He brought her past a group of prisoners, huddled together and under guard. Her mind eased when she saw Jack. He was alive. She stretched out her hand to him but he ignored her, the flames of their home reflected in his dark eyes. She wanted to call out to him and tell him he was not alone, but in an instant, Caleb had carried her past the prisoners.
Where was Juanita? And little Miguel? Slowly, painfully, she turned her head to the hills where the soldiers were spread out searching for survivors. One soldier was walking toward Juanita’s hiding place. She prayed they were still safely hidden in the brush on the hillside. If Juanita could keep the baby quiet, they had a chance.
Caleb arrived at a makeshift tent made of canvas and dumped her on the ground. She tried to lift her body so she could keep watch over Juanita’s hiding spot, but she was too weak. She fell back, panting. Her head ached and she was dizzy.
From inside the tent, she heard Caleb say, “Doc, I’ve got an Indian girl here for you to look at.”
“She’ll have to wait until I’m done with our own boys,” was the response.
Casita floated in and out of darkness. Finally the doctor emerged. “What do we have here?” He checked her wounds, then called for water to clean her up. Jeremiah went running with a clay pot toward the river.
“She’s hurt pretty bad,” the doctor said. “I don’t know if she’ll make it. Maybe we should just leave her.”
“Orders are to keep her as a hostage,” Caleb said sourly.
“Then clean her up best you can.”
“Can’t someone else do it?” Caleb asked. “I want to get back to the fighting.”
“The fighting’s over. You just want to loot. I know what you boys are like,” the doctor said. “Do as you’re told.”
Jeremiah returned with the water. With angry, jerking motions, Caleb swabbed away the blood with a filthy cloth. Casita might have told him no medicine man would use a dirty cloth to clean a wound, but what would be the point? He glared at Casita with eyes that hated her as much as she hated him.
I’m a hostage, Casita thought. They would try to use her to force her father to surrender. Like her mother, Casita would rather die than let that happen. She was too weak to escape, so what were her options? Maybe if she were lucky, she would die on the trail before they reached Texas.
“I’ve been counting the dead,” Jeremiah said. “We killed twenty and took forty prisoner. But there were only old men, not braves. We’re still a long way from home and those braves could be hiding anywhere. They could attack anytime and we wouldn’t see ’em coming.”
Caleb said bitterly, “They’d love nothing better than to scalp all of us.”
He was wrong, of course. The Apache did not enjoy scalping their enemies; it was a necessary evil in war.
“With all these prisoners, it’s going to be slow going,” Jeremiah said.
His words gave Casita hope. An army like this could not pass unnoticed through the rough terrain between here and the Rio Grande. Her father was a great warrior with many friends. If he learned what had happened, he could lay a trap for the soldiers. And all their guns and ammunition wouldn’t matter then. Casita’s longing for revenge would only be satisfied when the soldiers were dead or dying.
All hope wasn’t lost. Not yet.
CHAPTER FOUR
NO SOONER HAD CALEB BANDAGED HER UP THAN AN OFFICER rode up, issuing orders.
“Get the prisoners ready to travel,” he bellowed. “I want us on our way by noon. With luck, we’ll be back at Fort Clark tomorrow night.”
“Yes, sir, Captain Carter,” Caleb said, saluting.
Before, she had only seen chaos when the soldiers had attacked—but now she saw how each soldier was part of a single animal obeying the commands of Captain Carter. As they rounded up the tribe’s horses and secured the prisoners, their expertise dismayed her. With the soldiers’ weapons and their training, her people had been easy to defeat.
A bitterness filled her mouth when she saw Indians among the soldiers. Their skin was a deep, dark brown and they didn’t wear uniforms. Some had on battle headdresses. These must be the Seminole scouts who worked for the Army in exchange for money, food, and land. Even her father admired their scouting skills and their fierceness in battle. But they had led the soldiers to the Ndé’s hidden home. She thought she might hate them even more than the soldiers.
