Free Apache Moon by Len Levinson Page A

them curiously. Duane opened the saddlebags, and his extra cartridges were intact. None of his personal belongings were missing, and he didn't feel quite so naked anymore. “I was talking with Cucharo before. He thinks I'm part Apache. What do you think of that, Delgado?”

    â€œCucharo is a famous medicine man among us. If he says you are part Apache, he is probably right. But Apache is not what we call ourselves. We are the People, and the White Eyes are trying to snuff us out. There will be much blood on this land, I am certain of it.”
    â€œWe must make peace together, before things get that far.”
    â€œIt is already too late, White Eyes.”
    â€œBut Jesus Christ said that we must love each other.”
    â€œIs that the one who rose from the dead? How can anyone believe such a thing?”
    â€œIt's no stranger than your mountain spirits.”
    Delgado suddenly appeared angry. He leaned toward Duane, pointed at his nose, and said, “You best be careful what you say about the mountain spirits. We owe everything to them, and to Yusn.”
    â€œWho is Yusn?”
    â€œHe is the Great Spirit.”
    â€œWhere did he come from?”
    Delgado shook his head impatiently. “No one knows these things.”
    Phyllis said to Delgado, “Why is it that you act as if I'm not even here?”
    â€œBecause you are his woman.”
    â€œDoes that mean I don't exist?”
    â€œIt is not good to look at another man's woman. The People are not the White Eyes. It is getting late, and I will take you to your wickiup.”

    Duane and Phyllis slung their saddlebags over their shoulders and followed Delgado across the camp. Little children ran among the campfires as their elders sat eating, drinking, and plotting the destruction of the renegades.
    Delgado approached a wickiup near the center of the camp. “This is yours.”
    â€œWe don't want to take somebody's home,” Phyllis protested. “We can ...”
    Delgado didn't pay any attention to her. He looked pointedly at Duane and said, “Good night.”
    Then the Apache warrior walked off, leaving Duane and Phyllis in front of their new home. Duane dropped to his knees and peeked inside the door. It was pitch-black, so he lit a match. No lantern or candle was inside, animal skins lay over the dirt floor, and it smelled leathery, with the faint odor of tobacco in the air. He crawled all the way in, and Phyllis followed on her hands and knees. They could see the stars through a smoke hole in the curved roof.
    â€œI'm afraid of these people,” Phyllis said as she pulled off her boots. “My father told me a story once about a bunch of Apaches who became friendly with some Mexicans, and when the Mexicans relaxed, the Apaches slaughtered them.”
    Duane tossed his hat on top of the saddlebags, yanked off his boots, and unstrapped his holster. Then he formed a pillow out of the saddlebags, placed his gun close at hand, and grabbed for his future wife.

    They sank into the animal fur, grasping at each other's bodies. He unbuttoned her blouse, while she reached for his belt. They rolled naked over the fur, making wild scratching love. The fierce spirit of the Apaches inspired the White Eyes, as life renewed itself high in the mountains of Texas.
    Lieutenant Dawes strode across his little post, showing himself to the troopers. At West Point they'd taught him that discipline was maintained when the men saw their officers sharing the same hardships as they. It was dark, and the men were preparing for Taps. Some washed pots and pans, others repaired harnesses, a few cleaned their carbines, and a special detail tended the horses. Four guards were posted, to make sure Indians didn't steal anything. The moment you dropped your guard, that's when they attacked.
    A group of troopers hammered a broken wheel and laughed as Dawes passed. The lieutenant suspected that they were making a joke at his expense, but he realized