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But what had happened to her was so far in the past, he had thought it could not affect the present.
When she gently pushed him away from her, his heart skipped a beat, but he tried to put aside his own pain in order to reason with her.
“Shoshana, your mother couldn’t be alive,” he said thickly. “It is just because you are in your people’s country now that you are dreaming such dreams. You are missing your past, your people, your true mother, that’s all.”
He stepped back from her. He gazed into her eyes. “My darling Shoshana, my only reason for living, I know now that it was a mistake to bring you back to Arizona,” he said thickly. “I wish that I had never accepted this commission from the government to come to Arizona to help find the scalp hunter who is preying on the remaining Apache. There is an evil man who is paying top dollar for scalps, Shoshana. Indian scalps, though he isn’t picky as long as the hair is dark. The scalp hunter takes his grisly trophies to that man. That man pays the scalp hunter well enough to keep the fiend in business, then sells the hair for decoration, and wigs.”
He stepped away from her and went to stand at a window, peering out toward the mountains. “Word is that the scalp hunter, Mountain Jack, is searching now for the most elusive half-breed of all—Chief Storm,” he said, then turned to Shoshana again as she approached him, her eyes wide with horror. “To scalp Chief Storm would win Mountain Jack fame and fortune.”
“Why is this Chief Storm worth so much?” Shoshana asked softly. “Why is he so elusive? Why is he even allowed to roam free when it is a government law that all Apache must live on a reservation?”
“Shoshana, I wish, oh, how I wish, that I hadn’t brought you here,” George said, sighing heavily. He took her by the hand. “Come and sit with me. I will explain as much to you as I can.”
She sat down before the fire again. She watched George go to a trunk, open it, then take a long-stemmed pipe from it. He sat down on the chair opposite her, the pipe on his lap.
“You know the story about this pipe. I’ve told you before about it,” he said. “It is an Indian pipe, one that a chief brought with him to a parley when I was vital and able to lead my unit of cavalry.” He lifted the pipe and held it out before him. “This was given to me by a great Chiricahua leader during the peace talks between the Apache and the whites. This was Chief Geronimo’s pipe.”
He handed her the pipe and watched as she studied it. “This young chief, this Chief Storm, has a reputation of being a great leader in his own way,” he said. “He is kin to Geronimo, a second cousin. It is known that Chief Storm is not a warring chief, but a leader who concentrates only on keeping his people safe. He is a peaceful, noble man, who does no harm to anyone. Because of this, he has been allowed to remain free. And, Shoshana, he is not full blood. He is a half-breed leader.”
“How is it that he is a half-breed yet was chosen as chief for his band of Apache?” Shoshana asked, handing the pipe back to George.
“His mother was white,” George said, laying the pipe aside on a table. “As the story goes, she was taken captive. She married her captor, Chief Two Stones. This white wife bore Chief Two Stones one son, whom they named Storm. Both Storm’s chieftain father and white mother were killed one day in a cavalry attack. It was said that when Storm, a mere child then, arrived at his village and found the slaughter, he became chief even though he was only ten at the time. He led what remained of their clan to safety. They reside there even now, in a stronghold in the mountains, where no one has ever been able to find them.”
He knew better than to tell her the full story . . . that that day was the very day he had lost his leg . . . and that it was Chief Two Stones who had sent the arrow into it.
“Did Chief Storm ever do anything to avenge his parents’ deaths?” Shoshana asked guardedly. She was thinking that if things were not so complicated, she would attempt to avenge her own people’s deaths.
But to do so would mean that she would have to become a person different from who she was. She was a woman of compassion, of decency. Although she knew that George Whaley was guilty of many terrible things, she could not plot against him for the sake of vengeance.
George hoped that Shoshana wouldn’t see the color drain from his face as a result of her question, for he was the man whom Chief Storm must hate with every fiber of his being. He was the one who had taken this young chief’s parents from him. His only hope was that Storm had not been able to discover the names of those who took so much from him that day.
He cleared his throat nervously. He gave Shoshana a guarded look and tried to elude her question by directing her attention back to the scalp hunter. “From what our Apache scout tells us, Chief Storm knows about the scalp hunter being in the area. If Mountain Jack does find the Apache stronghold, he will be stepping into a hornets’ nest, for he will cause this young chief to forget his peaceful heart,” he said tightly.
“Why is the military so adamant about finding Mountain Jack?” Shoshana asked softly. “Why not let the young chief find him? Doesn’t the scalp hunter deserve the wrath of the Apache?”
George cleared his throat nervously. “I would rather not talk any more about this today. Although it is only morning, I am already tired and weary,” he said thickly. He got up and bent over her, running his fingers through her thick black hair. “Daughter, be careful,” he said tightly. “If Mountain Jack caught sight of your hair, he would do everything within his power to have it. It . . . it . . . would bring him top dollar.”
Shoshana paled at those words. She inhaled a nervous breath, for she understood the danger she could be in.
But she wouldn’t let the scalp hunter get in the way of what she had planned.
George t
ook a step away and gazed down at her, his eyes holding hers. “Shoshana, you can’t leave the fort without an escort, and even then, you must keep an eye out for danger. This Mountain Jack has sandy-colored whiskers and rides a horse of pure white,” he said, his voice drawn. “Do you hear me, Shoshana? Do you?”
“Yes, and I am disgusted by it all,” Shoshana said, shivering.
She rose from her chair.
Again she went to the window and gazed out across the land. “I so wish that I knew where my people’s village had been,” she murmured. “I would love to go there.”
She especially wanted to search out Chief Storm to ask if he might be harboring a woman from another band . . . one he might have found fifteen years ago.
Yes, she hoped most of all to find and talk with Chief Storm.
“Daughter, you didn’t answer me,” George said, moving to her side. He took her by the arm and turned her to face him. “You must never leave the fort unescorted, and even then, you should be careful . . . very, very careful.”
“I hear you and I promise that I shall be careful,” Shoshana said, then looked out the window again.
