Under Apache Skies

by Madeline Baker

  “This close to home, I guess they’re feeling pretty safe,” Ridge remarked.

  Marty nodded. For all that she loved the wide open spaces, she liked them a little closer to home. Sage and cactus and mesquite stretched as far as the eye could see, and looming over it all was the rocky face of the Dragoon Mountains.

  It was shortly after noon when Ridge pulled his horse to a halt. Dismounting, he hunkered down on his heels, his gaze sweeping back and forth.

  “What is it?” Marty asked. She glanced at the ground, wondering what he saw there that she did not.

  “They’ve split up again.”

  She frowned. “Split up? Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He studied the ground again. He ran his hand over a clump of grass, broke apart a pile of horse droppings. Rising, he walked a few steps one way, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

  Marty tapped the end of one rein on the pommel, her unease growing as he continued to study the ground. He stopped now and then, his brow furrowed. “Well?”

  “You see this? The ground is all chewed up.”

  Marty nodded. It looked like the Indians had ridden their horses back and forth over the same stretch of ground. Any footprints that might have been there had been completely obliterated.

  “Two of the riders broke off from the others and headed that way.” He pointed away from the mountains. “The question is, which two?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “No.”

  “Why would they separate?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. Both horses are barefoot. A couple of the warriors might have decided to go hunting before they returned to the stronghold. Maybe they’re taking some of the stuff they stole on the raid to trade for guns and whiskey. Who the hell knows?”

  His irritation worried her. He was always so calm and in control.

  “What are we going to do now?” she asked.

  “I guess that’s up to you.” He gestured at the larger set of hoofprints. “It stands to reason that they’d take Cory and Dani to the stronghold, and that’s where these tracks are headed.”

  “So you think we should stay with the larger group?”

  “Being a gambling man, I’ve got to go with the odds. And the odds are, Dani’s with the larger group.”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “Nothing’s sure in this life.”

  “Maybe those tracks belong to Cory and Dani.”

  “No.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “‘Cause nobody’s chasing them. These two went off on their own and nobody cared enough to try to stop them.”

  “Let’s go after the big group then.”

  With a nod, Ridge swung into the saddle. He would have bet his last clean shirt that Dani was still with the larger group, and yet…

  Shrugging his doubts aside, he clucked to the stud. With luck, they could make another ten or fifteen miles before dark.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Where are we going?” It was the fifth time in the last two hours that Dani had asked the question.

  And the fifth time that the warrior refused to answer.

  He really was the most exasperating man she had ever known! With a sigh, Dani stretched her back and shoulders. She was tired, so tired. Tired of riding from dawn ‘til dusk. Tired of eating jerky and drinking lukewarm water. Tired of sleeping on the hard ground. Tired of wearing the same dress, of feeling gritty and grimy and not being able to bathe or brush her hair.

  She glared at the Indian’s back. Most of all, she was tired of that insufferable man’s company. She wondered why they had left the other warriors. Foolish as it seemed, she had felt safer when the other warriors had been with them.

  She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. What was the point in crying when there was no one to see her, no one to care? He certainly didn’t care. Again, she wondered why he never seemed to get tired or hungry or thirsty. She remembered hearing the men on the ranch talk about the Apache. The cowhands claimed the Indians weren’t human. She was beginning to think they were right!

  Sniffing, she dashed the tears from her eyes. She wanted to go home. And she would. Tonight, when he was asleep, she would run away. Even if she didn’t make it home, at least she would get away from him. The thought no sooner crossed her mind than she was beset by doubts. What if she couldn’t find her way home? What if she couldn’t find water? What if she were captured by some other Indians, ones who were cruel? Even though she didn’t want to be with him, at least he treated her well enough.

  With a shake of her head, she cast her doubts aside. If Marty were in this situation, she would do something, even if it were the wrong thing! And so would she.

  As usual, they made camp at dusk. Dani sat on a blanket while Sanza set up their camp. Then, to her astonishment, he tied her hands and feet together, took his bow and arrow, and walked away from their campsite.

  Dani stared after him, unable to believe he had gone off and left her alone and unprotected out in the middle of nowhere. Where was he going? How long would he be gone? She stared at the setting sun. It would be full dark soon. Surely he didn’t mean to leave her here, alone, in the dark?

  She shifted her position on the ground, tugging against the strip of rawhide that bound her wrists.

  She watched the sun drop lower in the sky. She had always loved sunsets, and this one was beautiful. She shivered as the sky turned red, reminding her of blood. If Sanza didn’t come back for her, she would never see another sunset. Never see Marty again.

  Overcome with despair, she peered into the darkness, listening for his footsteps. How long had he been gone? It seemed like hours.

  Her shoulders began to ache.

  Her nose itched.

  She glanced at the waterskin and licked her lips.

  What if he was never coming back?

  She dismissed that thought as soon as it crossed her mind. Of course he would come back, she thought, overcome with a wave of self-pity; his horse was still here.

  She sniffed back her tears. She wouldn’t cry! And tonight, when he was asleep, she would run away.

