The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [2]
“You’re wrong, Quantro. She’d made up her mind you were the man for her, and then when you beat Crawling-Snake you only set her mind more solid on wanting you.”
“Well, she’ll have to change it.”
Pete chuckled. “Then you don’t know Apache girls. She’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, but in the end she’ll catch up with you.”
“Wouldn’t place money on that.”
“I would.”
Quantro shrugged, somehow liking the idea she would go to those lengths for him, yet he was reluctant to take on the responsibility of her. Again, his eyes strayed to where she was working and, as he watched, she finished caring for the ponies and came by the fire. She crouched next to him, her dark eyes resting heavily on his conscience. What the hell.
“Okay, Pete, so I’ll accept there’s the three of us from now on. Where do we go from here?”
Pete swallowed a mouthful of coffee, then pursed his lips. “Been thinkin’ some.”
Quantro watched has face. “Yeah?”
Pete’s eyes met his. “Ever been to Cananea?”
“Cananea?”
“A town. Me and Wild-Horse brought you by there when you were wounded. You were too far gone to pay much attention. It’s a mining town. Built on copper. There’ll be jobs there hauling ore, or a man with your talents with a gun could work as a guard.”
“My pistolero days are over.”
“Pays better than cowpunching. You want a ranch you have to go where the money is. ’Sides, just because you’re a guard doesn’t mean you have to go ’round shooting holes in everybody, you just have to look like you can use a gun.”
“If you brought me past there, then Cananea’s on the way north?” Quantro asked, reckoning the route.
“Sure is.”
“Suppose it can’t do any harm to take a look-see.”
“Can’t do us any harm at all,” Pete agreed.
Quantro’s eyes switched to White-Wing’s small frame. “What about her? Anybody figures she’s Apache’ll holler out good and loud. She’ll end up on the reservation at San Carlos almighty quick.”
Pete tossed the coffee grounds into the fire and reached for his sack of Bull Durham. “Don’t you worry none about her. She speaks good Spanish. Take her out of those doeskin dresses and she’ll pass as Mex easy.”
Quantro looked at the Apache girl’s face. Pete was right. She didn’t have the normal broad, flat face common to her tribe, and she was taller than average too. Put a flat-crowned hat on her and a flared riding-skirt and she’d almost look Spanish enough to be the daughter of a nobleman. Still, he liked her in that soft beaded dress…
“Okay, Pete, you got a deal. Cananea it is.”
The older man grinned. “We ain’t got nothing to lose. Foot-loose and fancy-free.”
“Yeah, I usta be,” Quantro mumbled, coming to his feet. He crossed to his gear and began to spread out his bedroll in preparation against the bitter night. Carrying his Winchester, he quietly stalked over to where the buckskin stallion cropped at the mountain grass. He checked the picket and patted the horse’s neck.
By the fire, White-Wing looked at Quantro’s blankets, then at Pete. The older man shook his head. She nodded, her eyes wandering longingly to where Quantro petted the big horse. When he turned and came back to his blankets, she remained motionless.
“I’m for some sleep,” he said, settling down.
“Me too,” volunteered Pete, rising to his feet. He jerked his head just enough for the girl to see it. Gracefully, she rose and followed him. When they were out of earshot, she drew close.
“I thought he wanted me,” she whispered.
“He does.”
“Then why won’t he look at me? It is as if I am part of the stones of the mountain.”
Pete tried to smile his reassurance. “Give him time girl. He wants you all right, but he’d already made up his mind to do one thing before we came along and made him change it. He just needs a little time to get used to the idea.”
She turned to look at Quantro, nestled down against the mother earth. She wanted to be there with him, to touch