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Authors: Georgina Gentry

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BOOK: To Tame A Rebel
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“Listen. I think I hear horses.” His voice was low, urgent. “We've got to clear out; there's no telling how far the sound of that gunshot carried, and we may run across a Yankee patrol.”
For her, was that good or bad? Then her anxiety was for Jim because he might be killed rather than taken prisoner. “Let's go,” she whispered.
Now she could hear the horses coming, too. She scrambled up, grabbing for her clothes. “What'll we do?”
“No time to make a run for it. Toss your clothes over here in the shadows, and we'll go into the river. Maybe they won't find that body.”
The horses sounded closer now.
April was suddenly afraid for him. If it was a Yankee patrol, they'd kill or capture him. “What about your horse?”
“Left him deep in the woods. With any luck, no one will see him. Come on, let's hide in the water.”
He took her hand and led her naked into the stream.
“Maybe it's a Confederate patrol,” she whispered.
“We'll find out; here they come.”
They both grabbed reeds and went under, watching the riverbank as they stayed submerged all but their eyes. The current was strong, and she felt Jim grab her hand to keep her with him as they crouched in the dark water.
In minutes, a cavalry patrol galloped into view and reined in near the river. The moonlight gleamed on their brass buttons. The uniforms were blue.
“Sergeant,” one of the men yelled, “are you sure you heard a shot?”
The grizzled old sergeant looked around. “I would have sworn I did. Maybe it came from another direction.”
April held her breath and did not move, breathing through the straw. She felt Jim's arm reach out and pull her naked body close to his.
All I've got to do,
she thought,
is stand up and raise the alarm. The Yanks will capture Jim Eagle, and I'll be taken to Fort Gibson to continue my search. That's where the major will be expecting to find me.
As she thought it, she knew she couldn't betray him.
After a moment and some discussion, the Yankee patrol rode away. She raised her head up out of the water, gasping for air, and listened to the hoofbeats fade into the distance. “That was close.”
“More than you know,” he muttered. “I recognized a couple of old friends riding with that patrol: Yellow Jacket and Smoke. We were Lighthorsemen together before the war.” He took her hand and looked down into her face. “Thanks for not giving me away.”
She shrugged, both of them still standing in the shallow water. “I told you I wasn't a spy; I was just a whore trying to make a living.”
“And you are good at what you do,” he murmured, and pulled her close, kissing her deeply. They clung together, naked in the river as his hands explored her body. “I'm sorry I ever doubted you.”
At least the evidence was washed away, and he'd never know the difference. “So now you gonna let me go on to Fort Gibson? I figure those Yanks have more gold than rebels.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, scowling down at her. “I haven't had my fill of you yet. Why should I let damned Yankees have any entertainment?”
Entertainment.
Yes, that's all it had been to him. She had just given this warrior the precious gift of her virginity, and he was treating it as a moment's pleasure. Well, what had she expected? Even if she told him the truth, he surely wouldn't believe her any more than he would believe the truth about who had sent her and why. If she got out of this intrigue alive, she was going to go back north and never try spying again.
“Let's get dressed,” he said.
She nodded, and they came up out of the water and began to dress. April's mind was busy. She wasn't learning anything of value in the rebel camp, and if she didn't get to Fort Gibson, she would miss rendezvousing with the major. If she didn't get further instructions, she wouldn't know what to do next.
A thought occurred to her as she finished dressing. Jim had his back to her, putting on his boots. She still had the money he had given her earlier in camp. All she needed was a horse. Jim Eagle had a horse. He was putting on his boots now, oblivious to her, his pistol still in its holster in the nearby shadows. Did she have the courage to do this? She thought about the money that would give her the respectability of a white girl. It was worth the chance.
April stepped noiselessly across the grass and took the pistol from its holster.
Jim turned and half rose at the sound. “What the—?”
He never got a chance to finish, because April brought the butt of the Colt down across his head. He swayed just a moment and then collapsed and lay still.
