Sometimes one of them would come to her and lift her head to see if she was still breathing.
She was dying, she knew, but it didn't seem to matter. She closed her eyes, feeling as if she were baking in an oven. It was so hot.
Then suddenly water was being splashed in her face, and some kind of dried meat was being held to her mouth. "Eat, white woman."
If she only had the strength, she would have spit in the Indian's face. She almost wished she would die, just to spite him. But cruel hands forced her to eat and drink. She was not going to die today.
Tykota chose his time of day carefully. It was almost twilight, and deep shadows crept across the landscape, making it hard to see. That would be to his advantage.
He crept along a ravine that led toward the mesa where Sinica had set up camp. He paused, his gaze running the length of the table rock, locating the guards. He paid particular attention to a sharp slope which was guarded by only one sentry.
Tykota dropped to his stomach and crawled up the slope careful inch by inch, cautious not to cause a single pebble to slide and alert the enemy of his presence.
The sun was almost down and the sky was blood-red as he crept to the top. The Apache guard was no more than a dozen paces from him. He waited patiently as the guard paced back and forth. But the moment the sentry became distracted by taking a drink from his waterskin, Tykota leaped forward. Gripping the man's neck in a choke hold he placed his knife at the Apache's throat, and hissed in his ear, "If you value your life, do exactly what I tell you."
"You will slay me anyway," the man answered, trying to claw Tykota's arm away from his throat.
"Not if you do as I say."
Knowing he was helpless against Tykota's superior strength, the Apache finally stopped struggling and nodded.
With his knife still at the warrior's throat, Tykota forced him forward. "Where is the woman? Take me to her. And make no sound."
"She is tied to a stake fifty feet or so from here."
Tykota's knife pressed against the man's throat as they moved ahead. "Is she alive?"
The Aphache licked his dry lips. "She was when I went on guard."
Finally Tykota could see Makinna. She was tied to the stake. Her head had fallen forward, but she appeared to be alive. Anger shot through him like a burning arrow. He wanted to cut Sinica's heart out and feed it to the wolves while it was still beating. He wanted to run to Makinna, slash through her bonds, and hold her in his arms. She must be so frightened. But that was just what Sinica wanted him to do. He would only have one opportunity to get Makinna out of this alive. And even that was a gamble.
Makinna became aware of frantic activity around her. With effort, she raised her head and blinked the sweat out of her eyes so she could see. "No," she moaned, seeing Tykota walking into the enemy camp his only defense the knife he held at the throat of an Apache.
She blinked again. Perhaps she was only dreaming, or the twilight was deceiving her eyes.
But no. Several Apaches had clutched their rifles and were aiming them at Tykota. Still he moved forward, seemingly unafraid. He even shoved his prisoner aside, with enough force that the man hit the ground and rolled to the edge of the mesa.
Makinna watched Tykota fearlessly approach the leader of the Apaches. She did not understand the language they spoke, but she recognized the threat in Tykota's tone.
Oh, why had he come? He would surely die. What could one man do against so many?
Sinica was shorter by a head than Tykota. He was stockily built, while Tykota was muscled and lean. Still, Sinica was strong, and his hate for Tykota gave him strength. "I have been expecting you, brother."
Tykota's eyes were hard, and a savage expression curved his lips. "I know you have. This day was predestined. This is the day you will die, Sinica."
"Not by your hand," Sinica sneered, laughing and looking at his many warriors. "This is the day you walk in the Spirit World with our father."
"I do not think so." Tykota's voice sounded calm, but there was something dangerous about him. "You arranged your own death, Sinica, when you took this woman."
"You have the look and sound of our father. It was because of you that my mother was shamed before the Old Ones. Because of you that my father never saw me as his son. He saw only you. Even my true brother, Coloradous, preferred you to me." Hatred spilled forth from Sinica's lips. "I will take your woman and make you watch. After you are dead, perhaps I will keep her as my woman. Will your spirit rest easy, knowing she belongs to me?"
