Apache Caress by Georgina Gentry - Panorama of the Old West 08 - Apache Caress Page B

here.”
    “Maybe crossing here is the smart thing to do because Gillen won’t think I have the guts, or that I’m stupid enough, to try it. I’m going to hide under this old quilt. You think of something; anything to keep them from checking your wagon.”
    “What! How can I do that?” She knew both panic and fear as the knife pressed into her back again.
    “That’s your problem,” the muffled voice warned her. “Just remember, if I’m discovered, you’ll be the first to die, and I intend to take as many people with me as possible.”
    Risks. She was being forced to take life and death chances, when all she wanted to do was conform and blend in. But she kept driving. Oh, mercy, the whole town must be full of soldiers looking for the escaped Apache.
    Ahead of was a hopeless snarl of carriages and wagons. A very flustered young corporal appeared confused and under pressure as he tried to keep order. Behind Sierra, drivers shouted curses at the delay. With wagons and carriages now hemming her into the slow lineup, there was nothing she could do but inch the old mule forward. She watched the soldiers examine drays loaded with crates and order people out of carriages.
    Her hands became sweaty with fear. When the soldiers discovered the man hiding in her wagon, there was going to be shooting because he had said he wouldn’t be taken alive. Some of the people in this crowd would be killed. Surely the first one would be Sierra Forester. Her mouth felt so dry she couldn’t swallow as the soldiers checked out the wagon ahead of hers and waved it on through.
    Heavens. It was her turn. She took a deep breath as the boyish corporal approached. He had sandy-colored hair with a lock that hung over one eye, and sweat ran down his reddish neck into the tight collar of the blue uniform.
    “Ma’am, I’m sorry.” His Kansas twang was apologetic. “I’ll have to ask you to get out so we can inspect all those big boxes and trunks.”
    Sierra felt her captor’s hand nudge her in warning. All she had to do was take a chance; jump from the seat, shout, He’s here, all right, hiding under that quilt!
    She couldn’t bring herself to take the risk. Besides herself, this very young man would die–and who knew how many others?–before the soldiers killed the fugitive.
    Sierra didn’t move to descend, but she did give the corporal her most beseeching smile. “Oh, must I? I’ve got a long way to go before dark.”
    He hesitated, looking at her black dress that told the world she was widowed. “I ... I . . . I’m ordered, ma’am, to check out every vehicle. We’re looking for an escaped Indian.”
    Sierra felt the knife press against her back, and fear made perspiration run down between her breasts. “An Indian? Here in East Saint Louis? Surely you joke!”
    He shook his head, while the noise around them grew as the traffic worsened. “Afraid not, ma’am. An Apache scout being shipped to Florida managed to get off the prison train. Almost killed an officer doing it.”
    “A scout?”
    “Yes, ma’am. He scouted for the Army.”
    That didn’t make any sense to her. “If he worked for the Army, he must have done something terrible to get imprisoned.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know, ma‘am. There was orders to send them all, but he got away. Look, ma’am, I can see you’re a widow and all, but I do have my orders–”
    “An officer’s widow,” Sierra said gently, and she looked at him sweetly. “Killed in action just a few weeks ago. Now I’ve lost my farm.”
    “Oh, Lord, I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realize. . . .”
    “Corporal, do you really think a helpless widow would have any reason to try to smuggle a bloodthirsty redskin across the Mississippi?”
    “Well, no ma’am, but–”
    “And, Corporal, some of these people you’re holding up”–she gestured with her head toward all the ranting, shouting men hanging out of carriages and wagons–“some of these people are probably going to