He gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. "Silence! We must get away from here at once."
She jerked her arm out of his grasp and said angrily, "You aren't even going to try to help them, are you?"
He said nothing as he grasped her hand and pulled her forward. She tried to free herself, but his grip only tightened, and in one swift move, he swung her in his arms and carried her down the other side of the sand dune. Makinna had never seen a night so dark, with only the pale moon's feeble light.
The Indian carried her for some time before he roughly set her on her feet. She stumbled and fell, and he did not attempt to help her up.
She dusted sand from her arms and face. "You are a monster."
He either didn't hear her or chose to ignore her, his attention focused on the way they had come.
"Did you hear me?" she asked, wanting to pound her fists against his chest. "I said you are a monster. You wanted the others dead because of the way they treated you. For all I know, those Indians might be from your tribe, and you might have put them up to attacking the Adobe Springs station."
She cringed when he reached for her. But he merely grabbed her hand and pulled her along. "We must leave."
She drew back, reluctant to be led still farther away from potential help. "What will the Indians do to them?"
"They will all be killed," he said with no emotion in his voice. "And if they find you, they will do far worse than that."
"Are they your tribe members? Can't you stop them?"
"They are Apache," he informed her, pulling her forward so swiftly that she was forced to run to keep up with him.
"Apache! Dear God, we must do something!"
"We cannot help them." His powerful grip pulled her along with such a force that she almost lost her footing. She had no choice but to go where he led.
The Indian set a punishing pace for what seemed like hours, and Makinna, tired and gasping for breath, was sure she could not take another step. Her soft leather slippers had filled with sand that cut into her skin with each step. But the Indian urged her forward mercilessly.
Finally Makinna could not move another inch. She fell to her knees. "Leave me here," she said between gasps of breath. "I can't go any farther."
He yanked her up and turned her to face the direction from which they'd come. "The Apache has a keen eye. If the sun comes up before they have finished at the station, they will discover our tracks leading into the desert, and they will follow. Look for yourself what they are capable of."
In the distance she saw crimson flames leap toward the sky. The station buildings were all on fire. She felt sick and clamped a hand over her mouth. "What did they do to-"
"Do not ask," he broke in. "You would not like the answer."
"You are just like those savages, heartless and unfeeling. Why would they kill people they don't even know?"
He pulled her forward. "We must reach the lava hills before daylight."
She kept glancing back until Adobe Springs was no more than a dim red glow against the darkened sky. Tormented by the thought that everyone was dead, she gradually realized that if the Indian hadn't spirited her away, she would be dead, too. She should feel grateful to him, but she still didn't know his intentions for her, and that fear still tightened her throat.
But her fear that the Apache were pursuing them even now gave her the strength to keep moving.
Over and over she forced one aching foot in front of the other, repeating silently to herself, This, too, shall pass. The desert was a huge wasteland that seemed to go on forever. When would this night end, and what would happen to her when it did?
She was overcome with relief when they finally reached the lava hills. But the ground was hard and uneven, and the jagged lava rocks cut into the flimsy soles of her shoes. When they reached the top, the Indian released her arm, and she collapsed, exhausted. She lowered her head, gasping for every breath she could drag into her lungs. The hot wind seemed to scorch her throat and felt like a blast of fire against her skin.
Tears blurred her vision as she watched the Indian, standing in a narrow patch of moonlight, turn to stare back the way they'd come.
"Do you know where we are?" she asked weakly between gulps of air.
"Yes."
"Are we going to die out here?"
He returned to loom over her, silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, it was a grim whisper. "Do you want the truth?"
"Yes."
He knelt down beside her, and she pulled back, frightened. "We have little chance of coming out of the desert alive, unless you listen to me and do everything I tell you to.
Makinna sat up straight, wondering if he might ravish her now that he had turned his attention to her. As exhausted as she was, she wished they hadn't stopped. She had felt safer while they had been moving.