"That is not the way it will be," Tykota said calmly. "You, my brother, will never leave here alive."
"What can one man do among twenty?" Sinica scoffed. "Even you are not that good a warrior, Tykota."
Tykota smiled, but there was a threat in his smile. "A man who tortures a helpless woman is not a true warrior. And a man who is afraid to accept a challenge of combat from another Indian is not a man."
Sinica snorted. "I see no Indian. I see someone dressed as a white man claiming to be an Indian. If I give the word, my warriors will tear you to pieces!"
"This fight is between us, Sinica. It always has been."
"I will not fight you. Why should I, when I can simply order your death? Those who follow me will do whatever I ask of them. Of you, I ask only one thing before you die: the location of the Perdenelas gold."
"Never. That secret will die with me."
"Are you willing to watch the woman die first, then-after I have given her to the others to enjoy?"
Tykota's lip curled in disgust and rage. "Even then I would not tell you. But this is not about the woman, and it is not about the treasure. It is about you and me, Sinica."
"Why should I fight you when I can order your death?" he repeated.
"Do you tell your warriors, or will I, that you are too afraid of the chief of the Perdenelas to meet me in combat? I have no warriors with me. I came to you alone. You are a coward who surrounds himself with many warriors so you will not have to fight. But when they learn your true nature, the Apache will spit on you and call you dishonorable around the Chiricahua campfires."
Makinna wanted to call out to Tykota, to urge him to save himself, but she didn't have the strength. He would not have heeded her anyway. She saw the rage in his eyes, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was goading the other Indian to fight.
She wondered if there had ever been such a man. She knew of no one who would be brave enough to face his enemies in such large number. Truly he had the heart of a lion. She watched the man he called Sinica throw his rifle down and tear his knife from its leather sheath. They were going to fight, and she could not bear to watch. Even if Tykota won, would not the other Apaches kill him?
Like charging bulls, the two warriors came together in a clash of fury.
They both hit the ground from the impact, then both struggled for dominance. The other Indians had gathered in a circle around them, loudly encouraging Sinica.
The two men rolled on the ground until Tykota leaped to his feet, his knife drawn, prepared to kill.
Sinica came to his feet and lunged at Tykota, who artfully sidestepped the thrust, causing Sinica to stumble and fall into a thorn bush. He flinched in pain and hacked angrily at the bush with his knife.
"I have to admire you," Tykota taunted. "Perhaps the Chiricahua Apache will sing around their campfire about your bravery in fighting thorns."
In his rage Sinica jumped to his feet and charged Tykota, slashing and thrusting with his knife. However, Tykota managed to stay just out of reach of the blade. And the more Tykota evaded him, the more enraged Sinica became, and the more ineffectual his thrusts.
Makinna didn't want to watch, and yet she could not look away, for fear Tykota would be killed. She could see that his opponent was charging in a blind rage, slashing the air.
At last, Sinica lunged forward, shouting in triumph. But Tykota's knife drove into his body. There was a surprised expression on Sinica's face as he slid to the groun
d, his life's blood soaking into the sand.
Tykota looked at the blood on his hands and dropped to his knees, gathering his half brother in his arms. "Why did you make me do it, Sinica? I did not want to kill you."
Sinica's lips were moving, but he made no sound. Finally, he gasped, "I detest you." Then he stiffened and stared into nothingness. He was dead.
Tykota eased Sinica's head down and stood, speaking to the Apaches, who seemed frozen with shock. "Who will be next to challenge me for this woman? Who wants to be the next to die?"
Before anyone could react, they were distracted by at least forty Apaches riding up the mesa. When the dust cleared, only one man dismounted, obviously the leader. He carried himself proudly, and his dark eyes took in all that had occurred. Then he turned to Tykota.
Makinna was puzzled to see Mangas with the warriors.
Tykota faced Cochise, chief of the Chiricahua Apaches. "I have slain my brother." He tossed down his knife. "I have no wish to slay anyone else. If you want revenge, you will have no resistance from me."
