Apache Flame

by Madeline Baker

  He looked at her for a long moment, then went to the cave’s entrance and peered out. All was clear, for the moment.

  He checked the cinch on his saddle, made sure the rifle was in the boot, then picked up the reins. If he was going, he’d best do it now before he changed his mind.

  He turned to tell her goodbye, and she was there, at his side. He kissed her one more time, for luck, and then led his horse out of the cave.

  Outside, he rearranged the scrub brush over the opening until he was satisfied that the Comanche couldn’t find the entrance, and then he swung into the saddle and headed north.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alisha watched Mitch leave the cave, and all her vaunted courage went with him. But then, he had always been her strength. She clutched his pistol to her breast, her mind flooding with memories of Mitch…Mitchy holding her, comforting her, fighting her battles, teaching her to swim, to hunt. Mitchy, kissing her hurts, drying her tears, making her laugh. Mitchy…she couldn’t think of her past without thinking of him. He was an integral part of every memory, good and bad.

  Mitchy…

  “Hurry,” she whispered. “Please hurry.”

  A low moan caught her attention and she glanced over her shoulder to see Elk Chaser.

  “Fire…” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Fire…put it…out.”

  “Why?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Comanche…smell…smoke.”

  “Oh!” Hurrying to the rear of the cave, she threw handfuls of dirt on the flames, shuddered as the cave went dark save for the tiny slivers of light that infiltrated the brush that covered the cave’s entrance.

  She stared at Elk Chaser, now just a dark shape lying on the floor of the cave.

  “No, don’t!” She scooted toward him and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move. You’re badly hurt.”

  “Where is…Otter?”

  “Otter?” She frowned a moment. “You mean Mitch? He went for help.”

  “Water…”

  His voice sounded weak and raspy and she wondered what she would do if he died. The thought of being alone in the dark with a dead body sent a cold chill down her spine. Uncapping Mitch’s canteen, she held it for Elk Chaser while he drank and drank.

  When he finished, his head lolled forward. She capped the canteen and put it aside, then quickly checked his pulse, praying that he hadn’t died.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the faint pulse in his wrist.

  Needing something to do, she went to where the horses stood head to tail near one wall of the cave.

  “Hi, Sophie.” She scratched the mare’s ears, wondering how she was going to care for the horses while Mitch was gone. She couldn’t take them outside. “Bet you’d like to get rid of that saddle, wouldn’t you girl?”

  Fumbling with the cinch, she finally managed to get it undone. She hadn’t expected the saddle to be so heavy. Reeling under the weight, she dropped it on the ground.

  Elk Chaser’s horse snorted softly as she approached him. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She held out her hand and the horse sniffed her palm and then, to her surprise, he licked her. His tongue was warm and wet.

  “I’ll bet you’re thirsty, too, aren’t you? But I don’t have anything to…” She patted the horse’s neck. “Wait a minute.”

  Going to the cave’s entrance, she picked up her hat and filled it with water. “Only a little,” she said, as the horse began to drink. “I don’t know how long it’s going to have to last.”

  * * * * *

  Mitch leaned low over his mount’s neck, urging the horse to go faster, faster, please, just a little faster.

  He thought about Alisha, sitting in the cave with night coming on. For all her bravado, he knew she was frightened. She had always been a little afraid of the dark. Of course, she might have outgrown that by now. She had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and he felt a sharp pang at the years that had been lost to them. No more, he vowed, no more. He had found her again, and he would never let her go.

  He knew a moment of relief as he saw a familiar landmark in the distance. And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a rider coming up fast. He cursed softly. It was one of the Comanches.

  The Indian rode as if he was part of the horse. Legs gripping his mount, the warrior drew an arrow from the quiver slung over his back, sighted down the shaft, and let it fly.

  Mitch swore as the arrow found its target. His horse stumbled and went down, the shaft protruding from its neck a few inches above the shoulder. Mitch rolled free and gained his feet as the warrior rode toward him. Before the Comanche could fit another arrow to his bow, Mitch pulled his gun and fired, and the warrior toppled over his horse’s rump, dead before he hit the ground.

  The horse, a stocky calico gelding, had been well trained. It snorted and sidestepped a few feet to the side, but stayed near its rider.

  Holstering his weapon, Mitch walked slowly toward the horse. “Easy, now,” he murmured. “Easy, fella.”

  The horse backed up a step, fox-like ears twitching back and forth.

  “Easy, now,” Mitch murmured, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice, afraid he’d spook the horse and send it running for home. “Easy, fella.” Moving slowly and carefully, he reached for the reins.

  He led the Indian pony back to where his own horse lay thrashing on the ground. Drawing his weapon, Mitch put the animal out of its misery, then swung aboard the Indian pony and headed north.

  * * * * *

  Alisha stood near the entrance of the cave, peering through a narrow opening in the brush. In the distance, she could see several Indians quartering back and forth. At first, she had hoped they were the two warriors who had been with Elk Chaser. Almost, she had called out, but something had warned her to keep still, and when two other riders joined them, she knew they were Comanches, and they were looking for her.

  Elk Chaser moaned softy and she hurried to his side and placed her hand over his mouth. “Be quiet,” she whispered, and he nodded.

