Grace and the Guiltless

by Erin Johnson

  She screamed. Not again.

  She couldn’t bear to see people she cared about hurt.

  She had to stop this horror.

  Terror propelled Grace into action. She dashed toward Sequoyah’s kuugh’a, but none of the family emerged. She had to save them.

  But before she could reach the hut, a knife ripped through the side wall, shredding the grasses. Sequoyah staggered out, coughing and choking, followed by her brother.

  Grace ran toward them, but Dahana rushed past Grace to help. He first pulled Sequoyah away from the flames and ran back, but Sequoyah’s brother had already crawled away from the burning kuugh’a. The young boy stumbled to his feet, gulping in deep breaths of air.

  As clouds of black smoke drifted their way, Dahana barked something to Sequoyah and pointed toward the trees. Then he grabbed his horse’s mane and threw his leg over the mustang’s back. Still unsteady on his feet, Sequoyah’s brother ran to his own horse. He mounted, and Dahana handed him his bow and quiver. Then, grabbing the lance he had strapped to his back, Dahana thrust the point out in front of him, and the two of them raced down the hill, side by side.

  Suddenly, Grace spotted Joe.

  He was galloping past on Ash, armed with a gun and a tomahawk. He, too, had donned war paint, and Grace barely recognized him with his face smeared black and red.

  “Grace! The woods!” he shouted as he saw her. “Into the woods. You’ll be safer there!”

  Anger and adrenaline surged through her. “Why should I run when I know how to fight?” she shouted.

  Grace dashed to her kuugh’a and grabbed her pistol. She slid her knife into her moccasin cuff, slung her quiver over her shoulder, and grabbed her bow. If only she had Bullet . . .

  Grace rushed out toward the battle, but a hand snaked around her neck, dragging her backward against a hard body. Grace kicked and flailed, struggling to get away. A horse thundered by her, carrying a Ndeh warrior in war paint. A knife flashed, plunged into the soldier’s neck, and the soldier collapsed against Grace, knocking her over. She slammed into the ground so hard her breath whooshed from her body. Stunned, she lay pinned beneath the dead soldier, gasping for air. She pushed and shoved at the corpse until she could finally struggle to her feet.

  All around her, Ndeh were yanking soldiers from their horses. Some were locked in hand-to-hand combat, while others scalped fallen soldiers. Tarak already had several scalps dangling from his belt as he savagely attacked a soldier from behind. Surrounding the carnage, homes were blazing. Many kuugh’a had collapsed into piles of ashes. Great clouds of choking black smoke hung in the air, and bodies littered the ground — some of them women and children. Familiar faces.

  Waves of nausea churned in Grace’s stomach, and her vision blurred. Memories of her family lying crumpled, bloodied, the cabin burning, stopped her in her tracks.

  Then Joe’s desperate yell penetrated the haze that surrounded her.

  Where was he?

  Grace scanned the battlefield, searching for him. She finally spotted him, and her heart stopped. Two soldiers had dragged him from his horse. He was desperately trying to fight them off, but a third soldier was mounting Ash. Grace raced toward Joe, dodging hooves and slashing swords. But on the hill behind her, Sequoyah screamed. Grace turned abruptly. A soldier was dragging her friend away by her hair.

  What should she do? Who should she help? Could she get to either of them in time?

  A soldier cantered past leading a pack of horses. One was a palomino.

  “Bullet!” Grace screamed.

  Bucking and kicking, Bullet fought to free himself. With a vicious jerk of his head, he broke away. But rather than heading toward her, he galloped unsteadily toward the hills.

  Her heart sank.

  But only for a second.

  Grace whistled, and to her relief, Bullet wheeled around and sped back toward her.

  CHAPTER 17

  Ignoring Bullet’s still-healing legs, Grace mounted and rushed to help Joe.

  One of the soldiers that had attacked him lay curled on the ground, groaning, but the other had Joe’s arms pinned behind him. Yanking her knife from her moccasin without hesitation, Grace plunged it into the man’s arm. He screamed and let go of Joe.

