He moved toward the wickiup by the lake, placing the soles of his moccasins down lightly with each step, wary of snapping a twig or causing a loose stone to roll. Close up, the wickiups were like great black turtles. Penetrating the darkness within each was impossible.
When he was halfway through the village he heard a grunt from a wickiup he was passing and halted, his scalp tingling until the grunt was replaced by low snoring. His palms slick, he crept past dwelling after dwelling until only one remained in front of him: the one where his wife was being held.
Suddenly he thought of the stolen horse. The animal was staring at him, but so far had made no sound. He tensed, dreading a whinny. A minute went by. Two. The horse lowered its head, disinterested. If he could, he would have given it a hug.
Nate leveled the Hawken and tiptoed toward the entrance. Suddenly something moved inside. In three quick bounds he was to the right of the opening, the Hawken upraised to bash out the brains of the warrior should the man step out. A heartbeat later someone did, only it wasn’t the Apache.
It was Winona.
She backed out, her footfalls completely silent, and had begun to turn when she saw him. Her eyes widened and glistened as if from moisture. Her mouth forming a perfect oval, she threw herself into his arms and buried her face against his neck.
Nate smelled the scent of her hair and felt her warm body pressed flush with his. He wanted to cry for joy, but he fought back the tears. Now was not the time, he told himself. Slowly he lowered the Hawken and gave Winona a fleeting embrace. Then he whispered in her ear, “Did you kill him?”
She shook her head no.
Too bad, Nate reflected. Taking her hand, he stepped to the bay and carefully reached down to untie the rope. The animal looked at him but made no noise. Moving to the lake, he turned to the right, hoping the soft lapping of the waves would cover the dull plodding of the bay’s hoofs. Proceeding cautiously, they covered fifty yards without mishap. Then a hundred.
Winona was giving his hand such a squeeze that it hurt. She unexpectedly leaned against him and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I knew you would come, my husband,” she whispered.
“I would never give up as long as I lived,” Nate whispered back, and kissed her in return.
“I did not expect you so soon. I thought I would have to hide until the Apaches stopped looking for me, then try to find you.”
“I was lucky,” Nate said.
“Naiche knew you would show up too, but not tonight. He thought it would take you two or three days if Naretena did not get you.” She paused, then elaborated. “Naretena and six others left this afternoon to hunt you down.”
“I saw them,” Nate whispered. “Who is Naiche?”
“The warrior who stole me. He was impressed by you, my husband, by the way you tracked us and fought them when you tried to save me. He said he had never known a white or Mexican who was a match for the Apaches, but you are.”
“He said that?”
“In his way he is an honorable man.”
Nate changed the subject. “Didn’t he tie you tonight?”
“He did, but not as tightly as before.” Winona grinned. “My teeth are as sharp as a beaver’s.”
By now they were well clear of the village and bearing to the south so Nate could reclaim Pegasus. He kept a vigilant watch on the wickiups, fearing the one called Naiche would awaken and discover Winona was missing. Truth to tell, he was surprised the warrior hadn’t awakened when she snuck from the dwelling. Then he reminded himself that Naiche had just come back from a long, arduous raid during which the warrior must have gotten little rest. Secure in his own wickiup, Naiche must be sleeping as soundly as a hibernating bear.
“How are the others?” Winona asked.
“Francisco took Zach and Blue Water Woman back to the hacienda. Shakespeare was wounded but I expect him to pull through. He’s as tough as a grizzly and three times as ornery.”
“I feared you were dead until you showed up on the slope of that mountain, riding right into the trap the Apaches had set. Naiche said that what you did was one of the bravest acts he ever witnessed.”
“It sounds like the two of you became fast friends,” Nate commented testily, forgetting to whisper in his annoyance.
“I got to know him very well, my dearest,” Winona said, relaxing her grip on his hand to rub her forefinger over his. “And I made it plain to him that you are the only man for me.”
