by Maggie James
As the blazing sun rose higher in the sky, Kitty became increasingly uncomfortable in the heavy vest, but dared not take it off. The warriors, she noted, had stripped to their breechclouts.
She was soaking wet with perspiration and dying of thirst, but there was no stream nearby. She noticed that the men were drinking from bags of some sort and asked Pale Sky what it was.
Pale Sky was bent over a cluster of low-growing chokeberries she was delighted to have found. She straightened to whip her head about and look in their direction, then scowled. “It is not plain water they drink. Hear how loud they speak? See how they laugh and push at each other like silly fools and stumble when they do?”
“White water?” Kitty asked fearfully.
“Yes. Coyotay must have been hiding it until my son left. But there could not have been very much. All the corn has been used and there will be no more until autumn. So perhaps they will not become too crazy.”
“A little crazy is too much for me,” Kitty declared with brow furrowed. “Do you think we can start back earlier? Maybe the hard ride back up will sober them.”
“No. We must harvest now that we are here. And I sense that you are thirsty or you would not have asked about the men drinking. Come, I will show you how to find water. Do not look at them any longer.”
Leaving the others, Kitty followed Pale Sky out of the pass and to the flat area where barrel cactus grew.
Hoisting up her skirt, Pale Sky drew a long knife from where it was strapped to her thigh.
Kitty’s eyes went wide. Pale Sky did not seem the sort to carry a hidden weapon, but she reminded herself that despite her kind and genteel ways, Pale Sky was still an Apache.
With one blow, Pale Sky knocked off the top of a cactus. From her pocket, she took a long, thin reed and stuck it into the pulpy innards. “Drink,” she urged Kitty as she stood back. “It is good when there is nothing else.”
Kitty sucked out the liquid from the cactus. It was slightly bitter, but truly better than a parched throat.
Returning to the pass, the men had become louder. The other women seemed not to notice or, if they did, were unconcerned. They were used to the warriors drinking the white water whenever they could, especially when Whitebear was not around. In addition, none of them had anything to fear. The men would not mistreat them.
The day wore on, and when the women’s sacks filled, and the sun began to drop to the west, Coyotay shrilly screamed and motioned that they were leaving.
“Not soon enough for me,” Kitty muttered, dragging the bulky bag of chokeberries and seeds Pale Sky had shown her how to gather.
“I have told you—do not be afraid,” Pale Sky said as they fell in with the others. “You are safe with me.”
Kitty wondered whether her nervousness was getting the best of her or if Pale Sky sounded less sure of herself than before.
“And they have no more white water, anyway,” Pale Sky went on to say. “By the time we make the high, hard climb back to camp, the wildness in them should pass.”
Kitty hoped she was right, because Coyotay was openly glaring at her, eyes fiery with rage. The Indian whiskey had set his resentment to boiling, and she feared if he did not soon sober, he might lose all control and toss aside Whitebear’s edict that she be left alone.
“I want you to stay beside me,” Pale Sky said when they reached camp at last. “We will put the berries away, and you will not stray from my side.”
Kitty knew then that she had been right in suspecting that Pale Sky was also starting to worry about Coyotay exploding.
Pale Sky showed her how the berries and other vegetation gathered were to be hidden in a small cave in the rocks to keep animals from eating them during the night. During the day, she explained, when the sun was shining, they would be spread outside to dry.
They did not immediately return to the wickiup. Pale Sky visited another woman to get scraps of deerskin. “I will show you how to make moccasins, Billy Mingo,” she said cheerily, as though to get his mind off Coyotay. “They will be more comfortable than those heavy boots you wear.”
Kitty did not want to make moccasins. She liked her boots fine but knew it was pointless to argue with the woman when her mind was set.
Pale Sky dawdled, chattering, and soon other women joined them. Kitty did not try to figure out what they were saying, for she was too busy wondering whether she should try to get away that very night. Having to sleep inside the wickiup presented a problem, however, because Pale Sky might hear her leave. Then, too, she would have to take time to find her way in the dark to Whitebear’s tent to steal the bow and arrows. She could not just bolt out into the darkness with no weapon of any kind.
