Longarm and the War Clouds by Tabor Evans

everything I can to bring the woman back to the major . . . as long as I am not expected to kill my Chiricahua brother, Black Twisted Pine.”
    â€œThe reason I’m sending you, my friend, is so that can be avoided. Being the man’s ex-scouting partner, you’re the one man who has a chance to convince him that no matter how strongly he feels about Mrs. Belcher, he has to release her—for his and her own good and for the good of his own people.”
    Vail glanced at Longarm. “The job of you two men is to bring Mrs. Belcher back to her husband—preferably before the eastern press gets wind of it and embarrasses not only the major and the governor, but the president himself.”
    Longarm said, “What if this Mrs. Belcher don’t wanna go back to her husband, Chief?”
    Vail dipped his chin and gave his senior deputy a stern, commanding look. “You flash them big brown eyes of yours and change the lady’s mind. If you don’t bring her back, someone else likely will—and then there’ll be hell to pave and no hot pitch!”
    â€œAll right, all right.”
    â€œOh, by the way.” Vail sniffed and looked sheepish. “If you fellas get caught by the Mexicans over there, or if you run into trouble with the Apaches, don’t expect any help. ’Cause you won’t get it. Those are orders from the president himself.”

Chapter 7
    Four days later, in the hot desert dusk, Magpie glanced over to where Longarm and War Cloud lay back against their saddles, hats tipped over their eyes. Apparently believing both men were asleep, the young Apache princess let her calico blouse slip down off her shoulders.
    However, Longarm was not asleep.
    He’d awakened when the girl had risen from her bedroll, just after the sun had gone down. In the summer in the desert Southwest, travelers rode by night, especially when there was a moon, as there was now. That way said travelers spared themselves as well as their mounts from the merciless sun.
    Longarm had been sleeping with the intention of rising with the moon, but Magpie had risen first.
    The girl’s stirring had awakened Longarm. Apparently, she had decided to refresh herself at the
tinaja,
the small stone tank tucked away in this narrow, rocky arroyo in which they’d set up camp earlier that morning.
    The tank was fed by a trickle of spring water. Narrowing one eye as he stared out from beneath his down-canted hat, Longarm saw the girl drop to her knees on the small pool’s opposite side, facing him. She glanced up once more, looking toward him.
    He closed his eye.
    He felt properly chagrined, and more than a little childish, but he didn’t want to interrupt the girl’s ministrations. Also, the boy inside him and in all men couldn’t help wanting to sneak a proscribed peek at her wares.
    She was awfully set up, after all. High-busted and long-legged, and though her father had claimed she’d never been with a man, she was one of the most erotically charged young women Longarm had ever known. Aside from Cynthia Larimer, of course . . .
    His eyes closed beneath his hat brim, Longarm heard the faint tinkle of dripping water. He opened his eye and peered out from beneath his hat at the girl kneeling on the other side of the pool. She’d slid her doeskin dress and her calico blouse down to her waist and was slowly, quietly cupping water to her chest.
    Longarm’s conscience forced him to close his eyes. The little boy in him, however, castigated his more mature self for his discretion. “Ah, go ahead and peek,” the voice said. “What can it hurt?”
    The urgings of his grown-up loins were even more convincing.
    Shamefully, he opened his right eye again. Magpie had removed her hair from its customary twin braids, and her long, stygian tresses hung forward over her shoulders as she cupped water in her right hand and raised that hand to her left