Caleb lifted her and dropped her hard on a straw-colored pony. He had meant to hurt her, so she refused to cry out. When her vision cleared, she recognized the pony as Jack’s. She patted his neck. “Hello, Choya,” she whispered. Her brother had named the pony for the cacti that grew like trees in the desert. His coat was sweaty but she pressed herself against his shoulder, grateful for his company.
A bugle sounded. The long train of scouts, followed by the officers, soldiers, mules, and finally the prisoners and their guards, fell into line. Casita was almost glad to leave. The teepees and the wickiups were still smoldering and the smell made her want to retch. The burial place of the dead was sacred to them, but not like this. She said a quick prayer to the spirits, reminding them it was not the Ndé’s fault the dead had been tossed into the fire without respect. She asked Usen, the chief of all the spirits, to bless this place anyway.
Casita’s eyes went to her favorite rock standing guard high above the valley. It could not burn. It would be there forever. But with each step away, Casita felt as though she would never return. Her ties to her childhood, family, band, and home were snapping, one by one.
If Jeremiah had counted correctly, then at least ten of the band might have escaped into the hills. She hoped Juanita and Miguel were among the safe ones. The soldiers seemed to have no appetite to stay and search. And she realized they were afraid. If the warriors returned, the soldiers would find themselves in the fight of their lives. Tired and low on ammunition, the soldiers were eager to get back to the safety of the Texas side of the Rio Grande.
The scouts led them out by a different route than the one they’d come in by. As they traveled, the soldiers had orders to stay quiet. Caleb and Jeremiah rode in front of her, speaking in whispers.
“What’s wrong with you?” Caleb asked. “You look like we lost the battle.”
“I’ve been listening to the officers,” Jeremiah answered. “They’re worried.”
“About the Indians? We didn’t lose a single man today,” Caleb said. His gloating made Casita wish she had Jack’s bow so she could shoot an arrow into his back.
Jeremiah leaned closer to Caleb. “What if the braves are just waiting to ambush us?”
“They’re no match for us,” Caleb said. Casita heard a trickle of fear in his voice.
Jeremiah glanced round to be sure they weren’t overheard. “And we might have trouble from the Mexicans, too. We’re not supposed to be on this side of the Rio Grande. They could take us prisoner and they’d be in the right.”
Casita loved how frightened they were. But listening to them, she realized that the Ndé had been foolish to think the Army would respect anyone’s laws, even their own. She prayed to Usen that a vicious counterattack would come. She kept watch on the horizon, but there wasn’t any sign of her father’s men.
The long ride was a blur as Casita’s injuries took their toll. The plodding pace and the sun beating down on her bandaged back gave her a headache. The cruel sun baked the long line of riders and there was no breeze to relieve them. The dust kicked up by the horses settled on their riders. Casita was thirsty all the time. Her people knew better than to travel during the hottest part of the day, but the bluebellies insisted on traveling when the sun was highest. They didn’t dare stop and rest. The smallest children kept falling asleep and tumbling off their horses. Captain Carter finally gave orders to tie them to their mounts.
It seemed like weeks had passed, but when Casita saw the moon rise, she realized it was still the same day. A day begun with joy and promise had ended in screams and tragedy.
The moon was a familiar friend, bu
t tonight she wished for clouds. The moonlight helped the soldiers find their way and would alert them to an ambush. They were traveling on a narrow track by a deep ravine when Casita saw a figure floating next to her in the shadows of the moon. She shook her head to clear her vision, but the figure remained, a tall woman in buckskin who hovered above the ravine. She beckoned to Casita.
“Mother?” Casita whispered. Did Mother want Casita to come to her? If Casita leapt into the ravine, she would die. Was that what Mother wanted? At least she wouldn’t be a prisoner, heading for a reservation. Casita wanted to honor her mother, but was it right to leave her brother? What if Father was coming to rescue them? Then she would have wasted her life. She hated herself for being unable to decide. It was a weakness. Mother had not hesitated when she had to choose.
The figure silently snapped her fingers. It was a gesture Casita knew well. She unwrapped the pony’s reins from around her hands. She would do as her mother asked and leap. Caleb and Jeremiah were leading their horses in front of her, but if she were quick, they could do nothing to stop her. She took a deep breath.
