“I’m not going back without her,” Nate disclosed.
Francisco nodded. “I will send half of the men back to the rancho with the women and the children and the rest of us will go after her.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’ll save her. You’ll need all of your men as escorts in case the Apaches regroup and try to stop you.”
“Am I to understand you intend to go after your wife all by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“I will not hear of it.”
“What about your wife and daughter? Do you want to risk losing them again?” Nate asked, and saw anxiety flare in Francisco’s eyes. “Of course you don’t. So get them home as fast as you can and don’t worry about me. I can go a lot faster and be a lot less conspicuous if I’m by myself. On Pegasus I have a good chance of overtaking the Apache who grabbed Winona well before nightfall.”
Gaona frowned. “You are very persuasive. But I still do not like separating.”
“If you won’t do it for me, do it for Maria and Juanita,” Nate said, and stood, unwilling to waste more precious time arguing. He gathered all his weapons and strode toward the Palouse, then halted. Zach and Blue Water Woman were next to the gelding, waiting. “I want you to go back with Francisco,” he told his son. “Your ma and I will be along shortly.”
“I’d rather go with you.”
“Out of the question,” Nate said, stepping over to grip the reins.
“I can help you.”
“You’d only slow me down and give me twice as much to worry about,” Nate declared, and promptly regretted doing so when Zach bowed his head, crestfallen. Squatting, Nate touched the boy’s chin and tilted it upward until they were eye to eye. “I appreciate the offer. Any other time I might accept. But I need to ride like the wind if I’m to save your mother, and you know there’s hardly a horse anywhere that can keep up with Pegasus.” He paused. “Do you want to slow me down and give that Apache a chance to get away?”
“No,” Zach answered contritely.
“Then do as I say. Go back. See if you can find out what happened to Samson.”
“He’s missing?”
“No one knows where he is. I half expected to find him trailing the band that took you, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the ornery cuss,” Nate said, trying his best to keep his tone lighthearted. “The last time I saw him was during the fight in the hallway.”
“Me too.”
“So we each have someone to find. I’ll get your ma, you hunt down Samson.”
Fired with a new purpose, Zach nodded vigorously. “You can count on me, Pa.”
Nate leaned forward to give his son a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Rising, he saw that Blue Water Woman was staring expectantly at him. “Is anything wrong?” he inquired.
“Shakespeare?” she said, wringing her hands. Insight brought a deep sense of guilt at his own neglect. He realized with a start that she had no idea what had happened to her husband and she must be tormented by apprehension. “He was stabbed twice. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s doing fine as near as I can tell. They’ve sent for a doctor from Santa Fe.”
“I saw him go down,” the Flathead said softly.
“What he needs most is you by his side,” Nate said. He mounted, smiled at Zach, and nodded at Blue Water Woman. “You listen to her, you hear, son? Until we get back she’ll look after you.”
“I will, Pa.”
Blue Water Woman gave Nate a meaningful look. “You need not worry. Your son will be our son until we see you again.”
“Thank you. And be sure to tell that no-account husband of yours to quit loafing in bed. He does enough of that at home.” Nate turned the Palouse, and was about to ride off when Francisco hurried up bearing one of the food packs.
“Take this, my friend. You might need it.”
Inwardly chafing at every second of delay, Nate politely accepted the pack and secured it behind his saddle. Leaning down, he offered his right hand and said, “Just in case.”
“May God go with you.”
Finally Nate headed out, moving to where the fresh tracks of the Apache’s mount led upward from the boulders. He followed them easily, and soon noticed that the left rear hoofprint bore evidence that the hoof itself was cracked, which was knowledge that might come in handy later should the Apache hook up with other mounted warriors. Since few horses went around with cracked hoofs, so distinctive an identifying mark would enable him to pick that horse out from any others.
He came to where the slope slanted westward. Drawing rein, he swiveled and looked down on the rescue party. Every single one of them was watching him, every man, woman, and child. Zach took a few steps and waved. His throat constricting, he waved back.
The breeze wafted the boy’s yell toward the heavens. “Be careful, Pa! I love you!”
All Nate could do was wave again. He was afraid his voice would give him away if he shouted. For several seconds he lingered, burning the picture of his son into his memory. Then, facing front, he lashed the reins and galloped in lone pursuit of his wife and her wily, savage abductor, heading into the very heart of Apache country, into the very heart of a land no other white man had ever penetrated.
Chapter Ten
The mountain vastness of the Apaches was every bit as picturesque as the northern Rockies, but the harsh beauty was lost on Nate. He had eyes only for the tracks he followed. The trail took him ever deeper into the range, sometimes along animal trails where the going was easy, more often as not over rocky ground where reading the sign was supremely hard to do.
He didn’t get the impression the warrior was in any great hurry. After the first mile the Apache had slowed his mount to a walk, evidently in the belief no one had given chase, and from there on the mount had been held to a leisurely pace.
Winona and the Apache were riding double, which upset Nate immensely. He didn’t like to think of the Apache’s hands on her body. But at least, he mused, she was safe as long as the Apache kept going. Not until they stopped would the warrior be able to have his way with her, if that was his intent.
