Allegiance Page 22

  "Dammit, Shoofly! Will you pipe down?” Tyler wanted to punch him. “God almighty!"

  "Uh-oh.” Shoofly gave him a weak grin. “I was only foolin'."

  "Of all the men they could have sent over here today, it had to be you."

  "Well, pardon me for doing my job!"

  Tyler glanced around. Everyone seemed to be minding their own business, wrestling with boxes and prying lids off barrels. At least, no one was obviously standing with his ears cocked, agog with interest. Except for Amy. She peered out of the shadowy interior of the wagon with fists in her lap and her eyes wide with horror.

  Shoofly walked over to the wagon parked ahead of hers and stuck his head inside the gaping canvas. “So, what are you carryin'?"

  "I suppose you want me to unload everything."

  "Maybe not. After all, I can vouch for you. Lord, what do you want with so many pigs of lead? Are all these kegs full of gunpowder?"

  Tyler exchanged a worried glance with Amy. It would be disastrous to be caught in any kind of lie. “They are."

  The lieutenant's eyes goggled. “We haven't got a whole lot more than that stored over at Camp Leavenworth.

  "In New Mexico, they're waging a campaign against the Navahos. I've got a permit to haul ammunition."

  "Yeah?” Shoofly turned back to the wagon, his eyes probing every niche and corner. “How much liquor you got?"

  "No more than a jugful, I swear. Amy, where's that whiskey we brought along? You want to get it out for me?"

  After a little searching, she handed it down.

  Tyler took it from her and pulled the cork. “How about a little swallow, Shoofly?"

  His old acquaintance beamed. “Maybe just a nip—I'm on duty."

  "Of course.” Tyler passed him the jug.

  Shoofly took a swig and wiped his chin on his sleeve. “Good whiskey!” He handed it back and Tyler felt obliged to take a drink, too. The lieutenant's voice dropped to a conspiratorial level. “So, what's goin’ on?"

  The whiskey burned a shaft down Tyler's throat. “You've got to keep it under your hat, Shoofly. The Mexicans might not approve."

  "You've got my word."

  "I'm with the Engineers, now. We're surveying the Santa Fe Trail. Making maps."

  Shoofly frowned. “Whatever for? A bunch of commissioners came out here ten years ago and did that a'ready. Major Sibley was in charge, I think."

  Tyler returned the jug to him. “Are the wagons following the route laid out by Sibley?"

  "No. Never did. The markers he built are wearin’ away to nothin’ out in the prairie. Stupidest damn project I ever saw!” He took a long pull on the jug, his Adam's apple bobbing.

  Tyler realized he had to build up his story a bit more. “Surveying is just a cover for the investigating I have to do. It's secret, so don't call me Major in front of anybody."

  Shoofly's face brightened. “Ah. Sit under the wagon here out of the rain, and tell me about it."

  As they sought shelter, Tyler sorted possibilities in his mind. How much could he divulge without risking the mission? How much would Shoofly settle for? He tasted the whiskey and passed the jug back. “I'm to gather reports about the Indian tribes. Any hostilities you know of?"

  "Not at present. Don't we have Indian agents to do that?"

  "I'm talking about beyond the Cimarron Cut-off. Down in Mexico. Heard anything about the Comanches or Kiowas lately?"

  "It's been peaceful since the council at Camp Mason. And Colonel Dodge met with several tribes at Bent's Fort last year. But what's so secretive about that? When I mentioned the word spy, you jumped like a toad in boiling water."

  Tyler reached for the whiskey, stalling for time to think. “That isn't all. You know about the trouble Mexico is having with Texas. Well, Jackson wants to know if there's a rebellion brewing in New Mexico, as well. I'm going to Santa Fe to nose around."

  Shoofly smiled and nodded. “Now I see. I knew there had to be something more to it. Son of a gun!"

  Tyler gave a quiet sigh of relief. With Shoofly finally satisfied, the true extent of the mission was safe. Now was a good time to change the subject. If he could only gather his wits. He blinked at the cock-eyed view of the wagon camp as his brain shifted and twirled. How much whiskey had he drunk?

