The Golden Princess Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Knife Fight

  Apache men had formed a circle, and inside the circle was Stands Tall Man. He was stripped to the waist and wearing nothing but a loincloth. Off to one side stood Geronimo, Golden Princess, and Many Words.

  Clint turned to say something to Stands Tall Man, but the Apache was already rushing him. Clint dropped down and stuck out both of his legs. Stands Tall Man tripped over them and went sprawling.

  Clint got back to his feet. The brave was quick and was also up.

  “I suppose you don’t want to talk about this,” Clint said.

  “There is nothing to talk about,” Stands Tall Man said.

  He charged again. Clint stood his ground, waited for an opening, switched the knife to his right hand, and threw a left jab . . .

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE GOLDEN PRINCESS

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Jove edition / March 2009

  Copyright © 2009 by Robert J. Randisi.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-01453-0

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  ONE

  When Clint rode into Fort Bayard, New Mexico, he could feel the tension in the air. He’d also felt it while riding toward the fort. He knew that the mountains were hiding bands of Chiracahua Apaches, led by Ulzana, Nachite, and old Geronimo. They had already raided Alma, Silver City, Camp Vincent, and Grafton, killing eighteen civilians.

  He knew that General George Crook would only have sent for him if he was in dire need of help. With all the officers and scouts at his command, though, it had to be real bad to put out a call for the Gunsmith.

  He rode up to Crook’s office and was fronted by a corporal on guard duty.

  “Corporal, I’m here to see General Crook.”

  “The general is in conference with his officers, sir,” the man said. “What would this be in reference to, sir?”

  “Well, I guess the general would know that better than anybody, Corporal,” Clint said. “You see, he sent for me.”

  “And your name, sir?”

  “Clint Adams.”

  “Sir?”

  Clint repeated it.

  “Y-yessir,” the corporal said. “I’ll tell the general you’re here.”

  “Thank you, Corporal.”

  Clint dismounted as the corporal went into the building. At that moment three black soldiers walked by and exchanged looks with him. Clint had heard about the buffalo soldiers of the 10th Cavalry Regiment, but had not seen any until now.

  At that point he heard a voice behind him say, “Well, I’ll be. Is that Clint Adams?”

  Clint turned and saw a man in his late twenties clad in buckskins approaching him with a grin on his face.

  “Tom Horn!” Clint said, putting his hand out. “How the hell are you, son?”

  Horn grabbed Clint’s proffered hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

  “It’s good to see you, Clint,” Horn said. “Been a while.”

  Though considerably younger than Clint, Horn had nevertheless earned Clint’s respect many time
s over. He was a heck of an Indian scout and as good a hand with a gun as Clint had ever seen. Not known for speed, but deadly accurate with both a pistol and a rifle.

  “How long have you been stationed here?” Clint asked.

  “Long enough to know what’s goin’ on,” Horn said.

  “Then tell me why I’m here.”

  “Because if Crook doesn’t get this done soon, he’s gonna be relieved of duty,” Horn said. “He’s gotta get Geronimo, Nachite, and the rest back to the reservation, and he’s got to do it soon. Too many whites have been gettin’ killed.”

  “How many braves does Geronimo have?”

  “That’s hard to tell,” Horn said. “It ain’t a lot, but they’re broke up into bands. Ulzana’s gone off on his own with some of ’em, and a feller called Many Words. There’s even some claim they seen a band of Apaches bein’ led by a woman.”

  “A woman?”

  “A blond woman,” Horn said. “They call her Golden Princess.”

  “Is that on the level?” Clint asked.

  Horn shrugged as the door opened and the corporal stepped out.

  “The general will see you, sir,” he said. “And Mr. Horn, the general’s been asking for you.”

  “I was just on my way,” Horn said.

  “Corporal, can you see that my horse is taken care of?” Clint asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He held his hand out for the reins, but Clint pulled them back. The soldier gave him a puzzled look.

  “Well taken care of, Corporal,” Clint said, “by someone who knows their way around horses?”

  “Yessir,” the corporal said. “I’ll make sure your animal is well taken care of.”

  “Don’t make a mistake, son,” Tom Horn said to the corporal, who appeared to be only a few years younger than Horn.

  “No, sir.”

  “Let’s go, Clint,” Horn said. “The big man is waitin’ on us.”

  Clint joined Horn in entering the building.

  “You need an introduction?” Horn asked.

  “No,” Clint said, “General Crook and I are well acquainted with each other.”

  “Had a feelin’,” Horn said.

  TWO

  “Adams, come in,” General Crook said. He looked at his aide, Lieutenant McCreedy, and said, “That’ll be all.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Horn, I’m glad you’re here, too.”

  “Yessir, I heard you were lookin’ for me.”

  Crook came around his desk and shook hands with Clint.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  There were three other men in the room, two captains and a lieutenant.

  “Let me introduce you,” Crook said. “Captains Emmett Crawford and Wirt Davis.”

  The two captains nodded.

  “And this is Lieutenant John J. Pershing,” Crook said, indicating the lieutenant, who was about Horn’s age. “Pershing is in command of the 10th.”

  “The buffalo soldiers?”

  “That’s right,” Pershing said.

  “I thought there’d be a black man in command.”

  “There aren’t any black officers in the army, at the moment,” Pershing said.

  “Maybe there should be,” Clint said.

  Horn snorted, and the two captains looked away.

  “Maybe there should be,” Pershing agreed, “but until there are, I’m it.”

