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A bluer sky Lacey had never seen before as she gratefully stepped off of the stage in Tucson. The heat had not let up and was still unbearable although a bit more tolerable now that her corset was off.  She had shamelessly tucked it away into her small carpetbag in relief. Shannon had continued her threats and constant arguing but upon seeing all the different men in Tucson, she immediately began to show interest, occasionally sparing a sly smile as they rode or walked by. Lacey pinched her.

“Stop it Shannon, you remember what happen at Fort Yuma don’t you? Why must you act that way? You will draw unwanted interest from some man and this place doesn’t look any better than that wretched Fort was.”

“Don’t ye be telling me what to do! Not all men are the same!” Shannon hissed back.

Lacey sighed. She knew Shannon was angry and hated being here. She was certain the little maid would do just about anything to annoy her at this point. She sighed again. Well, it was nearly over.

The burly stage driver handed the luggage strapped to the top of the stage to a man standing on the rear step. Each bag, trunk, and box, was dropped to the ground next to the stage with a thump. Just then a noisy band of Mexicans came walking by playing fiddles and guitars with more gusto than talent. For the first time Lacey looked around. There were Mexicans, teamsters, soldiers, women of the night, duennas hurrying young charges to safety, with little brown-skinned children running in and out of mescal shops where whiskey and tequila flowed like water, people were piled everywhere, in every corner, doorway, and along every wall, and there was an urgent sense of chaotic rushing in the streets. It was simply overwhelming! Where was her father? 

A smooth voice brought her abruptly away from her thoughts and the chaos.

“All hell breaks loose around here at any given moment. It would be best if you move from this area.”

Lacey looked around and realized that McCallister was leaning against the adobe wall several yards from where she stood and had been watching her. His horse was behind him. Her face registered faint surprise that he was speaking to her but then she felt a slight annoyance and wondered just how long he had been standing there.

McCallister straightened his angular frame and smiled, amused at her reaction. There was something about her that he had tried hard to understand, but that unfamiliar tug of fascination he had felt before was rising up in him again, making him feel confused.

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have bothered with a warning, reasoning that any person with any common sense would be aware of the danger inherent in a place such as Tucson, but considering that she was meeting her father, and what had already happened to her made him concerned and a bit angry. What kind of man would send his daughter through the wilds of Arizona alone with only a spunky little maid for protection? The opinion forming in his mind was not of a caring man.  

“This is no place for unsupervised young women. Tucson is a lawless place,” then he added not in the mood to be benevolent, “it certainly isn’t Boston.”

Lashes lowered over her eyes, then lifted again, almost as if she were flirting with him.

“Thank you for your concern sir, but as I said before I can take care of myself.” She struggled to put a tone of authority in her voice.  The horse moved just then causing her attention to focus on the bedroll that was tied to the back of the saddle. A boot with a rifle sticking out of it was to the side with saddlebags slung from the pommel. She watched as Alex gently rubbed White Cloud’s head between his eyes, moving up under the mass of white mane speaking gently to him in that strange language again.  

“Where’s that other animal of yours, that wolf?”

“Too many people here, makes him nervous. He’s not mine, as you put it, we just travel together.”

“I don’t understand that logic; it looks as if you’re leaving?” Her sentence ran together and came out a little more breathlessly than expected.

“I follow the stage, back to Peterman’s…” Before he could finish his sentence three men violently emerged from the cantina across the dirt street followed by another man who was chasing them, waving a pistol frantically in the air.

“Get outa me establishment you dirty thieves! I’m trying me best to earn an honest livin’ in this shit hole. I want me money! ” One of the men turned and fired his revolver.             

 “You bastard!” Paddy O’Shaughnessy yelled, firing his gun back. The bullet smashed into the nearest man tearing through the left side of his body and throwing him against the adobe wall to the right of where Lacey stood with a thud, leaving it bloodstained as he slowly slid down. Shannon who had been standing quietly nearby shrieked and fled across the street.

White Cloud surged from the chaos. His weight pushed Alex forward, which sent Lacey crashing to the ground. McCallister reacted instinctively from years of riding the mountains and plains while participating on Apache raiding parties; this had honed his wits to a sharp edge. He dropped the reins and slapped White Cloud on the rump to get him away from the danger, scooped the girl up and dragged her around the backside of the adobe wall heedless of her cry of alarm. He jerked her along a stack of wooden crates and debris behind the main eatery.

