Читать книгу Sun Woman - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 6

The scout section sat behind the rows of laundry tents where the women washed the clothes and bedding for the entire post. Kuchana surveyed the bone-colored canvas tents that stood, with flaps open, in neat, orderly lines. Huge tin tubs filled with hot, soapy water sat on wooden tables. The dark-skinned women who toiled laboriously over their duties had sweaty faces and their dresses clung to them from the heat. These women reminded her of the diligent Apache women, who worked nonstop for their families.

Turning her gaze in another direction, Kuchana saw several Indian men crouched in a circle, speaking in low guttural tones. The hackles on the back of her neck raised as Chee, a huge Apache of Tonto ancestry, stood up at her approach.

Chee was dressed in a blue army jacket and dark brown twill pants along with his kabun boots. He was the chief scout, and judging from his deepening scowl, McCoy knew there were going to be fireworks. The other four scouts, wearing cotton shirts, army trousers and black leather boots, stood also. Their faces were wary, inspecting Kuchana behind a wall of formidable silence as she and Gib came to a halt. Chee stared down at the woman for a long moment. “You are Geronimo’s warrior,” he spat.

Girding herself, Kuchana stared at him defiantly. “I am Chiricahua. My name is Kuchana.”

Chee stuck out his chest and thumped it with his fist. “I am in charge. You Chiricahua think you are superior. Well, you are not. I am Tonto.”

Gib grimaced inwardly. There was little that could be done to settle the friction between the Tonto tribe and the Chiricahua. That was one reason the Apache hadn’t been able to push the whites out of Arizona; they’d fought too much among themselves and not presented a united front. Even here Gib was seeing evidence of the same hostility. And if he had any doubts about Kuchana’s bravery, now that she stood in front of the huge, huffing Indian, they disappeared.

Kuchana thumped her breast, thrusting out her chin in Chee’s direction. “You may be chief scout, but I’m Chiricahua, and we are better trackers.”

McCoy watched as Two Toes moved forward. The Yavapai’s face was lean in comparison to the fuller Apache face. He saw Kuchana’s anger turn to hatred as she noticed the scout’s approach.

“Yavapai,” she hissed. Glaring at Chee, she demanded, “How can you work with our enemy? This tribe sneaks onto our reservation and into our wickiups at night, killing our women and children with clubs.”

Chee’s massive features, lined with forty years of life, worked into a sneer. “We all work for the army against Geronimo. Yavapai are now our friends.”

Kuchana was the only Chiricahua present. The other scouts were also of Tonto heritage. With a sinking feeling, Kuchana realized that even as a scout, she was going to be an outcast. Although members of Chiricahua and Tonto were brothers, they did not get along. Often, there were blood feuds between the tribes.

Gib cleared his throat. “Chee, it’s up to you to make sure she is trained properly to take over scouting duties when called upon.”

Chee nodded, assuming an air of importance. “She is a scout, Sergeant. I’ll give her a tent and tell her the rules.”

“Good. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be back over here and issue her a kit and weapons.”

Kuchana moved uneasily. She had no choice but to trust Chee. All her weapons had been taken earlier, but no warrior, even without weapons, was defenseless. She had courage and strength born of the knowledge that she would survive where others had died.

Gib glanced at her. “If Chee can’t help you, or answer a question, you come and see me over at the barracks. Understand?”

She nodded, moistening her lips, looking in the direction he pointed. The two-story barracks stood in rows several hundred feet from the scout area.

Pointing to the building closest to the scout area, Gib added, “I have a small office in there. The scouts are free to come and go to the laundry, chow tent, or to the enlisted barracks, but that’s all. Don’t be caught unescorted up by headquarters or on the parade ground.”

“I will stay here,” Kuchana said, pointing to the ground.

“Get some rest. I’ll come for you tomorrow morning and we’ll fill out the rest of your billet.”

Kuchana gave him a small smile of appreciation and whispered, “A-co-’d.” The word meant ‘thank you.’ And it wasn’t often that an Apache spoke it. Gib’s face changed and softened for a moment.

“You’re welcome,” he acknowledged.

Without any further word, he turned and left. Kuchana’s pleasant features wavered in his mind’s eye as he crossed the parade ground, dodging a troop of cavalry coming back in from an assignment. She stirred his senses and feelings as no other woman ever had. He wondered if Polk would allow her to continue as a scout, or send her back to the reservation. If she was going to stay, Kuchana was going to have to prove herself to everyone, and quickly.

