Apache Flame

by Madeline Baker

  As the medicine man stood up, Mitch released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He didn’t think he’d ever experienced anything more heart wrenching than seeing his son in pain and being unable to help. His son. Damn, but that sounded good.

  Red Shield was gathering his belongings when Alisha tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, would you please look at Mitch’s back?”

  The old shaman grinned, amused at her use of the word “sir”.

  “I’m fine,” Mitch said.

  “No, you’re not,” Alisha insisted. “Sit down.”

  White Robe stood up and walked behind Mitch, gasping when she saw the abrasions on his back. In their concern for Rides the Buffalo, they had forgotten that Mitch had also sustained some injuries.

  “Look at his left hand, too, please,” Alisha said.

  Mitch was muttering under his breath as he sat down. Alisha removed what was left of his shirt, shook her head, and tossed it in the fire pit.

  Red Shield opened his packets of herbs and salves. After washing away the blood, he applied a thin layer of bear grease over the cuts and abrasions on Mitch’s back, then wrapped a length of soft cloth around Mitch’s chest.

  “My hand’s fine,” Mitch said as the shaman began to examine it.

  Red Shield grunted softly, and after washing away the blood, he applied a coat of bear grease over Mitch’s palm and wrapped it in a strip of cloth.

  “Keep dry,” the shaman said in his reedy voice.

  “Thank you,” Alisha said.

  Red Shield nodded, then took his leave.

  Tomorrow, Elk Chaser would leave one of his best horses and a haunch of venison at the medicine man’s lodge in payment.

  Later, when Rides the Buffalo was sleeping soundly, Alisha, Mitch, his mother, and Elk Chaser sat beside the fire, a strained silence between them.

  Alisha slipped her hand into Mitch’s, needing his strength.

  Mitch looked at his mother. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I took the child from a trader. He knew nothing of the baby’s birth,” she paused to glance at Alisha, “save that the mother did not want it because it was of mixed blood.”

  “That’s not true!” Alisha exclaimed. “My father told me the baby was dead.”

  “More lies,” White Robe remarked. “I did not realize the child was yours until Otter said you had come here looking for your son. I knew then that he was the father of Rides the Buffalo.” She smiled sadly. “Rides the Buffalo is very like his father. I noticed it often as he was growing up. I did not know then that Otter was his father, and I thought it was only my imagination, that I was only seeing the similarities between them because I missed my own son.”

  White Robe looked at Mitch, her dark eyes filled with love and pain. “I love your son. I could not love him more if I had carried him in my womb.”

  “Shi ma…”

  “Please do not take him from me.” White Robe looked at Alisha. “I know he is your son, but he is also my son.”

  “I understand,” Alisha said. “I know this must be very difficult for you, but I love him, too. My arms have been empty for him all these years.”

  White Robe nodded. “But you will not take him now. He needs time to heal.” She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry. “He needs time to…to get used to the idea that I…I am not his true mother.”

  “We’re not taking him anywhere, Ma,” Mitch said. “At least not right away. Isn’t that right, ‘Lisha?”

  “Yes. We have to think of Rides the Buffalo’s feelings. We must make him understand that we all love him, that he hasn’t lost those he loves.”

  Relief was visible in White Robe’s face. “Thank you, my daughter.”

  Alisha smiled as she looked at White Robe and Elk Chaser. “We’re all family now,” she said, squeezing Mitch’s hand. “And we have to do what’s best for our son.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Alisha snuggled closer to Mitch. A glance at the smoke hole showed that the sky was growing light. It would be morning soon. The thought of seeing Rides the Buffalo now that he knew he was her son filled her with trepidation. She tried to imagine what he must be feeling, thinking. No doubt it had been a terrible shock. She prayed he would give her a chance to explain, that, after she had told him everything, he would understand, that he would accept her.