  * * * *

  Amy watched Tyler and his friend pass the jug back and forth as they hunkered under the wagon out of the rain. She wondered if she should do something. Having witnessed enough of Jeb's drinking, she recognized the signs: Tyler had had a drop too much. What if he blabbed more than he intended?

  One of the soldiers, the private, wandered back to Amy's wagon, clutching his slate and chalk. Apparently oblivious to his soaked clothing, he leaned a hip against the tailgate and grinned up at her. “You wouldn't happen to have any tobacky in there, would you?"

  She nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do. You want to buy some?"

  "A couple of pounds, if you have it."

  "Sure. Anything else? How about some boot polish? And a sewing kit?"

  He laughed. “You can tell by lookin’ what I need. Sure, throw ‘em in."

  His smile remained constant while she searched through boxes and bags for the items he wanted. She had to dig deep for the tobacco. Meanwhile, Tyler lay back with his arms folded behind his head, talking and chortling with the lieutenant under the next wagon.

  Even after the private handed her some coins and gathered up his purchases, he seemed content to stand and gawk at her. “I don't suppose I'll see you at the fandango tonight?"

  "The what?"

  "Mexican dance. It's a tradition to have a party whenever we come around a Mexican camp. Course, they might have music and dancin’ when we're not here, too, but then you'd know better than me. I mean—” He looked at his feet and laughed. His face reddened.

  "If they have a party, I'll be there. Are you camping overnight?"

  "Oh, we'll be around awhile. We're escortin’ the caravan ‘cross Injun country. There's only a dozen of us, but you can always use a few more rifles."

  "I hear some of the merchants have already gone ahead to Council Grove."

  "Right. They'll be waitin’ for us. There's sure to be a big fandango when we get there, too.” He rested his elbow on the tailgate, very nonchalant, then nearly dropped his bag of tobacco and had to do a juggling act to keep it off the ground. His face went scarlet and even his neck had splotches of color.

  Amy's heart went out to him. “I'll save a dance for you tonight if there happens to be a fandango."

  "Good. Thank you. I'll be lookin’ forward to it. Well, I'd better go. Oh! Pardon me, my name's Ben—Ben Lofflin. I already know your name."

  "Nice to meet you, Ben. When you go, could you take Lieutenant Schouffler with you?” She pointed out the prostrate body under the next wagon. Both tipplers had fallen silent, probably sleeping off the spirits.

  "Oh, my gosh! Yes, Miss Baker. Certainly, I will.” He set down his packages and stooped under the wagon, reaching for the lieutenant's ankles.

  She grabbed a blanket and followed him.

  The rain had diminished to a fine mist in the air. Tyler lay with his eyes closed, shivering in his drenched clothes. She threw the blanket over him.

  He started mumbling. “No, you're the real soldier, Shoofly. You wouldn't pass up a chance to capture Black Hawk."

  The lieutenant thrashed and cursed as the private dragged him out by the heels. “Let go of me! Can't a man take a little siesta in the afternoon anymore?"

  Ben hauled him up on wobbly legs. “C'mon, Lieutenant. We gotta set up camp yet. Everybody's waitin'. Miss Baker don't want you hangin’ around."

  After they left, Amy shook Tyler's shoulder. “Wake up! Can you hear me?"

  He opened his eyes. “Loud and clear."

  "They're gone for now. Are you all right?

  "Sweetheart, I'm perfectly all right.” His hand closed on her upper arm, and he pulled her close. He reeked of whiskey. “Roll under the blanket with me and
warm me up."

  "Shh! It's the middle of the day—we're in plain sight of everyone!"

  He rubbed his eyes with his other hand. “Oh, I messed it up good, didn't I? It's all over!"

  "What did you tell him?"

  "I don't know.” He rolled his head from side to side. “I don't know. Write to Houston, will you? Tell him what happened. They might not lock me in the guardhouse for more than a month or two, but they'll take the muskets away from us."

  "Perhaps not. You'll feel better in a few hours. Then we'll talk about it.” She tried to pry his fingers from her arm.

  "No, I ruined everything. How was I to know that damned Shoofly would be here?"

  "You did fine, Tyler—he didn't find the muskets."

  "Do you think so? I hope you're right. Amy, you're a sweetheart! How do you put up with all this? You are the smartest, the most beautiful—"

  "Shh! Don't talk. You don't know what you're saying."