  Just when she was beginning to think that he had indeed, abandoned her, he suddenly materialized out of the darkness.

  Wordlessly, he untied her hands and feet, grinning as she rubbed vigorously at her nose.

  He held up a pair of rabbits. “Can you skin these?”

  Horrified, Dani shook her head. She did most of the cooking at home, but she’d never had to kill the cattle or the sheep or the pigs. Or the chickens. Especially not the chickens! She would never forget the first time she had seen her father behead a chicken, or the way the headless chicken had run around. She thrust the gruesome memory aside. She wouldn’t have skinned those rabbits even if she had the stomach for it, she thought rebelliously. He had kidnapped her, and he could darn well take care of her!

  With a grunt, the warrior drew his knife. Dani turned away, trying not to listen as he skinned the furry little animals. In minutes, he had them cleaned and spitted over a small fire. The juice made little popping sounds when it fell onto the hot coals. The rich aroma of roasting meat made her stomach growl.

  They ate in silence, tension crackling between them. As soon as she finished eating, Dani rubbed her hands on the grass to remove the grease, then wrapped up in the blanket the warrior had given her. Soon, she thought, soon she would be on her way back home.

  Sanza sat cross-legged in front of the fire, his gaze straying time and again to the woman. Perhaps he was making a mistake in keeping her. She could not skin game; he doubted if she could cook over a fire, or walk long distances. He was certain she did not know how to find wild fruits and vegetables, and equally certain she did not know how to tan a hide or make jerky or ash cakes. And yet she had eyes the color of new grass and skin as soft and smooth as doeskin. His body ached just thinking of her, lying only a short distance away. Perhaps she did not know how to li
ve in a wickiup or do the other things the Apache women did, but she could learn.

  When the fire burned low, he checked on the horses one last time, then rolled into his blankets.

  He was almost asleep when he heard the white girl stir. At first he thought she was answering a call of nature, but then he heard her moving toward the horses. No doubt she thought she was being quiet, yet he heard the crunch of a leaf, the snap of a twig. He listened as she whispered to her horse, heard her soft grunt as she pulled herself onto the animal’s bare back and rode away, leading his horse.

  Foolish woman! Did she think a white woman could sneak away from an Apache warrior, or that she could survive out on the prairie on her own?

  He waited until she was out of sight, then pulled on his moccasins and followed her.

  As soon as the faint glow of the campfire was out of sight, the night seemed to close in on her. There was nothing to see in any direction, only the dark shapes of shrubs and trees that somehow seemed ominous in the faint light of the moon.

  It occurred to her that predators roamed the night, animals that could be far more dangerous than the warrior she had left behind.

  He would be furious when he woke in the morning to find that, not only was she gone, but that she had taken his horses as well.

  She gazed up at the stars. Years ago her father had taken her on a roundup. One night he had told her the names of the constellations and taught her how to use them to find her way home. She wished now that she had paid more attention, that she could remember what he had told her. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. Marty would know. Marty remembered everything. She was never afraid of anything; she always knew what to do. She could rope and ride almost as well as the men. She knew how to keep the books and how to pay the bills. If need be, she could run the ranch single-handedly.

  Dani sniffed. She tried to tell herself that a man wanted a wife who could cook and clean and sew, but those talents suddenly seemed woefully lacking. Knowing how to bake a pie wouldn’t help her now. She needed to know how to follow the stars, not a recipe.

  What would Marty do?

  She would keep going, Dani thought, and that was what she was going to do. Hopefully riding away from Sanza would take her back the way they had come and she would find her way home.

  Sanza trotted effortlessly in the wake of the horses. Apache could run for miles, if necessary. It was something he had done since childhood, his endurance and stamina growing as he grew. From boyhood he had participated in training and games that were intended to sharpen his senses and increase his stamina and fortitude. No matter the weather, he had run long distances before sunrise.

  The young would-be warriors were encouraged to take care of their health and their body and to be self-confident and self-reliant. He had learned to hunt, mostly birds and small animals, until he had acquired the stealth and patience to hunt larger game. He still recalled his first kill—a squirrel. His grandfather had told him to eat the squirrel’s heart, whole and raw. It was good medicine, he had said, for a boy to eat the heart of his first kill.

  Once he had become adept at hunting game, he was ready to hunt the enemy. That, too, required skill and training. Novice warriors were required to go on four raids. They were not allowed to fight but were there to observe and to learn from the seasoned warriors. They prepared the food, looked after the horses, and did whatever they were told by their elders. They were to be constantly alert and vigilant, and to stand guard at night. If a young warrior behaved improperly or displayed traits that were undesirable, such as dishonesty or cowardice, or refused to be disciplined, he would be considered unreliable and would be treated as such from then on.