She also realized she would have but one chance, because if she were caught, the consequences would be great. Never again would she know any kind of freedom at all, and, worse, Pale Sky might be so angry with her for violating her trust that she would turn her over to Coyotay and no longer care what he did to her.
Pale Sky was enjoying socializing with the other women. One of them had fresh-baked tortillas, and they all nibbled. Kitty declined and drew away from them as she tried to make up her mind what to do.
At first, no one paid any attention to the sounds of the warriors’ revelry. Amid the laughter, someone would yell out once in a while, but it was not unusual for them to carry on as twilight fell.
But then a fight broke out, and the women exchanged anxious looks as they moved in the direction of the noise.
Kitty was following Pale Sky, curious as to what was going on, but suddenly Pale Sky stopped short. Kitty almost ran into her as she held up her hand and spun about to warn, “Do not go any closer.”
Kitty looked beyond her and saw that it was Coyotay and another warrior who were fighting. Coyotay was winning, having knocked his opponent to the ground, and was jumping up and down on his chest.
Another warrior rushed forth to push him away from his victim. Swaying drunkenly, Coyotay turned on him instead.
Pale Sky cried in horror, “Look at the opening to my wickiup. See how it is torn even wider…the bearskin ripped away? They have found the tiswin that I had hidden. Coyotay reasoned that I would be making more for my son, and he has taken it.”
Kitty recognized the jugs the warriors were tipping to their lips as the ones she and Pale Sky had filled with whiskey. “Can’t you put a stop to it?” she cried. “They stole from you.”
“It is too late to attempt reason.”
Kitty watched, her spine rigid with panic. Coyotay had stopped fighting and appeared to be leading his warriors in dance. Raising their knees up to their chest and bending forward, they whooped and hollered and stomped about in a frenzy.
“Wh-what are they doing now?” Kitty asked.
Sadly, sickly, Pale Sky explained, “It is a war dance. He wants to lead them on a raid. But by morning, they will be passed out and no danger. It is now I worry about—when he remembers you and his thirst for revenge.”
“I can hide,” Kitty said quickly. “Just show me where—”
“No. He will find you. He would have the warriors chop down trees and move boulders if that is what it takes to find your hiding place. He will not stop until he finds you, and then he will make you beg to die.
“No!” Pale Sky suddenly cried. “I will not let him. You are but a boy. I cannot let him do this horrible thing. Come with me.”
Grabbing her hand, Pale Sky led the way around to the rear of her wickiup. Stooping down, they crawled inside as she said, “He might see us if we went in the front.” She gathered up rawhide bags filled with pemmican and handed them to Kitty. “Now we must go quickly, before he starts looking for you.”
“Go where?” Kitty was terrified to think of trying to hide after what Pale Sky had said. She had no weapon, and—
“I am going to set you free.”
Kitty, about to crawl under the canvas, froze to stare at her in disbelief. The flames of the cooking fire glowed softly in the gathering
darkness within the wickiup, and she could see Pale Sky’s tightly set face.
Beside her, on her knees, Pale Sky repeated, “I will set you free.”
“But…but why?”
“Because I do not want to see you killed, and that is what will happen if I do not take you away.”
“But are you sure?” Kitty prayed she was, that she would go through with it. “Coyotay will be angry with you, and—”
“You think I fear his wrath? My son would kill him if he dared raise a hand to me. Now we must go before he starts looking for you.”
But Kitty hesitated long enough to say, “I will never forget you for this.”
“And I will never forget you, Billy Mingo.” Pale Sky smiled. “You are truly like the son that was lost to me for so long. So I will take you to safety, to where you can find your own people. I will give you my knife to protect yourself should need arise. Then I will return. You do not know the way back. You cannot tell them how to find our camp.”