Lieutenant Carter hated anyone who wasn’t white or an officer. He didn’t care one whit if a scout was killed in the line of duty. Too often, while on assignment, the scouts were fired upon by civilians who thought they were Geronimo’s people. Carter wasn’t cautious enough about protecting the scouts in that kind of situation. Gib was damned if Kuchana was going to be gunned down by a jumpy silver miner just because Carter chose to ignore certain directives that would keep her safe. He’d have to remain vigilant.

Wiping the sweat off his upper lip with the back of his hand, Gib climbed the wooden stairs. All his life, he’d protected the underdog. That’s what had gotten him in trouble in Fort Apache. With a sigh, he took off his hat and entered headquarters.

Kuchana presented some potentially damaging problems to his own floundering career. The last time he’d placed himself in jeopardy for a woman he’d lost his officer’s commission. Many felt he should have left with his tail between his legs, but he hadn’t. In his heart, he knew what he had done had been right. Instead of retiring, he’d forced the army to give him sergeant’s stripes and retain his services for the duration of his twenty-year enlistment.

Stopping at Corporal McClusky’s desk, Gib picked up several sets of orders that would involve his scouts on future expeditions. Once a month, Polk set out riding assignments for the Fourth, and McCoy was responsible for assigning scouts to the Negro columns.

As he perused the orders, his mind dwelled on Kuchana. He wondered if she was going to get along with the other scouts. With a mental shrug, Gib swung his focus back to his duties. He couldn’t afford to keep thinking about Kuchana. But whether he wanted to admit it or not, his heart was still lingering on her sweet, soft smile.

* * *

The sky was crimson with the rising of the sun. Gib settled the hat on his head and gingerly touched the spot on his chin where he’d cut himself with the razor this morning. Swinging off the barracks steps, he headed for the scout area. The mountains to the north were dark, rugged shapes carved with deep ravines. Juniper and piñon clung to the lower reaches of the slopes like a scraggly green skirt above the sandy-yellow reaches of the desert floor.

Sentries on horseback rode slowly around the huge rectangular area that comprised the buildings and grounds of the fort. As he passed the bustling laundry facilities, he saw Poppy and waved.

“Sergeant McCoy, come over here!” she called out in her booming voice.

Gib smiled and changed direction. As he approached she wrung out a shirt and handed it to her daughter, Nettie, to rinse.

“Why, you look fit as a fiddle this morning, Sergeant McCoy.”

Tipping his hat, Gib halted at the front of the huge tent, now open to the breeze. “Thanks, Poppy. Looks like you’re hard at work.” Most of the laundresses washed from dawn until noon, and then pressed and folded the clothes throughout the hottest part of the day.

Poppy’s hair was wrapped in a bright blue turban, and sweat streaked her face. “Word’s flying around here that the army hired a woman Apache scout.”

Nettie looked up from her tub. The girl’s hair hung in two neat pigtails and she was rail-thin compared to her mother. “I saw her, Sergeant McCoy, yesterday when I took some clothes back to the enlisted barracks.” Her eyes grew merry. “She’s a purty thing, ain’t she? I never knew Apaches to have gold-colored eyes.”

“Some do,” Gib said.

“Lordy me,” Poppy gushed, “what’s this gonna do to the post? Why, I heard from Clarissa, that Miz Melissa is livid about this woman being here. Is that so?”

Gib kept his face neutral. The laundresses were a gossipy bunch. Anytime he wanted to know what was really going on at the post, he came to Poppy. He wasn’t surprised Melissa Polk was throwing a fit over Kuchana’s presence. Melissa was jealous, that was all; Kuchana was a hell of a lot prettier than the snobbish banker’s daughter.

“Ladies, you know I don’t have much to do with the officers or their wives. I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong person.”

Poppy pushed her lips together, eyeing him with laughter in her eyes. “You’re a wolf among sheep, Sergeant McCoy.” She made a jab with one thick finger toward the officer’s quarters in the distance. “And they all know it, too. You might be wearing sergeant’s stripes, but the men of the Fourth trust you.”

That was part of the problem, Gib thought. He hadn’t let color dissuade him from becoming a protective buffer between the men of the Fourth and the likes of Lieutenant Carter. “Poppy, have you got a couple of cups of coffee hidden somewhere in that tent of yours?” She always had some forbidden officers’ supplies stashed away.

She grinned, placing her hands on her ample hips. “Two cups, Sergeant? Usually, you only want one. By any chance, you heading for the scout tents?”

Gib rubbed his jaw. “Can’t fool you, can I, Poppy?” The laundress didn’t miss much, but then, Poppy could be trusted with knowing things like this and keeping it secret.

Cackling, Poppy asked Nettie to fetch the coffee. “Ain’t like you to take the scouts coffee. They know they can come here and get it from me.”