"No," she protested. "I certainly will not do everything you ask of me. You can't expect me to-to submit to you. Never!"
An agitated breath hissed through his teeth. "You seen to prize yourself very highly, Mrs. Hillyard. I can assure you that, as a female, you hold no interest for me. In truth, you are an encumbrance I can ill afford. While I have no desire to touch you, if you fall behind, I will leave you to die."
She was glad for the darkness so he would not see her blushing in shame. She had assumed the worst of him when she should have been thanking him for saving her life. But why had he not warned the others about the Apache attack? She abruptly remembered him listening attentively to the animal howls when she'd taken him a plate of food. "You knew that those animal calls earlier this evening were Apache, didn't you?"
"I suspected it. But I was not certain."
"Yet you did nothing to warn the others. Did you happily leave them to die? Do you hate the white race so much?"
"Do you suppose those fine gentlefolk would have heeded the suspicions of a `savage'?" he challenged. Then he seemed to grow weary. "In truth, Mrs. Hillyard, lately I give very little thought to your race."
But she would not let the subject go. "You could have saved the others, too."
"If I had tried to, you would now be dead."
A sob caught in her throat, but she did not give it voice. Instead she ventured a frail hope. "Perhaps they were able to fight the Apache off."
"There were too many. Fifty, maybe more."
She fought back tears. Mr. Rumford and Mr. Carruthers, massacred? Even the Brownings didn't deserve to die that way. Then there was the stage driver, and the men who'd ridden shotgun, and several Mexicans who worked for the station. Surely they were not all dead.
She glanced at the Indian, wishing there was light so she could see his face. She still wasn't sure she could trust him. For all she knew, he might be an Apache and had known about the raid.
"What are you going to do with me?" she finally asked.
He let out a breath. "God only knows. It was never my intention to be saddled with a difficult, stubbornly inquisitive female."
"I am not your responsibility. You can just leave, and I'll make my way back to Adobe Springs when it's light enough."
He stood up, laughing sardonically. "You would not even know in which direction to start out. You would be hopelessly lost within minutes."
Makinna opened her mouth to deny his accusations but clamped her lips together. After all, he was right. "When the sun rises, you can point me in the right direction, and I'll just walk back."
His hand dropped to her shoulder. "You don't understand, Miss Hillyard. There is nothing for you to go back to. The station has been burned, and everyone is dead."
"But-"
"They're dead," he said harshly, his grip tightening on her shoulder. "You have to accept the truth of that. And if you go back, the Apache will find and kill you. Do I make myself understood? You had better pray that they don't come looking for us as it is."
She shrugged off his hand and lowered her head as sadness enveloped her. She knew he was right, but it hurt to think about Mr. Rumford and
Mr. Carruthers being senselessly slaughtered. Still, she knew the Indian was right again. The truth was, she could do nothing to change what had already happened, no matter how tragic, and pretending otherwise only muddled her thinking. She sent up a silent prayer for their souls and tried to focus on what she could do. "What do we do now?"
He turned away, grumbling, "We stay alive. Avoid the Apache if we can."
"But you are an Indian. What have you to fear from them?"
"The Apache have no love for me or my kind. Indeed, they may have attacked Adobe Springs because they had heard I would be there."
"You! But why?"
"Get some sleep if you can, Mrs. Hillyard."
"How can I possibly sleep with so many questions left unanswered?"
"You had better sleep. Tomorrow will test your strength far beyond its limits. We will be traveling fast, and we cannot leave any footprints behind. When the Apache discover I was not among the dead, they will probably come looking for me. And make no mistake, Mrs. Hillyard, the Chiricahua Apache are among the fiercest warriors of any tribe. They can cover forty miles a day on foot and seventy-five miles on horseback. Can you?"
"No human can do that!"
"I assure you, the Apache can."
"Why do they hate you so much that they would commit such atrocities against innocent people?"
He thrust a canteen at her. "Take only one swallow. We have a lot of desert to cross before we reach water."
