The Peacemaker (34 page)

Jim looked across the room at Indy. They could never have any kind of life together unless he was granted that pardon. But what if the commissioner was wrong or the records had been lost? It had been six years after all. If the records couldn't be found, he'd find himself dangling at the end of a rope. It was a risk, he decided. Indy smiled at him and he knew it was a risk he was willing to take.

"I say yes, General. On two conditions."

Stoneman frowned. "You're hardly in the position to be making conditions, Major. What are they?"

"One: that Indy and I be allowed to see each other in Tucson while we're waiting. Two: that you send Captain Nolan back East to find and bring back the proof. He's the only one I would trust."

"But he's needed here at Bowie, Major." He stared at Jim, then shook his head. "I suppose

Sergeant Moseley could handle things for a short while, though it's highly irregular. All right, I'll accept those conditions after you accept one of mine."

"Which is, General?"

"While you're in my custody, I want you to teach me and some of my officers all you know about the Apaches and train us in Apache warfare. This is going to be a long and bloody war, and I want to be as prepared as possible."

"Sounds like a bargain to me, General."

"Shall we shake on it?"

"I'd like that, sir. Just as soon as you put the terms of our bargain in writing."

The general laughed and nodded. "Of course, Major."

The white light of a three-quarter moon shone into Indy's bedroom. A soft breeze, redolent with the smell of rain, billowed the curtains. Indy held her breath as Jim quickly removed first her clothing and then his own. She couldn't help trembling with anticipation.

I love him
, she thought, reaching her arms out to him and pulling him near. She kissed his mouth, his chin, his implacable jaw.
And he loves me
. It was the strength of their love for each other that had given her courage during those frightening hours of her capture, sustained her through her recuperation, and helped her through the emotional upheaval following her father's death.

"I love you," he whispered as he drew her into his embrace. She didn't need to hear him speak the words aloud; he spoke them in silence every time he looked at her and touched her. He loved her in a way no one had ever loved her.

"I hope you know what you're getting into," he told her. "I'm not your St. Louis gentleman. You know that, don't you, Indy? There's so much I've forgotten about being a white man, I'm not sure I know how to act civilized anymore. I don't know that I'd ever be able to fit in again. And frankly I don't know that I want to. Those mountains out there—they're my home now. Do you understand?"

She raised up on one elbow. "Are you trying to frighten me away, Jim Garrity? Because if you are—it won't work. I'll love you whether you're wearing a uniform or a breechclout, whether you're Major Jim Garrity or Shatto, whether we live in a wickiup or in officer's quarters. Do you understand?"

"Toriano was right about you."

"And who may I ask is Toriano?"

"An Apache friend of mine who lives on the other side of that mountain." He turned toward the window. "The Valley of Thunder."

"How does he know me?"

"He was with me that first day I saw you."

"So what did he say about me?"

"He said you were such-a-woman. And he was right."

June, 1870

It had seemed to Indy that this day would never come. The wait had been interminable, but winter and new Apache uprisings had made travel hard. Outside her quarters, Fort Lowell's infantry company was shining up, preparing themselves for the ceremony and the festivities afterward.

Jim had been gone nearly a month, helping to build a road through the White Mountains that culminated at the new post, Fort Apache. It was there that the army was planning to set up a reservation.

Captain Nolan had left for the East within a few days after the general had dropped the charges against him. Throughout the winter there had been only one message from him—an affirmation that he had found the needed proof and would be presenting it to the necessary officials at the War Department.

He had returned a week ago with not only the pardon signed by the President himself, but with Jim's parents, who had insisted upon coming so that they could be present when their son received his pardon. Upon the captain's return, a detail had been sent to bring Jim back, using the pretense that General Stoneman had returned to Arizona and needed to speak with him about a new and desperate situation arising in Tucson.

Indeed, General Stoneman had returned, leaving his new San Francisco headquarters as soon as he had received the news that Captain Nolan was on his way to Fort Lowell.