  "I'm not drunk, Amy, if you think that, you're wrong. Do you love me? Say you love me."

  "I love you.” She pulled loose from his grasp. “Now go to sleep. We'll talk later.” She scrambled out from under the wagon, sure that her cheeks were flaming worse than the private's had earlier. Drunken men babbled such nonsense! Some people said whiskey brought out the truth, but she questioned that. When whiskey talked, it was malarkey.

  * * * *

  An earthquake tumbled several big boulders down on Tyler's head. He groaned and struggled to free himself from the debris. He was trapped in a pitch-black tomb; or else he'd gone blind.

  "Ty! Wake up!” Jeb shook him, and more rocks fell. “What's goin’ on?"

  Tyler propped himself up on one elbow and the world tilted. Several campfires outlined the shape of the wagon corral and the people moving about within it, but the shades of night obscured everything beyond the encampment. Somewhere a fiddle screeched and a guitar jangled. He held his throbbing head. “What am I doing here? Did the wagon roll over me?"

  "You smell like a corn-mash still! Are you gonna tell me what's goin’ on?"

  "Ahh, I don't remember. Yes, I do ... Soldiers from Leavenworth inspected the wagons."

  "The muskets! Did they find the muskets?” Jeb voice came from a hunched form in the darkness.

  "I don't think so. Can you get me a cup of coffee? Make it strong."

  "Are they lookin’ for me?” Jeb shifted, looking around.

  "Just routine. Nobody asked about you ... Oh, Lord, my head!"

  "Good.” Jeb breathed deeply.

  "But I think I scuttled the mission. Where's Amy? We have to talk."

  Jeb glanced over his shoulder toward the main camp. “She's over dancin’ with the soldiers. Should I fetch her?"

  Tyler moaned and closed his eyes. “How about some coffee first?"

  While Jeb built a small campfire on the far side of the wagon, Tyler made the long, arduous trek to the creek to soak his head. By the time Amy arrived, he'd drunk two cups of strong coffee and changed into dry clothes.

  "How are you feeling?” She studied his face.

  "I fear I may live."

  She smiled and sat down on a box. “Look, your friend isn't acting suspicious at all over there. I think we're all right."

  "Yeah, but it's only a matter of time. I don't think we ought to travel with this outfit—not if Shoofly's detachment escorts us. The man's too curious."

  Jeb frowned. “What else are we gonna do?"

  "We've got options.” Tyler held up three fingers. “One, we go on as we are. Two, we travel alone. Three, we turn back."

  "Turn back?” Jeb's mouth fell open.

  "I don't know if there's another caravan going out this late in the year—I doubt it—but we can see.” Tyler glanced from one reproachful face to the other. “Well, let's hear your suggestions."

  Amy stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I vote we go on. There will be a risk however we do it. We knew that from the first."

  Tyler gave her a stern look. “You're not putting the land grant first, are you, Amy? That can wait, you know."

  "No, I am not.” She set her jaw and glared back at him. “I just think it's worth the risk to keep going."

  Jeb shook his head. “Do whatever you want, Ty, but I'm goin’ on. I'm a wanted man here in the States, and I can't stay here."

  The throbbing in Tyler's skull made it almost impossible to think. “Fine. We'll all stay with the caravan for now, but if Shoofly shows any sign of distrust, I'm turning the wagons back. With or without you."

  Amy swiveled and left the campfire.

  "Amy, wait!” Tyler hurried to catch up before she reached the brighter lights of the main encampment. “We must use good sense, you know. The safety of the muskets must come first. Surely you understand that."

  "Oh, indeed I do. If the secret gets out, it won't be because of me. I want this to work.” She hesitated, then went on. “I don't blame you for worrying—you're more open to suspicion now."

  "I feel naked as a baby."

  "You're no longer a simple bullwhacker—that's true. Your friend knows you were in the army, so everyone may find out. You'll naturally be under some suspicion. Attention will be drawn to anything you're connected with, too. Therefore, you must detach yourself from our wagons. And from Jeb and me. That way, you can divert any suspicion that comes up—lay a false trail."

  "You seem to understand the situation very well."