“Did he ...?” Nate began.
“He tried but his heart wasn’t in it.”
“No?”
“Apache men respect their women very much. They rarely hit them or mistreat them, even those they capture.”
“They’re regular saints,” Nate muttered.
“Saints?” Winona repeated. “Oh. Now I remember the word.” She laughed ever so lightly. “No, they are not saints. But they are men you would respect if you were not so jealous.”
“Who’s jealous?”
They fell silent, and presently reached the trees where Nate had left the Palouse. He stopped to survey the village one last time, then turned to go forward as a strident whoop rent the chill night air from somewhere near the lake. Seconds later there were more shouts and considerable commotion as roused Apaches spilled from their wickiups right and left.
“Hurry,” Nate urged, giving the rope a sharp pull to hasten the stolen horse along. His own animal was right where he left it, and in moments both of them were mounted and moving slowly eastward so as not to make much noise.
“Naiche must have awakened and discovered I was gone,” Winona commented quietly.
“Either that or one of them got up to heed nature’s call and saw that the horse was missing, then woke Naiche,” Nate said. From the uproar, the agitated Apaches were scouring the vicinity of their village for Winona. Soon, if they hadn’t already, the warriors would fan out in all directions to try and find her.
“We should make a run for it,” Winona recommended.
“I reckon,” Nate said, although he had reservations. Once they broke into a gallop the enraged Apaches would hear them and give chase in force. With enough of a lead they could easily outdistance most of their pursuers, those on foot, but there had been several other horses in the village and they were cause for concern.
He poked his heels into the Palouse’s flanks and angled to the left, away from the rim, since a single misstep in the dark would plummet both horse and rider over the edge. Winona stayed at his side, her long hair flying.
Not twenty yards off there was a loud cry, echoed by another close behind him. More yells arose to the north.
Nate swallowed hard and leaned forward, making the outline of his body almost indistinguishable from that of Pegasus. Winona did likewise. It was an old Indian trick that rendered them less visible targets. At a gallop they crashed through brush and came out on an open stretch where he gave the gelding its head.
Suddenly a stocky figure materialized out of the shadowy murk, running to intercept them.
The Hawken was resting across Nate’s thighs, the barrel pointing in the general direction of the Apache. It was a simple matter for Nate to swivel the rifle just so, cock the hammer, and fire without raising his body. The gun boomed, the warrior stumbled and fell. To their rear a chorus of shrill, bloodthirsty cries showed the Apaches were pursuing them in full force.
The thing Nate now dreaded most was that one of their animals would step into a rut or a hole or a wild creature’s burrow and go down. The Apaches would be on them before they could mount double and continue their flight. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a dozen or more ghostly shapes, all on foot but moving at an incredible speed. He’d heard tell that Apaches were some of the swiftest runners alive, and he was seeing that claim proved right before his eyes.
Still, the horses were faster and they began to pull ahead. He peered eastward, seeking some sign of the end of the tableland although he knew it was much too far off. A cluster of trees loomed in their path so he
swung to the right, going around, then lashed Pegasus with the reins once they were in the open again. The bay, still fatigued from its long journey, began to flag, to drop back, forcing him to slow a bit to stay close to his wife.
With each passing moment the whoops of the warriors grew progressively fainter. He let himself relax a little, his confidence growing. Once they were in the maze of mountains bordering the Apache stronghold they would be safe. That is, if a roving war party didn’t accidentally stumble on them.
At that instant a new sound was added to the frenzied racket to their rear, the sharp blast of a rifle.
Nate stiffened in dismay. He hadn’t counted on the Apaches using guns, but he should have known better. Despite what he’d been told about the Apache preference for the bow and arrow, there were bound to have been warriors who, out of curiosity if for no other reason, had taken guns as part of their plunder from a raid and subsequently learned to use them.
“Husband,” Winona suddenly said. “I think my horse has been hit.”