Oh, dear God, she hoped she hadn't hurt him. No, he was breathing. When he came to, he'd come after her, she thought, and he'd be furious and dangerous. If she was smart, she'd shoot him and rid herself of that threat. Even as that thought crossed her mind, she knew she couldn't do it. For a moment she stood looking down at him, resisting the urge to touch his face and make sure she hadn't hurt him too much. He'd only be unconscious so long, and if she was still here when he woke up . . . The thought of his anger galvanized her into action. She took the pistol and tucked it into her waistband, then ran through the woods until she found his fine palomino tied in the shadows.
Would the great stallion even let her mount up?
“Steady, boy, steady,” she crooned, and the horse started and snorted. She put her hand on its velvet muzzle, and it quieted so she could mount. She urged the horse forward and took off at a lope through the woods. She knew she could follow the river and find Fort Gibson, but riding a horse with a Confederate saddle and blanket and wearing a ragged, mismatched uniform, she'd face a lot of questions she didn't want to answer. Well, she had Jim Eagle's silver dollars. Out here in the Territory, real money would buy almost anything. She'd figure it out as she went. It wasn't long until dawn. The main thing now was to clear out before Jim Eagle regained consciousness.
For a split second, she worried about the man. Jim Eagle would awaken only slightly worse for wear and walk back to the Confederate camp. That might take a while, so no one would set up a hue and cry after her for a few hours. That thought cheered her as she rode. Somewhere up ahead was the fort, and she had some planning to do before she got there.
Chapter 19
Jim came back to consciousness, his head throbbing. Where in the hell was he? Gingerly he reached to touch his head, then remembered what had happened. Why, that little . . .
He stumbled to his feet in the darkness and looked around. She was gone, as were his horse and pistol. She'd knocked him in the head and fled, leaving him here in the woods. He was only lucky he hadn't been found by an enemy patrol. There was nothing to do but start walking back to camp and hope he didn't run into trouble along the way.
He had only walked a few hundred yards when he heard the sound of horses coming. For a split second he was cheered, thinking Tommy had sent a patrol out looking for him; then he realized it might also be Yankees. Quickly he crept behind some brush. If he only had a weapon . . . Jim flattened himself against the dirt, watching the trail in the moonlight. His heart hammered, thinking how much danger he might be in with no way to defend himself. The sound of drumming hooves grew louder. Now in the distance, he could see a patrol coming, the moon throwing distorted shadows ahead of the horses. Then the light caught the flash of brass buttons, and he saw the blue uniforms.
He didn't want to spend the rest of the war in a miserable prison camp. He could only hope the patrol rode on. Jim held his breath as the horses passed so near, he could have reached out and touched the nearest one.
“Lieutenant, I would have sworn I saw a track back there,” a soldier said.
“We'll spread out and look around. Be careful, men.” A familiar voice, Jim thought—an old friend from the Lighthorsemen: Yellow Jacket. He hadn't seen or heard of the Muskogee warrior since that long ago snowy day in '61.
“Smoke,” the familiar voice ordered, “take the men and spread out along the river. See if you can find anything.”
A murmur of assent, and then the horses scattered, moving away from where he crouched in the brush.
Only Yellow Jacket paused and dismounted, looking around. He was so close, Jim Eagle could almost have reached out and touched him as the warrior walked up and down the trail, looking about with keen eyes. Jim held his breath. Any moment now, his old friend would discover him hiding here and shout the alarm. The others were some distance away, searching along the river.
At that moment, Yellow Jacket turned and paused, looking straight at Jim. Jim tensed, ready to fight or run when the other called to his patrol. For a moment, the only sound was both of them breathing. At that precise instant, Yellow Jacket stared straight at Jim, seeming to recognize him. He hesitated only a moment; then he smiled very slowly.
In the distance, one of the Yankees yelled, “Hey, Lieutenant, there's nothing here. You see anything?”
For a heartbeat, the Muskogee officer looked at Jim, and then he made a gesture. He saluted Jim, and, stunned, Jim returned the gesture.
“No,” Yellow Jacket yelled back, “don't see a thing. I think we'd better be getting back to the fort.” He smiled at Jim, then mounted up and rode off down toward the river to join his patrol.