A flash of light startled her. Caleb had pulled her mother’s necklace from his pocket to take a closer look. The mirrored surface caught the moon and reflected it into the night. Her mother’s spirit vanished. Instantly there was a ripple of noise as the soldiers ahead of them noticed the light. Rifles were brought to bear, and she could hear pistols being cocked up and down the line.
A scout came racing back on foot. “Put that away! Do you want to tell the Apache exactly where we are?” the Seminole accused in English. “If they attack here, half of us would be in the ravine before we could get a shot off.”
His angry voice pulled Casita back, giving her a moment to think. She had been wrong. Her mother wasn’t there for her; Mother had been lured by her necklace. The Ndé burned their dead with all their possessions so their spirits would be content. When Caleb had taken her mother’s most prized possession, he had condemned her spirit to wander.
“I don’t take orders from you.” Caleb spat in the dirt at the Seminole’s feet. The way Caleb looked at the scout told Casita he hated all Indians, not just her people. Even the ones who were on his side.
The Seminole’s mouth tightened. Casita moved her hand to catch his eye. “What it is it, little one?” he asked softly in halting Apache.
“The necklace was my mother’s,” she whispered. “She died in the raid. May I hold it?”
His dark eyes looked kindly at her as he nodded. Turning to Caleb, he held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“You can’t make me!” Next to him, Jeremiah whispered a warning to Caleb. Casita didn’t blame him. The Seminole was older, heavier, and a battle-hardened fighter. Both boys together wouldn’t stand a chance against him.
“Boy, don’t make trouble for yourself over a stolen trinket,” the Seminole warned. “Captain Carter’ll cashier you out of the Army for giving our location away to the enemy.”
Slowly Caleb dropped the necklace in the scout’s palm, then pulled his hand back as if he were afraid to touch him.
The Seminole gave it to Casita. Solemnly, she thanked him. The pendant felt heavy in her hand. Rubbing her thumb across the stones, she knew what she had to do. Mother’s spirit would not rest until it had the necklace. Biting her lip against the pain, she drew back her arm and managed to throw the necklace as far into the ravine as she could. Caleb lunged toward it, but Jeremiah held him back. “It’s not worth dying for, Caleb,” Jeremiah said.
Caleb turned his anger toward Casita, lifting a hand to hit her. The Seminole stopped the blow midair with his huge hand. “The Captain wants the prisoners in good condition,” he said. He held Caleb’s gaze until Caleb backed down.
“Are you crazy?” Jeremiah asked after the scout had returned to the front. “Seminole Jim is one of the toughest scouts there is.”
“He’s still an Indian once all’s said and done,” Caleb muttered, glaring at Casita. He had hated her kind before, but now his anger was directed squarely at her. Casita did not care. Her only thought was of her mother. Now she could rest.
As she closed her eyes she could almost feel her mother’s hand soothing her brow, and then, just as blessedly, she felt her mother’s presence fade away.
When next she woke, they had stopped at a small stream. Finally, a chance to rest and drink. Jeremiah let Casita dismount and sit against a rock. A low-voiced command came down the ranks to water the horses. Even the smallest Ndé child knew how vulnerable you were when your horse was drinking. The soldiers did, too. They posted guards at all the approaches to the waterhole. But nothing could ease their fears. Even the officers jumped at every rustle in the brush.
Casita prayed that every sound was her father’s men sneaking up on them. Despite her hopes, she was still startled when she felt a tug at her leg. She gasped when she saw it was Jack.
“How did you get away?” she whispered.
“They are too tired to watch me,” he answered just as quietly. “Where is Mother?”
He didn’t know.
“She is dead,” she finally managed to say. “They shot her.”
Jack trembled as he tried not to cry. Mother would be proud of him; she had no patience with self-pity. After a long moment, he recovered. “We have to go.”
Casita wanted to, but the throbbing in her shoulder told her otherwise. “I’m hurt. You must go without me.”
“I cannot leave you alone—not after I let Mother die.”