He glanced at the bay, thinking she must be wrong because they were well out in front of the Apaches and the one who fired couldn’t have seen them clearly. Odds were the warrior had tried to guess exactly where they were by the drumming of their mounts’ hoofs, then fired blindly. Besides, he hadn’t heard the bullet strike her horse. “Are you ... ?” he began, and had to rein up sharply when the bay faltered and abruptly came to a stop.
Now that they were stopped, Nate could hear the stolen animal’s heavy wheezing. Head sagging, it swayed. Quickly he moved Pegasus alongside it and held out his left arm. “Climb on,” he directed.
Winona needed no encouragement, for now from behind them came the pounding rumble of pursuing horses, three or four at least. Her hand shot out and grasped his forearm.
With a surge of his powerful muscles, Nate pulled her up behind him. Her arms encircled his waist, her body molded flush with his. “Hang tight,” he breathed, goading the Palouse into a gallop once more. Every second counted. The delay had proven costly, judging by the proximity of the horses after them.
War whoops confirmed the Apaches were close on their heels.
An arrow cleaved the air, missing Nate’s head by a foot, but he paid it no mind. Fear for Winona eclipsed all else since she was more likely to be hit than he was. And he dared not ride a zigzag pattern to make aiming harder for the Apaches because doing so might enable the warriors to overtake Pegasus.
It was a furious race for life, with Nate keenly aware that both of their lives depended on the Palouse’s performance. If the gelding faltered they were as good as dead. Or he was, anyway. Winona would wind up back in the clutches of Naiche.
He touched a flintlock, but decided against drawing it. Trying to shoot a gun accurately while astride the back of a moving horse was difficult under the best of circumstances. At night, at full speed, it would be a miracle if he scored a hit.
For the remainder of his life he would vividly remember those harrowing moments when fear dominated his being. Slowly, Pegasus increased the gap between them and the Apaches. The warrior armed with a rifle fired again, but this time he missed.
So intently was Nate concentrating on their pursuers that he was startled when suddenly a vast chasm seemed to materialize right in front of them. Too late he realized it wasn’t a chasm at all. It was the earthen slope he had scaled to reach the tableland, but it might as well be a chasm because the very next second Pegasus plunged over the edge with a panicked whinny.
Chapter Twelve
They went down the steep slope on the fly, the gelding frantically digging its hind legs into the loose earth and then sinking down onto its rump as their momentum threatened to send them toppling end over end. A swirling gray cloud of dust enveloped them and spewed out to their rear.
Nate had to strain against the stirrups to keep from being unhorsed. One hand holding the reins and the Hawken, the other grasping Winona’s arm, he barely stayed upright. The stinging dust got into his eyes and nose, and for harried seconds he couldn’t see more than a yard ahead.
Somehow Pegasus saw they were near the bottom and gave a bound that brought them safely off the slope. In response to Nate’s urging the Palouse raced off down a winding gorge, its hoofs ringing on the stony ground.
Were the Apaches still after them? Nate wondered. He looked back and spied a billowing dust cloud sweeping down the incline. The cloud parted enough to give him a glimpse of a single strapping warrior at its center. Apparently the rest had stopped at the rim, but for how long? He must lose this one Apache so they could make their escape.
Riding flat out over mountainous terrain in the dead of night is an unnerving experience at any time. Now, with the specter of a savage warrior close behind them and hot for his blood, Nate rode with his heart in his throat. The twists and turns of the high gorge slowed Pegasus down, allowing the Apache to keep them in sight most of the time.
What he wouldn’t give for a level plain where the gelding could really move! But Nate knew that even Pegasus had limits. Eventually the Palouse would tire, giving the Apache the opportunity needed to overtake them. He must do something to stop the warrior and he must do it soon.
