Savage Territory

Chapter Twenty-two

Matt had drawn two queens and an ace. He discarded two cards.

“Two for Mr. Jensen,” the dealer said. “Three for the good doctor, one for Mr. Hanlon, and the dealer will stand pat.”

“Whoa, Paul, do you actually have something, or are you trying to run a bluff?” Dr. Presnell said.

“My dear fellow,” the dealer, Paul Pinkstaff, said. “I never run a bluff.”

Matt was playing poker with three new friends he had met in the Dry Gulch Saloon, and they all laughed at Pinkstaff’s declaration.

“I know you haven’t been here long,” Dr. Presnell said to Matt. “But you have just heard what can best be described as a whopper. Paul runs bluffs all the time.”

“Those are the ones you need to look out for,” Matt said. “You never can tell when they may actually have something.”

“Mr. Jensen is a smart man,” Pinkstaff said. “I suggest you listen to him. Dealer bets two dollars.”

Matt picked up his cards, but his pair of queens wasn’t improved. He called, and when Hanlon raised the bet by a dollar, the dealer dropped out, to the whoops and laughter of the others around the table.

Matt called, though he didn’t feel good about it. As it turned out, he was right. Hanlon won the hand with three sevens. Matt had been playing for an hour and was down by about ten dollars.

“Mr. Jensen, I will say this for you,” Hanlon said as he drew in the pot. “You do lose graciously.”

“Whether you are gracious or angry, you are out the same amount of money,” Matt said. “So little is gained by being angry.”

“You are not only gracious, you are smart,” Hanlon said.

“Matt?”

Looking up, Matt saw Sheriff Williams approaching the table.

“Yes, Sheriff?”

“I wonder if you would mind coming down to the office with me. Marshal Gilmore and I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Be glad to,” Matt said. “If I stay here any longer, I’ll wind up losing even more money.”

Matt picked up the money that was in front of his chair, then followed the sheriff down to his office. There, he was introduced to Marshal Gilmore and a boy of about twelve, who was identified as Dewey Calhoun.

“Mr. Jensen, are you the same Matt Jensen who rode scout for General Crook several months back?”

“Yes,” Matt said.

“Good, I was hoping you were. We’ve got a little situation here that I’m hoping you can help with.”

“I’ll be glad to do what I can.”

“Son, tell Mr. Jensen what you told us,” Marshal Gilmore said to the twelve-year-old boy.

Dewey repeated his story of being out on the Picket Post Road when they encountered Indians. He concluded by telling of hearing the gunfire.

“Did you go back to see whether or not Malcolm was dead or alive?” Matt asked.

“Oh! No, sir,” Dewey said with a quick intake of breath. “I should have, shouldn’t I? I’m sorry, it’s just that I was so scared.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Matt said. “More than likely he wasn’t alive, and it wouldn’t have done him any good if you had gone back. In fact, it might have just put you in more danger.”

“Mr. Jensen, I was wondering if you would let me deputize you while we go out to look for Malcolm,” Gilmore said.

Matt shook his head. “No need to deputize me,” he said. “I’ll just go with you as a private citizen.”

“Sheriff! Sheriff!” someone called coming in through the front door at that moment. Seeing Matt, Hendel stopped.

“Hello, Mr. Hendel,” Matt said.

“Mr. Jensen, oh, I am so very glad to see you here.”

“You know this fella, do you, Jensen?” Sheriff Williams asked.

“Yes, we came out together on the train and then on the coach. He works for Mr. Bixby.”

“Oh, yes, the man who is going to own the biggest ranch in Arizona,” Sheriff Williams said, his voice disclosing a bit of derision.

“What brings you to the sheriff’s office, Mr. Hendel?” Matt asked.

“It’s Mrs. Bixby,” Hendel said. Then quickly he corrected himself. “Of course, I mean Mr. and Mrs. Bixby,” he said.

“What about them?”

“They are missing,” Hendel said. “They rode out just after breakfast. I was certain they would be back by now, but they still haven’t returned.”

“Rode out?” Sheriff Williams asked. “What do you mean by ‘rode out’?”

“They rented a rig from the livery and rode out on Picket Post Road to look over land that Mr. Bixby intends to buy,” Hendel explained.

“Picket Post Road? That’s not good,” Sheriff Williams said.

“What do you mean ‘That’s not good’? Is there something about Picket Post Road that I should know?”

“There’s been some Indian trouble along Picket Post,” Sheriff Williams said.

“Oh, God in heaven,” Hendel gasped, putting his hand over his chest. “Something has happened to her—uh, them,” he corrected. “I just know it.”

“We’re about to go out and take a look,” Matt said. “I’ll make a special effort to find her.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Mr. Hendel, that might not be such a good idea,” Matt said. “There’s going to be some hard riding ahead of us and—no disrespect intended—the last thing I will need is to have to have someone slow me on the trail.”

“Mr. Jensen, I am quite capable of sitting a horse, sir,” Hendel replied, his tone petulant.

Matt laughed and held his hand out. “You have convinced me, Mr. Hendel. I’d be glad to have you come along.”

