The Wicked Affair of the Golden Emperor
A Charles Goodfoote Mystery in Old San Francisco
Chapter 54
Kaya dons another disguise for her trip home
Jubal T. put his feet up on a leather ottoman while we relaxed in Gina Vitti’s parlor. “You heading down to the border is some precarious journey. If they catch you with that Apache gal, they’ll hang you both, Pinkerton badge or no.” He winched slightly. His wounded arm was still stiff, but he no longer used the sling.
I put a match to my pipe. “Kaya came a thousand miles to save my bacon. Taking her home safely is small payment.”
“Been meaning to ask you, Charles. Kaya doesn’t sound like an Apache name. To my ear, the Apache language is full of grunts and hard-sounding words. Where did she get the name Kaya?”
I got my pipe going, then gazed at the wallpaper for a long moment, recounting what I knew of the woman warrior. “Kaya is short for Kaya-Te-Nse, which means ‘Fights Without Weapons.’ ”
“She used weapons on those gunneys up in the rocks.”
“The name came when she was just little more than a girl. Her brother got killed and scalped by some Comanches. When she found out, she jumped on a horse and took off after the raiding party. She located their village two nights later and found the man carrying her brother’s scalp on his belt doing a victory dance.
“She lured him into the bushes, took his knife while he had other things on his mind, and sent him to the Snow Hills. Then she scalped him, took his moccasins, and rode back to her village with proof of her journey’s entertainment.”
It was quiet then in the opulent lounge, Jubal T. sipping his tea and me puffing on my pipe.
“I don’t fancy a woman who would do that,” JT said, as he put his cup and saucer on a side table. “Women are all unpredictable and she might get the notion to end a relationship in a sudden manner.”
“It is good to keep on her sweet side,” I said.
“You never did tell me where and when you met her? Was it while you were Marshalling?”
I took another pull on my pipe and let my mind drift back some years. “Yep. I was working for Judge Jeffords in the New Mexico Territory, chasing some real desperate men. One was a half-Mexican half-Mescalero the Apache called Demonio maligno.”
“The Evil Demon.”
“And he had earned his name. He killed Whites, Mexicans, Apaches, mostly women and children. He used two silver hatchets, said to be made special for him by a Mexican silversmith.”
“Sounds like a madman,” Jubal said, as he shook his head.
“That he was. Anyway, the Apache sent out a warparty with Kara scouting for them. The Evil Demon took them down, one at a time, and Kara caught a glancing blow to her head that knocked her senseless. I came along just as he was about to finish the job. I had to take a quick shot from the hip that hit one of his hatchets, but he disappeared into the rocks. I carried Kaya back to her village and went after the bastard. Chased him into Arizona Territory where he turned and started tracking me. I caught him sneaking up on me one night, him not knowing what a light sleeper I am. He didn’t get to see the next morning’s sunrise.”
Jubal got up, pulled aside a heavy damask drapery, and opened the window to let out the smoke. “Your Apache gal has been up in those hills, now, for what? three weeks. What does she do with her days, when you aren’t up there pestering her?
“I don’t know exactly, but after her first week, the entire Joaquin Murrieta gang came flying out of their stronghold like someone had dropped a hornet’s nest among ’em. From what I hear, they’re still running, Murrieta himself out front.”
Jubal chuckled. “Well, if anyone can get Kaya to look like a Mexican Chiquita, it’s Gina. You say Kaya speaks Spanish?”
“Like a senorita from Madrid.”
There was a loud ‘thump’ from upstairs. We both gazed at the ceiling.
“Can you get her to act like a senorita from Madrid is the bigger question.”
Mrs. Kan arrived with a fresh pot of tea and a dish of small cakes. She then noiselessly left the room, closing the door behind her.
Jubal picked up one of the cakes and dropped back into his stuffed chair. “That Grues was as cracked as a chimney pot, Boss,” he said examining his sweet. “But I never figured him for Dillman’s beheading. That caught me sideways.” Jubal cocked his head and looked at me. “The weapon and the way it was done all pointed to a Chinese assassin. You never did explain how you worked out it was Grues.” He popped the cake into his mouth.
“The knot in the rope was the first clue. The rope he used to climb up the wall had a sailors’ round double hitch, according to Henry. And his tracks showed a big toe widely separated from the others, often found in tops’lmen aboard ship. Tops’lmen guide the rigging and halyards, often running the line between their great toe and the next one. Over time, a gap between their toes develops.
“If he had been wearing slippers with the toe separate, rather than barefoot, I would have suspected Chinese cìkè or Japanese shinobi. According to Doc Thorp, they both wear that type of footwear. Then we found out Grues had not only worked on ships in the China trade, but he had been beached in Shandong after he killed a sailor in a dockside barroom brawl. He spent two years in a British prison in mainland China until the Small Swords rebels freed him and taught him some additional tricks with the sword.