“You didn’t let her die. You fought the soldier. You were brave,” she protested. “Run as fast as you can. Find father and tell him what’s happened. That is how you can save all of us.” She was doing the right thing—she was sure of it—but sending Jack away was the hardest thing she had ever done. Without him, she had no family.
He gripped her hand tightly but did not say a word. “Please go,” Casita urged. “If I’m with you, I’ll slow you down.”
She felt him start to tremble again. “Go, little brother,” she repeated.
He stared at her for a long moment and then disappeared into the darkness.
All the Ndé were trained to be stealthy, but Jack was particularly good at disappearing. She prayed to Usen he would succeed. But at the same time, she felt utterly alone. How much more could she lose?
She listened intently but could only make out the groans of the tired soldiers and the horses drinking their fill. But then she heard a yelp and a scuffle. A shot rang out, echoing around the huge boulders surrounding the watering hole. She cried out, then clamped her hand over her mouth. She must not show weakness even if her heart was breaking. Had Jack been caught? Was he dead?
She hardly dared to breathe. As the command came to remount, she saw Seminole Jim walking down the line of horses and men. He saw her and nodded. She beckoned him over. “I heard a shot,” she said.
He answered her in Apache. “A boy tried to escape. We caught him.”
“Is he . . . is he still alive?” she managed to ask.
He nodded. “But they’ve got him trussed up behind a soldier now. He won’t be going anywhere.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling. Jack still lived. She knew he must be hurting. And he’d feel humiliated. Afraid. Angry. But the only thing that Casita felt was gratitude. She wasn’t alone after all.
PART TWO
CHAPTER FIVE
Fort Clark, Texas
AT DAWN, THEY DESCENDED INTO THE RIVER VALLEY. THIS WAS THE Rio Grande, the great river marking the border between Mexico and Texas. The scouts led them to a ford where the river was shallow enough to cross. Casita listened to the fear in the soldiers’ voices and saw how their eyes raked the trees and brush. If her father had found out about the raid, if he could gather enough allies to attack, if he could reach them in time—this would be the place for an ambush.
The exhausted soldiers hurried to get themselves and the prisoners across the river. Seminole Jim went first, the water reaching
above his waist. But no matter how desperate, the crossing of three hundred men and two hundred horses still took time. The need for quiet made it even harder. One soldier fell off his horse and nearly drowned.
“Tie all the prisoners to the horses,” came the order from Captain Carter. “We don’t want to lose anyone.”
The hours passed, and one by one, the soldiers climbed up the embankment on the Texas side of the river. By the time Casita crossed, she had lost hope. No silhouette of a scout had appeared on the ridge. No rustle in the underbrush betrayed a warrior’s stealthy approach. No arrows pierced the throats of her captors.
As her pony lurched up the Texas side of the river, Casita slumped down and lay her cheek on Choya’s damp neck. “We are lost,” she whispered.
But so long as she and Jack were alive and together, there was hope. Casita had only one goal now. To survive.
Casita’s head ached from the merciless sun. Her buckskin tunic was stiff with dried blood. Flies landed on her and she lacked the strength to wave them away. She knew she would fall off her pony if she hadn’t been tied down. She let her eyes close and prayed to Usen that her suffering would be short.
A great shout rose up from the soldiers as Fort Clark came into view. Although the horses were as exhausted as the riders, their pace picked up as they neared home.
They passed a deep, wide pond surrounded by Spanish oak trees just below the fort. Water. She felt desperate for a swallow of cold water. The skin across her face felt tight and dry. Her eyes fixed on the spring, her body lurched forward. But the ropes tying her to Choya cut cruelly into her chest.
“Whoa! What are you doing?” Caleb was suddenly at her side, pulling her roughly onto the pony’s back. “I brought you this far alive, didn’t I?” He looked at her closely and then touched her face with the back of his hand. “You’re hot. Captain Carter’ll kill me if you die from fever on my watch.” His breath smelled of tobacco and made her gag. He pulled out his canteen and dribbled water on her lips. “Wait to die until I get you to the infirmary. Then you won’t be my problem anymore,” Caleb said.
The Lost Ones Page 3
