Apache Flame

by Madeline Baker

  He tried not to think about how afraid Alisha must be, refused to even consider that the Indians might have killed her. He’d go crazy if he thought that. No, she was alive and well, and he would find her. He had to believe that. He could well imagine her fear. She’d have no reason to believe anyone knew where she was, or that Clements was alive.

  And yet, over and above everything else, he wondered why she had been traveling to Apache Pass in the first place. Clements had told him she claimed to have family there. Clements had seemed lucid enough, but maybe he’d been out of his head with pain and fever. Lord knew he was badly hurt. Mitch grunted softly. Surely if Alisha had family living with the Apaches, she would have mentioned it to him long ago. While growing up, they had spent a good deal of time talking about his mother’s people, both of them curious about the Apache way of life

  Family. He was still puzzling over what that could mean when he crawled under his blanket and went to sleep.

  * * * * *

  White Robe sat outside her lodge, sewing the sole to a moccasin she was making for Otter, when Elk Chaser and the others returned to the stronghold. Laying her sewing aside, she ran toward her husband.

  Elk Chaser smiled, pleased that she had missed him though he had been gone but two days and a night.

  Rides the Buffalo jumped off his pony and ran toward his mother. “A deer, shi ma, I killed a deer.”

  “Enjuh,” she replied distractedly. “That is good.” She hugged him quickly. “You must tell me all about it later. But first I must speak to your father.”

  Hearing the concern in his wife’s voice, Elk Chaser dismounted and tossed the reins of his horse to his son. “Look after our horses, ciye.”

  Rides the Buffalo started to say something but a stern look from his father stilled his tongue. Taking up the reins to his own horse as well, he turned and walked toward the river.

  “Something troubles you, my wife.”

  “Yes,” she said, and quickly explained what had happened while they walked to their lodge. “And so,” she said, “he has gone on his own to find her.”

  Elk Chaser nodded. It would have been wiser to wait for help, but he understood Otter’s impatience. From what White Robe said, Otter had deep feelings for the white woman.

  “I will find Diyehii and Cheis and we will go after him.”

  “Ashoge, my husband. I will have food for your journey prepared when you return.”

  With a nod, Elk Chaser went to find Diyehii and Cheis.

  * * * * *

  Alisha gazed into the distance, the countryside as foreign to her eyes as the language of her captors was to her ears. It was like being caught in a nightmare from which she could not escape.

  That morning, she had been roused from a troubled sleep while the sky was still dark. A warrior who had managed to convey to her that his name was Mukwooru had offered her food and drink, allowed her a moment of privacy, then lifted her onto the back of her horse. Taking the reins, he had vaulted onto his own mount. That had been hours ago. She wondered how much longer it would take to reach their village, though she was in no hurry. Wondered what they had been doing so far from home in the first place.

  But, over all, was the mind-numbing fear of the future, of what fate awaited her when they reached their destination.

  She glanced at Mukwooru, riding beside her. He was only a little taller than she was, though he was heavily muscled. He had long black braids, dark copper skin, and a face as hard and unyielding as stone. He wore a buckskin shirt, a breechclout, and a sort of boot, painted blue, that reached from his foot to his hip. A single eagle feather was tied in his hair.

  She quickly turned her head away when he caught her staring. She looked down at her bound hands, overcome by a feeling of despair. Even if the Indians didn’t kill her, she would never see her son, never see Mitch or any of her friends again. Faced with the possibility of living with Indians for the rest of her life, she thought she would rather they killed her. Better that than live with a people she would never understand, who would never understand her. Give me liberty, or give me death! She smiled as the words of Patrick Henry flitted through her mind. Bobby Moss had played the part of Patrick Henry in the Fourth of July pageant last year…

  She sighed, wondering who the school board had found to teach school in her absence. She would miss teaching, just as she would miss Bobby and Becky and Lucinda and all her other students.

  But it was Mitch she would miss most of all. She blinked back her tears, thinking of all the years they had lost, years they might have spent together if her father hadn’t interfered.

  “Oh, Papa,” she whispered. “How could you have done such a thing?”

  But for her father’s lies, she and Mitch would have been married now, living together, raising their son. They might have had other children.

  The Indians made camp at dusk. Thoroughly weary, she sat down where Mukwooru indicated, accepted the food and drink he offered her. By the almost jovial mood of the men, she surmised that their journey would soon be over. Once they reached the Indian village, there would be little chance for her to escape. And even if she did, where would she go? She wouldn’t last more than a day or two out in the wilderness on her own.

  Despair and discouragement weighed heavily upon her and she tried to fight them off, tried to find a ray of hope in the morass of hopelessness that perched on her shoulder like a carrion crow. But, try as she might, she could see no way out of her present situation. She was hopelessly lost in this hostile land, hopelessly ill prepared to survive in this barren desert the Indians called home.

  She gasped as a young man grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. The other warriors gathered around, their expressions curious, or amused, or lustful, as the young man lifted a lock of her hair and let it fall through his fingers. He said something that made the other men laugh, and then he reached for the ties of her tunic. Several of the men called to him, apparently urging him on.

