Dorothy Garlock by Glorious Dawn Page A

canvas flap and peered out. An outrider had come into camp and was talking to Red. It obviously wasn’t Luis, as this man sat low in the saddle. The conversation was in Spanish.
    “There are three of them, señor. The same ones Luis saw before we cross the river. All gringos. Got good horses, one pure Arabian, Luis say. Black as midnight, got deep chest and strong legs. Luis say he ain’t seen a horse to compare.”
    “Sounds like an Arabian. Not many of that ilk in these parts. The gringos are a-ridin’ in our dust ’cause they’re feared of the ’paches. If they want to trail us, ain’t nothin’ we can do ’bout it but keep our eyes peeled. Where’s Luis?”
    “He make sure they bed down.” The man laughed. “Luis hate like hell to have Apaches get that horse.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Luis left the camp before daylight and headed west toward the hills. He rode cautiously along the dim trail. It was rugged, lonely country where stunted cedars and gnarled oaks clung to the ridges of the canyon and the low-spreading shrub with its hooklike thorns thrived. He was tired and the sun was hot. He went off the trail and into the rocks, to give himself better cover.
    He had come to this place for two reasons. He could see along the trail for almost two miles, and he was accessible if Gray Cloud wished to contact him. The unpredictable Apache had been trailing the train for the last two days, and that puzzled Luis. He knew Gray Cloud didn’t have enough men to attack the wagons, and he supposed his surveillance of the three gringos following discouraged him from attacking the camp.
    Settling into a comfortable position against a rock, he lowered his head and waited. Soon there was movement on the trail below. Luis recognized both mounts and riders. Gray Cloud and two of his men were headed toward him.
    Luis’s horse scented them and grew skittish at the intrusion.
    “It’s all right,” Luis said softly to his horse. “It’s all right.”
    When the Indians reached the spot where the trail started upward again, the two braves stopped and Gray Cloud came on alone. The mare the Indian was riding lifted her head, and her nostrils flared when she became aware of the big black. Unhurriedly, Luis left his observation spot and stepped into the saddle, keeping a firm grip on the reins of his excited stallion.
    He held up his hand in greeting and spoke in Apache dialect. “Greetings, Gray Cloud. My brother is far from his lodge.”
    The Indian stared at him silently with dark, fierce eyes. Luis knew that the man had strength and courage. He was also a shrewd trader, but for the last few months Luis had found trading with him distasteful. Gray Cloud had become difficult, bitter. Luis suspected that he was not receiving the recognition from his people that he felt he deserved.
    “Why does my brother bring whites to Apache land?”
    “We promised to bring no whites into the valley of the stone house, and we bring none.”
    “What of the woman who sits on the wagon? I will barter for the one with hair like a cloud.”
    Luis was surprised, but his face and voice didn’t register the feeling. “The woman is not mine to trade.”
    The Indian stared into his eyes. “Whose woman?”
    “My brother’s woman.” Luis knew that the Indian was testing him, and he never took his eyes from the stern face.
    The Apached glared at him with burning intensity. “He can have other woman,” he spat out heatedly.
    “Other woman is my woman. I keep my woman,” Luis said, matching his tone to that of the Indian.
    Gray Cloud turned his eyes down the trail where the freight wagons had raised a dust that drifted against the cloudless sky. The dark eyes moved back at Luis, his eyes glittering with hatred.
    “I could take pale woman.” His expression changed to one of arrogance. “Mescalero wait in hills.”
    Luis watched closely and chose his words carefully. “A Chiricahua Apache brave has need of the Mescalero to take a woman?” He