Makinna raised the canteen to her lips and took a sip, wishing she could drink the whole thing. She felt as if she'd swallowed half the sand in the desert. She handed him back the canteen and leaned against a boulder, cradling her head on her arms. "Suppose the Apache come upon us in our sleep?"
"I will be watching for them. Now no more questions."
She closed her eyes. She was so weary. Why were the Apache after him? Why had they slain the people at Adobe Springs? Could she trust this Indian?
Her eyes popped open. "Just one more question," she insisted.
"What is it now, Mrs. Hillyard?" he asked wearily.
"Mr. Rumford said your name was some-
thing like Silverhorn. Is that correct?"
He sighed. "That's one of my names."
"Oh," she said. "What's the other?"
"Tykota. My name is Tykota."
Tykota sat with his back braced against a boulder, his gaze sweeping the darkened countryside, his ears attuned to the night sounds. If the Apache had known he had returned, who else knew?
He glanced to where the woman lay sleeping. She was going to slow him down. He should have left her behind. Why hadn't he? Because of her kindness to him? Something in her spirit that called out to him? Whatever it was, he'd had time to save only one person, and she'd been his choice.
Tykota hadn't even seen her face yet. She'd been swaddled in a black veil on the coach, and when she had brought him the food, it had been too dark to make out her features. He wasn't even sure of her age. Maybe midthirties? She had told Mr. Rumford that she would be living with her sister in San Francisco. Odd, she'd made no mention of her husband. And somehow she seemed very alone in the world.
He stared back into the darkness. He knew about aloneness. Both of his fathers, Indian and white, had died within a year of each other, leaving an enormous void in his life. He thought about the letter he'd received from his white mother just before he'd left England, after burying George Silverhorn. It had carried a warning from Mangas, his long-time mentor and aide to his Indian father, Valatar. His old teacher had wanted him to know that his half brother, Sinica, had become the leader of a renegade band of Apaches and had boasted that Tykota would never return to Valle de la Luna alive. Tykota breathed deeply, hoping Mangas was wrong. He hadn't seen any of his Indian family since the night George Silverhorn had spirited him away. But would Sinica truly turn against him in violence? Perhaps he was still bitter because his mother had been shamed by their father, and their father had not named him the future chief of the Perdenelas.
Tykota sighed wearily. He had never wanted to be chief. He was sure he was unworthy of the honor. He was not ready to make all the decisions for the tribe.
Perhaps the Apache attack on Adobe Springs had been random, he mused. But if it had been Sinica, he'd come for Tykota. And he would keep coming.
Tykota had thought often of that night when his father had renounced Sinica and Coloradous and placed shame on them and their mother. And as he'd grown older he'd still thought that his father had been too harsh with his other two sons. They were of his blood, yet he had banished them from his life. And Sinica, hot-blooded as he was, would probably settle for nothing less than Tykota's death to settle the wrong.
Tykota glanced back at the woman. It might have been kinder to her if he'd let her die with the others back at the way station. If Sinica did catch them, she would meet a much worse fate.
He closed his eyes, feeling tired and heartsick. He would just have to outwit Sinica, and that was not going to be easy. Although Tykota knew this desert well, Sinica knew it better. His half brother had been living with the Apache, and they were the ultimate rulers of the Guadalupe mountains and surrounding countryside. If it was Sinica that was following them, it wouldn't be long until he picked up their trail.
Tykota had to get the woman to safety and then go as quickly as possible to the Mountain of the Moon. Unrest must be stirring among his people. They would expect him to be a strong leader, and he could only pray he was equal to the task his father had entrusted to him.
The sun was no more than a golden glow in the east when Tykota bent over the woman. In the dawn light he was startled to see how young she was. Probably somewhere in her twenties. He stared at the golden hair curling around her shoulders, her long lashes lying softly against her rosy cheeks. Her lips were full, her face very lovely. He was so overwhelmed by her delicate beauty that a lump formed in his throat. At last he touched her shoulder gently to awaken her.