Jim lay there, finally taking a deep breath, and realized his clothes were plastered to him with cold sweat. He lay there a moment longer, listening to the fading hoofbeats as the patrol rode away. Finally, he got up and began to walk. With any luck, he'd be back at camp before dawn. If he ever caught up with that Cherokee whore again, he'd make her wish she'd never been born. The bitterest part was that he'd found himself attracted to her in a way he'd never felt before. Damn her anyway.
 
 
April rode though the forest toward Fort Gibson, not daring to look behind her in case Jim Eagle had come to, found another horse, and was in hot pursuit. She wasn't sure of the time except that she knew it was near dawn. What was she to do? She dare not ride into the fort in this ragged uniform on a horse with a Confederate saddle and bridle. There'd be too many questions asked.
Up ahead on a ridge, she saw the faint outline of a log cabin. Maybe she could get help here. April felt in her shirt pocket. Good. She still had the silver dollars Jim Eagle had given her. She hoped he felt he'd gotten his money's worth. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of him. She was torn between attraction and hatred that he had taken her virginity and hadn't even appreciated her sacrifice. She hoped a Yankee patrol caught him and threw him in some awful prison camp. She had left him without weapons or a horse—he was defenseless if a Union patrol should find him. She didn't care; he deserved it, she thought defiantly, angry at herself because she was having misgivings about what she'd done.
A dog at the cabin began to bark, and the faint light of a lantern flickered inside. Quickly April dismounted. Suppose these settlers were Yankees? She didn't want to be caught with a Confederate horse or weapons. There would be too many questions to answer. Instead, she turned the horse back toward the Confederate camp and whacked it across the rump. “Go, boy. Go find Jim.” The horse took off at a gallop. April watched it leave and then walked up on the cabin's porch and pounded on the door.
“Who's there?” A quavery old woman's voice. “Go away. I've got a gun.”
“It's just me and I'm alone. I'm lost and hungry; can you help me?”
Very slowly the door opened, and a tiny Indian woman peered around the door, holding a shotgun. “Who are you?”
“I've lost my horse,” April said, “and I'm stranded and afraid of bushwhackers.”
“Me, too.” The elderly woman smiled as she opened the door and gestured April in. “Come in. I don't have much, but you're welcome to share.”
With a sigh of relief, April went inside, and the old woman closed the door, asking, “Girl, why are you dressed like that?”
April held up her hands to show they were empty. “It's a long story. I'm lost, was captured, and this old uniform is all they gave me to wear.” She looked about in the dim light and realized how poor the woman was. “Have you got anything to eat? I've got money.”
“Real money or worthless Confederate dollars?”
“Real silver.” April reached in her pocket and brought out the silver dollars. “If you've got some clothes I can change into, I'll pay for those, too.”
The old woman put down her shotgun. “I haven't seen real money in a long time. I've been hoping to find a way to buy supplies. I'm almost out of salt and flour, too.”
“Coffee?” April asked.
The old woman shook her head. “Just a little bit, but I can make it do.” She began to bustle around the kitchen.
April sat down on a stool before the fire, abruptly realizing how exhausted she was. “You support the North or the South?”
The old Indian woman paused, looked at her, and laughed. “What difference does it make to me who wins? One son has died on each side. I only hope to survive till it's over.”
She dished up corn pone with sorghum syrup poured over it, and a pot of weak coffee. April found herself wolfing it down. “Don't you want to know what I'm doing out here in the middle of the woods?” April asked.
The old lady shook her head. “The less I know, the better. When you finish, I'll fill a tub and let you wash up. I might be able to find you an old calico dress.”
“I'd be so grateful,” April said, “and a little sleep would be nice, too.” She laid most of the silver on the table, and the old lady's eyes got big and round.
“I'll be able to buy enough for months at the sutler's store at the fort.”
April looked out the window. The sun would be coming up soon. If she could get a little rest, she'd go on to the fort. The mysterious major might be waiting for her there. With all her needs met, she curled up on a small bed in a corner of the cabin and dropped off to sleep. Jim Eagle might come searching for her, but right now April was too weary to care.
 
 
The dawn light was just breaking in the east at Fort Gibson when Will Eagle swung into the saddle. “Sergeant, mount your patrol.”
“Yes, sir.” The short, hairy man saluted in an almost arrogant way. It was evident that this white man felt he was too good to serve under an Indian officer.