A man’s voice, raised in a shrill crescendo of Spanish obscenities, was followed by another loud crack. Damn! Drawing the Colt revolver Butterfield insisted he carry, Alex commanded her to stay behind in the half-hidden alley. Pivoting on his heel, he stalked back to the end of the adobe wall and peered around the corner. A bloody body came into his view as the area erupted into violence again. Alex got a brief glance of a man dragging another body to the door of the cantina, dumping it in the street. Screams and shouts filled the air as people ran and dodged for cover. He holstered his gun and moved hastily back to grab her again, shoving her roughly along into an adjoining passageway, back into the fetid recesses of an old adobe courtyard, away from stray bullets.

“Leave me alone!” Lacey struggled furiously against him. Ignoring her, he grabbed her wrist with one hand and swore when her other hand tore into his neck. He gripped her arms and roughly shook her. Huge eyes registered surprise. Alex released her abruptly. She flung herself at him like a wildcat, clawing and spitting and hissing, until he was forced to grab her again, using sheer muscle to hold her until she finally quieted, her breath coming in harsh little gasps for air. He gave her another slight shake, irritated.

“Cooperate, or I’ll leave you here! Just be still!” He said in a hushed gritted voice.

“I thought that you were going to…”

“What, going to do what, rape you? Sorry to disappoint but I’m not in the habit of taking something that I can freely get anytime I want, so don’t flatter yourself.”

Her violet eyes widened. Her dark hair had tumbled down over her eyes again and she pushed it back angrily with her hand.

“I don’t really know you. I think this retched place breeds that kind of behavior in men, even if you did help me. What is happening, did that man out there get shot?” Lacey asked intrepidly. Then not waiting for an answer she added, “I hope he’s dead.” Irritation sounded in her voice.

“Well that’s gratitude for you and yes at least two men are dead.” Alex checked the cylinder of his gun, powder flask and cartridge case. “You said you were here to meet your father.”  He asked without looking up.

“What business is that of yours?” She answered hotly.

“You mentioned it on the stage, I thought maybe I could help, but I guess you don’t need any, so you can go look for him yourself.”

 She studied his lean face for a moment.

“You wouldn’t leave me here, would you?”

 “I will if you don’t start behaving. I think there’s a pretty good chance that if you go out there, and, if there’s any more shooting, you could catch a stray bullet. You wouldn’t want to do that now would you?” He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her intently, then smiled slowly, his eyes softening when he saw the look of surprise that had crossed her face.

“Besides, your dress got torn in the rush which would only serve as an open invitation. This area is filled with men who haven’t seen a woman like you in months. You should know by now that they won’t hesitate to help themselves.” She looked down at her blue bodice where a large rip had exposed smooth creamy skin under the material.

Quite enticing, he thought, as she tried to cover the rip with her hand.

 “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And miss such a pleasing sight?” He said in a slightly teasing voice. She felt her face flush hotly as she tried to hold together the torn edges of her bodice. “I was right! That is all you ever think about!” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm then at once regretted it as he stepped closer to her, irritated now.

“Miss, this place is kill or be killed. I don’t have time to think about much of anything, I just react.” His eyes flashed and his voice was brazen. Towering over her, rugged and very male he reached for her, his hands clamping down on her arms, dragging her to him. His felt his own emotions churning within him. She was dumbfounded—and totally unnerved as he held her for a moment before his eyes lost their glare, then he let her arms go.

 “This is not a place for you.” He said softer now as he reached out a hand and with his thumb traced the soft line of her jaw, dipping into the slight cleft of her chin in a smooth glide before gripping her face firmly between his thumb and fingers, pulling her to him. He heard the swift intake of her breath as he stood looking down at her for a moment. He did not intend for it to happen but his mouth was covering hers again suddenly, smothering her protests of alarm. He kissed her hard and with more intensity than he had meant.

She gasped and struggled slightly. He released her mouth and chin, and then rather reluctantly took a step back, half-turning. Lacey averted his eyes unsettled by his proximity; by the way he looked at her, the slightly breathless feeling that overcame her. To counteract her confusion and her anger at how she seemed to react to him, to the fact that he had kissed her twice now without her consent, she retreated with bitterness in her voice.

“I never asked for your assistance. You’ve bruised me and took it upon yourself to steal the opportunity to violate my person again. I think that you are a scoundrel, Mr. McCallister.” She stomped her foot and shoved past him, but had gone only a few steps when he caught up to her, grabbing her by one arm and swinging her around. His angry eyes were narrow, with a hard glint in them.

