Madeline Baker

by Prairie Heat

  “Stop!” Matilda pressed her hands over her ears, horrified by the awful images his words brought to mind. Taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands together. “I’ll speak to Mr. McCord.”

  “McCord!” Kane exclaimed. “Hell, he’s as bad as the Indians. He’ll probably be right up front when they start to carve me up.”

  Matilda felt the color drain from her face. What Kane said was all too true. Jess would be there. He was looking forward to it.

  “When?” Kane asked. “Do you know?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  His shoulders sagged in despair. “Mrs. Thornton—Matilda—if you won’t help me escape, then for God’s sake kill me, but don’t let those savages do it an inch at a time.”

  Matilda stared at Kane. He was afraid, so afraid, and she could not blame him. His face was drawn and haggard. There were dark circles under his eyes, a three days’ growth of stubble on his jaw, a damp stain down the front of his trousers. She looked away, knowing he’d had no choice but to relieve himself where he sat. She was shocked by the cruelty of it, the degradation. She couldn’t just leave him there, to be starved and humiliated and finally tortured to death. No matter that he had left her to die in the desert, she could not abandon him to such a cruel fate. She was a civilized human being, a God-fearing Christian.

  “I’ll be back tonight,” she promised.

  “Bless you, Mrs. Thornton,” Kane said fervently.

  *

  Matilda thought the feast would never end. There was dancing and singing, and all the while the Indians drank huge quantities of something called Tula-pah, which was beer made from corn. It was quite potent, McCord had told her. It was fermented for twelve hours or more and then had to be quickly consumed, as it spoiled within twenty-four hours after it was made.

  Matilda stared at the warriors dancing in the light of a huge bonfire. Their hair was adorned with feathers, paint had been daubed on their faces and chests, and their bronze bodies glistened with sweat. She could easily imagine them dancing around Elias Kane, shouting with fiendish delight as they cut him into little pieces.

  Jess offered her a drink, but she shook her head and turned away. He looked every bit as wild-eyed as the Indians.

  The brew was indeed potent. It made the warriors cheerful, and then belligerent, and finally, sleepy. As she watched the men stagger off to bed, she felt a sudden ray of hope. With all the men intoxicated, perhaps freeing Kane would be easier than she’d thought.

  It was after midnight when the feast ended. Lying in bed, she listened to McCord’s even breathing. He’d been more than a little tipsy when they returned to their lodge and had quickly fallen asleep. Still, she waited for over an hour before she slipped out of bed, wanting to be sure he was sleeping soundly.

  As quietly as possible, she tiptoed out of the lodge. Anyone seeing her out at this hour would likely assume she was answering a call of nature, but she doubted if anything short of a cannon blast would arouse the Indians tonight.

  On silent feet, she made her way to the river, a skinning knife clutched in her right hand, a gourd of water in her left.

  Elias Kane smiled broadly when he saw Matilda Thornton coming toward him. Bless the woman, she was really going to help him. His gaze darted anxiously from side to side as Matilda began to cut the rope that bound him to the tree stump, then drew a deep breath as the rope fell away from his chest. He drank deeply from the gourd she handed him, the cold water reviving his strength a little.

  It was an effort for him to stand and he leaned against the stump for support, then lifted the noose from his neck and tossed it to the ground. He was weak, so damn weak, but he was still alive. By damn, he’d have the last laugh on Jess McCord yet!

  “Hurry,” Matilda whispered. “Go before someone sees you.”

  “I need a horse,” Kane said, glancing around. His gaze settled on a big blood bay tethered outside a nearby lodge.

  “I’ll get it,” Matilda said. “You stay here.”

  Kane watched her move through the darkness. She was a pretty woman, and he had always had a weakness for pretty women.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” Kane suggested when Matilda returned with the horse.

  “No. My husband is waiting for me in Tucson.”