"If you don't stop pacing, you'll wear holes in your shoes," Prudence Stallard told Indy.

"I can't help it. I can't just sit and wait. I have to do
something
. What time is it?"

"Patience, Indy. Jim just rode in. He'll have to clean up. You don't want him appearing before all those people covered with trail dust, do you?"

"No, of course not." She shook her head.

Prudence consulted her new timepiece, a gift from Captain Nolan upon his return. The way the two had greeted each other, there was no doubt that they had missed each other and would waste no time in renewing their relationship. Indy could not have been more pleased. Prudence had become a dear and special friend.

"I suppose we could walk over there now," Prudence announced.

Indy stopped in midstride, looked at Prudence, and took a deep breath. "Let's go."

The room was crowded with spectators. Commissioner Moorland sat in the front row beside Sergeant Moseley and Doc Valentine. Captain Aubrey Nolan stood at the front door.

"Are you all right, Indy? You look a little white."

She touched the sleeve of his dress uniform. "I'm just nervous. This means so much to Jim, but I have to wonder if surprising him was such a good idea."

Nolan smiled. "Everything will be fine, Indy. A little surprise never hurt anyone."

"I hope you're right." She squeezed his arm, then walked away and took her seat. Prudence was beside her and Indy had never been more happy for her company.

Jim's parents turned around and smiled at Indy. In just the few days she had known them, she had come to care for them as if she had known them all her life. It had been nearly seven years since they had seen their only son and she knew they were as anxious as she. They were also proud.

From the side door General George Stoneman entered the room and took his seat behind a large, imposing desk. He squared his broad shoulders and gazed out over the assemblage, his expression void of emotion of any kind.

He lifted his head and looked straight at Captain Nolan. "Bring in Major Garrity, please."

"Yes, sir."

Moments later the door was opened and Jim Garrity stepped inside. He stopped abruptly and surveyed the scene before him. Indy bit down on her lip and turned her head ever so slowly.

"Good evening, Major," said Stoneman. "Won't you come forward? I have some news that I think you'll find to your liking."

With a nonchalance that made Indy smile, Jim walked past the assembly to the front of the room. "And what might that be, General?"

"I'm a man who keeps his promises, Major. I have here, from President Grant himself, a paper that gives me the authority to grant you a full pardon—to reinstate your rank and your privileges." He held out the paper. "On behalf of the army, Major, I would like to extend an apology for all that you have suffered."

"I didn't suffer, sir, except maybe for this last month." He turned around then, faced the assembly. Indy was halfway to him, smiling and crying at the same time.

Outside a finger of wind circled the building, tapping lightly at the windows and doors.

Only Jim heard it. Only Jim heard it whisper, “Peacemaker.”

THE QUEST

The time had come. He knew it, felt it deep within him. For months he had been at odds with everyone including himself. He had lost his sense of purpose and no longer believed he could live up to his own ideals. Worst of all, he had begun to doubt the reason for his existence. He
had
to go. Now. Before it was too late.

He left on foot with only his instincts to guide him. Those instincts were strong—thanks to his grandfather, Gianatah, who had taught him to trust in himself. It was Gianatah who told him the story of Wind Cave—a cave inhabited by the wind spirit. Of all the Mountain Spirits, Wind was the most elusive—hiding itself from those who sought its power.

He carried only the essentials, a bow and a quiver of arrows, a knife and flint. He would have no need of food until he returned. In spite of the threat of rain, he dressed simply in the breeches his mother had made for him and a muslin shirt he'd bought in a Tucson mercantile. His clothing, like himself, was of two worlds—the Apache and the
pinda lickoye
, the White Eyes.

He walked throughout the day, never stopping, never slowing his pace. Late afternoon found him on the jagged shoulder of a mountaintop where the earth ended and the sky began. From this vantage point, he could look down into the heart of Arivaipa Canyon, where Wind Cave lay hidden among the rocky walls.