“The second cup is for Kuchana,” he said, trying hard not to smile.

“I thought so.”

“Mind if I bring her over here and introduce her to you ladies later? I think she could use some friends.”

Nettie handed Gib the tin cups filled with steaming coffee and clapped her palms together. “Oh, would you? Why, Clarissa is just dying to get a look at her.”

“Ladies, she needs some friends, not curiosity seekers.” Gib held Poppy’s knowing gaze. “Kuchana isn’t liked by the scouts because she’s Chiricahua. And I know the officers’ wives will snub her.”

“Just stop your worrying, Sergeant McCoy. You send that purty little thing over here and we’ll take good care of her.” Poppy beamed. “She’s scrawny…”

Gib nodded grimly. “Yeah, she hasn’t had enough to eat for a long time.”

“Well, you just never mind, Poppy will fix her up. I’ll take care of that poor chile. She’ll be a part of our family, just like you are, Sergeant McCoy.”

“Thanks, it means a lot to me.”

The laundress grinned. “I know it does. I can see she’s something special to you.”

Gib nodded and turned away, heading for the scout area. The scouts on duty that day were usually up by this time, working on their weapons. Today, it was Two Toes and Jemez who had the duty.

Chee had assigned the last tent nearest the horse line to Kuchana. Gib came to a halt at the head of the tent where the flap had been drawn aside and saw that Kuchana was still soundly asleep, clutching a fist-size rock.

It bothered him that she felt she had to have some kind of weapon to protect herself even here, but he couldn’t blame her. The Yavapai hated the Apache and had a reputation for slitting the throats of their enemy under the cover of darkness.

As he crouched down, Gib eyed Kuchana’s sleeping features. Her flesh wasn’t as taut, and there was some color in her cheeks. Her thick, black hair, no longer bound by the cotton headband, lay about her shoulders like a blanket. She reminded him of a finely bred horse—lean, proud and delicate. Her lips were parted in sleep, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to explore the texture of her mouth beneath his.

Chee had issued her only one blanket, and he frowned, knowing she should have been given at least three. Kuchana had placed the blanket on the ground and curled up in a fetal position to remain warm during the cool night. Today, he would make sure she was issued a full billet.

He was about to awaken Kuchana when he saw tears bead and form on her lashes. Putting the mugs aside, he reached down and gave her shoulder a shake.

Kuchana hissed, jerking upright, rock poised in hand. Her eyes widened when she realized it was McCoy. “I—I’m sorry,” she rasped, her voice thick with sleep. She dropped the rock. Tears trailed down her cheeks and she tried to wipe them away before the sergeant saw them.

“Hold on,” he ordered quietly. “What’s the reason for the tears?”

Embarrassed, Kuchana kept her eyes on the ground between them. “It was a dream.”

Gib took one of the cups and handed it to her. “Here’s some chicory coffee. Go on, take it.” The high color in her cheeks told him that she was shamed by her tears. Gib picked up the second cup and sipped the liquid, remaining in his crouched position.

Chicory coffee was a rare treat for Kuchana. She managed a nod of thanks, holding the cup with both hands. Why hadn’t she heard the sergeant approach? Had her sleep been so profound that Two Toes could have sneaked into her tent and killed her? Usually, her sleep was light and watchful.

“Looks like you were sleeping hard,” Gib said conversationally. He had an urge to reach out and tunnel his fingers through her shining ebony hair.

“Too hard,” she muttered unhappily, drinking the coffee with relish.

“You were tired.” Tired from months of running, he thought. The army and the Mexican soldatos had been pursuing Geronimo and his people without rest for nearly six months. And Kuchana was proof of that.

“It is no excuse. I should not sleep like that. It could get me killed.” In the distance Kuchana heard the soft snort of horses, the clank of bits, the creak of saddles. A number of soldiers were up and about performing their daily duties. Chee and one of the other scouts came up to the horse line, saddling their mounts. There wasn’t much to like about Chee, Kuchana had decided. He was a swaggering, bragging male, more wind than courage, in her estimation. Chee was not a warrior. In fact, none of the scouts wore the third braid.

The tears were drying on her cheeks, and Gib searched for a way to find out more about their cause. “You said there wasn’t much of your family left since Geronimo escaped the reservation.”

A pain stabbed deeply into her heart at his words, and Kuchana bowed her head. “I have only one sister left.” The words came out low and strained.

“Was that what you were dreaming about?”

The question was gently put, and Kuchana lifted her chin, holding his gaze. McCoy had harsh features, but he was truly sensitive to others’ feelings. “I…it was of her daughter that I dreamed.”