  Kane nodded. Had he been stronger, he might have tried to take her by force, but he acknowledged that would not be a smart move. All it would take was one scream and the whole tribe would be on him quicker than a duck on a June bug.

  With an effort, he pulled himself onto the bay’s back and, after a hurried farewell, turned the horse toward the river and rode away from the camp.

  Matilda stood alone in the darkness, the night closing in around her, suddenly frightened by what she had done. She had not worried about consequences before. She had seen a man in misery, felt his fear and done the only thing she could do under the circumstances.

  But now… She shivered as a night bird swept out of the shadows. What would Jess say when he discovered what she had done? What would the Indians do?

  She tried to push her fears aside. No one would know she had freed Kane. They might guess, they might suspect, but they couldn’t prove it. No one had seen her, and if accused, she would deny it.

  She heard dogs barking in the distance, heard a loud rustling in the trees behind her. Had Kane been recaptured?

  Spurred by the twin talons of fear and guilt, she ran for the safety of McCord’s lodge, then cried out in terror as two warriors materialized out of the darkness to block her path. Grabbing her by the arms, they dragged her, kicking and sobbing, to the center of the village where they threw her against a stout wooden post and tied her hands above her head.

  “Please,” she cried, pulling against the rope that bound her hands to the post, “please get McCord!”

  But the warriors turned a deaf ear to her pleas as they raced to the far end of camp, leaving her alone in the dark, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life.

  Chapter Ten

  Jess woke slowly, stretching luxuriously before he sat up. He glanced across the lodge, expecting to find Matilda still asleep, but her bed was empty.

  Frowning, he stood up and pulled on his shirt. It wasn’t like her to leave the lodge without him and he felt a sudden, swift apprehension as he stepped outside.

  A commotion in the center of the camp drew his attention, and he swore under his breath when he saw Mattie tied to a tall post. She was surrounded by a dozen women and children who were poking at her with sticks, reviling her in the Apache tongue as she tried to evade their blows.

  Vittorio stepped out of his lodge, frowning as he conversed with two of his warriors.

  Damn, Jess thought, what the hell was going on?

  He found out a few minutes later when Vittorio joined him.

  “There is trouble, chickasaw,” the chief said solemnly. “Your woman freed the white man during the night. He took one of our horses and escaped. My young men are angry. They were eager to shed the blood of the Indah, and now they have been cheated of his death. It is their wish to see your woman die in the white man’s place.”

  “No!”

  Vittorio laid a restraining hand on McCord’s arm. “Wait. You must think before you act, or your life, too, may be forfeit.”

  “I can’t just leave her there.”

  Vittorio nodded. “I understand your feelings, but they will only play with her today. No serious harm will be done. I beg you not to interfere. I will speak to my warriors. Perhaps I can persuade them to let her go. I will tell them that she is only a woman and ignorant of our ways. I will remind them that she is your woman, and that you are my brother, and that to harm her is to harm a member of my family.”

  “And if they will not listen?”

  Vittorio shrugged. “I am chief only so long as it pleases my people.”

  “That’s no answer.”

  “I think they will not wish to displease me,” Vittorio said, grinning. “I have been a good chief, and
there is no one to take my place.”

  Jess nodded. There was no point in arguing further. For now, he would wait and see. For now.

  *

  Mattie stared at McCord, wondering why he didn’t do something to help her. For over an hour, he had been standing in the shade of a nearby lodge, watching her, watching the Indian women poke and prod and tease. She could not understand the Apache language, but she could tell by their gestures and facial expressions that they were making fun of her sunburned skin and peculiar clothing, that they were mocking her, insulting her. They continued to poke her with their sharp sticks, occasionally drawing blood.

  She wanted to cry, to scream at them to leave her alone, but she sensed that was exactly what they were hoping for and she refused to give them the pleasure of her tears.

  As the morning wore on, she began to sweat profusely; her arms, secured by a rawhide thong above her head, were numb, her wrists sore where the rawhide chafed the tender skin.

