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.
Chapter Twenty-three
Phoenix
It was after dark when Matt and the others returned to Phoenix. Matt went to the hotel, intending to give his report to Bixby and Hendel, but when he stepped into the lobby, the clerk called to him.
“Mr. Jensen?”
Matt, who was carrying his .44-40 Winchester in his left hand and his saddlebags across his shoulders, walked over to the front desk.
“Hello, Mr. Peters,” Matt said.
“Did you find Mrs. Bixby?” Peters asked.
“No.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I’m just about to give the report to Bixby and Hendel. Do you know if they are in their rooms?”
“No sir, they are not,” Peters replied. “Mr. Hendel told me to tell you when you came back that he and Bixby are taking their supper over at the Maison Doree Restaurant.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. He held up his rifle. “I’ll just get rid of a few things, wash up a bit, then join them.”
Maison Doree Restaurant
Hendel and Bixby were sitting at a table near the back wall. Hendel was drinking a cup of coffee, which was the only thing in front of him. Bixby had a full plate of food, which he was attacking with some gusto. When Hendel saw Matt approaching the table, he got a quick look of apprehension.
“Did you find her?” Hendel asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh,” Hendel said, the word coming out like a slow hiss of steam.
“I didn’t think you would,” Bixby said. He picked up a knife and started spreading butter on a biscuit. “More than likely, she is dead and buried.”
“You don’t seem terribly troubled by that,” Matt said.
Bixby used the knife as a pointer, pointing to Matt as he spoke.
“Who are you to judge me?” he said. “Don’t forget, Jensen, I’ve seen you in operation. I saw how you killed three men in cold blood and now, because I am too civilized and, I might add, controlled to sit here wailing and gnashing my teeth over the prospect of my wife being killed by wild Indians, you think I am a man with no feelings.”