  “How do they feel about that?”

  “They’re soldiers,” Pershing said. “They follow orders.”

  “Our good lieutenant’s got himself a nickname because of his command,” Horn said. “They call him ‘Black Jack’ Pershing.”

  Pershing looked at Clint and said, “Obvious reasons.”

  “General,” Clint said, “what’s this all about?”

  Crook leaned back in his chair, then said, “Horn, I’d like to see you in a few minutes. Would you mind waitin’ outside?”

  “Sure, General, why not?”

  Crook looked at his officers.

  “I’ll see you men a little later. I’d like to talk to Mr. Adams in private.”

  “Yessir,” Pershing said.

  The two captains reacted a bit more slowly, but they also stood.

  “Yes, sir,” Crawford said.

  Crawford, Davis, Pershing, and Horn left the office, Horn pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Sit down, Clint,” Crook said. “I’d offer you a beer, but I don’t have any. Whiskey?”

  “Sure.”

  Clint seated himself in front of Crook’s desk. The general took a bottle and two glasses out of a desk drawer, poured two fingers into each glass, and pushed one across to Clint.

  “Have you been hearing about Geronimo?” Crook asked.

  “Geronimo, Ulzana, Many Words, the whole bunch of them,” Clint said. “That is, if there are enough to be a bunch.”

  “There’s enough,” Crook said. “I don’t know exactly how many Apaches we’re talking about, but I know they’re outnumbered.”

  “And you probably need more men.”

  “You’re probably right,” the general said. “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless somebody can talk them down from the mountains before they kill more whites.”

  “Send Tom Horn,” Clint said. “He gets along with the Indians.”

  “Horn can’t find them.”

  Clint laughed. “Horn can find anybody.”

  “Then maybe he doesn’t want to find them,” Crook said. “I don’t know.”

  “What makes you think I can find Geronimo?” Clint asked. “Or that he’d even talk to me?”

  “The way I hear it you’ve got a reputation even with the Indians,” Crook said. “You’re friends with Quanah Parker, aren’t you?”

  “Years ago,” Clint said. “We haven’t been in touch since he became civilized. But Quanah’s a Comanche. Not much help there.”

  “Your rep spans the tribes,” Crook said. “Geronimo, Nachite, they might listen to you. I don’t know about Ulzana and Many Words. They’re young, they want to fight. I think Geronimo’s looking for a place to lie down.”

  “And you want to give him one?”

  “I want to negotiate with him, keep anyone else from getting killed.”

  “So you want me to find Geronimo, and talk him into talking to you.”

  “That’s it.”

  “And where am I supposed to start looking?”

  “I’ll have Horn and a column of soldiers take you through Skeleton Canyon to Mexico. You should be able to find the Chiracahuas there.”

  “Who are you going to send with me?”

  “I don’t know, maybe Crawford and his—”

  “Send Pershing and his buffalo soldiers.”

  “Pershing? Why?”

  Clint shrugged. “Maybe I like him.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “Maybe I liked what I saw,” Clint said. “Also, I think the Apaches will react less violently to black men than they will to white men.”

  “You might be right about that,” Crook said. He ran his hand over his close-cropped gray hair. He looked old and tired.

  “All right,” he said, “I’ll send Pershing and his buffalo soldiers with you. And Horn.”

  “If I decide to go.”

  “Damn it—”

  Clint stood up.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “When tomorrow?”

  “In the morning,” Clint said. “I want a meal, a bath, and a bed.”

  “I can supply that.”

  “And after a good night’s sleep I’ll give you my answer.”

  Crook stood up and walked with Clint to the door.

  “What are you going to do in the meantime?” Crook asked. “I mean, besides eat and bathe?”

  “I guess I’ll talk to Horn and Pershing, see what they think,” Clint said. “
How good a man is Pershing?”

  “He’s good,” Crook said. “He’s going to go far in this man’s army.”

  They went out through the anteroom—where the general’s aide leaped to his feet and to attention—and out the front door.

  “I took care of your horse, sir,” the corporal told Clint immediately.

  “Good,” Clint said.

  “Corporal,” Crook said, “I need a man to show Mr. Adams to his quarters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Clint,” Crook said, “I’d invite you to dinner tonight, but—”

  “I’ll see you in the morning, General,” Clint said. “I need tonight to think.”

  “Very well,” Crook said, shaking Clint’s hand. “Whatever you decide, thanks for coming.”

  THREE

  It looked to Clint like they had cleared some officer out of his quarters and turned it over to him. He had just dropped his saddlebags onto the bed when there was a knock at his door. When he opened it, Tom Horn was standing there holding a bottle of whiskey.

  “Don’t I recall that you don’t hold your whiskey well?” Clint asked.

  “You recall correct,” Horn said. “Would you rather have some beer?”

  “I would.”

  “Let’s go into town then,” Horn said. “We got two saloons.”

  “Lead the way.”

  The town of Fort Bayard was small, barely a settlement that had sprung up behind the fort.

  Horn took Clint to a saloon that had no name over the door.

  “This is Number Four,” he said as they entered.

  “I thought you only had two?”

  “We do,” Horn said, and didn’t bother to explain.

  The place was full. There was both drinking and gambling going on, and there was one table of soldiers who were off duty.

  Clint and Horn presented themselves at the bar and Horn said, “Two beers, Angus.”

  “Comin’ up,” the bartender said. Even though there were no r’s in those two words, Clint could sense a burr in the man’s speech.