  By mid-afternoon, the women had tired of their sport and returned to their usual tasks, leaving her in blessed peace. It was then that Jess went to her. He offered her a drink of water from a small gourd, wiped the perspiration from her face and neck with a wet rag, and gently applied a thick coat of bear grease to her chafed wrists.

  Only then did he speak to her. “Why the hell did you do it?” he demanded. “Why the hell did you let him go?”

  “I couldn’t stand by and let them kill him. I just couldn’t.”

  A muscle twitched in McCord’s jaw. Twice he’d had Kane in his grasp, and twice the wily bastard had managed to get away.

  “I don’t understand you,” Jess said, his anger rivaling his concern for Mattie’s safely. “Elias Kane didn’t think twice about riding off and leaving you behind after the Comanche attacked us. And make no mistake, we’d have both died out there if Vittorio’s people hadn’t come along. Do you think dying of thirst would have been easy?”

  She shook her head, too miserable to argue. And what was there to argue about? Everything he said was true.

  “Dammit, Mattie, he killed my wife, and he would have killed us. He deserves to die, but now he’s gone and you may die in his place tonight.”

  The color drained from Mattie’s face. It had not occurred to her that the Indians might demand her life for what she’d done. She had thought they only meant to punish her for freeing Kane, and she’d considered a day’s suffering in the sun a small price to pay in exchange for a man’s life.

  Jess shook his head, inwardly cursing Elias Kane for all the trouble he’d caused.

  “I can’t stand by and let them kill you,” Jess mused aloud, “so we might both be dead before the night is over.”

  Mattie gazed into his eyes, confused and afraid. Everything Jess had said was true. Why, oh why, hadn’t she left well enough alone?

  *

  Mattie sighed heavily as the sun went down. It had been a long, long day. Her face felt raw, her arms felt like lead, and her legs were weary from standing for so long. Jess had come to her each hour, bringing food and water, wiping the perspiration from her face with a damp cloth. He was angry with her for releasing Kane, fearful for her life, worried for his own. He had not spoken of these things, but she read his concern in the depths of his eyes, heard it in his voice when he assured her that everything would be all right. She wanted to believe him, but she was scared, so scared.

  Slowly, the sun disappeared behind the distant mountains, taking what little courage she had with it. She was going to die. She would never reach Tucson now, never meet the man who was her husband, never be a wife and a mother. But that was not the worst of it. No, far worse than the thought of her own death was the fear that she would be the cause of McCord’s death too.

  Jess. She gazed around the village, wondering where he was.

  *

  Jess McCord kept his gaze on Vittorio’s face as he waited for the chief to speak, knowing that Mattie’s fate, and his own, would be decided in the next few minutes. A muscle twitched in his jaw, a sure sign of his inner tension. He would not let them harm Mattie. He would fight the whole damn camp if he had to before he let them harm a hair of her head.

  Impatient to have the matter settled, he clenched his hands into tight fists. He had spent the last two hours in Vittorio’s lodge, listening as Vittorio and his braves argued back and forth. The older warriors spoke in favor of releasing Mattie. She was only a white woman, after all, they said disdainfully, and there was no honor in shedding the blood of a white woman.

  But the young men disagreed. They had been cheated of the white man’s death, and they wanted a life for a life. Indian women had been killed by whites. Indian women had been brutally raped and mutilated. Where was the honor in that?

  Vittorio nodded. Rising, he let his gaze rest on the face of each warrior present.

  “All that my young men say is true,” the chief allowed. “The white man has always dealt harshly with our people. They have shamed our women and poisoned our men with their firewater. To take vengeance for these wrongs is an honorable thing. What my brother’s woman did was wrong, but she is a stranger among us and ignorant of our ways. It will serve no purpose to take her life.” Vittorio lifted his hand to silence the mutterings of his young men. “I have made my decision. The white woman goes free.”