His gaze found a stream that meandered along the canyon floor like liquid silver, alternately narrow then wide, swift then slow.

Just before sunset, he made his descent and headed upstream, moving deeper and deeper into the canyon. Near midnight, at the moment the moon reached its zenith, a coyote howled and a chill wind touched him with icy fingers, then sped past him into the night. He paused and glanced behind him as if to watch it go.

And he knew.

Wind Cave was near.

He continued on and after rounding a sharp bend, the canyon walls yawned wide open and the stream spilled into a placid, grass-fringed pool. Without warning, a blast of wind hit him—pushing him against the wall and pounding him with tornado-like force. The wind burnt his face and battered his body. He didn't try to fight it for he knew this was no ordinary wind, but an emissary of the wind spirit. And it was testing him.

The wind subsided slowly, as if reluctant to be done with him, then gathered itself into a whirl and danced away.

He peeled himself away from the canyon wall and stumbled toward the water's edge, then plunged headfirst into the pool to wet his parched mouth and soothe his wind-burned face. Feeling refreshed, he walked onto the shore and shook himself off.

Then he saw it, a large, gaping hole in the canyon wall.

Wind Cave, his grandfather called it, for Wind did live here.

Remembering his grandfather's instructions, he set about gathering firewood and prepared himself for a long vigil. Toward dawn, his eyes grew heavy and the rain that had threatened the day before began to fall. He stripped off his clothes and laid them over the pile of wood in hopes of keeping the bottom pieces dry. Naked except for his moccasins, he sat facing the cave.

Watching.

Waiting.

Praying.

By nightfall when the wind spirit still had not come, he began to have doubts. Maybe the stories of Wind Cave were just that—stories. Like the ones his little sister read. Never before had he doubted the Apache legends of the Mountain Spirits. Just as he had never doubted the existence of Ussen, the almighty Giver of Life. But as the night grew longer, his doubts grew stronger.

When at last the rain stopped, he built a fire and warmed himself. Suddenly an explosion of firebrands flew into the air and flames rose up in front of him like fiery snakes preparing to strike. He leaped to his feet and saw a whirl of wind—like a desert dust devil—moving toward him. Even as he watched, it grew into a tall, sleek-looking funnel. Then there came a sound—a fierce roar that echoed off the canyon walls.

"S . . . e . . . e . . . k . . . e . . . r!"

The man lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. "I am here."

From inside the top of the funnel, the head of an old man squeezed out like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. His craggy face was unmistakably Apache and his long gray hair flowed back into the wind that swirled about him. "Why are you here?"

"I seek knowledge and power," he answered without hesitation.

"Many seek knowledge and power. Why should I give it to you?"

"So that I may help my people."

Wind roared with mirth. "You have no people, half-breed."

He gritted his teeth and held back the anger that always came when someone called him half-breed. "You're wrong, Wind. I have two peoples and they are at war with each other."

Wind reared back as if affronted. "The Apache and the white man have much to learn. Peace without price will teach them nothing."

He paused, took a deep breath, knowing it might be his last if he angered the spirit. "Already, too many have paid the price with their lives."

When Wind looked away, the man turned and reached for his clothes.

"You turn your back on me, Seeker?"

"Because you turn your face from me, Wind," he said over his shoulder.

"I look at you now."

With his clothes in hand, he turned and faced the ominous vortex.

"You must learn patience, half-breed. And tolerance," Wind said.

As he opened his mouth to reply, the wind pushed against his face and dove down his throat.

The half-breed awoke to a cloudless blue sky, feeling nothing except a terrible thirst and hunger pains. Had he dreamed his encounter with the wind spirit? Or did he now possess the power of the wind? How would he know?

Confused, he gathered his things and started for home, stopping briefly at the place where the earth ended and the sky began. A sudden wind rose up from the canyon floor and eddied around his feet—warm and familiar.

Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, but now, on the outsides of his moccasins were small white tracks—wind tracks, to make him fast and light like the wind.