“This is not a game. It isn’t Boston, where you were coddled and spoiled. If you think that I violated you by kissing you out of turn, well, I’ve got news for you. Violation takes just a bit longer. I’m sure that any one of those men out there would be real happy to explain to you what exactly is involved in that process.”

She brought her hand up to slap his face. He grabbed her, squeezing her arm.

“If I had wanted my way with you it would have happen long before this. Now I want you to stay put.”  Alex turned on his heel leaving her in stunned silence. Tracing his path back along the wall he tried to concentrate on the situation, but his thoughts kept returning to the girl, quite a little beauty with a temper to boot, he mused.

Things were quiet. Alex stood motionless with his gun held ready, listening intently. From his vantage point he saw a man waving a gun wildly in the air shouting obscenities in a heavy Spanish accent. Looking around, he saw O’Shaughnessy. He’d been shot in the back.

“Shit.” He whispered.

“You men were suppose meet me here at O’Shaughnessy’s, not kill him!” A caustic voice growled. “Now look what you’ve gone and done.” Alex could not see who the voice belonged to. He pulled himself closer to the wall.

“Si Seńor. The stupid Dragoon called me an estafador and a bastardo then he reach behind a tequila bottle for his six-shooter, and chased me, McGinnis, and poor Arturo out the door. Nobody says where we come or go.”

Alex caught a glimpse of a lanky disheveled looking man who was standing next to the Mexican, his body posture showing an air of defiant arrogance.

The Mexican continued. “Then he shoot poor Arturo. So—I kill heem.” He shrugged, put his gun back into the holster that hung over the red sash he wore around his waist. He bent down and took a large knife out of his boot then sauntered over to where O’Shaughnessy’s body lay, leaned over and slashed hair and scalp off with one swipe. He straightened back up and wiped his knife off on his pantaloons then slipped the knife back inside his boot. 

“Gimme some salt Amigo, I think I gonna keep this one.” He said laughing and waving the piece of bloodied shock of black hair around in the air.

“Some in my saddlebag,” McGinnis answered with a smirk. Moving back he leaned against one of the adobe walls to watch. One of his knee high boots concealed an “Arkansas toothpick,” a large blade Bowie with a half-horse, half-alligator head handle.

 The Mexican was walking towards the tethered horses for salt. At the same moment, Alex realized he was heading right in front of the adobe wall where he was hiding. He holstered his gun and quietly pulled his knife out of the sheaf on his belt, then waited. When the man passed by Alex clearly saw the dress of the Cuchans and his anger instantly blinded him. Stepping from behind the wall he grabbed the man from behind holding him in a choke hold around his thick neck and pressed the blade of his knife against his throat.

“Now Cuchan, I‘m gonna slit your throat then gut you where you stand.” His voice was taunting, cool and menacing, the very words seemed to sweep through the Mexican like blind fear. McCallister’s blade was poised, ready to strike. Swallowing hard, the man swore heavily in Spanish when he saw McGinnis move over to his horse then step into the shade of the nearby piazza, lean gingerly against a post with a casual relaxed attitude, grinning and ready to watch the show. 

“McGinnis, compadre, you gonna stop heem!” His voice sounded desperate.

McGinnis chose to stay where he was.

Alex ignored McGinnis. “I hate Mexican’s. I hate Cuchans even more.” His voice was just above a whisper as he slowly drew the large blade across the man’s throat. A thin line of blood appeared.

“I am innocent!” Whimpering, he held his hands out away from his gun. “I do nothing!” Alex lowered his knife blade, shoved the man forward and then backed up. Free of McCallister’s grip, the man grabbed his knife and swung around to face Alex, his knife now poised as if for a fight, his tone belligerent. “I will not fight you Seńor, This is all a mistake. But if you insist?”

“No mistake. You’re the one I want.” McCallister’s eyes focused on the long black hair with the braid and eagle plums hanging from his belt.

“You were there bounty hunter. I’m giving you more of a chance than you gave my mother.”  The low silky voice sent a shiver down the spine of the Mexican. McCallister pulled a red sash out of his belt and wrapped it around his arm, throwing the other end at the Mexican. “Let’s do this Apache style.”

The Cuchan was much shorter and stockier and kept licking his lips. His eyes nervously shifted from side to side. It was hard for him to breathe. He wrapped the sash around his wrist, grabbed hold of it then swore lightly when McCallister spoke softly in Apache. The hatred welled up in him and he spat on the ground.

“Stinking ‘pache! You kill my countrymen!” He lunged jabbing at the air around McCallister violently, “’pache women make good whores squealing like pigs when you cut them!” He lunged again, this time falling hard from a forward jerk McCallister gave the sash. He crawled to his knees as Alex closed the distance between them.