"There will be no reprisal, Tykota. Sinica has caused the Apaches much trouble. He could not have lived long with his lust for blood. You can take your woman and leave, Chief of the Perdenelas."
Tykota's gaze fell at last on two tall braves in Sinica's band he recognized from his own tribe. "I do not know which path you will travel, but do not return to Valle de la Luna. You will find no welcome there, and every man's hand will be turned against you."
One brave had the good grace to lower his head in shame, but the other glared at Tykota.
"You are both a disgrace to the Perdenelas. Go out and find a better life. Never let me look upon either of your faces again."
Tykota motioned for Mangas to cut Makinna loose while he spoke to Sinica's followers. "If there is any among you who want to challenge me, for the death of Sinica, let him step forward now."
He was met by silence.
Cochise spoke in a commanding voice. "If any of you want to come with me, I will take you back into the tribe. But if you come, you will obey me in all things, and you will not war on anyone unless it is my command."
Tykota did not wait to hear more. He lifted Makinna into his arms, and Mangas handed him the reins of his horse. "Take her to our valley. She needs healing. You must hurry."
Tykota nodded. "Follow as soon as you are able, Mangas. I will need you beside me when I take my place as chief."
Makinna leaned her head against Tykota's chest. She wasn't sure just what had happened or why she was free. "You were very brave," she said through cracked, swollen lips.
"Hush. Do not think about it."
"I will always remember your courage."
He knelt down and held a waterskin to her lips. "Drink, Makinna."
She took only a few sips, as he had taught her to do.
He held her to him. "Fear no more, Makinna. I am taking you to someone who can help you."
"I am not dreaming?"
"No, beloved, you are not dreaming." He examined her closely, taking in the severe sunburn, the gash on her forehead, and the bloody wounds from the ropes around her wrists and ankles. "Did they... abuse you?" he asked.
"No. They only used me to capture you."
His arms tightened about her. "You are safe now."
"Safe," she whispered, closing her eyes and slumping against him. "As long as I am with you."
Although he would be breaking the tribal law by bringing a white woman to his valley, the medicine woman, Huara, was a great healer. And, besides, he could not let Makinna go. Not yet.
He gently lifted her onto the Indian pony and headed in the direction of Valle de la Luna and the Mountain of the Moon.
The horse was tired, and Tykota was forced to slow to a walk, although he was impatient to get Makinna to the healer.
After a while he had to stop because the horse could go no farther. He dismounted and lay Makinna down while he tended the pinto.
The moon was still bright, and he gauged it to be early morning. He was still a day's ride from the Mountain of the Moon.
He sat down and took Makinna's head in his lap. She stirred but didn't awaken. Besides the gash, her face also had bad bums from the sun. He only hoped her eyesight had not been damaged. He would have given his life to spare her this anguish.
He gently touched a tangled curl and tucked it behind her ear. "I know you cannot hear me, but you are the most amazing woman I have ever known, Makinna Hillyard."
She lay motionless, but he was encouraged by the even rise and fall of her chest. Her breathing was good.
At first light, Tykota was again on the move. He was thankful for the sturdy Indian pinto that carried both him and Makinna through the desert with ease. By early afternoon, he saw the twin peaks that looked like clouds banked against the sky. Unless someone accidently happened upon the narrow passage that led to Valle de la Luna, it was so well concealed that they would not know it was there.
He had not traveled that narrow trail since he was a small boy. His heart was thundering in his chest, and he felt he was being yanked back in time. He almost expected his father to ride out to greet him.
On the other side of that passage through the desolate-looking Mountain of the Moon was a wide river feeding a lush, green valley, and an Indian tribe that lived in peace and plenty.
He would soon be reunited with the Perdenelas, would soon be their chief. He had been gone for such a long time, surely the elders who had pledged their loyalty to him that night his father had brought him before them were all dead. How would the other tribe members receive him?