In a voice tremulous with her sincerity, Kitty whispered, “I would not do that even if I could.”
“No,” Pale Sky said softly. “I do not think you would. Now come. The way is long. It is dark. And we must move quickly.”
“Wait for me.” And before Pale Sky could protest, Kitty bolted into the shadows.
She could not leave without retrieving the piece of map she had hidden.
Ryder sat in the shadows of the faro section of the Oriental Saloon. It was late, and Opal Grimes was wrapping things up.
One of the men yelled out, “Hey, Miss Opal, if you’ll give me the numbers I need this time around, I’ll not only share the winnin’s but walk you home, too.”
“I don’t need nobody to walk me home, Barney,” she said wearily.
He snickered. “Well, I’d say you do, what with the Injuns after you.”
She threw him a frosty glare. “That only happened once.”
“Yeah, but what about your friend from back East you was expectin’?” someone else called out. “Don’t it make you nervous to think how Injuns are close to you and your’n these days?”
“She wasn’t no kin of mine. She was kin to Wade Parrish, and while I feel sorry for anybody that gets themselves captured by Apaches, it had nothing to do with me.”
Ryder had been tossing down the last of his beer. It hit his stomach with a dull thud and felt like he had swallowed the glass.
White dots of rage began to dance before his eyes, and a great roaring began to sweep over him.
Slowly, stiffly, he managed to turn to the man sitting at the table next to him. “What is she talking about?” he asked woodenly.
The man looked at him, obviously surprised he did not know. “Didn’t you hear about the stage that was attacked by Injuns between here and Wilcox?”
“No, I’ve been away…in Mexico,” Ryder managed to say past the roaring in his ears.
“They took a woman—a girl—that Opal was expectin’ from back East. And you know the funny part? The guard said they never knowed she was a woman. Said she wore baggy overalls and kept her hair stringin’ down over her face. Lord knows, I just hope she can keep on foolin’ them redskins.” He turned to call to Opal, “What was her name? The girl them savages took?”
Opal spoke with lips trembling. “Kitty Parrish. Her name was Kitty Parrish.”
“A shame, ain’t it…” The man turned back to Ryder.
But he was no longer there.
Chapter Nine
It had been nearly dawn when Kitty and Pale Sky came down out of the mountains. The trek had been slow due to their having to feel their way along in the darkness, and Kitty, not as sure-footed as Pale Sky, had fallen several times.
Kitty had feared Coyotay would realize they were missing and come after them, but Pale Sky told her not to worry. He would think they were hiding somewhere around the camp.
“I will probably meet him on my way back,” she said, adding with a smirk, “if he is able to walk after so much white water.”
Kitty had tried to express her gratitude, but Pale Sky waved her away. “Be gone with you, Billy Mingo. Return to your world in peace.”
“But I owe you my life.” Kitty reminded her. “And you’ve been kind to me when you could have made me miserable as hell, and we both know it.”
“It is not my way to be cruel.”
“I am still grateful, and I only wish there was something I could do for you.”
“There is,” Pale Sky had said quietly. “You can tell your people you were treated well…that not all the stories they hear about the Apaches are true.”
Kitty assured her she would do so, adding, “Maybe one day there will be peace between our people. I hope so, Pale Sky. I truly do. But I come from a different place, and I don’t understand all the troubles out here.”
“It is not difficult to do so,” Pale Sky explained. “The white man came to force us from our land, and when we refused to leave, the pony soldiers came and herded us like cattle into terrible places called reservations where the land is poor for farming and there are few animals to hunt. That is why my son led us to escape. It is why we must hide, for they would kill us.
“We only want what is ours by right of our birth—our land,” Pale Sky went on to say. “Nothing more. Tell them, Billy Mingo, even though it will do no good, for they will not listen. They never have. But by so doing…by standing up for the Apache, you will testify that we are not all evil, that we can be peaceful when not provoked.”
Kitty had promised and impulsively hugged her.