“Oh?”

“Her daughter went to the Big Sleep just before I left.”

“And that’s the reason you came here?”

“Yes. There was not enough food…” She sniffed, taking her sleeve and wiping the tears off her face. Kuchana prayed that none of the other scouts saw her behaving like this. Looking at McCoy, she wondered at the tenderness she saw burning in the depths of his blue eyes. His look gave her a sense of safety she had never known. With a wry grimace, she muttered, “You pull my feelings out of me, Sergeant. I am not used to a man doing this.”

“I’m sorry the child died, Kuchana.” He held her wavering gaze. “As for drawing feelings out of you, all I can say is that’s good, as far as I’m concerned. I want to know how my scouts feel.” When he saw her nod, he added, “When we’re alone like this, call me Gib. I don’t like a lot of formality.”

The compassion in his voice told her much. “Does your name mean something?”

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. My mother named me after my grandfather and great-grandfather.”

Just talking with Gib eased the pain and anxiety she carried for her people. The warmth of his husky voice was balm to her grieving heart. “Tell me your family name.”

“Gibson Justin McCoy.”

“You carry the spirit of your family with you?”

“Yes, I guess I do.” He paused. “Kuchana has something to do with water.”

She felt heat flood her cheeks and she lowered her lashes. The warmth Gib established with her was profound and new. He made her heart open like a blossom in the spring. “It means ‘woman of the waters.‘”

“Then you must feel things strongly and deeply, like water.”

With a little laugh, Kuchana said, “Too deep.”

She was beautiful when she laughed. Her eyes, dark brown with gold flecks in their depths, sparkled. And her mouth…Gib took a deep, steadying breath. When her lips curved upward, she reminded him of a sunrise.

“I don’t think it’s wrong to feel things deeply,” he countered thickly.

The burning light in his eyes made Kuchana vividly aware of herself as a woman. Just the way Gib looked at her, she felt special—and beautiful.

“Well,” he said, straightening, “you’re a woman of the waters. I think it’s a good thing. Feelings are not a sign of weakness.”

She shook her head. How odd, a man who approved of feelings.

“We’ve got plenty of things to do this morning,” Gib began. “Why don’t you get something to eat over at the chow tent and then meet me at the stables? I’m having your mare shod and then we’ll find a saddle that fits her.”

“I’ll see you at the stables,” Kuchana agreed.

Wind had already been shod with her first set of shoes by the time Kuchana made her way to the massive stabling area. There were buildings housing dried hay and grain for the hundreds of horses that milled in the huge corrals at the rear of the buildings. She found Gib with a red-haired giant of a man who had a worn leather apron draped around his thick middle.

“This is Kuchana,” McCoy told the farrier, Kelly McManus.

McManus thrust his big meaty hand in her direction. “Right nice to meet you.”

Kuchana hesitantly placed her hand in the farrier’s, unfamiliar with the greeting. She’d seen pindahs do this before on the reservation. McManus had dancing green eyes, a red mustache that drooped like twisted ropes down the sides of his mouth. As she reclaimed her hand, his smile made her relax.

“Your mare is over there,” the farrier said, pointing down the aisle of the open building where at least twenty horses were tethered.

The black mare wore a halter, and the rope was tied to an iron ring that hung from a stout wall. She pricked up her ears as Kuchana thanked the farrier and walked down the well-swept aisle.

Gib escorted her down the center of the building, walking at her shoulder. On either side were roomy box stalls, and other rooms at the rear that held tack and barrels of grain. He noticed that Kuchana had washed and neatly combed her hair. The faint scent of soap lingered around her. Memory of Melissa’s cutting remarks yesterday that Kuchana smelled came back to him. It was obvious she had tried her best to look neat and clean under the circumstances. The clothes she wore were threadbare and would have to be replaced. It crossed his mind that he would like to give her a pretty dress to wear, instead. He laughed at himself. It was the first time in his life he’d ever wanted to give a woman gifts. Kuchana invited that kind of response.

“Has your horse ever worn a saddle?”

“Yes, I had a cottonwood saddle for many years until the culo-gordos attacked our camp and I had to leave it behind.”

Wind nickered as Kuchana walked up to her. She patted the mare fondly as she inspected the new iron shoes on her hooves.

McCoy took a blue wool blanket edged with yellow and threw it across the mare’s back. “From now on, you’ve got to ride with army gear.” He pulled a black, bull-hide-covered McClellan saddle off the rack and settled it on the animal’s back. In no time, he showed Kuchana how to cinch the double girth. Next came the military-issue bridle. Wind wasn’t very happy about having a metal bit in her mouth, but she accepted it with grace after attempting to chew on it.