  With a cry, Alisha jerked away, her heart pounding with terror as she realized her worst fear was about to come true.

  The warrior growled something at her and then, his face etched with fury, he slapped her across the face, hard enough to make her ears ring. Clutching her left shoulder with one hand, he reached for the tie on her right shoulder with the other.

  She stood there a moment, her cheek throbbing. Oh, Lord, she thought, please help me. I’m so afraid.

  And like the answer to a prayer, the words of one of her father’s favorite Psalms whispered through her mind. O Lord my God, in thee do I put my trust. Save me from all them that persecute me, and deliver me. Lest he tear my soul like a lion, rending it to pieces, while there is none to deliver.

  She stared at the men surrounding her. Mitch wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t surrender without a fight, and neither would she. No matter how bad things seemed, there was always hope. Mitch had taught her that.

  She wouldn’t just stand there and do nothing, wouldn’t surrender her virtue without a fight.

  A murmur ran through the crowd as the warrior unfastened the tie and the material fell away, exposing her shoulder. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, she drove her knee into the warrior’s groin as hard as she could.

  The air whooshed out of the young man’s lungs as he doubled over, his hands clutching his groin. There was an explosion of laughter from the other men as the warrior dropped to the ground and rolled back and forth, his face a mask of agony.

  One of the other men said something to his companions, then started toward her. It was then that Mukwooru shoved his way into the crowd, his face dark with anger. He spoke to the warriors gathered around, pointing at Alisha and then at himself, and though she couldn’t understand what was being said, it was obvious that he was telling his companions that she belonged to him.

  The other men drifted away, muttering amongst themselves, while Mukwooru led her to his bedroll and pushed her down.

  She stared up at him, her hands clenc
hed, wondering if he was going to finish what the young warrior had started. Mukwooru stared at her for several moments, his eyes hot, and then he turned and walked away.

  Alisha sank down on his blankets, relief washing through her. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered fervently. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Later, as she lay on the ground looking up at the stars, she remembered another Bible verse that had always given her comfort. The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.

  Please, God, she prayed as she drifted to sleep. Let it be so.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mitch reined his horse to a halt. Leaning forward, he patted the bay’s neck while he scanned the ground for sign. He offered a silent prayer of thanks that the Comanches’ trail was still easy to follow, that, judging from the footprints he had seen earlier, Alisha was still alive, thank God.

  He would find her, or die trying, he thought. And once he found her, he was never letting her out of his sight again. He was going to wed her and bed her and she wasn’t going to have a damn thing to say about it. He had spent the last five years thinking about her, wanting her, needing her, and he damn well meant to have her…

  He swore softly, and then laughed. As if he’d ever been able to make Alisha do anything she didn’t want to. Of course, he’d never really tried because, growing up, they had always seemed to drift toward the same things…she had liked hunting and swimming and hiking in the hills, the same as he had. He had taught her to ride on an old plow horse that had belonged to his father. Alisha had been eight or nine at the time, and more than a little afraid of the horse. It had taken him about three days to convince get her up on that old mare, but once she overcame her fears, she’d done pretty well. Of course, having only the one horse, they’d had to ride double. Not that he had cared. At that age, most boys shunned the company of little girls unless they were teasing them, but Alisha had been his best friend, his only friend. Growing up, he had beat the tar out of more than one bully who had been mean to her until the boys at school learned to leave her alone or face the consequences.

  With a sigh, he urged the bay into a trot, hoping that, like the knights of old in the stories Alisha used to read to him, he would arrive in time to rescue his lady fair.

  * * * * *

  He rode all that day and into the evening, hoping to cut the Comanches’ lead, and just when he was about to call it quits for the night, he saw the faint glow of a campfire.

  He quickly reined the bay to a halt, afraid the mare might betray his presence is she caught the scent of other horses. Dismounting, he tethered the bay to a clump of scraggly brush. He crawled forward on his hands and knees for several yards, then dropped down on his belly, inching as close as he dared to the camp. In the light of the flames, he could make out the forms of a dozen warriors squatting around the fire. Alisha sat a little apart from the men.

  Though he couldn’t see her face clearly, Alisha looked none the worse for wear, as far as he could tell. At least she was alive.

  Clinging to that thought, he crawled back to where he had left the bay. He loosened the saddle girth a little; then, with a blanket draped over his shoulders, he ate a little of the food his mother had prepared for him.

  His mother. It was still hard to believe that she was alive. He wished now that he hadn’t waited so long to visit her people. All these years he’d thought her dead, and she had been living with the Apache, getting married, having another child. He grinned as he thought of his little brother and then frowned as he turned his thoughts back to Alisha. He had to get her away from the Comanches now, before they reached their village. Trying to sneak her out of their camp would be suicide. Trying to pick the Indians off one at a time would only alert them to his presence. What he needed was a diversion.

  He grunted softly. There was plenty of dry grass and brush in the area. It was risky, but at the moment, it was the only thing he could think of.

  Judging from where the Comanches were now, and the course they had been following, he had a pretty good idea of the direction they would take when they broke camp. With luck, he would be able to get ahead of them, unseen.