Around the next corner the gorge widened. Huge boulders dotted the ground. Nate cut Pegasus in behind one and reined up, then drew a flintlock. He didn’t have long to wait. In the time it would have taken him to count to ten the Apache’s mount clattered around the bend and swept abreast of the boulder. Nate promptly fired, rushing his shot. To his horror, he shot low.
The ball struck the Apache’s horse, eliciting a terrified squeal, and the animal tumbled, its front legs buckling, sending the rider sailing. Arms out flung, the airborne Apache smashed with a sickening crunch into another boulder, then fell limp.
Nate couldn’t wait to see if the warrior was truly dead. Others just might be coming. He rode on down through the gorge and out into the open. For the next hour he picked his way to the northwest. At last, positive they had eluded the Apaches, he wended into the middle of a tract of timber at the base of a flat-topped mountain.
There, as he suspected he might because of the trees, he found water in the form of an oval pool.
“You did it!” Winona said, touching her soft lips to the side of his neck.
“Pegasus pulled our fat out of the fire, not me,” Nate wearily told her, and gave her a hand down. He swung his sore body to the ground, then stood aside as the Palouse stepped to the water to drink.
“Do you think they will find us?”
“Not if we’re mighty careful,” Nate responded. “At dawn we’ll head for the rancho. If we keep alert we might make it back without any more trouble.”
“You don’t sound very confident.”
“There must be thousands of Apaches in these mountains. Eluding them won’t be easy.”
“If anyone can do it, you can, my husband,” Winona declared, stepping into his arms. They hugged and kissed. Then she rested her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly. “No matter what happens, we are together again.”
“As we’ll always be.”
He took her hand and walked over to the pool. Together they quenched their thirst. As much as he wanted to lie down and rest, first he stripped his saddle from the gelding, then reloaded the Hawken and the flintlock. “Sorry we can’t have a fire,” he remarked.
“I understand,” Winona said.
They reclined on their backs on soft grass, linked their arms, and snuggled against each other. Nate thought of how close he had come to losing her, and uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving for her deliverance. Somewhere in the wilderness an owl hooted. Elsewhere a coyote yipped and was answered by another. His eyelids became heavy and he had to shake himself to stay awake.
The gentle fluttering of warm breath against his ear caused him to look at Winona. He was amused to see she had fallen asleep so soon. Her ordeal had caught up with her, and after so many hours of uncertainty and peril she was resting peacefully at la
st. He lightly touched his lips to hers, then did the same to the tip of her smooth nose.
Feeling he must be the most fortunate soul on the face of the planet, he at length permitted sleep to claim him.
~*~
A low nicker from Pegasus brought Nate up in a flash. He stood still, listening, surprised to see the crown of the sun visible through the trees to the east. They had slept too long! They should have ridden out at first light!
Appalled at his oversight, he grabbed the Hawken and worked his way through the timber until he could view the land they had covered the night before. The three figures on horseback were over a mile off but there was no mistaking their identity. Apaches hounding their trail.
Back he ran to Winona. Shaking her gently, he said as soon as her eyes opened, “They’re still after us. We have to push on.”
Wordlessly she nodded, rose, and moved into the bushes.
Pegasus was saddled and Nate was mounted when Winona rejoined him. Sticking close to the base of the mountain, he rode until they were out of the high timber. A ridge afforded a convenient perch from which to check their back trail. There was no sign of the three warriors. By then, he reasoned, they were in the trees, close to the pool.
Since the Palouse was rested Nate had no qualms about pushing the horse for the next several miles. He wanted to get and keep a substantial lead, the more the better. In the meantime he had to do everything in his power to shake the doggedly tenacious trio.
For the life of him he couldn’t figure out how the Apaches had tracked them so far. He’s done his best to leave as few tracks as possible, but apparently all his efforts had been in vain. Or were the three warriors from another village? Maybe, he speculated, they had simply stumbled on the gelding’s fresh tracks and decided to investigate.
Wilderness: Northwest Passage/Apache Blood (A Wilderness Double Western #6) Page 28