  She looked at Mitch, sleeping peacefully beside her and envied him. She had hardly been able to sleep at all. Rides the Buffalo had cried twice in his sleep. She had awakened instantly, every instinct urging her to go to him, but White Robe had always been there, crooning softly to the boy, offering him a drink of water, soothing him with her touch and her soft words. It had pained her to hear her son call another woman shi ma…mother.

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes, praying that somehow everything would work out.

  * * * * *

  Alisha woke with a start, the last vestiges of her dream vanishing in the low rumble that met her ears. Thunder? She rolled over to look at Mitch, saw that he was on his feet, hastily pulling on his leggings, grabbing his rifle.

  “Stay with my mother!” He gave her a quick hard kiss that felt strangely like goodbye, then ran out of the lodge.

  Elk Chaser and Red Clements streamed out behind him.

  Alisha sat up. “What is it?” she asked White Robe. “What’s wrong?”

  “Soldiers.”

  There was a wealth of meaning in that single word.

  White Robe threw a blanket around Rides the Buffalo’s shoulders, then glanced at Alisha. “Hurry.”

  Alisha stood up, the tension in the lodge a palpable thing. She heard another rumble, and realized it wasn’t thunder. It was gunfire.

  She pulled her tunic over her head, took the sheathed hunting knife that White Robe thrust at her. Following White Robe’s lead, she tucked the sheath into her belt, then followed the older woman out of the lodge.

  Outside, women and children and men were running in a dozen directions. Carrying Rides the Buffalo in her arms, White Robe fell in behind a group of women who were running toward the broken ground where Rides the Buffalo had fallen.

  Alisha glanced over her shoulder. Warriors, some afoot and some on horseback and some barely old enough to be warriors, were moving toward the entrance to the stronghold. In the distance, she caught sight of Mitch.

  She stared after him, torn between her need to be with him and the need to go with her son, to protect him.

  “Alisha!”

  She turned at the sound of her name, saw that White Robe had stopped and was waiting for her.

  “Hurry, Alisha. We must hide. You cannot help Otter now.”

  White Robe was right, of course. There was nothing she could do. With a prayer in her heart, she hurried after White Robe and the other women and children.

  * * * * *

  Mitch stood near the rancheria’s entrance alongside Elk Chaser and Red Clements.

  “Look!” Elk Chaser pointed down the narrow entrance, gesturing at the four Indian scouts riding ahead of the soldiers. “Gusanos!”

  Mitch wasn’t sure what the word meant, but a cuss word sounded pretty much the same in any language. He remembered thinking that a few good warriors could hole up here and hold off an army, and that might have been true if the army didn’t have Apache scouts riding with them. He swore under his breath. There was a second entrance to the rancheria; no doubt the scouts knew where it was.

  The first clue they had that the back entrance had been breached was the high-pitched scream of a woman, followed by several gunshots.

  Half the warriors gathered at the front immediately struck out for the back entrance.

  And then all hell broke loose as the narrow entrance to the rancheria exploded, sending dirt and chunks of rock flying in every direction.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the Army scouts had made their way to the entrance sometime in the night and planted a few sticks of dynamite.


  The explosion was deafening.

  Soldiers poured through the defile, shooting at anything that wasn’t wearing sweat-stained cavalry blue.

  The shrill war cry of the Apache rose in the air as the warriors fought to defend their wives and children. Dust and grit filled the air, along with the roar of rifle fire and the acrid stench of gunpowder. And over all the cloying scent of blood, the sharp stink of fear.

  Mitch took cover behind a tree trunk, methodically firing at every soldier that came into range. All around him, men were engaged in combat.

  Adrenaline surged through him, backed by a powerful rage against the soldiers who had attacked his mother’s people without provocation.

  Elk Chaser and Red Clements fought close by, their earlier wounds forgotten as they fought for their own lives and the lives of the women and children.

  It didn’t take long to realize that the Indians were outnumbered. More and more soldiers poured into the Apache stronghold. The warriors began to fall back, disappearing into the rocks and crevices, leaving no more trace than smoke drifting on the wind.

  “Come!” Elk Chaser shouted.