“Thank you,” Hendel said.

Cynthia mounted the horse they brought for her, and rode with the Indians back to a small encampment. Riding a horse was not a routine thing for a young woman from the city of New York, but she had taken riding lessons and it was something that she had always enjoyed. She was thankful for that, because her skill as an equestrian was serving her well now.

After riding hard for about an hour, they reached an Indian encampment, consisting of about fifteen or so structures. The encampment surprised her, because she thought all the Indians were on large and well-controlled reservations. This small village, if that was what it could properly be called, consisted of no more than a few small, temporary-looking structures. Two of the Indians took her into one of them, where they pushed her down onto the ground, then left her alone.

For some strange reason, she found being left alone to be more frightening than when she was in the midst of them. She sat there, wondering what was gong to happen to her. The shock that had allowed her to take her fate so calmly before was now wearing off and she felt the fear building. But if, as Delshay had suggested, it was her lack of fear that had kept her alive before, she knew that she could not give in to the cold terror that was beginning to overtake her.

After she sat alone for almost an hour, the Indian who had identified himself as Delshay stepped into the little structure. This was the Indian who had spared Jay’s life—the one with whom she had discussed Shakespeare. It was odd that he had actually quoted Shakespeare, while knowing nothing about the writer her English teacher had called “the Great Bard.”

Despite the relative youth of the Indian, there was about him an aura of dignity and authority.

“What is your white man name?” Delshay asked.

“My name is Cynthia.”

“Now you have an Indian name.”

“Yes, Mountain Lion Woman,” Cynthia said.

“Nalyudi does not approve of your name,” Delshay said.

“Nalyudi? Is that the big one?”

“Yes.”

“He has become my enemy, hasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I have done nothing to him.”

“He wants to take you as his woman,” Delshay replied. “But I have forbidden it.”

“You have forbidden it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a chief, Delshay?”

“For some, I am a chief,” Delshay answered. “I am not a chief of the people who stay on the reservation.”

“If you are a chief, then you can tell me why I am a prisoner.”

“You are a prisoner because you were not killed. Would you prefer death?”

“I would prefer to be free,” she said. “You are a chief. Your people must do what you say. Order them to set me free.”

Delshay shook his head. “I think, for now, I must keep you as a prisoner,” he said.

“But why would you want to keep me prisoner? I am of no value to anyone.”

“You have value to the white man.”

“Ha,” Cynthia said with a bitter laugh. “You saw how much value I had to my husband.”

“Your husband is a coward and a fool,” Delshay said.

“Do not be so hard on him,” Cynthia said. “He was afraid.”

Matt, Ken Hendel, Marshal Gilmore, and Sheriff Williams found Bixby on the road less than four miles from Phoenix. He was bruised and his clothes were torn and dirty, the result of his having fallen several times. He had been running, and he was out of breath, and his face was red.

“Oh, thank God!” he said when saw the four riders coming toward him. “You have come to save me! I knew you would!”

“Where is Cynthia?” Hendel asked. It did not escape Matt’s notice that he called her by her first name.

“Water!” Bixby said. “Please, give me water!”

Sheriff Williams handed Bixby his canteen and Bixby turned it up to his lips, then drank long and deep.

“Mr. Bixby, where is Cynthia?” Hendel asked again, more forcefully this time than before.

“They took her,” Bixby said. “The Indians took her.”

“How did you get away from them?” Marshal Gilmore asked.

“The axle broke on the buckboard we had rented, leaving us afoot. The Indians came upon us shortly after that. I fought them,” Bixby said. “I fought hard, but they captured us. Later, I managed to get away. I tried to save Cynthia as well, but I couldn’t, so I figured that the best thing to do would be to come back here for help.”

“That was probably the best thing for you to do,” Sheriff Williams said. “If you had gone back a second time to try and save her, you would have gotten yourself killed, and maybe her as well.”

“Yes, yes,” Bixby said, shaking his head. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. I see you brought no conveyance. Hendel, I shall require you to return to that accursed corral and secure another buckboard. But, as the first one broke down, I refuse to pay another cent for the replacement.”

“Mr. Bixby, you are within easy walking distance of town,” Hendel said. “I really feel that I should go with these men to look for Mrs. Bixby.”

“Nonsense. You are in my employ, your obligation is to me. Now I am directing you to return to Phoenix, rent a conveyance of some sort, and return for me. If you do not do that, you may consider your employment terminated.”

Matt could tell by the expression on Hendel’s face that he was about to tell Bixby what he could do with his job. But because he didn’t want Hendel to act hastily, he spoke up.

“Ken, if she is still there, we will find her,” he said. “I promise you, I’ll let you know what is going on. Why don’t you do as Bixby says.”

Hendel took a deep breath, then nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Mr. Bixby, I shall be back within the hour.”

“Leave me your canteen,” Bixby said.

Hendel took his canteen and handed it down to him.

“Mr. Jensen,” Bixby said as he took the canteen from Hendel. “I find it odd that you say you will keep Hendel posted instead of me. She is my wife, after all.”

“Of course I will keep you posted, Bixby,” Matt said.