  McCord held his breath, but the young men accepted Vittorio’s decision. Faces sullen, eyes filled with impotent rage, they filed out of the chief’s lodge. They did not agree with Vittorio, but they would not openly defy him.

  “You must go now, tonight,” Vittorio told McCord. “I will give you horses and supplies so that you may travel swiftly.”

  Jess nodded. He had hoped to rest his leg another couple of days, but perhaps this was better. Kane already had a hell of a head start.

  Vittorio smiled, his dark eyes glittering with an age-old hatred of white men. “When you find the white man, I hope you will cut out his heart and leave his body for the vultures.”

  “It is my strong wish.”

  Vittorio nodded. “When you have avenged yourself on your enemy, I hope you will come back to us.”

  “A-co-d, chickasaw,” Jess replied, grasping Vittorio’s forearm in a gesture of farewell. “Thank you, my brother.”

  *

  Mattie’s heart lay heavy in her breast as she watched Jess saddle his horse. Was he leaving her here, alone? She glanced quickly around the village, wondering what would happen to her when he was gone. A large group of young men stood together outside Vittorio’s lodge, their dark eyes smoldering with malice when they looked at her.

  She turned her head to look at Jess again. He was loading a pack mule. One saddle horse, one pack mule. He really was leaving her behind, leaving her at the mercy of a bunch of savages, and all because she had followed her conscience and turned Kane loose.

  She could not bear to watch him go and she closed her eyes, oblivious to everything but the ache in her heart and the horrible fear that engulfed her. Tears burned her eyes as she resigned herself to a horrible death. But even the thought of dying didn’t hurt as much as the thought of McCord’s desertion. How could he leave her here?

  “Mattie? Mattie!”

  She opened her eyes to find Jess standing beside her. So, he had come to say goodbye.

  And then she saw the knife in his hand. Oh, God, surely he didn’t mean to take part in whatever terrible death the Indians had planned for her?

  Her heart was beating so rapidly she was certain she would faint. Her gaze was frozen to the knife in McCord’s hand as he raised his arm—and cut her hands free.

  Her arms fell limply to her sides as she stared into his face, too confused to speak.

  “Mattie, are you all right?”

  She seemed to have lost the power of speech, the ability to move. She could only stand there, staring at him, at the knife in his hand.

  “What the hell…” Jess muttered, and sheathing the knife, he swept her into his arms and carried her to h
is horse. Lifting her into the saddle, he vaulted up behind her, took up the reins of a second saddle horse and the pack mule, and rode out of the village without a backward glance.

  They rode through the dark night in silence, Jess held mute by his anger at Kane’s escape and the throbbing ache in his leg, Mattie by a relief so intense it was almost painful. She wasn’t going to die after all.

  They rode for over an hour and then Jess drew rein in the shelter of some trees, spread a blanket for her and ordered her to bed.

  She didn’t argue, and in minutes she was asleep, safe from the anger that smoldered in Jess McCord’s slate-gray eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mattie felt better with each mile that passed. She had been uncomfortable in the Indian village, surrounded by people who believed in strange gods and spoke of killing their enemies with such ease. True, she had been close to death, but in the end, it had all worked out fine. She was free, and Elias Kane was free, and she could not be sorry for that. No matter what Kane had done, he didn’t deserve the kind of death the Indians would have given him.

  She stared at McCord’s back. Almost everything had worked out for the best, she amended. Jess did not speak to her as they traveled across the flat, grass-covered prairie, and she knew he was still angry with her for freeing Kane. She could not fault him for that. Unknowingly, she had placed both their lives in jeopardy, but she had only done what she thought best at the time. How could she have lived with herself if she’d stood by and let McCord and the Apaches torture another human being?

  Perspiration trickled between her breasts and dampened her back as the day wore on. She wished she had her hat to shade her face from the relentless sun, but it had been left behind when Maba rescued them. She removed her jacket and daringly unfastened the top three buttons of her shirtwaist, wishing she could imitate McCord, who rode bare to the waist.