  * * * * *

  Alisha wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of smoke. She’d been half asleep. Now, she looked up as Mukwooru reined his horse to a halt. Her own mount stopped beside the warrior’s. A fierce wind had started blowing a short time ago. Since Mukwooru was leading her horse, there had no need for her to watch where she was going, and she had been riding with her head down and her eyes closed to keep the wind from stinging her eyes. Now, she heard the warrior mutter what sounded like a curse.

  The other warriors gathered around Mukwooru, all talking quickly. It was then that Alisha noticed a heavy layer of smoke in the distance.

  Looking closer, she saw that the grass was on fire. Fanned by the wind, it was coming in their direction. Alisha looked at the smoke, wiped her eyes, and looked again. It wasn’t possible, but she would have sworn she had seen a man riding in the midst of the smoke, dragging a clump of burning brush behind his horse. She tried to get a better look, but the smoke was too thick now. Her horse danced beneath her, its ears twitching uneasily as the acrid smell of the smoke grew stronger.

  Mukwooru silenced the warriors. He spoke to them, his tone urgent as he gestured at a dry creek bed about a hundred yards in the distance.

  With a wild cry, the warriors whipped their horses, heading toward the creek bed, which was their only possible refuge from the fire. With luck, the flames would jump the creek bed and leave them unscathed.

  Alisha grabbed hold of the saddle horn as Mukwooru urged his horse into a run, forcing her horse to do the same. She glanced over her shoulder. Thick clouds of blue-gray smoke hovered over the prairie. She could see the flames now. Hot red tongues of fire that danced and slithered over the ground, greedily devouring the dry prairie grasses. A jackrabbit sprang out of a clump of sage, bounding away.

  She screamed as her horse plunged over the sandy embankment, sliding on its haunches before it gained its feet again.

  The other warriors quickly dismounted. Forcing their horses to lay down so that they were below the level of the creek bed, the men lay across the necks of their mounts to keep the animals from rising.

  Mukwooru dropped the reins to Alisha’s horse as he dismounted, then turned and handed his horse’s reins to one of the other men to keep the animal from bolting. Seeing what might be her only chance to escape, Alisha leaned forward in the saddle, one hand clutching the pommel while she grabbed her horse’s reins. Heart pounding, she slammed her heels against Sophie’s flanks as hard as she could.

  It was a big risk, one that might very well cost her her life, yet it might also be the chance she had prayed for. Knowing she would rather die than spend the rest of her life as a captive, she urged the mare onward.

  The horse, already spooked by the scent of smoke, sprang forward, its shoulder slamming into Mukwooru, knocking the startled warrior off his feet.

  She heard Mukwooru’s shout as Sophie scrambled up the embankment. Holding the reins in one hand and the saddle horn in the other, she hung on for dear life as the mare raced across the prairie, heading for the tree line, away from the Comanches, away from the fire that chased her like a living, breathing thing. She had to reach the trees, had to find a place to hide. It was the only chance she had.

  “Run, Sophie!” she cried, drumming her heels against the mare’s sides. “Run!”

  They were almost at the tree line when Alisha heard a shout. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Mukwooru riding out of the smoke toward her.

  Time slowed, stood still, and she knew he was going to catch her…

  * * * * *

  Mitch glanced over his shoulder. The fire behind him was spreading across the prairie, fanned by the wind. Dropping the rope secured to a clump of burning brush, he rode on aways, then stopped again and looked back to see if his plan worked. He had taken a big gamble in setting the prairi
e grass on fire, but then, he’d never been afraid of risks, until now. He had been certain the Comanches would take shelter in the dry creek bed rather than try to run for the trees, which were farther away, and time proved him right. He felt a surge of satisfaction as the Indians ran for the creek bed. As a child, Alisha had always had more than her fair share of gumption and he was praying that that hadn’t changed, that in the confusion caused by the fire, she would cut and run if the opportunity presented itself.

  He smiled, his heart swelling with pride and relief when he saw her horse break from the creek bed a few minutes later, but the smile quickly died when he saw one of the Comanche warriors set out in hot pursuit.

  Mitch spurred his horse, his heart leaping into his throat. This was something he hadn’t planned on.

  His horse was digging up the ground with every stride as they raced toward the creek bed where the rest of the Comanche had taken refuge. He bent low over his mount’s neck, felt the big bay gather itself, and then they were sailing over the creek bed.

  He heard the surprised shouts of the Indians as the bay cleared the ravine. Glancing back, he saw the warriors pointing in his direction, heard their angry cries as they vaulted onto the backs of their horses and poured out of the ravine like angry ants whose nest had been destroyed.

  But he had no time to worry about them, not now, not when Alisha was in danger. Looking ahead, he sought a route that would take him around the fire and into the trees.

  * * * * *

  Mukwooru lashed his horse unmercifully, determined to catch the white woman. He had no woman of his own, had wanted no woman until he had pulled the white girl from the back of her horse and looked into her terrified brown eyes. He had quickly claimed her as his captive and warned the other warriors to leave her alone. He would not lose her.

  He slowed his horse as he entered the tree line. The trees might catch fire, but they would not burn as quickly as the dry grasses of the prairie. The heavy foliage would slow the fire’s onslaught.