When Kitty stepped back, Pale Sky drew her knife from its hiding place and gave it to her.
“Go,” she commanded. “Get far away fast. Move at night as much as you can. If you walk in that direction”—she pointed to a distant butte—“you will reach the road where the stagecoach passes. I do not know when one will come, but that is where you should go.”
She then turned and disappeared into the brush.
Kitty had begun walking but all too soon succumbed to exhaustion. Finding a spot among some boulders, she slept the day away, then set out again.
The night was clear with a full moon. She could see her way and kept on going, stopping only to eat from the pemmican sacks and take a sip of water from the canteen Pale Sky had also given her.
At dawn, she reached the road. There were many boulders, and she had no trouble finding a place where she would be out of sight.
The walk had been arduous, for the ground was covered with rocks that had to be stepped over carefully. With the sun beating down, she had not rationed her water. Neither had she portioned out the pemmican. Both were gone, and she was hungry and thirsty and prayed a stage would come by soon but knew it could be days. Wondering if she could last that long, she wearily drifted into a deep slumber on the hard ground.
At first, she thought she was only dreaming that she heard a noise, then she awoke with a start to hear horses…the sounds of wheels churning in the rocks and dirt…a man shouting…and the popping of leather.
Scrambling up on top of a boulder, Kitty thrilled to realize it was a stagecoach. She began waving her arms in a frenzy and yelling, forgetting in her excitement that she was dressed—and looked—like an Apache.
The guard saw her and, with a shouted oath, raised his shotgun and aimed.
Realizing her blunder, Kitty threw herself down on the boulder just in time for the blast to whiz right over her.
“I think I got him. Hot damn, stop them horses. I’m gonna take me a scalp home.”
Kitty heard the driver reluctantly call “Whoa” to the horses before arguing, “There might be more of them devils around. It’s risky to stop.”
“If there was more, they’d be all over us by now. So stop your frettin’. I’m gettin’ me a scalp.”
Kitty lay very still. She was pressed against the rock, face turned to one side. Peering through lowered lashes, she watched as the guard approached. He carried his shotgun in one hand, a knife in hi
s other.
She knew if she let him know she was not injured and tried to explain who she was, he might shoot again, which she could not risk.
Holding Pale Sky’s knife beneath her, she waited until he was bending over her. Then, before he had time to realize she was not hit, she rolled onto her back in a flash to take him by surprise and press the tip of the knife to his throat. “Stop. I’m not Apache. I’m white—like you. They took me captive, but I escaped. Now, don’t make me cut you, please.”
“No…no…don’t do that,” he stammered, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed in terror against the flint blade pressing into his flesh.
“My name is Kitty Parrish,” she said in a rush. “I was taken off the stage to Tombstone by Apaches—Chiricahua.”
His fear-widened eyes blinked. “You…you’re her, the one they took? They said you was passin’ for a man.”
“Do you believe me? Can I let you go?”
“Yes…oh, yes. Don’t hurt me, please…”
“What is your name?”
“Tom. Tom Culbreath.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Tom.”
She withdrew the knife, and he quickly straightened to yell back to the driver, “Hey, it’s her—that woman them Injuns took a while back.”
Kitty scrambled to her feet and tugged self-consciously at her vest and shirt. She knew she looked a sight—filthy, bedraggled, her hair stringier than ever.
The guard could only stare at her in astonishment, and then the driver scrambled up on the boulder. He took one look and cried, “That ain’t no woman. That’s an Injun.”
He started to draw his pistol, but the guard held out an arm and said, “No, I believe her. She ain’t got no reason to lie.”
The driver squinted against the sun. “Everybody thought you was a boy,” he said accusingly. “Nobody knew different till that woman in Tombstone said Kit Parrish had to be Kitty Parrish, ’cause she was expectin’ you on that stage. So how come you lied all that time?”
Kitty thought of the irony and, with a soft laugh, explained, “Because I thought I would be safer traveling as a man.”