“ Once I heard Grues’s history, especially with the Small Swords rebels, I felt on solid ground with my theory.”
“Why did the Chinese rebels free him and let them join up with them?”
“That I don’t know. Maybe they recognized a useful thug who just needed some training. I’m just speculating here.”
“That’s why you’re the Bossman, Charles. I had the Chinese all the way.”
Abruptly, the glass doors of the lounge swung open and Gina swept in. Her hair was a bit wild and she was glowing with sweat, but she had a wide, if strained, smile on her face.
“May I present,” she said in a loud voice, “Lady Camilla de la Garcia.”
Jubal and I stood as a dazzlingly beautiful woman floated through the door. Kaya’s dark complexion seemed more golden, and her long raven hair was now piled up on her head, held in place with a series of silver combs. A flowing dress of wine-red fabric accented her small waist, and a black lace shawl covered her shoulders.
Kaya’s expression was pure Apache when she looked at me. Nut-brown eyes, framed by her long lashes, snapped their defiance. “I feel a fool,” she said in Apache. “Is this the way you like your women to look? Dressed like a clown from the brings-rain dance?”
I stepped forward and smiled. “If you danced in that outfit for the brings-rain ceremony, there would be a flood that would fill the Grand Canyon.“
She turned her head, but not before I caught a hint, just the hint of a smile.
“It’s only for a while,” I said in English. “Until we can you get back to your land. No man would dare question such a beautiful woman.”
“Amen to that,” Jubal chimed in.
I turned to Gina, who was appraising her. “You did wonders, il mio buen amico,” I said.
Gina, hands on her hips, gave a weary smile, and a deep sigh. “She’s beautiful, but still… an Indio.”
JT bowed his head to Kaya. “Lady Camilla,” he said. “It suits you well.”
Kaya flashed him a look that made the Pinkerton man step back and put up his hands. “Make sure your tickets to Los Angeles are in order, Charles. We don’t want some poor railroad conductor tossed from the train.”
“No need for tickets, JT. We’ll be riding in the private coach of the president of the Gold Stock Insurance Company. At his insistence. At least as far as Pueblo de la Cruz, which is about two hundred miles from Apache country.”
And with that, we climbed into the Landau called up by Mr. Bast, which perfectly accommodated the elegantly dressed Kaya.
The Wicked Affair of the Golden Emperor
A Charles Goodfoote Mystery in Old San Francisco
Chapter 55
The Woman Warrior goes home
The train ride from San Francisco to Pueblo de la Cruz went smoothly. Kaya played the role of a senorita perfectly, staying quiet and staring out the window, She seemed transfixed at the size of the trees and the expanse of water when the tracks took us along the coast. Our private car was equipped with a “necessary” which I let Kaya work out for herself.
A chef with a full kitchen served culinary delights. But other then tearing into the pheasant and game hens we were served, Kaya ate nothing. She had an aversion to fish which, I understood, she shared with all Apache.
My major concern had been the stops the train would be making in small towns when we took on passengers and freight. But I needn’t have been concerned, for Kaya stayed next to me with her eyes cast down, her head and face demurely framed with black lace.
She spoke only Spanish on the rare occasions when speech was called for. The other passengers in the forward train carriages seemed to accept us both as a married couple of independent means, as reflected by our dress and ability to ride in a private car. Even though Kaya’s beauty turned heads when we appeared in public at the rest stops, we were left pretty much alone.
It was getting a stagecoach to Murcielago that proved a problem. There were no seats available for weeks to come, according to the ticketmaster. Silver and gold speculators were flocking to the area around Santa Rita, some hundred miles beyond our destination, and they had bought up all available transportation. When I explained this to Kaya, she glanced up at a hawk that had just let out a cry. She smiled.
“I have been told we will get to my land.”
Doubting Kaya wasn’t something I considered. If she said we’re to getting to Murcielago, then Wells-Fargo needed to come up with a stagecoach pronto.
And so it proved. The next day, the ticketmaster caught me as I walked up El Condinto Real.
“Two seats just opened up,” he explained. “You can get to Murcielago in less than a week, if all goes well.”
I thanked him and paid the exorbitant fee. “You seem a nice fella’,” the man said, “so I’m going to smarten you up. The men you’ll have with you on that stage are what you might call ‘cross-grained’. They have little in the way of manners when it comes to women. You have a delicate lady with you, and it’s a long trip in close quarters. I see you have a mule’s leg Remington. Keep it handy and stay between your lady and them polecats.”
I again thanked him, and assured him I would do my best to protect my lady. He just nodded, then shook his head. “This is a rough road for any woman. Apaches have jumped the reservation and are attacking coaches all up and down that part of the territory. They won’t treat a Mexican kindly.”
So, in due time, Kaya and I boarded the stagecoach bound for Murcielago. Despite the ticketmaster’s melancholy prediction, the other two passengers were congenial and polite in the presence of Senora de la Garcia. They took her as my wife, and spent most of our journey discussing between themselves how they would spend their soon-to-be riches.