The patrol rode out just as last night's patrol rode in, headed up by Yellow Jacket. Will paused and saluted him. “Run across anything out there?”
Yellow Jacket hesitated. He didn't like the younger brother as well as he liked the elder. Will was shorter and not as handsome as Jim, and there was something ruthless about Will, as if he didn't care whom he stepped on to achieve his ends. Yellow Jacket didn't regret not killing or capturing Jim Eagle last night. After all, he owed Jim his life from an earlier time, in '61.
So now he shook his head. “If there's any rebs in those woods, they're all back in camp asleep, which is where I mean to be in a few minutes.”
Will nodded and grinned. “Haven't had a chance to talk to you, really, since you were shipped in last week. “How are things in Kansas?”
Yellow Jacket sighed. “The Union troops didn't treat us that good when we arrived in 'sixty-one. I reckon so many refugees overwhelmed them.”
Smoke said, “I'm afraid the Union cares no more about us than the rebels.”
“We're Indians.” Will shrugged. “I only hope the Union treats us better in the long run than the Confederacy, because we know how the rebels treated all our tribes when they ran us out of the South.”
Yellow Jacket nodded as he wiped the sweat from his brow. The blue uniforms were hot in the late June dawn. “Let's hope the Union keeps its word.”
“Me, too,” Will said with a nod. “I only wish I could convince my stubborn brothers of that. I reckon Jim is still clinging to that forlorn hope that the Confederates will give the Indians their own state. We disagreed on that.”
Yellow Jacket watched the other's angry face, thinking of his old friend, Jim Eagle, who was now the enemy. “You seen Jim since the Keetoowa came over to our side in 'sixty-one?”
“No, but I know he and Tommy are alive.”
Yellow Jacket glanced at him. “How can you know that for sure?”
The other hesitated. “I—I just hope so, that's all.”
Smoke glanced toward the fort. “Maybe you brothers can make up after the war finally ends.”
Will laughed without mirth. “I doubt it. I think Jim feels I'm a deserter because I crossed over. I'd do anything to shorten this war, end it before any more people are killed. The South can't win, so it's foolish for them to keep fighting.”
“I want it to end,” Yellow Jacket said, “so I can get back to my woman and family. Twilight's in Kansas waiting for me to return. We've got a baby boy and two other little kids we saved on the trip to Kansas.”
Will Eagle grew quiet, his eyes wistful. “There was a girl I fancied once, but she was ashamed of being Indian. She went up north to go to school and never came back. I don't even know if she's still alive. For that matter, I'm not even sure if Mother's alive, what with all the fighting and bushwhackers roaming the Indian Territory.”
Yellow Jacket didn't say anything, but he saw the pain in the other's eyes. “Things will work out with your brothers; you'll see.”
The other shook his head regretfully. “I doubt it. Jim was your friend, too; now he'd kill you on sight because you wear a blue uniform.”
“I doubt that,” Yellow Jacket said, remembering. “In the early days of the war, he found me cornered without a horse or weapons.”
“And?” Will asked.
“He pretended he didn't see me and let me go.”
“Jim was always the one with principles,” Will agreed. “Me, I've decided the end justifies the means; whatever it takes to end this war, I'm going to do.”
Yellow Jacket frowned. “That's not a moral choice.”
“Don't talk to me about morality and war in the same breath,” Will snapped.
“You've changed, Will.”
“Have I?” the other said. “Hell, this war would change anybody. All that matters now is ending it.”
“In an honorable way,” Yellow Jacket said.
“In any way I can,” Will snapped. “Whatever it takes.”
Will realized suddenly that the black Indian and the Muskogee officer were staring at him. He'd said too much. “I've got a scouting mission to ride. Sergeant, see to your men.” He saluted the other officer and rode out into the summer dawn while Yellow Jacket's patrol rode into the fort.
Next to Will, Sergeant Henley's voice was contemptuous. “If you want my opinion—”
“I didn't ask for it,” Will snapped, and looked straight ahead as he rode. He didn't like the squat sergeant, because Henley was a toady who shirked work and responsibility and drank and gambled too much. Besides that, he was aware the white man hated serving with Indians.
BOOK: To Tame A Rebel
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