He set his gaze on the seemingly solid mountain, its granite face rising inhospitably toward the heavens. He knew where the entrance was located-the memory was burned into his mind.
He slowed his pace when he entered the narrow gorge that wound for over a mile through the mountainside. He felt the cool breeze that came from the valley, and, gazing down at Makinna lying against his chest, he felt her breath on his neck. The medicine woman, Huara, knew all the healing herbs. Soon Makinna would be safe and well.
When he reached the end of the passage, he reined in the horse and stared at the valley below.
At last, after so many years, Tykota had come home.
When Makinna awoke to sunlight, she tried to move, but she was too weak. She dimly realized she was on horseback, encircled by a strong pair of arms. "Where am I?"
"You are safe, Makinna. No one will hurt you again."
She gazed up into Tykota's dark eyes. "That Indian called you his brother."
"He was my brother. My half brother, Sinica."
Tears came to her eyes. "I am so sorry you had to fight him. To kill him. It was all my fault. If I hadn't-"
"Say no more," he interrupted her. "Sinica had to die, Makinna, or he would have gone on marauding and killing. Someone had to stop him."
"I am sorry," she said weakly.
He urged the horse forward.
Makinna frowned. She'd thought they were still on the mesa, but this place was different. There were steep inclines on either side of them, and a mountain looming up to the sky. "Are we going back to Biquera?"
He shifted her so she could see ahead. "No, Makinna, we are not. This is my home, Valle de la Luna."
Her first view of the valley was breathtaking, with the sun breaking through a mist. The valley was so green, it almost reminded her of New Orleans, but there the similarities stopped. A wide, serene river cut its way though fields and pastureland, and deer and elk wandered about unafraid. Makinna gasped when she saw that many dwellings had been carved into the stone mountain itself. It was like nothing else she had ever seen. And it seemed only right that Tykota should have come from such a singular place.
"It is beautiful," she said softly.
"Yes. It is just as I remembered it." His gaze moved over every inch of it, as if he were taking account of each bush and tree.
Abruptly they heard riders, and three armed Indians appe
ared, blocking their path. They aimed rifles at Tykota, and one of them spoke in a language Makinna did not understand, but from the angry tone she gathered that they were not welcome.
"You have crossed into the land of the Perdenelas, and you must die," one of the men said.
"I am here by right. I am Tykota, son of Valatar, and your new chief."
The warrior frowned and cocked his rifle. "I do not believe you. Our chief would not have a white woman with him."
"This woman is injured and in need of Huara's medicine." Tykota had expected to return with Mangas at his side. Now he had to face skepticism from his own people. "Look into my eyes, and see the truth there."
One of the Indians cried out with joy, and his cry was echoed by the other two. "We have waited for this day. Is it really you, my chief?"
"I am Tykota."
There was a commotion behind them, and Mangas came riding up, a reprimand in his voice when he spoke to the three guards. "Is this how you welcome your leader? Go, tell everyone the chief has come home!"
One warrior reluctantly rode back to guard his post, while the other two raced ahead to alert the village. Tykota watched them cross the river, their happy voices carrying as they called for everyone to gather to greet the chief.
"How does it feel to come home after all these years?" Mangas asked.
Tykota wanted to tell his old teacher how unsure he was that he could be responsible for the well-being of the Perdenelas people. He had been born to lead, but had he the wisdom? Had he the desire?
"I do not know how it feels. My father was a wise man. I am not."
Mangas's sagacious eyes settled on his chief. "You are Valatar's true son. His blood runs in your veins; you will know what to do when the time comes."
They moved forward as warriors, women, and children poured out of their homes to hail the chief.
"Let me carry the woman, so you can greet the people properly," Mangas suggested.
"No. She needs to have her wounds tended. I will give her over to Huara myself. Assemble the people, and let them know I want to speak to them."
Tykota rode to the cliff dwellings while the tribe begin to gather near the river. He brought Makinna to the medicine woman and explained to her what had happened.
Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) Page 13