  Mitch turned to follow, with Red close behind him, only to run into a fresh wave of soldiers. Mitch raised his rifle, sighting down the barrel at one of the soldiers. He squeezed the trigger, only to hear the hammer click on an empty chamber.

  A slow smile spread over the soldier’s face as he fired his gun.

  Mitch reeled backward as the bullet plowed into his right shoulder near his collarbone. There was no pain, but his arm and hand went numb and he dropped the rifle.

  He was reaching for his knife with his left hand when pain exploded through the back of his head.

  As from far away, he heard Elk Chaser shouting his name. He tried to answer, tried to move, but to no avail. And then he was spiraling down, down, into a turbulent sea of pain and darkness…

  * * * * *

  He regained consciousness slowly, aware of a burning pain in his shoulder, a dull pounding ache in his head. Noise hovered around him—the whinny of a horse, the muffled cry of a child, the harsh rattle of death, and over all the high-pitched keening of women grieving for their dead.

  Opening his eyes, Mitch turned his head slowly to the right, and then the left. He was lying on a blanket on the ground. Someone had slapped a bandage over the bullet hole in his shoulder. Lifting his left hand, he felt a bandage swathed around his head. An army surgeon stood a few yards across the way, dispensing medical aid and orders. A private stood at the doctor’s elbow to assist when needed.

  Feeling unutterably weary, Mitch closed his eyes again, wondering where Alisha was…

  Alisha! Ignoring the pain that lanced through him with every movement, Mitch struggled to sit up. He had to find Alisha, had to find his mother and his son.

  “Here now,” the doctor exclaimed, hurrying toward him. “Lay down, you damn fool!”

  “I’m all right,” Mitch growled.

  “Like hell. Anyway,” the doctor went on, gesturing at Mitch’s ankles. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Frowning, Mitch followed the doctor’s gaze, a foul oath rising to his lips when he saw the shackles hobbling his feet. “What’s going on?”

  “I reckon you’ll find out soon enough. Now, just lay back there and rest. We’ll be pulling out as soon as I finish up here.”

  Ignoring the doctor’s orders, Mitch sat up and took a good look around. There were two rows of wounded. He was with the Apache injured. Wounded soldiers were spread out a few yards away, shaded by a tarp someone had fashioned from a couple of deer hides.

  Five bodies, shrouded in blankets, awaited burial.

  The bodies of the Indian dead—men, women, and children—had been piled in the center of the village like so much refuse waiting to be burned.

  A small group of women and children were huddled to one side; about two dozen warriors, their hands bound behind their backs, were hunkered down a short distance away. He recognized Elk Chaser among them. Standing a little apart, also shackled, was Red Clements. Four armed troopers guarded the prisoners.

  Damn. Where was Alisha?

  Soldiers moved among the lodges. Mitch felt his anger rise when he saw they were looting the wickiups, taking bows, arrows, robes, lances, and whatever else caught their eye, for souvenirs, then torching the lodges. Soon, the crackle of flames and the scent of smoke filled the air.

  Other Blue Coats were rounding up the horses, herding them toward the entrance of the stronghold.

  Two hours later, the village had been destroyed, the wounded who were well enough to ride were mounted. The others had been loaded on travois.

  The captives were on horseback, hands lashed behind their backs, their feet secured to the stirrups.

  Mitch was at the rear of the line of prisoners. He was beginning to hope Alisha had escaped when he saw her being escorted to her horse by a tall, good-looking soldier who helped her mount, then adjusted her stirrups, smiling all the while. Mitch was overcome by the sudden urge to smash his fist into the soldier’s smiling face.

  Alisha settled herself in the saddle, her gaze roaming over the captives, coming to rest on Mitch’s face. “Are you all right?” She mouthed the words.

  Mitch nodded. “You?”

  Alisha nodded, her expression worried.

  “Have you seen my mother? Rides the Buffalo?”

  Alisha shook her head, then turned as the soldier spoke to her. She looked at Mitch, her heart in her eyes, as the soldier led her horse to the front of the column.

