim braced himself. "And did they?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, Major. They did. All four of them. The problem was, as I recall, that you had two of the names spelled incorrectly, which could account for your lawyer not being able to find them, if indeed he actually looked. Actually I doubt he did because they were easy enough to find."

Jim leaned back against the corral railing. "They were Dardis, Sinnett, Dillehay, and Corwin—Will Corwin. Corwin was the one in charge.

"If you knew I was innocent, Commissioner, why didn't you tell someone?"

"You had disappeared, Major. No one knew where you were."

"But you could have contacted my family. They would have notified me through Captain Nolan."

The commissioner hung his head. "Yes, Major, there are indeed steps I could have taken to help you, but sometimes we don't always do the right thing by our fellow man. Because we're human we are often unforgiving."

"When did you lose your Southern accent, Commissioner?"

"When I lost my home and my family, Major, to a Yankee patrol heading to Atlanta."

There was a long pregnant silence.

Jim breathed a deep sigh. "I can't say that I blame you, sir. Like you said, that was troubled time for all of us."

"Consider yourself exonerated, Major. As soon as I get back to Tucson, I'll make a full report, which I will submit to the President. I have no doubt that he will grant you a full military pardon, reinstate your rank, and return your benefits."

"Thank you, sir."

A week later, on the parade ground, the commissioner stood before the whole garrison, with the exception of the sentries who had been placed around the entire perimeter of the camp.

"Congress has been deluged with complaints and investigations about crooked Indian agents, Army officers, and civilian contractors. Not to mention the government scandals. This June, President Grant appointed a board of Indian commissioners, of which I am a part. We are authorized to do many things as we see fit on behalf of the Indians, which includes negotiating treaties and establishing reservations."

The commissioner had made it clear that this was to be an informal gathering and that everyone was free to speak his mind.

Corporal Ryker pushed through to the front of the assembly. "Why not authorize four or five thousand troops to come in with cannons and a freight wagon full of dynamite and blow them red devils clear to hell!" His words drew a weak cheer from several others.

"Even as I speak, Corporal, there are powerful organizations working to stop all fighting against the Indians. Because of newspapers and churchmen, the Apaches have the sympathy of the entire nation, with, of course, the exception of the people of New Mexico and Arizona. The nation wants President Grant to send good Christian men into the territory as Indian agents to establish reservations, and they want missionaries to educate the savages in Christianity and agriculture. They do not want extinction."

"One dollar. Do I hear one dollar for this fine chair, shipped all the way around the Horn from Boston?"

Indy raised her bruised arm as high as she could to signal the auctioneer. "One dollar," she shouted, though she hardly needed to. There weren't more than two dozen people in the audience, and all of them were soldiers and all of them were in a terrible hurry to get to breakfast.

"Miss Independence Taylor bids one dollar. Do I hear more? One dollar going once." The auctioneer pounded his gavel on the table in front of him. "One dollar going twice. One dollar going three times. Sold to Miss Indy!"

Indy was pleased with her purchase but felt badly for Prudence. The chair should have gone for at least two dollars and would have if any of the women had been in attendance. But because the items being auctioned off were Prudence Stallard's, the only buyers were men.

Indy placed a comforting hand on Prudence's arm and looked at her with sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Pru. You should have gotten twice as much as you did for everything. You had such beautiful things. I don't know what's the matter with the women around here. They don't have anything in their quarters that can compare with what you had here."

"It's all right, Indy. The soldiers always get everybody else's castoffs. I'm glad some of them finally got some nice things. I'll get pleasure out of knowing my things are making a few of them more comfortable."

Indy brightened. "Jim says that Captain Nolan's quarters are practically bare. I'm glad I got the captain over here and talked him into buying your table and chairs. At least he and Jim will have a place to sit down and eat at now." She shook her head impatiently. "I probably could have gotten him to buy some more things if he hadn't had to leave so fast. I guess Jim was taking the Wolf Company out around the boulders this morning to teach them to hide their tracks."

Prudence studied Indy for a moment and smiled. "So it's Jim now, not Major Garrity," she teased.

"Well—I—" Indy sputtered like a burned-down candle.

"You don't have to explain, Indy."

Indy grabbed Prudence's hand. "Yes, I do. You have to believe me when I tell you that I had no idea Jim cared for me. I know he didn't mean to hurt you and neither did I."

"Independence   Taylor! Nobody ever knows when they're going to fall in love. It's just a thing that happens. Don't you think I know that? And you didn't hurt me. The night I ran into Jim, I was just feeling a little lonely is all and looking for a good man to share my bed."

"Shhhh!" Indy put her fingers to her lips and looked all around to make sure no one had heard Prudence. "You shouldn't say things like that. Somebody might have heard you!"

"Oh, pish posh. What do I care who hears me?" She deliberately raised her voice and then grabbed Indy by the arms and squeezed her excitedly.

"Ouch!" Indy pulled back and rubbed her arms where her father had hurt her.

"What's the matter?"

The bruising inflicted by her father was still tender. "It's nothing. I just strained my muscles."

"Doing what?"

Indy thought a moment. "Lifting an old box." She dropped her arms back down to her side and tried to make light of it. "I should have called someone to help me, but you know how it is? You don't want to trouble people."

"Indy," Prudence said gravely. "Jim Garrity, he is a
good
man, isn't he?"

What an odd question. She seemed so serious. "Yes, Pru. He seems to me to be a very good man. I've come to greatly respect him . . . and love him."

"That's not exactly what I meant." Seeing Indy's confusion, she explained. "When he made love to you, he was gentle and kind, wasn't he?"

Indy gave a start. She couldn't believe anyone would ask such a bold and intimate question. Yet, when she met Prudence's gaze, she realized that it wasn't curiosity that had prompted it, but concern.

"I—I don't quite know what to say."

Prudence waved her hand dismissingly. "You don't have to say anything. It's none of my business. It's just that . . . well ... he did live with those savages for all those years. There's no telling the kinds of bad habits he picked up from them. I was a little worried he might have forced you to do something you didn't want to do."

In spite of her best efforts, Indy felt her cheeks burn with remembrance.

"I can see I need not have concerned myself," Prudence said, the teasing back in her voice.

It occurred to Indy then that it was her own lie about lifting a box and straining her arm muscles that had prompted Pru to ask such a question in the first place. A thoughtful smile came to her lips. "I truly do appreciate your concern, Pru," she said in earnest. "Please believe me when I tell you that Jim didn't force me to do anything I didn't want him to do." Indy decided a change of subject was badly needed. "When do you leave?"

"Day after tomorrow." Prudence drew herself up proudly and gave herself a look of importance. "Commissioner Moorland will be accompanying me. We're going to Tucson together."

Indy played along, glad for a lighter mood and a safer subject. "Oh, well! La-dee-da! Aren't you the one?"

"I certainly am. But believe it or not, I'm going to miss Bowie, not this Bowie but the old one, across the way. That's where my husband and I came after we were married. We went through a terrible rainy season there together."