Her eyes opened, and they were bluer than the desert sky. Tykota watched as the confusion in those eyes was replaced with fear. She sat up quickly and moved away from his touch.
"Here," he said, holding food out to her. "Eat quickly. We must leave right away."
Makinna stared at the concoction he'd handed her. "It looks like... like raw plants. I can't eat this."
"Then you will go hungry, Mrs. Hillyard, because there is nothing else to eat."
She brushed her hair from her face. "What is it?"
"The beans are from the mesquite tree and do not taste so bad. The other is from the mescal cactus. It would taste better roasted, but I dare not light a fire, even if we did have the time."
She shook her head. "I am not hungry enough to eat this."
"As you wish. But you will be," he warned. "And, as I told you last night, I will not wait for you if you lag behind."
She glared at him. "No one asked you to." She stood slowly, stretching to relieve muscles cramped from sleeping on the hard ground.
Her movement was inadvertently provocative, making her breasts bulge against her gown, and Tykota quickly glanced away. A primitive stirring inside him heated his blood. This stubborn, spirited, outspoken woman was different from other females he had known. And he didn't want to feel this way about her. He didn't even want to like her.
"You are not in a genteel Southern town out here, Mrs. Hillyard. At the height of the noon sun it will be so hot that you could cook meat without a campfire. We may encounter rattlesnakes and scorpions and, at the higher elevations, bears, wolves, or pumas. Can you face all that, Mrs. Hillyard?"
She eyed the canteen slung over his shoulder. "Ask me again after I have a sip of water."
His mouth curved into a small smile. "You may have two sips. But no more."
When he handed her the canteen, she raised it to her lips, savoring the two sips he allowed her. Then, wiping her hand across her mouth, she handed it back. "Can you tell me where we're going?"
She watched him, puz
zled, as he bent down, and poured some of their precious water into the dirt, mixing it into mud. "If I told you, you still would not know. But, I will say this much: after today, we will rest in the heat of the day and travel only by night. It will not be easy."
"Because of the heat?"
"Mostly, yes."
She watched him as he cupped his hands and scooped up the mud. "What are you doing?"
"You will need this on your face so your skin will not blister."
"What! Oh, no! You aren't putting mud on my face."
"Close your eyes," he commanded.
She wanted to defy him, but she could see by his hard expression that to do so would be futile. She reluctantly closed her eyes in submission. After all, he did know about the desert, and she didn't. When he finished daub ing her face, she asked, "Does it look as awful as it feels?"
Tykota nearly chuckled but quickly became serious. "If your face baked in the sun, you would feel much worse." He looked her over carefully to make sure he'd covered all the exposed skin. "We will be moving fast, and you must keep up."
"You didn't put mud on your face," she objected.
"I do not need it."
"May I ask you one more question, Mr. Silverhorn?" she persisted.
He cast her a look of impatience and turned and walked away.
She hurried to catch up with him. "Will you explain to me about your names?" she asked, practically running to keep pace with him.
"Ty Silverhorn is what I am called in your white world."
"And Tykota?" she pronounced carefully, thinking the name suited him because it sounded powerful and masculine. "What does it mean?"
He glanced sideways at her. "Do you always talk this much?"
"No, Mr. Silverhorn. But I have been very much on my own lately, with no one to talk to."
He was quiet for a time, and just when she thought he wasn't going to answer her, he said softly, "Tykota means `the chosen one.'"
Since he didn't seem inclined to talk, she lapsed into silence. Besides, it took all her strength just to keep up with him. After a while, she lagged behind, and she found herself observing the way his white shirt was plastered to his skin with sweat. She could see the muscles ripple across his back, and the black hair falling over his shoulders fascinated her. Her gaze dropped to the gun belt strapped about his narrow waist. No bow and arrow for this Indian, she mused.
Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) Page 4
