The Shaman's Secret (21 page)

Well, I could have warned him. There was only one Carlito.

Aunt Hilda caught sight of me. “Come over here, Kit,” she bellowed, beckoning me vigorously.

I made my way through the noise, the smoke, the miners, cowboys, gunslingers and handfuls of saloon girls to Aunt Hilda. Didn't anyone do any work in Chloride City? I had several knocks by the time I'd barged through to her.

She introduced me to Red. “My niece, Kit.”

“We've already met,” I reminded her.

“One of the finest girls in England. Brave, loyal to a fault. Not much to look at, I know, but then nor am I.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. I was sunburnt, unwashed and my hair was wild.

“Aunt Hilda, have you gone mad?” I snapped. I kept a straight face, but inside I was hurt. I may not be a beauty like Rachel, but I am not unpleasing-looking.

“I mean, she's fine-looking, of course, as any niece of mine would be—just not a mimsy-wimsy beauty type. Why, Kit can fire a gun better than any man. She's a credit to me.”

“I'm sure she is,” Red Dobie said, his eyes twinkling.

“Where is this going, Aunt?” I inquired coldly. “Have you discussed the arrangements for tomorrow? We really should be getting on, you know.”

“Slow down. I've been talking all that over with Red here. Provisions, water, directions.”

“We'll do everything to help, ma'am,” Red said.

“Red is being remarkably helpful,” Aunt Hilda said, gazing at him flirtatiously. “Anyone would think he was keen to see the last of us.”

“Not me, ma'am,” Red protested, but I was sure he would be—especially Waldo, and Aunt Hilda was being a right nuisance too.

“Could we take lunch in your room?” I suggested to Aunt Hilda. “We could plan our trip over it and then buy the necessary provisions in the afternoon.”

Was it my imagination or was Aunt Hilda becoming a little sweet on Red Dobie? Or maybe she just wanted to sink her hooks into her investment in the Last-Dance Saloon. Either way, it was a relief to get her up to the bedroom, and for the steaming urn of soup to arrive. None too soon, for, unusually, I was starving.

The soup was thin and had pig's trotters floating in it. Revolting. I had no time to fuss, for as soon as we sat down to eat at the little round table by the window Waldo stood up again.

“I have an announcement to make,” he said. “This will come as no surprise to some of you. Others, I hope, will regret what I have to say.”

“Oh, do sit down,” Aunt Hilda said. “This delicious soup will get cold if we have to listen to you jabbering.”

“No. I must speak my mind. I have decided not to join
you on your trip to the Grand Canyon. I will take the first available stagecoach back to San Francisco.” He paused. When he spoke again, there was a catch to his voice. “I will not rejoin you on the journey back to England. I intend to telegraph my mother and tell her I am staying on in America.” He raised his blond head proudly. “I will seek my fortune out here.”

There was a shocked silence. Rachel threw me an uneasy glance, but didn't say anything. Then Isaac began to protest:

“We're a team, Waldo. I have the ideas and you do the fighting. Why would you want to leave? We work brilliantly together.” His voice rose. “I don't understand why you would abandon us.”

“Ask Kit,” Waldo said.

I was looking at the floor and didn't raise my eyes to meet his.

“Go on, ask her.”

“Kit?” Isaac said.

“Look, this is all stuff and nonsense,” Aunt Hilda interrupted. “A silly tiff. You're not leaving us, Waldo. I won't allow it.”

I cleared my throat. “I'm truly sorry, Waldo,” I said. “I misjudged you. You did not betray the Apaches—I had the wrong idea—but if you want to leave you must do as you please.”

Waldo gave a nasty laugh. “That's just like you, Kit. You say you're sorry but in the same breath you take it away. You say I must leave.”

I hadn't said that, but I resisted pointing it out. Instead I forced contrite words out. “Please stay. I would prefer it.”

“Prefer it?” Waldo rose from the table. “Too little, too late. I'm sick and tired of you throwing your weight around. Treating me like the dirt under your heel … I'm sorry, I'm very fond of you, Kit, but I just can't abide it any longer.”

Rachel's low voice broke into this exchange. “This is between the two of you,” she said. “I must say, I think you're being silly and melodramatic, Waldo.” She turned to me. “Kit, what I don't understand is this: how do you know that Waldo didn't betray the Apaches?”

I explained about meeting Boy after the funeral, and how she had told me that the Apaches were safe, that Waldo had known they were moving camp. My words caused a sensation, for the others marveled at the daring of the Apache maiden to come within shooting distance of Chloride. I think Waldo was perhaps a little upset that his sensational statement had been upstaged.

“So,” I said, “I was wrong. I flew off the handle. I should have known better. Waldo, please forgive me and come with us.”

I looked him in the eye as I said this. The most humbling apology I have ever had to make to him. He looked at
me, and his eyes were distant, hooded by his frowning brows.

“I've been really upset.”

“I know.”

“I can't decide now. I'll think about it and let you know tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, stop being such a
girl
,” Aunt Hilda butted in. “We can't do without you. For one thing, Kit's father already thinks you let her down in China. He would never forgive you if you jumped ship now. For another, this is no pleasure trip we're setting out on. It is a life-and-death matter for my niece. If you leave us now, you're abandoning Kit and betraying the rest of us. So, it's settled. You're coming with us.”

That for Aunt Hilda was that. But from the look on Waldo's face I wouldn't bet on her getting her way.

We assembled just after daybreak in the spiky shade of a pinyon pine. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, just flat blue that threatened to whiten till it burned with a dazzling heat. Another roasting day in the desert. Riding for miles, with aching limbs and the sun frying our brains through our straw hats.

I wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

Nor was anyone else, if the glum faces of our party were a guide.