The miles fell behind him. The sun climbed higher and higher. He was sweating more than he ever had before, and so was Pegasus. Late in the afternoon they were able to partially slake their thirst at another small spring nestled among rugged rock formations. The Apaches, it seemed, possessed an uncanny knack for finding water where none supposedly existed.
He saw wildlife here and there: several black-tailed deer, chipmunks, a coyote, and the ubiquitous rabbits. A hawk soared overhead for a while, perhaps studying him, and then flew on. At the lower elevations he saw some cactus and grama grass. Higher up grew scrub oak, pinon, and some ponderosa pine.
From the tracks he knew he was gaining on them, and he had every hope of spotting them when there was plenty of daylight left. He got his wish an hour before sunset, but under circumstances that compounded his fears for Winona’s safety.
He was negotiating a switchback up a steep divide when he heard several whoops from the far side. Hurrying to the top, he hid behind a pine and surveyed the canyon below. To his consternation, the Apache he had been trailing had been joined by four tribesmen, and they were standing near the stolen horse talking excitedly. On the horse, her posture as defiantly erect as she could make it, sat Winona.
Nate’s heart leaped out to her. He longed to spirit her away from there. But what could he do when the odds were so heavily against him? If he attacked when they were out in the open they’d see him coming from a long way off, and fill him with arrows before he got close enough to see the whites of their eyes.
His cause wasn’t hopeless, though. The four newcomers were afoot, so if Winona’s abductor wanted to stay with them he had to go at a much slower pace. Five minutes later the prediction was borne out when all five Apaches hiked westward, the one who had snatched Winona leading the horse.
Nate never lost sight of them from then on. Using every available bit of cover
, hanging far back to further reduce the risk, he dogged them until they made camp for the night in a gulch. He watched as they collected wood and made a fire. He observed two Apaches hasten off to the northeast, and was amazed when they returned within ten minutes bearing a slain deer.
Winona, much to his relief, was largely ignored. She sat by herself across the fire from the warriors. Every so often one or another of the men would try to engage her in conversation using sign language, but she always ignored them. Ignoring her captor proved impossible, however, when the buck was brought in. He marched up to her, hauled her to her feet, and through sign language directed her to cook their meal or he would cut off her ears.
From his hiding place in a dense thicket thirty yards from the camp Nate was able to make out what the warrior told her, and he tensed in nerve-tingling dread that she might refuse and be horribly mutilated. He held his breath until she moved her hands, signing she would comply. The Apaches settled down to talk and left her to carve up the buck.
Nate’s stomach grumbled in protest when the heady scent of the roasting deer haunch was carried to his nostrils by the obliging breeze. He was famished, but he refused to eat until after he saved his wife.
Soon the Apaches were eating greedily, tearing into large pieces of meat with their fine white teeth, and occasionally wiping their greasy hands on their bronzed bodies.
All five were dressed similarly in that the lot of them wore breechcloths. Four of the five wore the distinctive style of high-topped moccasins unique to the Apaches, while the fifth went about barefoot. The long black hair of each man was parted in the middle and held in place by a headband. All five were armed with bows. One of them also had a lance.
And Nate finally had a good look at the weapon responsible for nearly splitting his head open earlier. Winona’s captor had a stone-headed war club he carried wedged under a strip of leather wound around his muscular waist. Such clubs, Nate had heard, were often more deadly than tomahawks.
Once the Apaches finished their meal they sat around talking. The warrior who had grabbed Winona did most of it, leading Nate to surmise that he was telling about the raid on the Gaona hacienda and the subsequent battle in the defile.
Eventually, with the fire burning low, the Apaches retired by simply lying down where they were seated and going to sleep. Winona was bound hand and foot by her captor before he too turned in. Incredibly, they didn’t bother to post a guard.
Nate couldn’t believe his good fortune. They must be overconfident, he reasoned. Since no one had dared enter their country for so long, they considered attack unlikely. He bided his time, waiting until the fire was reduced to sputtering embers and all the Apaches were perfectly still before he inched out from his hiding place and crawled toward their camp.
He circled to the right, moving in a loop that would bring him around to the side of the fire where Winona lay. She was curled up with her back to the fire, her bound arms held close to her legs.
All the stories he had ever heard about Apaches went through his mind as he stealthily worked his way toward the woman he loved. It was claimed Apaches were men of iron resolve and constitution. They were able to cover seventy miles a day on foot without needing a single drop of water. When they wanted, they could vanish as if into thin air. They had the eyes of eagles and the ability to hear twigs snap a mile off.
Many of the tales were undoubtedly exaggerated. What bothered him was that at the core of every wildly embellished yarn was a kernel of truth. Apaches might not be the men of inhuman ability they were alleged to be, but there was no disputing they were among the finest warriors ever known. He must rely on all the skill he’d acquired if he hoped to effect the rescue.
He completed half of the circuit when the unexpected occurred. The stolen horse, which was tethered to the south of the fire, suddenly looked in his direction and nickered. Instantly flattening, he placed his face against his arm so the pale sheen of his white skin wouldn’t stand out against the ebony backdrop of the night, and peeked over his wrist at the sleepers.