  Joe reached for his gun and managed to get off a shot, but the soldier behind him rose, sword in hand. In one fluid motion, Grace hurled her tomahawk, and the man crumpled.

  She reached down a hand, and Joe swung up behind her onto Bullet’s back.

  They took off as Grace led a galloping Bullet toward the spot where she had last seen Sequoyah. But she had disappeared.

  Where was she? Had the man dragged her into the woods?

  Grace spotted Dahana on a rocky outcrop, kneeling over the body of the soldier she had seen grab Sequoyah. The young girl stood nearby. Relief coursed through Grace. Sequoyah was safe.

  “Head that way,” Joe shouted.

  He pointed to a riderless horse, and Grace raced after it. When they came up alongside it, Joe jumped onto the steed in one smooth movement, then charged back into the fray.

  Grace followed, shooting at anything in uniform that moved. She didn’t shoot to kill. Her only thought was to stop the soldiers from harming her friends. She was with the Ndeh now, and any enemy of theirs was an enemy of hers.

  Warriors gave guttural war cries; the dying and wounded men on the ground screamed and writhed in agony. To her right, she saw Tarak grab a soldier by the hair and scalp him while the man was still alive. Grace’s stomach turned, and she almost vomited.

  All the blood, gore, and mayhem.

  She wanted to flee, to get away — far, far away from the killing and suffering. But as long as she could fight, she had to stay and help them. Joe dodged a bullet, and Grace ducked as an arrow came flying toward her.

  Sabers slashed beside her, and she saw Cheis had been knocked from his horse and was wrestling in the mud with a soldier. The man’s saber was covered in blood, and he held a fistful of Cheis’s hair, dragging him closer to the blade. Cheis kicked and punched, but the man holding him stayed just out of reach.

  Grace set an arrow in her bow and let it fly. It caught the man in the throat, and he choked, grabbing for his neck as he collapsed to the ground.

  Cheis tumbled to the ground as well, but then he immediately jumped to his feet, mounted his horse, pulled out his shotgun, and took aim at the man lying on the ground.

  Before she could see what happened, Grace took off after Joe again. She worried that Bullet might tire and hoped desperately that she wasn’t permanently injuring him. Bullet jumped over obstacles, landing heavily on his front feet. He didn’t have his usual grace or energy. Should she dismount and send him to run to safety? Or would that only get him captured or killed?

  Blood splashed the ground; dead bodies lay all around. She had lost sight of Joe. She pulled Bullet to the right as a soldier charged toward her. She got off a shot, but her aim was low, and the bullet hit him in the thigh. He groaned and grabbed for his leg, toppling from his horse. But before she could fire again, rough hands dragged her from Bullet’s back.

  A soldier pinned her to the ground. Grace’s hat flew off and her hair tumbled free.

  “A white girl?” A look of shock crossed the soldier’s face. “An Apache lover!” He practically spat the words.

  Those seconds were all it took. Bullet reared and his hooves came crashing down on the man’s skull, knocking him sideways.

  Grace shook herself free of the soldier’s still-grasping hands and remounted. But exhaustion was overtaking her. She and Joe had trained, but she hadn’t prepared for hours of grueling, terrifying combat, and Bullet’s sides were heaving. She wanted only to ride away from this place now, from the bloodshed and slaughter, from the ugly memories it brought back . . .

  Joe galloped up beside her. “Are you all right?” he yelled
.

  A sudden fire and determination coursed through her. “I’m fine,” she insisted, wheeling Bullet around to head back into the skirmish.

  “Wait!” Joe called. “Come with me.” He cantered down a path through the woods.

  “Where are we going? What about the others?” They shouldn’t be leaving the battle now. Or did he plan to circle around the camp for a surprise attack? Grace turned Bullet and chased after Joe.

  Joe motioned for her to slow. Ahead of them on the path were four mounted soldiers. Without warning, Joe whooped out a war cry and took off. Grace galloped after him.

  Why didn’t he just shoot?

  Was he so honorable that he had to give them fair warning?