While our trip was hot and dusty, I could see Kaya’s face brighten with each passing mile into the deep desert. When we finally pulled into Murcielago, she jumped from the coach like a child.
“It’s still about fifty miles to your stronghold,” I said as I took off my hat and wiped the sweat from my eyes. “We can get a room in the hotel and set out at dawn. Meanwhile, I’ll get us some horses.”
The Apache woman looked up into my face and put her hand on my arm. “No, I won’t need a horse. Dashante is nearby. She will have my pony.”
My White blood wondered how that could be, but my Indian blood knew Kaya and Dashante were connected in spirit, which makes anything possible.
“All right,” I said. “There’s only about an hour of daylight left. We can find your friend in the morning.”
Kaya took my arm as we walked along to the Golden Eagle Hotel. I asked for and promptly received the best room in the house. Not the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, but middling clean and on the east side of the building so the setting sun wouldn’t bake us. Our luggage was delivered by a man who looked like an out of work cowboy, so I tipped him handsomely. After making up our bed on the floor, thus avoiding the inevitable bed lice, we descended to the dining room. The meal was simple fare, mostly beans and beef, and I dug in with zest. Kaya, as usual, was more selective and pushed the beef to one side of her plate.
“Why won’t you eat beef?” I asked in Spanish.
“Beef is the food of defeat. The government gives beef to the ‘hang-around-the-fort’ people at San Carlos.”
She did drink the coffee and seemed to enjoy it.
The next morning, we packed up just before dawn. I paid our bill to a sleepy desk clerk, with an extra dime to store our trunk. I carried her travel pouch as we walked out onto a quiet street. The sun was still below the horizon, but it was growing lighter by the minute. A soft breeze came down off the mountains.
“Your friend may be miles away,” I said. “We can leave the luggage here and go by horse to find her.”
“No,” she replied. For the first time since I had known Kaya, I saw a tear flow down her cheek. “I must go on alone. You must return. You are not of this land.”
I looked around at the hills of sand and brush, the dry dust blowing along the street. “You’re right,” I agreed, “my land has a mite more moisture in it. We have lakes full to the brim of drinkable water. This is not my land. But I promised to see you home safely.”
Kaya smiled. “You have done that. I am home.” She tipped her head toward the hills in the distance. “Dashante is just over there. I feel her presence. You must let me go on alone.”
I walked with her to where the rocks and brush marked the edge of town, and handed her the travel pouch I had been carrying. Still in Mexican senorita garb, Kaya squeezed my arm, turned and took a path that led up into the rocky hills. I stared after her a long time as the sun climbed up the blue-white sky. I guess I was kind of hoping she’d come back, maybe even changed her mind. But I knew she was right. It wasn’t the land itself, water or no. She had a life to return to of which I could never be a part. I would be as out of place in her world as she had been in mine.
I walked slowly back to the hotel and checked myself in again. The clerk didn’t bat an eye and I found no one had gone into to my room during my short absence. Kaya’s bedroll was gone, of course, back into the pouch she now carried. Her scent of desert flowers and campfire smoke still lingered in my blankets.
The next morning, I ate a light breakfast of fresh eggs, a few slices of hog, and some heavy bread. The stagecoach schedule had one heading toward the coast the next day. There was nothing left for me but a long trip back to San Francisco.
Later in the afternoon, I walked to where I had last seen Kaya. I followed her light footprints up along a ridge, over a mile of steadily rising ground, to a small canyon with vermillion colored walls. It was there I found the hoofprints of two unshod ponies. The red dress Kaya had worn was thrown over a cactus.
The woman warrior had met her friend and had gone home.
The Wicked Affair of the Golden Emperor
A Charles Goodfoote Mystery in Old San Francisco
Chapter 56
Kaya joins Dashante and shares a secret
The two Apache women rode from the red canyon and up on the ridge of a hill. Kaya pulled her pony to a halt and looked down on the town of Murcielago where her friend and lover now stayed. Dashante watched the woman warrior closely and noted a softness around her face and a sadness in her eyes.
“I have brought your rifle, Sister,” Dashante said. She handed a Henry repeater to Kaya. The warrior-woman took it, and silently examined it.
“I will fight and kill anyone who comes onto our land,” Kaya finally said. “But I will no longer take the war trail to Mexico. And I will only fight the White-Eye soldiers when they kill our people.”
Dashante nodded. She now saw a glow in Kaya that hadn’t been there when her journey had begun. Looking closely, she saw signs that told her the days of Kaya riding the war trail were at an end. Mothers were not sent to fight.
Dashante smiled. “Perhaps you will help me again, as a mid-wife,” she said. “The People are moving into the mountains, away from the soldiers. There will be no need for killing and war. But there will be a need for healing, and young mothers will always need a woman of knowledge.”
The two friends who now shared a secret laughed as they rode toward the homeland of the Red Paint People.