  Never had time passed so slowly. Gradually, the inside of the cave grew darker until she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  She gave Elk Chaser a drink, then offered him a piece of jerky, but he pushed it away.

  When he slept again, she went to stand by Sophie, comforted somehow by the horse’s warmth.

  “He’ll come back,” she said. “I know he’ll come back as soon as he can.”

  She blinked rapidly, fighting the urge to cry. “Hurry, Mitchy. Please, hurry.”

  * * * * *

  He hovered between life and death, and he knew it. His body felt heavy, racked with pain. It hurt to breathe, and he was thirsty, so thirsty.

  It would be easy to surrender and let death win. His spirit was ready to go, ready to escape its house of pain and follow the path to the After World.

  No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than he felt his spirit leave his body and he found himself standing in front of a cave. A mulberry tree grew near the cave and a guard stood beside it. The guard made no move to stop him, and he went into the cave. It was large, without much light, but he walked forward until he fell down a narrow passage. Down, down, he fell, and the passage grew wider and lighter, until it was like daylight, although there was no sun. The passage grew wide, then narrower and then ended in a narrow path. Two huge snakes were coiled here. They hissed at his approach, but he showed no fear, and they let him pass. Further on, he came to two grizzly bears, but, like the snakes, they let him pass by because he showed no fear. He followed the narrow passage and came upon two mountain lions crouched in the path, but he spoke to them, and they turned aside and let him pass by. And then, as the trail widened again, he came to a forest and beyond the forest there was a wide green valley. He stood on a ridge and gazed down into the valley. There were many lodges and horses and buffalo. A lake shimmered like blue glass in a field of g
reen spring grass. He saw people he knew, and they all looked happy and well fed. Joy swelled within him at the thought of joining those he knew and loved, but when he went to join them, he could not.

  And then a man dressed in white buckskins materialized before him, and called him by name.

  “You must go back,” the warrior said. “We are not ready for you.”

  “No.” Elk Chaser looked out over the valley, and saw his mother and his father and his younger sister who had died of the white man’s coughing sickness when she was only nine summers. And he saw Blue Willow, who had been killed by the Blue Coats three months after he took her for his wife.

  “If you stay,” the warrior said, “one who now lives will die.”

  He looked at the valley, at the horses and clear streams, at his family and friends, and everything within him yearned for the peace and plenty spread before him.

  He took a step forward, one arm outstretched…

  And the vision was gone, and he was back in his body, burning with fever.

  * * * * *

  Alisha held the canteen to Elk Chaser’s mouth. For a moment, she had been certain he was dead. He drank greedily, then drifted off again. Taking a scrap of petticoat, she soaked it with water, then laid it across his brow.

  Soaking another scrap, she began to sponge his arms and legs and chest, praying all the while that he would live, that Mitch would soon return. She mourned her father, and grieved for the son she had never seen, for the years of his life that she had missed, and always, in the back of her mind, she prayed for Mitch, that he would make it safely back to the Apache, that he would return before it was too late, before Elk Chaser died, before the Comanches found the cave.

  She fell asleep with his name, like a prayer, on her lips.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mitch slowed his lathered horse. At any other time, he would have felt guilty for pushing the animal so hard, but not now. The horse’s wellbeing paled in comparison to saving Alisha’s life.

  He waved to the two warriors standing guard at the entrance of the rancheria as he urged his weary mount down the narrow trail that led to the valley.

  Heads turned as he rode toward his mother’s lodge. Several of the men pointed at his horse as he rode by, apparently recognizing the war markings painted on the horse as Comanche. Several of warriors followed in his wake. When he dismounted, the men gathered around.

  “Where is the husband of White Robe and the men who rode with him?” a warrior known as Fights the Wind asked belligerently. He stood before Mitch, his dislike for White Robe’s son evident in his voice and his eyes.

  “We were attacked by Comanches,” Mitch said. “My mother’s husband was badly wounded. I don’t know about the other two.”

  White Robe stepped out of her lodge, her smile of welcome fading when she saw that Mitch was alone.

  Mitch handed his horse’s reins to a young boy who was passing by. “Cool him out for me, will you?”

  The boy looked up at Mitch, obviously not understanding his words. White Robe repeated them in Apache, and the boy took the reins and began walking the horse back and forth.

  She watched the boy a moment and Mitch knew she was gathering her courage. She took a deep breath, then turned to face him. “Where is my husband?”

  As gently as possible, Mitch told his mother how he had found the Comanches who had attacked Red Clements and taken Alisha, and all that had happened afterward.

  “You must take me to my husband immediately,” White Robe said, and turned to enter the lodge.

  “No,” Mitch placed a restraining hand on his mother’s arm. “There may still be Comanches in the area. I will not put you in danger.” He glanced at the men who had gathered around. “Shi ma, ask the warriors if they will go back with me.” He could have tried to ask them himself, but his Apache was not yet fluent for speech making, and there was no time to waste.

  White Robe repeated Mitch’s question in Apache for the benefit of those who didn’t understand English.