  One of the men pivoted his upper body and raised a rifle. Joe’s shot hit his outstretched arm and the man tumbled from the horse — and two children in front of the man fell off the horse as well.

  The horse took off, but Grace understood. These soldiers had taken the children as prisoners. The youngsters were bundled in front of them on the horses. Joe couldn’t shoot for fear of hurting the young Ndeh.

  A bullet whizzed past Joe. He yelped but got off another shot — this one to the head of the first soldier, who was still on the ground.

  Two other soldiers took off, firing over their shoulders. Joe wove back and forth the way he had taught her — a moving target was harder to hit.

  But the fourth man hadn’t pulled his gun. He was struggling with several ropes he had attached to the children’s belts — the Ndeh put their children in belted tunics, so they could pick them up and carry them away from danger. But this man had used the belts to tie the children to his horse.

  He was winding the ropes around his pommel when Grace squeezed off a shot — but her gun was empty.

  All she had left was her knife.

  She had to get within throwing distance while he was still fumbling with the ropes.

  The children had their hands tied behind them and their feet shackled together. He had tossed them onto the horse like sacks of flour.

  Fury raced through Grace, but she had to take careful aim. If her throw went wild, she could hit one of the children. If she missed, he would shoot her.

  The man looked up at her approaching, but he didn’t appear worried. With her blond hair streaming in the wind, he probably didn’t see her as a threat. Maybe he thought she had been captured by the Apache and was fleeing in the mêlée.

  Grace kept her hand on the knife hilt poking out of her moccasin. He would be sorry he underestimated her.

  She sidled Bullet close to him. “Help me,” she begged. It wasn’t hard to put a whimper in her voice.

  His grin grew broad. “Sure thing, girlie. You can ride along with us.” He jerked a thumb toward his captives. “These ones’ll fetch a good price in the Mexican mines, but for you I have better things in mind. Bet your parents will pay a good reward to get back a pretty little thing like you.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Grace gasped out. She pulled Bullet close enough to his horse that she could almost touch him, then whipped the knife from her moccasin and plunged it into the man’s back.

  With a strange gurgling sound, he fell from his horse, dragging the two children with him.

  Grace reached for the reins and pulled his horse to a stop. Then she slashed the ropes from the pommel. The children cried as she dismounted and slit their ropes.

  “Stay here,” she said. “Hide in the woods.” They looked at her blankly with wide, frightened eyes. Did any of them understand English? She tried sign language, pantomiming for them to stay where they were, and tied Bullet to a tree nearby.

  Joe chased after the other two soldiers and disappeared around a rocky rise. Grace’s pulse thundered faster at the sounds of scuffling and low, nasty shouts coming from that direction. Using the tracking methods Joe had taught her, she slipped silently up the path and peeked around a large rock. One soldier had Joe pinned in a choke hold. The other lay dead on his back, staring at the sky.

  Sneaking up behind the man, Grace smashed the butt of her gun onto his head. She may not have any bullets, but it still worked as a weapon.

  The man crumpled to the ground, and Joe rolled over and sprang to his feet. He kicked the man in the ribs and used his knife to finish him off.

  Grace knelt to cut loose the rest of the children that these men had captured. “Tell them to hide,” she told Joe in an urgent voice. “I tried to tell the others, but I’m not sure they understood.”

  Joe spoke rapidly to the oldest of the boys and then gave him a nudge in the direction of the others. The boy responded with a stream of words. Joe made a slashing motion and sent him on his way.

  “They should be safe here until the battle’s over,” Joe said, panting. He shook his head. “Grace . . . you were amazing. Do you realize you saved my life twice today?”

  She nodded. “Makes up for the two times you saved mine. We should . . .”

  Her words trailed off. The adrenaline coursing through her veins had drained away, leaving her shaky and exhausted and hungry. She hadn’t had anything to eat because the soldiers had arrived at daybreak. The sun was now passing high overhead.

  “Are you all right?” Joe’s voice came to her from a distance. “Take a drink.” He held out his water pouch.