Kuchana stood back, amazed at all the items that McCoy had piled in front of the pommel and behind the cantle of the saddle. There were canteens, pouches for ammunition, a blanket, and containers to carry food and even grain for Wind.

“When you’re assigned to ride with a column, you’ll come over here and saddle the mare up just like this.” He saw the stunned expression in Kuchana’s eyes. “Something wrong?”

“No.” She stepped up to Wind, placing her hand on the mare’s neck. “There is so much.”

“When a column goes out, we usually patrol for five to ten days at a time.” Gib gestured to the saddle that had been created for endurance riding. “We have a saying in the army. We ride forty miles a day on beans and hay. The pack mules carry the hay and most of the food, but sometimes, on a forced march, we have to rely on what we can carry on our saddle.”

“Pindah horses can never keep up with our horses,” Kuchana noted proudly. She pointed to a bay gelding tied next to Wind. “Look at him. He is grain fed. I have seen many army horses unable to stand the heat or the distance.”

“You’re right. I told the officers here they shouldn’t feed our animals grain.” He grinned, giving the mare a pat on the shoulder. “We ought to train our horses to eat cactus like you do yours.”

“Wind will not die on a march. She knows to eat cactus for food and also water in order to stay alive.”

“The Apache know how to survive,” Gib agreed with a smile. “Come on, let’s go over to Supply. We’ll be coming back to do some hunting, so leave Wind saddled.”

Kuchana’s eyes shone with excitement as she walked with Gib toward another large two-story adobe building. “We hunt four-leggeds?”

“Yep. I figure the only way to get Chee and the colonel to believe in you is to prove your worth as a tracker. Lieutenant Carter ordered Chee to send someone out to the mountains over there—” he pointed to the north “—and kill some deer or bighorn for the officers’ families.”

“I will prove myself worthy.”

Gib saw the challenging fire in her eyes. “Well, whatever we kill, some of it is going to be dropped off to Poppy so she can distribute it among the laundry families.”

“Who is Poppy?”

“One of the women who washes clothes.”

“A dark-skinned one?”

Gib smiled “Yes.”

As they climbed the steps of Supply, Gib noticed the soldiers giving Kuchana discreet looks. He led her inside the building where clothing, weapons and tack were kept. Sergeant Mulrooney, head of Supply, nodded a good-morning to them.

“Kuchana needs a scout’s issue, Sergeant,” Gib told the gray-haired man.

“Right away, Gib.”

Kuchana turned around, looking at the columns of boxes stacked around the room. There were huge piles of green wool blankets, canteens, saddles and row upon row of rifles.

McCoy was sure that she’d never seen so many new things. Her face glowed with excitement when Mulrooney led her to the clothing section.

A blue wool uniform jacket was finally found to fit her slender build. When she gently ran her fingers reverently over the brass buttons, Gib found himself wondering what her touch would feel like on his skin. The unexpected thought was inviting.

Mulrooney gave her a set of blue kersey pants to replace the thin ones she wore. When he tried to give her a set of black boots, she adamantly refused them, saying that her hardy kabun boots were better. The distinctive curled toes on the boots were good for picking up and moving poisonous snakes or Gila monsters out of her path with ease and safety. The black boots had a rounded toe and were, in her opinion, worthless.

Gib watched Mulrooney’s reaction to Kuchana. The old supply sergeant couldn’t seem to do enough for her. Crossing his arms on his chest, Gib leaned against a rough beam and watched them with pleasure. He was sure it was Kuchana’s winsome smile and her bubbling gasps of delight that spurred Mulrooney to hunt for just the right items.

When Mulrooney brought out five brightly colored cotton shirts, Kuchana gasped. Her fingers moved lovingly across the shirts. The supply sergeant blushed fiercely when he gave them to her.

“These are all mine, Sergeant?” she whispered in disbelief, holding them in her arms as if they were a babe.

“Why, sure, Kuchana. Every scout gets five of ’em. Don’t look like I just gave ya the world, girl. Go on, take ‘em!” he ordered gruffly with a wave of his hand.

Gib suppressed a smile as Mulrooney colored even more deeply when Kuchana gave him a smile.

“A-co-‘d,” Kuchana whispered, hugging the beautiful shirts to her breast.

“Ahh, don’t get sentimental on me, girl.” Mulrooney slanted a glance at McCoy. “Git her outa here before she cries.”

Smiling, Gib nodded and, picking up the rest of Kuchana’s issue, walked to the door. She came to his side, marveling at the cotton shirts.

“Come on, let’s get this gear back to your tent,” he told her.