Aunt Hilda had obtained a new outfit, and had a pair of fringed leather trousers to go with her ten-gallon hat. She looked weird, frankly, but then she never cares what anyone else thinks about her. Seeing her stomping about, ordering people around, getting the horses ready, packing provisions in the saddlebags, I wondered again if she ever regretted her lost opportunity for love with Gaston Champlon.

When I say we were all gathered for our departure from Chloride, I should say everyone except Waldo. It took my aunt a while to notice his absence.

“Where is that dratted boy?” she asked. “Kit, run up to his room and find him. He's holding us all up.”

“I'd rather not,” I said.

Red Dobie, who had come to see we had everything we needed, offered to do it himself. But Aunt Hilda sent Isaac. Both of them came down from the saloon a while later, a forlorn Isaac dragging a sullen Waldo behind him.

“Well, what's going on?” Aunt Hilda said.

Waldo didn't reply, just looked mulish.

“I don't think he's coming,” said Rachel.

“WHAT?” Aunt Hilda exploded. “Of all the childish, ridiculous pranks to pull! I do not believe it of you, Waldo Bell. I've always had a lot of time for you, and I simply don't believe you would let your team down like this. Kit is mortally sick, for pity's sake.”

“I have no choice,” Waldo muttered. “Kit has made it clear she doesn't want me.”

“Absolute nonsense. My niece may have a sharp tongue, but she apologized—very handsomely. It is you who is being childish and stupid. There, I've said it. Frankly, you are being ridiculous.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way.”

“Get on your horse now.”

“NO!”

“Waldo, I command you.”

“There isn't a stagecoach till next week so I'm going to ride to Las Vegas and get one from there.”

“FOR—” Aunt Hilda was puce-faced, building up to a major explosion. Though I was angry, hurt even, I kept my temper. If Waldo wanted to go, fine, he must.

“Aunt,” I cut in, “I think we should respect Waldo's wishes.” I glanced at Candy, Red Dobie's girl, who had also turned up to wish us goodbye. “It may be that he finds the amenities of Chloride too much to leave.”

Waldo looked at me as if he wanted to kill me.

“We should waste no more time,” I declared, putting my foot into the stirrup and hoisting myself onto Carlito. “The sun will be scorching soon; we must move if we want to avoid the heat of the day.”

So we left Chloride and left Waldo. I resisted looking back to see his dwindling figure standing under the pines as we rode out. Maybe he stood there watching us ride into the horizon. Or maybe he turned as soon as the dust had settled, and went back into the Last-Dance Saloon for a beer and a consoling chat with Candy.

Either way, I didn't want to waste time thinking about it.

We followed the directions Boy had given us, riding due south out of Chloride. It was strange not having Cyril
guiding us. I felt freer without his gloomy presence, but also a little adrift. He had led us, I realized now. We had been following his path and his plans.

Now we were riding on a whim—the chance that we would meet Boy and she would somehow give us the guidance we sought. We had no choice, because we had so little idea of our mission—just that we had to get to the Grand Canyon to seek the legendary tablet, the thing we hoped would free me from my illness. I had seen Cyril die; I had felt the presence of his brother. I was in no doubt about the urgency of our quest. If we didn't find this Anasazi tablet, this thing of sacred antiquity, I would face certain doom.

Isaac was riding beside me, unusually quiet even for him. Abruptly he said, “You've made a big mistake.”

“Pardon?”

“Waldo puts up with you. There won't be many that will.”

“I cannot see that this is your concern,” I said, glancing ahead to see Rachel riding silently beside my aunt.

“I'm your friend. I'm also Waldo's friend. I can understand why he acted as he did. You are in the wrong. You should have gone down on bended knee and begged for his forgiveness.”

“Thank you for sharing your opinions,” I said, spurring Carlito on with my stirrups. There was a sour taste in my
mouth. I set my head away from him so he could not see my flaming cheeks.

It was just before noon when we came to the rock shaped like a horse. It was a large boulder and it did look uncannily like Carlito's head. The left side of it took the shape of a muzzle. I could see the flare of the horse's nostril in a bit of chipped stone.

Boy was sitting on the sand in the shade of the rock. She must have been there for hours. She was so still that at first I didn't notice her. Her deerskin tunic blended with the colors of sand and rock.

“I have joy to see you, Kit,” she said, standing up. Her chopped hair, black and straight, framed her lively, intelligent face. Her eyes were gleaming, her full mouth opened wide in a smile.

I jumped off my horse and was just about to fling my arms around her neck when I remembered that Apaches don't like such displays of emotion.

“Friends of Kit, welcome,” she greeted the others. “But Yellow Hair—he has been shot?”

I guess it is natural in this violent land to always dread death by the bullet. I quickly assured her that Waldo was fine, had just decided to stay behind.

“A pity,” she said. “He is a fine warrior.”

We broke our ride then, to rest a little in the shade of the rock, to eat some dried beef and have a drink of water.
The sun was overhead, beating down on us with fury. We all huddled into the sparse shade of the rock. Then it was time to go. Boy wanted to make good progress toward the canyon before we made camp for the night.

It was a relief to my wounded soul to have her with us. She seemed to anticipate what I was thinking, understand when I was weak or my head was filled with that odd combination of burning and dizzying lightness. Most of her attention was turned on me; she gave Rachel, Isaac and Aunt Hilda just politeness. To me, she was constantly kind. I didn't know why she was so—perhaps she had been charged by her shaman to look after me and was taking her task very seriously.

And, of course, we were friends. She had been raised in a wickiup, a creature of the burning deserts. I had lived in a cream stucco house in Oxford with a governess and table manners. But somehow we understood each other.

“Boy,” I asked her once, “is it unusual for an Apache girl to be a warrior?”