  "Oh, I see it clearly. But we can still pull through if we're careful.” A questioning frown puckered her brow. “You told the lieutenant you're surveying the trail?"

  "Yes.” He deliberated a moment. “I've got some equipment with me."

  "Can you bluff your way through?"

  He exhaled slowly, letting his tension go. “I think so.” Her grasp of the problems and her determination to work around them relieved much of his doubt. “You're sure you understand your role in this?"

  She nodded. “I'll find out all I can and tell Jeb. And he'll tell you."

  "Right."

  "If you drive a wagon for him, you might want to let everyone know the merchandise isn't yours. You're just hitching a ride."

  He grinned. “I can't fault your logic. I knew I should have put you in charge.

  She didn't smile. “If we're seen together, no one will trust me anymore; no one will talk to me. From now on, we must be strangers.” Without waiting for a reply, she walked away toward the festivities.

  He watched her go, his amusement fading. As her forthright words sank in, he realized why his uncertainty and indecision had nearly been his undoing. A soldier couldn't afford to be soft, and he'd let himself get soft. He'd been prepared to surrender. Muskets, hell! It was her safety that had him worried. However, as she'd pointed out, he had his duty and she had hers.

  Duty. It went down hard, like a pig of lead.

  He stood in the dark outside the encampment, watching Amy mingle with her new friends and admirers. Bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and firelight, she'd never looked more beautiful.

  He tried to remember when he'd ever felt so alone.

  Chapter 19

  Amy watered her horse, Sugarfoot, in the bottom of the creek bed. A few puddles were all that remained of the spring freshet; it would soon be dry. She wished she could have traveled with the American caravan earlier in the year and been assured of enough water for the stock.

  Sugarfoot tried to run up the steep slope on the other side, but she held him back; the sun was hot and they had a long way to go. Beyond a belt of trees, they met the prairie: grass as high as her horse's back, rank, almost impassable. Sugarfoot meandered along, biting off mouthfuls of seed heads. When Amy came to a path, she reined him onto it and headed back toward the wagon train.

  The dragoons led the way along the Santa Fe Trace, followed by the big freight wagons and the clumsy little two-wheeled carretas at the rear. Some of the caballeros scouted fore and aft while others guarded the flanks. No fear of getting lost by accident—if Amy m
issed the billowing clouds of dust rising fifty feet in the air, she could always hear the screeching of the carretas' wooden wheels on their un-greased axles. She wondered if the sound would drive her mad before she reached New Mexico.

  Alizar, ever the vigilant wagon master on his black charger, loped to meet her. His face was set in stern lines. “Señorita, I must caution you against riding out of sight. Protecting you would be impossible."

  She lifted her chin. “I had to find a place for my horse to drink. The wagons muddied the water at the crossing."

  "No need to risk your safety—my drovers care for the extra stock. If you would turn your horse out with them—"

  "But then I couldn't ride.” Amy tried to keep the sharp edge from her voice. “First the duenna scolded me for riding alone, and now you. I can appreciate why you might worry, but I'm used to taking care of myself."

  His austere expression softened. “None of us rides out alone very far—not even myself. One never knows when los Indios will turn hostile and attack us. Or los bandidos. Here, they live outside the law without a care."

  She sighed. “I know, but I cannot—will not—ride day after day cooped up like a chicken."

  "But of course you may ride. I suggest only that you remain in sight."

  She gazed wistfully into the distance. A puff of wind left its mark across the rolling plains, bending the grass in a wide swath, spreading a glistening wave.

  Alizar watched her. “Don't look so sad, my little caged bird. If you permit me, I will accompany you when you ride. I am at your service."

  "Thank you.” Surprise brought her attention back to him.

  "My pleasure, Señorita.” His infrequent smile transformed his solemn face.

  "You may call me Amy."

  "As you wish ... Amy.” He turned his horse to fall in alongside her, heading back toward the line of wagons.

  "You speak English very well,” she said.

  "I lived several years in St. Louis.” His bold gaze slid from her face to wander over her form, and she imagined buttons popping loose on her bodice. Her cheeks burned. Unlike the cool, self-collected men she'd met in the States, this man's passion simmered near the surface, unmasked.