Apache Ambush. Will Cook
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you happy?” Hoisting the boy on her hip, she carried him back into the bedroom. Through the half open door O’Hagen could hear her cooing and the boy’s delighted laugh.
When Rosalia spoke, the sound of her voice startled him, for he had forgotten she was in the room. “Teemothy, would it help if I said I love you?”
Boots stamped along the porch and across the parade; the bugler blew tattoo. He said, “Why do you tell me that? What am I supposed to say?”
“That you still care for me,” Rosalia said, smiling. “Teemothy, don’t ever be far away from me.” She turned her head toward the bedroom. “She wants you, but you would be destroyed by her. You want a woman highly desired by other men, not one no man would promise to marry.”
“Shut up!”
She shrugged. “I’ve told you the truth.”
“Don’t make me out a bigger fool than I’ve already been,” O’Hagen said. “I have to go now.”
The movement along the porch stopped and the door opened. Osgood H. Sickles paused there, looked from one to the other, then closed the door. He was a man in his middle thirties, big, square faced, but not unhandsome. He wore fawn-colored trousers and a long coat. His left eye was darkly discolored and there was a lingering puffiness near the jaw hinges. Rosalia stood motionless, embarrassed at being caught here.
Sickles said, “Mr. O’Hagen, I’ve been quite tolerant of your attentions to my wife. Overlooked a great deal. I’m a broadminded man. But these lover’s trysts are over, be assured of that.”
“Don’t let your imagination run away with you,” O’Hagen said.
“I’m not. It’s yours that works overtime.” He spoke to his wife. “I believe you’d better return to Major Calvin’s quarters. I’m sure Mrs. Calvin is worried about you.” His smile was disarming. “Mr. O’Hagen and I have a matter to discuss.”
Rosalia hesitated, but the habit of obedience is strong in Spanish girls and she went out. Sickles listened to her footsteps recede, then turned his head when Libby Malloy came out of the bedroom.
“I had no idea you were there,” Sickles said.
“I’ll bet you didn’t,” Libby said and put on the coffee pot. Sickles studied the swell of her hips, the slimness of her waist, until Libby turned suddenly and said, “This is easier than peeking in windows, isn’t it?”
Sickles flushed and O’Hagen’s eyes brightened with interest. “What’s this all about?”
Libby laughed and set two cups on the table. “I raised my shade one night and found him standing on the porch, looking in—or at least trying to.” She poured the coffee, handed a cup to O’Hagen and ignored Sickles completely.
“I don’t have to stand here and be insulted by her,” Sickles said. “Who does she think she is? There isn’t a white man on the post who’d have her after the Apaches—”
O’Hagen flung his cup aside and went into Sickles, but the dark-haired man moved with surprising speed and surety. He blocked O’Hagen’s punch, slipped under the arm and belted the young officer flush in the mouth. O’Hagen went over the table, taking cloth and dishes to the floor. The door flew open and Herlihy and his wife came in.
“Good hivvens!” Mrs. Herlihy cried. “That was th’ last of me good dishes!”
Sickles meant to go around the upended table after O’Hagen, who was on all fours, but Herlihy moved between them. He stood there, an idle man with the threat of violence heavy in his manner. Sickles massaged his bruised knuckles and said, “Just so you don’t get the idea I’m soft, O’Hagen. We’ll have to try it again sometime. I think I could do you in without raising up a sweat.”
“Get out,” Herlihy said bluntly, “you’re stinkin’ up me house.”
“You’ll be a private in the morning,” Sickles promised. “I’ve always held it against you for finding him in the first place. If he’d have stayed with the Apaches, my life would be more pleasant.” He shook his finger at Herlihy. “A private! Remember that.”
“And I’ve been that before,” Herlihy said. “Go on—git before I give you a taste of me fist!”
Sickles flung the door open and stomped along the porch. Timothy O’Hagen righted a chair and sat down. This was the finish, he decided. He might as well go back to his quarters and pack. Tomorrow Crook would drum him out of the army for this.
Mrs. Herlihy began recovering the broken dishes. Her shoes ground into the finer fragments and the crunching was loud in the room.
“What happened here?” Herlihy wanted to know.
“Nothing,” O’Hagen said. “Forget it, Sergeant.”
“How can I forget it?” He flicked his glance to Libby, who waited, her face smooth and expressionless. “I’ll ask you, Libby.”
“Tim was being gallant for me. He didn’t have to be. Everyone knows about me.”
“Shut up!” O’Hagen snapped.
“We’ve got the Apache stink, Tim. It won’t rub off.” She tried to meet his eyes, but failed. Whirling quickly she ran into her room and slammed the door.
The silence was deep; then O’Hagen said quietly, “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him for it.”
His voice, calm and soft, caused Mrs. Herlihy to stop her sweeping. “Libby or Rosalia?” When O’Hagen did not answer she went back to her broken dishes.
Chapter 3
General George Crook arrived at Fort Apache as the bugler sounded morning work call. He wheeled his escort before the headquarters building and dismounted them. The twelve man troop went immediately to the stables and mess. Crook dismissed his officers with a word and strode onto the porch. He was a heavy man with shoulders like a wrestler. He had a fighter’s face, broad through the forehead and cheeks, and he wore neither uniform nor hat. His close-cropped head was a thicket. His dark beard fanned out from his cheeks like dense hedges. Eyes, slate-gray, darted quickly, taking in every detail within range of his vision.
Brevet Major Calvin hurried out to meet the general, one hand raised in salute while the other fumbled with an unfrogged saber strap. Crook said, “My compliments, Major. You keep a tidy house here.” He popped a cigar into his mouth, snipped off the end with his teeth and accepted Calvin’s hastily offered light.
“I’m afraid I must disappoint the general,” Calvin said.
“Eh?” Crook took the cigar from his mouth, leaving a round O of flesh.
“I refer to Lieutenant O’Hagen, sir. He’s under arrest for assaulting the Indian agent. Last night he broke arrest and commited another assault.”
“Against the same man?”
“Yes, sir.”
Crook grunted and the light of amusement came into his eyes. “He must dislike the fellow.” The amusement vanished, replaced by a shrewd understanding. “I expect you’ve settled the matter.”
“No, sir,” Calvin admitted, “I haven’t.”
“I see,” Crook said. “You expect me to sit on it.”
“That was my thought, sir.”
“Very well,” Crook said, going into Calvin’s office. He stripped off his gauntlets and threw them casually on the desk. His coat went over the back of Calvin’s chair and then he unbuckled his pistol belts, laying these beside the gauntlets. He sat down in Calvin’s chair, physically assuming command.
“Major,” he said, “we had best reach an understanding. I’m no paragon of virtue; rules were made to be broken, when the gain is great.