  A bugle sounded. The soldiers mounted and fell in.

  Mitch took a last glance over his shoulder, hatred filling his heart as he looked at the devastation the soldiers had left behind. He stared at the bodies in the center of the village, wondering if his mother and son were among them.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The ride down the mountainside was hell. His arm ached, his head throbbed unmercifully. But worse than the physical pain was the agony of not knowing if his mother and son were dead or alive. He clung to the hope that they had escaped, that they had found a place to hide. If they were alive, they would seek shelter with one of the other bands.

  They had to be alive. He couldn’t have found his mother again after so many years only to lose her now. And his son…

  Mitch closed his eyes, remembering his initial shock when Alisha had told him he was a father, remembering his fear when he looked over the edge of the crevasse and knew Rides the Buffalo was down there, the wondrous sense of awe that had swelled within his heart when he held his son in his arms. His son. He had been unprepared for the protective feelings that had risen within him as he held the boy in his arms, the sudden, overpowering realization that he would do anything necessary to ensure his son’s survival. And later, watching the medicine man treat the boy’s wounds, he knew he would gladly have endured the pain in his son’s place. The thought of losing Rides the Buffalo now, of never seeing him again, was like a knife in his heart.

  Please, God, please let them be alive.

  He rose up in his stirrups a little, trying to see Alisha, but she was too far ahead.

  Settling into the saddle, he closed his eyes again. There was nothing he could do now but rest and wait.

  * * * * *

  Alisha breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the bottom of the narrow mountain trail. Turning her horse around, she lifted one hand to shade her face from the sun as she watched the rest of the column make its way down the trail.

  Soldiers first, then the captive Apache, then more soldiers followed by the Indian scouts. Traitors, she thought. She scanned the riders for Mitch, wondering how badly he had been hurt. She saw Elk Chaser and Red Clements among the captives. She had been surprised when one of the soldiers took Red captive. Later, she had heard two of the soldiers talking about him, calling him a squaw man and a renegade because he sided with the Indians.

  She wondered if White Robe and Rides the Buffalo were all r
ight. The last she had seen of them, they had been scrambling up a rocky incline. She had been behind them when her foot slipped on a rock and she had tumbled back to the bottom.

  Several soldiers had been chasing them. Alisha’s heart had jumped into her throat when she saw one of the troopers lift his rifle, aiming at White Robe’s back. With a cry, she had grabbed the man’s arm, begging him to help her. He had started to push her away until he saw she wasn’t an Indian and then he had quickly stooped to help her to her feet. When she looked back up the hill, White Robe and her son were gone.

  It took over an hour for the entire column to reach the bottom of the trail. She had asked one of the soldiers where they were going, and he had told her they were headed for Fort Apache. The soldier had assumed she was an Apache prisoner and had assured her that she would be well cared for, that they would notify her family that she had been found. Alisha had played along, thinking that she might be of more help to Mitch and the others if the soldiers thought she had been captured by the Apache. Alisha had asked what was going to happen to the Indians. In an effort to assure her, perhaps, that she was safe, he had told her that the warriors would be imprisoned, or perhaps sent to Oklahoma. The women would be kept on the reservation.

  They rode for several hours before the Captain called a halt. Two tents were set up, one for the Captain, and one for the wounded soldiers.

  The prisoners, Mitch and Red Clements among them, were herded into a group. Two guards stood nearby. Mitch turned his head, and she saw that the bandage around his head was stained with dried blood.

  Several other troopers guarded the Indian ponies.

  The Indian scouts were gathered into a small group off by themselves. Alisha wondered if they were Apache, and if so, why they were acting as scouts for the cavalry against their own people.

  Shortly after the captain called a halt, Alisha was given a seat in the scant shade offered by one of the tents. A tall lanky trooper who looked to be no more than seventeen or eighteen brought her a canteen of water and some beef jerky. He blushed hotly when she thanked him.