  Grace gulped a few mouthfuls of water. “We have to get back.” But she was reluctant to return to the mayhem.

  “Where’s Bullet?” Joe asked.

  “I tied him to a tree.” Grace pointed farther down the trail. “I’m scared I might have hurt him by riding him before he was ready.”

  “You’d better ride with me then. We’ll come back for him.”

  Now it was Joe’s turn to reach down and help her mount. As they galloped back through the trees, Grace, still dizzy, sagged against Joe’s back. She soaked in the comfort of his warm body and his strength, but being this close to him also stirred up feelings she didn’t want to remember.

  In the heat of the battle, she hadn’t thought about the strange attraction between them, but now that they were alone? Grace shook off the thought.

  With great effort, she angled her body away from his so they weren’t touching.

  * * *

  When they arrived back at the camp, all was silent except for wailing.

  There were no soldiers in sight. Were they truly gone, or were they lying in wait, readying for another attack? Grace scanned the village, the bushes, the woods. Relief mingled with grief at the carnage and the families kneeling beside dead loved ones.

  “Grace!” Sequoyah screamed her name and raced toward them. “You are safe. And Joe too.” She squeezed her eyes shut and clasped her hands over her heart. “I was afraid you were —”

  “We’re fine.” Joe slid from the horse’s back. Like Grace, he kept a wary eye on the nearby woods. “Are the soldiers all gone?” he asked.

  “Yes — but we have prisoners.” Sequoyah pointed to where her father and several other men had five soldiers tied, their backs to Grace.

  Joe studied the line of prisoners. “Your father is questioning them?”

  Sequoyah nodded. Her fists were clenched by her sides. “They have killed many of our people.”

  Cheis went down the line, one by one. When he got to the last man, he pulled out his tomahawk and brought it down hard. The man crumpled to the ground.

  “What —” Horror rooted Grace to the spot.

  Joe laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t watch.”

  He took her by the shoulders and turned her around gently.

  “B-but those men are prisoners. It looked like they answered his questions. Why? Why is he doing that?” Grace stammered.

  “You have to understand. All these soldiers will be killed.”

  Grace couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But I thought Ndeh believed in peace? Today
they’ve all turned into bloodthirsty warriors.” After everything they had said, it was almost as if the war paint on their faces had changed them into vicious creatures.

  “It may seem so to you, but they have their reasons,” Joe said. “Those soldiers came months ago to take the Ndeh to a reservation. Cheis refused. The soldiers agreed to let the band live free if Cheis sent a group of his warriors to a meeting to sign a peace treaty. In good faith, eight of our best warriors set off. The soldiers ambushed them. Killed them in cold blood.”

  Sequoyah broke in. “My father will take life of the man that killed his brother.”

  “The other men will each avenge the death of a family member,” Joe explained.

  Grace felt sick to her stomach. So much killing, bloodshed, and death.

  And today she had done her share.

  How could she criticize Cheis when she, too, wanted revenge?

  She turned to Joe. “You told me not to seek vengeance. Why? You do the same.”

  “It’s not easy to understand, but the Ndeh do not seek revenge the way you do — with hatred in their hearts. They seek only justice. Blood for blood.”

  “So do I,” Grace burst out.

  Joe shook his head. “I have seen a bloodthirsty look in your eyes that scares me, Grace. I don’t think you have the same peace with circumstances as the Ndeh do. And they are disciplined in their vengeance, not wild and desperate.”

  “At least I’m not out scalping people,” she said, her teeth clenched.

  “You would if you could.” He tilted her chin again so he could look into her eyes.

  Grace jerked her head away and muttered, “The Guiltless Gang deserve it. Every last one of them.”

  “Maybe so. But you’d be better off letting the law take care of them.”

  “The sheriff, you mean?”

  “You know there are others who aren’t as easily bought. The deputy has a reputation for honesty.”

  “I’ve heard that. But if he really is honest, how can he work for Behan?”

  Joe shook his head. “I wondered that too. But he’s new. Not experienced. Perhaps he doesn’t yet realize Behan’s crooked.”