  Fights the Wind understood all too well. He stepped forward. “We will not follow you, white man!” he declared in English. “Two of our best men are dead because of your foolishness, and our brother is badly wounded. Perhaps, he, too, has gone to join his ancestors.”

  Several of the men nearby nodded in agreement.

  “The white woman is nothing to us,” Fights the Wind went on, emboldened by the support of those around him. “If you wish to risk your life by going back for your woman, so be it. But we will not go with you. We will not follow a white man.”

  Mitch swore softly, angered by Fights the Wind’s harsh words. Still, he could not blame the man for feeling as he did. Mitch had only been in the village a few weeks. He was not a warrior. He was not a proven leader. Still, he had expected more support.

  White Robe marched into the center of the crowd. “I do not believe what I am hearing!” she exclaimed. “My husband is in need of help, and you,” she gestured at the warriors gathered nearby, “you who call yourself men would turn your back on him because he went to help my son? My son is Apache. He is my seed. His woman was captured by our enemies, and he went to her aid. Would any of you do less? Would any of you refuse to help a brother in need? I am ashamed of all of you this day. You are not men! You are not warriors! You are scared children.” She held out her hand. “You, Yellow Raven, give me a weapon. I will go with my son.”

  Yellow Raven took a step backward, and White Robe lowered her arm.

  Red Clements poked his head out of the wickiup. “Hell,” he said as he stepped outside. “I’ll side ya iffen these men ain’t got the stomach fer it.”

  White Robe looked around, her scorn-filled gaze resting briefly on the face of each of the warriors. “It is a sad day for our people when only a woman and a wounded white man are willing to ride to the aid of one who is in need.”

  A tall warrior known as Spirit Walking stepped forward. “I will go.”

  Another man reluctantly joined the first. “I will go.”

  “And I.”

  “I, too, will go,” said a third. He gestured at Mitch. “But I will not follow this man. He is not a war leader.” The warrior’s gaze rested on Spirit Walking. “Spirit Walking has proven himself in battle. I will follow him.”

  Nods and murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd.

  Mitch felt a surge of hope. He didn’t care who led the damned party as long as they got going, and soon. He was acutely aware of every passing moment, afraid that he would get back to Alisha too late, that the Comanches would have found her, killed her and Elk Chaser both. He had an image of riding back and finding Alisha lying dead in the cave, her body cold and lifeless.

  White Robe smiled as she went to stand beside Mitch. “I will prepare food for your journey.”

  “Hurry!” He was overcome by a sense of urgency, a horrible fear that he might already be too late. He never should have left her, would never be able to live with the guilt if anything happened to her.

  “You will need a fresh mount,” White Robe remarked.

  “I’d appreciate the loan of a horse myself,” Clements said.

  “Forget it,” Mitch said. “You can hardly walk.”

  “Maybeso, but we ain’t walkin’.” He held up a hand, silencing any further argument from Mitch. “I can ride and I can shoot, and I got me a score to settle with them damn Comanch, ya know.”

  “Yeah,” Mitch said, “I reckon you do, at that.”

  White Robe smiled at Clements. “I shall be pleased to lend you a horse,” she said. Turning, she called Rides the Buffalo to her. “Go quickly and catch up two of your father’s best horses.”

  With a nod, Rides the Buffalo ran off toward the horse herd.

  The warriors who had agreed to go with Mitch hurried off to their lodges to gather their belongings and collect their horses and weapons.

  In less than an hour, they were ready, eleven warriors, mostly young men eager for battle, one wounded old trader,
and Mitch.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Red said. Gritting his teeth, he hauled himself onto the back of a sturdy buckskin gelding and rode toward the warriors.

  “I’ll bring Elk Chaser back to you, shi ma,” Mitch said. “I promise.”

  White Robe drew Rides the Buffalo to her side. “I know you will.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mitch said. He gave her a smile and a wink, then went to join the other warriors, who were riding for the trail out of the stronghold.

  Mitch was surprised to see Fights the Wind in the group. He wondered briefly if the surly warrior was there to help, or to put an arrow in his back when no one was looking. He knew the man only by name, yet there was no mistaking the warrior’s animosity. His eyes burned with hatred and distrust.

  They rode out of the valley single file, silent as the hot wind blowing over the face of the desert. Thirteen men. Mitch hoped it wasn’t a bad omen.

  * * * * *

  Alisha wrapped her arms around her knees and stared toward the entrance of the cave. She had lost track of the time. Funny, how the hours seemed to race by when you were having a good time, and how slowly the minutes crawled by when you were lonely and scared or enduring something painful.

  She glanced over at Elk Chaser. He seemed to be resting comfortably. She had sponged him with cool water several times, made sure he had plenty to drink, kept him covered so he didn’t catch a chill.

  Afraid to think of what the future might hold, of what might happen if Mitch didn’t make it back, she closed her eyes, searching her mind for a pleasant memory. She smiled as the present slipped away, swallowed up in the rosy golden glow of the past, of the first time Mitch had made love to her…

  She ran through the foliage that grew alongside the river, a wide smile curving her lips. She didn’t dare turn around.

  “Go on, run!” Mitch called. “But it won’t do you any good!”

  She didn’t answer, just kept running, her heart pounding.