Only two of them were no longer sleeping. The Apache who had taken Winona and one other were both sitting up and gazing all around them. Both glanced at the horse, which had lowered its head and was nibbling at a patch of grass. They continued to probe the darkness for five minutes. Then, satisfied they were safe, they lay down again.
Nate stayed right where he was for almost half an hour. He wanted to be certain the pair were again sound asleep before going another foot. Now that those two had been unaccountably awakened, they would be more apt to jump up at the first unusual noise, no matter how slight. He must be especially careful from here on out.
He widened the circuit he was making to put more distance between the fire and himself. The horse appeared to be dozing, so he needn’t fear in that regard. Winona still lay curled up in a ball. The fact that she hadn’t even lifted her head when the horse whinnied indicated she might be asleep, although he would be surprised if she was. How could anyone sleep under such circumstances? he reflected. He knew he wouldn’t be able to if the Apaches had caught him.
The time crawled by as if weighted with a ten-ton anchor. Nate’s elbows and knees were sore when he stopped fifteen feet from his wife and surveyed the sleeping figures yet again. The warriors seemed to be asleep. His nerves tingling, he edged nearer. Winona’s long tresses were hanging over her face, obscuring her eyes. She wouldn’t realize he was there until he touched her.
His eyes darted from Apache to Apache, constantly checking their postures for any hint that one was awake and aware of his presence. Ten feet separated him from the woman he loved. Then eight feet. Then five.
Suddenly an Apache grunted and rolled onto his back.
Freezing, Nate touched the rifle hammer and the trigger, prepared to try and slay them all rather than be thwarted when he was so close to freeing Winona. But the Apache was breathing regularly and deeply. Thus assured, he crawled another foot and reached out to touch Winona’s shoulder, to shake her and to let her know he was there. As he did his roving gaze happened to fall on the horse, and he saw with a start that the animal was no longer dozing, that it was looking right at him again, and he intuitively knew the damn animal would neigh and give him away just as it had before.
The next moment it did.
This time three Apaches came instantly awake, two of them leaping to their feet and looking all about them.
Nate had nowhere to hide. He was caught out in the open, exposed and vulnerable. Only the fact that the fire had died out delayed his discovery for a second or two. In that span he saw Winona raise her head and their eyes briefly locked. Impulsively, he touched her shoulder. Then one of the Apaches bellowed and rushed at him with a drawn knife.
Twisting, Nate cocked the Hawken and fired when the warrior was almost upon him. The heavy gun boomed, the ball taking the Apache high in the chest and flipping him over. Even as the man went down, Nate was leaping up and backing away to give himself room to maneuver. In a flash he drew his right flintlock and leveled it, but there was no one to shoot.
The Apaches had disappeared into the night.
He paused, about to run to Winona and cut her loose when an arrow streaked out of the darkness and missed his head by an inch or less. He heard it buzz as it went by.
“Run, husband! Run!” Winona cried.
Under ordinary circumstances he would rather chop off an arm or a leg than desert his wife when she needed him the most, but now he had no choice, not with the Apaches liable to pick him off at any second. What good would he do her dead? Realizing he would be foolishly throwing his life away and consigning her to a fate worse than death if he stubbornly tried to fight it out, he reluctantly whirled and ran, shouting over his shoulder, “Don’t fear! I’ll be back!”
An inky form hurtled at him from the left.
Nate fired without aiming, the flintlock belching lead and smoke. The warrior twisted and fell, then quickly scrambled out of sight behind a nearby boulder. Be
hind him he heard one of the Apaches yelling, and off to the left was the patter of running feet. Looking, he saw no one.
Bending low, he skirted a tree and plunged into dry brush that crackled underfoot and caught at his buckskins. It was an obvious mistake. Stopping, he crouched and listened, hoping his pursuers hadn’t located his position.
The hunter had become the hunted. He sank onto his hands and knees and worked his way forward until he was out of the brush. Turning to the left, he advanced until he came to a stunted pine. There, he halted to reload the Hawken and the pistol.
He was terribly upset. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Now the Apaches knew he was on their trail, and should he be lucky enough to escape with his hide intact he would have to work twice as hard to free Winona since they would be on their guard at all times. All because of that lousy horse!
There was one small consolation. Quite by accident he was leading the Apaches away from Pegasus. Odds were they wouldn’t find the Palouse, which was a blessing. If he was left afoot now, not only would any hope of rescuing Winona be gone, but his very survival would be at stake. A man needed a lot more water when on foot, which was more difficult to find since a man couldn’t cover as much territory in search of it as a man on horseback. Nor could a stranded rider find game as readily. If the Apaches found Pegasus, Nate would be hard pressed to stick to their trail and still satisfy his hunger and his thirst.
The guns were loaded. With the Hawken in his left hand and the pistol in his right, he rose and warily hiked northward. The faintest noise was enough to make him as rigid as a tree until he felt safe enough to go on. Given all he knew about Apaches, he anticipated being transfixed or tackled at any moment.
Wilderness: Northwest Passage/Apache Blood (A Wilderness Double Western #6) Page 26