  On each of the four raids, the novice warrior wore a ceremonial hat for protection. He was not to speak except in the language of the warpath. He could drink water only through a tube and was allowed to eat only cold food. If he performed well on these four raids, he was accepted as a warrior, and as such he could smoke, marry, and enjoy all the privileges of a warrior. There were young men who refused to fight, and young men who were considered unfit for warfare. Such men were treated with contempt. A true Apache warrior was relentless, a master at stealth, surprise, and flight. Sanza had learned to disguise himself with dirt and desert plants, to lie motionless so that an unwary traveler would never suspect he was in danger until it was too late. He could travel on foot from fifty to seventy-five miles a day, if necessary, and find food and water along the way.

  Like all Apache, he excelled at tracking. An overturned rock, the way a twig had been bent or broken, horse manure dropped along the trail, all told tales. Following a white woman across the open prairie, even after dark, was no challenge at all.

  Curious to see how long she would ride before she realized she was lost, Sanza continued to follow her until, after two hours, she pulled her horse to a halt.

  From his place in the shadows, he watched her. She sat there, unmoving, for several moments. Even in the darkness he could see her shoulders shaking. It was the sound of her tears that urged him forward, had him reaching up to pull her from the back of the horse and into his arms.

  “Let me go! Let me go!” she shrieked, her puny fists pummeling his chest. Then, with a strangled sob, she collapsed against him, her tears falling like warm rain on his skin.

  He held her in his arms, one hand lightly stroking her back. He had never had a woman. He could feel her every breath, the warmth of her skin. His hand strayed to her hair, exploring its softness. She not only looked different from the women of his tribe, she smelled different. And she was his.

  Awareness speared through him. He had already decided to make her his wife. At the time, it had been to keep his people from mistreating her. Now, for the first time, he realized that, as his wife, she would be his to do with as he pleased. He could take her to his bed, seek pleasure in the warmth of her body.

  As though reading his mind, she gave a little cry and jerked out of his grasp. It was only then that he realized his body had betrayed his thoughts.

  She stared at him, her green eyes wild and frightened in the moonlight.

  “Da-ni,” he said quietly, “I will not hurt you.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  He held out his hand. “Come. We will go back to camp.”

  “No! I want to go home!”

  He took a step forward.

  She took a step backward.

  His eyes narrowed. “You must do as I say, Da-ni.”

  She was torn between the desire to oppose him and fear of what the consequences might be. Just because he hadn’t punished her for running away didn’t mean he wouldn’t beat her for being disobedient.

  He took another step toward her, anger cooling his ardor. “Let us go. Now.”

  Shoulders slumped, she surrendered with a sigh, hating herself for her cowardice. Knowing that Marty would have fought back only made it worse.

  She gasped when Sanza’s hands went around her waist and lifted her onto the back of her horse. He handed her the reins, then swung up on the back of the second animal. His gaze met hers; then he turned his horse and headed back the way she had come.

  She hesitated for a moment, wishing she had the nerve to run away again. But what good would it do? If he could so easily catch her when he was on foot, she certainly wouldn’t be able to escape him when he had a horse.

  With a sigh of resignation, she lifted the reins, tapped her heels against the horse’s flanks, and followed Sanza back to their campsite.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marty’s eyelids flew open and she sat up, one hand pressed against her heart. Frantic, she glanced around, then blew out a sigh of relief. It had been only a dream, after all. But it had been so real, especially the blood…her sister’s blood.

  It was the worst nightmare she’d ever had. After days of tracking Dani and Cory, Ridge had found them. Cory had been used for target practice. Dani had been horribly mutilated. And scalped. She had seen her sister’s long blond
e hair dangling from an Apache lance.

  Marty buried her face in her hands, a silent prayer rising in her heart. Please let her be all right…please…please…please.

  She lifted her head and looked up when she realized she was no longer alone.

  Ridge stood beside her, a frown creasing his brow. “You all right?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  “Uh-huh.” He hunkered down on his heels, his hands wrapped around a tin cup of strong black coffee. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I…I just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

  With a nod, he offered her the cup.

  She murmured her thanks as she took it from his hand and sipped it gratefully. It was hot and bitter, just what she needed.

  “Want to tell me about it?” he asked.

  “I dreamed that we found Dani and Cory. They were both…” She took a deep breath, reminding herself that it had been only a dream. “They were dead. Mutilated. Scalped.”

  She looked at him, her eyes begging for reassurance.

  “Have any of your dreams ever come true?”

  “No.”

  “Then I wouldn’t let this one upset you.”

  “But this one could come true, couldn’t it?”

  There was no use lying to her, and while he doubted his people would kill Dani, he couldn’t promise that Cory’s life would be spared.

  She didn’t misread his silence. “Do you think they’re still alive?”

  “There’s no way of knowing, but since we haven’t…” He swore under his breath.

  “Haven’t what?” she whispered.

  He had never believed in sugarcoating the truth. In his experience, telling a lie to soften an ugly truth usually did more harm than good in the long run.

  “Tell me,” she urged.

  “Since we haven’t found their bodies, there’s a good chance they’re still alive. And if that’s true, there’s a good chance we’ll find them in time.”

  She handed him the cup, then flung the covers aside. She pulled on her boots and stood up. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”