His knife blade flickered in the sunlight slashing again and again, like the strike of a snake, until the man was bleeding from a dozen different wounds. Blood dripped from his cheek, his clothing was torn and bright crimson stains were beginning to appear. He pulled himself up off of the ground, panted then stumbled again as he tried to stab McCallister, missed, then fell heavily to the ground.

“Don’t kill me!” He moaned. “I trade for this.” He touched the hair on his belt.

McCallister looked down at him his knife poised as he stepped on the man’s hand, forcing it open to remove the knife then stuck it in his own belt. The Cuchan struggled to his feet. Abruptly McCallister’s hand lashed out across his face, snapping his head back making him stagger a few steps backward before going down on one knee.

 “I hurt no ‘pache.” He moaned.

 “Liar. You were there.” Alex bent over the lamenting man and plucked the black hair off of his belt. “Looks like your buddy McGinnis ran out on you. No one else here gives a damn what happens to you, so you better pretend that you’re a man and fight for yourself.”

“Sí,  just give me a chance…” the man stumbled again to his feet and McCallister, light as a dancer, dodged the man’s fist as he sidestepped him with an agile twist. Alex looked at him in contempt, his knife ready before he shook his head grimly and sliced through the sash binding them together.

“You’re a coward and a murderer. You deserve to die but I’m going to let you live so I that I can hunt you like the dog you are. I will kill you soon, perhaps in some dark alley or on a moonless night when you least expect it. If you go to Mexico, I’ll follow.” Alex stepped back then purposefully turned his back and pretended to look for McGinnis. It was the only way.

The Cuchan lifted his head with sudden purpose. It happened quickly. His arm rose, his gun glinting in the sunshine. Someone in the crowd shouted “look out!” McCallister hardly seemed to move but suddenly his lean body was in a half-crouch position and he was facing the Cuchan again. There was a solid thump and a grunt of surprise as McCallister’s blade flew from his hand and ended up protruding from the man’s chest, the long hilt quivering slightly. The man looked shocked as one hand lifted to touch the hilt. He shook his head slightly in disbelief before pitching forward facedown into the dirt.

Alex walked over to the dead man, rolled him over with one foot, then bent down and pulled his knife out of the man’s chest before straightening up and wiping the blood off on his leggings. He put it back into the sheath then he took the man’s gun, a nice Remington, and stuck that into his belt as well.

“Damn,” William Greene shook his head looking a little stunned as he stood in the back of the crowd that had gathered to watch. “Damn.”

***

Lacey stumbled out from behind the adobe wall where she had been standing. She had witnessed the whole event. The crowd was quiet and beginning to disperse. She recognized Alex but was staring in disbelief at the enormity of what she had just seen, it hit her suddenly, and a wave of nausea washed over her. Her gaze fixed on the dead men in the street, dark blood pooling around them in the dirt. This was the second man she knew for a fact McCallister had killed. She was barely aware that Shannon was standing beside her, excited now, when it was safe to be brave.

McCallister looked up, his gaze moving past the crowd when his eyes fastened on her. Lacey realized she was staring at him, but couldn’t look away. His eyes held hers coolly, as calm and aloof as an animal. He nodded slightly towards her then turned and walked away.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Shannon prayed, crossing herself with her little gold cross, “Aye, so fast wit ‘is knife.” Her voice faded into muttered whispers as she took Lacey’s arm, chiding her to cover the rip in her bodice, then led her away from the presidio past a standing group of people.

 William Greene recognized her. “Lacey, you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. Let me look at you.” Her father said as he walked over and took hold of her arm. “You made it.”

“Papa?” She vaguely remembered her father and wanted to say something about his tardiness but she was too shaken over what had occurred and thought better of it. 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes” Greene was saying to her. “You must be Shannon? Come, my buggy and driver are over here.” Without waiting for their reply, Greene herded the women down the street picking up their luggage then helped them into the waiting buggy.

Despite the heat of the late August sun, Lacey was shaking.  They had narrowly escaped disaster twice now and she felt she would be more disposed to listen to advice given more often after this latest debacle. Greene pulled himself up into the front seat as the driver clucked to the horses.  Shannon kept her arm protectively around Lacey as Greene provided small talk about the ranch as they sped out of Tucson. Even though he talked nonstop about the grandeur of the Double Ox Ranch, his thoughts were really centered on the half-Indian and the Cuchan. Something prior had been between them that much he knew. He wanted to know who the half-breed was.