Apache Fire (2 page)

Sleep eluded Angie. From the moment the Apache had left her alone, she was bewildered by the strange feelings that had beset her.

Drawn to the single window in her small room, in hopes that a breeze would cool heated skin, she looked out at the paling sky. Kathleen was already moving about the kitchen, and she should be dressing to help her, but in the two weeks since she had arrived from Warren, their small hometown in Michigan, she had never tired of watching the sun rise.

She thought of the watercolors packed away, for this sight reminded her of painting with them. The slow spill of lilac shades gave way to hues of gold and orange. In minutes the sky seemed filled with a fiery sun, and with it, the heat of the new day.

Nee-ko
. She repeated the word he had used, wondering if it was his name. What was wrong with her? Her thoughts were filled with the man, not the terror he had made her feel. It shamed her that she had lied to her brother and his wife, after all their kindness to her.

Angie turned from the window. The single bed had belonged to her nephew, but Ross was now a soldier stationed at Fort Bowie. There had been another son, lost to fever a few years ago. It was one reason why Kathleen had understood the grief she felt with the loss of her own child. Death had taken all she had within two years. First Tim had fallen from the barn roof and broken his neck. Three months later, she had awoken to find Amy dead in her cradle. She brushed away the instant tears.

And she had left husband and child buried side by side, to find a way to heal herself.

Her thoughts should be solely on ways to accomplish it, not on the thief who had stolen meats Grant intended for sale to the sutler's store at the fort.

The image of the hollow-eyed children on the reservation came to mind. Was it so terrible that he stole to feed their hunger? She was a charitable woman, brought up to help those in need. Who was needier than the Indians who were forced to live on lands that had been stripped clean of game by settlers and soldiers alike?

By not condemning him, she felt guilty of betraying her brother. But guilt was a well-worn cloak that burdened her shoulders. Perhaps it was time to strip it away.

Her mind made up about what she intended to do, Angie hurried to dress.

Niko sat with his
Netdahee
brethren, high above the Apache encampment. Each of the ten warriors had told of their successful raid, bragging of the food they had brought to their people. Hidden below, in the wickiups, was the sustenance to keep them alive.

There had been no celebration to welcome home the warriors. There would be none of the dancing, the recounting of bravery, that there had been in the past. None dared whisper or show the food gathered by the thieves they had been forced to become.

For twelve years they had been fighting, squeezed between the Mexican army on one side of the border and the never-ending swarm of whites on the other. Of the four bands of Chiricahua—the “true” band led by Cochise; the Warm Springs or “red” people named for the band of red clay worn by their warriors; the Nednhi, led by Juh, whose stronghold lay in the Sierra Madre of Mexico; and the Bedonkohes, who claimed the territory of the headwaters of the Gila River and whose wily minor leader, Geronimo, was feared by the whites—none had escaped the wrath loosed upon them.

Cochise, with his belief in Indian agent Tom Jeffords, called Red Beard by all, had led them to the reservation. But Cochise was sick and old, and the hate grew to see the Chiricahua wiped from memory. Just as he should escape the memory of the woman's scent that he still held, and the feel of her skin and hair upon his palm.

“Niko? Has Usen taken your thoughts,
skeetzee?
You do not hear me call.”

Rousing himself from where he sat beneath the cool shade of the piñon tree, Niko looked across the small fire at the warrior who spoke.

“My thoughts are ever my own, Dezyo.” The long tooth for which he was named gave him a lopsided smile. Niko quickly remembered then what day this was for his friend. “You have decided, then, who you will court for a wife?”

“Will you come with me to speak?”

“You have asked. It is done, Dezyo.”

“I have chosen One Who Laughs to be my wife.”

“Ah, Dezyo, a poor choice this,” Four Toes called out. “You do not want a woman to bring laughter to your blankets.”

“Aiee, Four Toes has the right way of it. You want a woman who will bring heat to your robes each night.”

“What would you know of a woman's heat,
Tóí?
None will share their blankets with you.”

“It is I who will not have a woman. I have made promises to Child of the Water that, like the fish I am named for, I will ever swim against the white tide that overruns our lands.”

“As have we all,” Niko added, rising to put an end to the talk. “Come, Dezyo, we will look over the horses to choose the best ones.”

They walked together, comfortable with the silence, to the herd of horses that belonged to the
Netdahee
. When their band formed, they had agreed that all the horses would belong to them, so none would stop Dezyo from choosing any. But Dezyo knew which was a warrior's favorite mount, and these were not the ones he looked over as his marriage gifts.

Dezyo seemed to want his approval, so Niko examined the two sturdy bay mares, whose bloodlines were a mix of the wild mustangs and the fine horses the Spanish had left behind.

“Her grandmother will be pleased with the horses.”

“I have a fine blanket for you, Niko. It is only right that you accept my gift to talk for me.”

Sliding halters on the mares, they each led one down to the encampment.

Niko listened as Dezyo made note of his value as a husband, knowing what was wanted for One Who Laughs. He interrupted him once to ask, “Will she meet your offer with favor?”

“I have spoken to her several times. She does not run from me. Many times, I think, she has sought me out. But I have not touched her. I would not dishonor her so.”

“Then I will do my best to sing your praise to the old one.” Niko watched his friend leave him at the edge of the encampment, for it would not do to have him seen now. Leading the horses between the wickiups, Niko called out greetings, and answered those directed at him. He smiled, but would not answer when asked where he went with the horses. They would all know soon enough.

One Who Laughs lived with her grandmother at the far end of the encampment. Niko spied a buckboard, his gaze quickly looking over the mules in the traces. From the missing spoke on one wheel he identified the wagon as one belonging to Mary Ten Horse. She was the old woman's sister, married many years past to a trader who had paid ten horses to take her to wife. His steps quickened, for Mary laundered at the fort, and she often brought news of the soldiers' plans.

Leaving the horses tied to the wickiup, Niko called out, “Greetings, old one. I have come to talk of a grave matter with you.”

“My dwelling is yours, Niko. Come sit by my fire.”

Niko bent low to slip inside the tightly woven brush opening. He nearly tripped over his own feet when his gaze locked on the woman. He stilled once he stood tall, but his eyes never left hers. What did she here, among his people? But he could not ask, for this was not his wickiup, not his family, for him to question the visit by a white woman. He had seen no sign of the soldiers who often came to lay blame, real or false, upon the men.

The old one, eyes rheumy in a face creased with age, motioned him to sit.

Niko was torn. He had the urge to flee
her
presence, this white woman who leveled such a steady gaze upon him, but he thought of his friend, waiting to know if his suit was accepted.

“Does the presence of my sister's guest anger you?”

“My words are for your ears, Grandmother. Not those of an Anglo
iszáń
.”

“She is a woman, Niko, whose tongue speaks straight, and she has found a place by my fire.”

“Then I will leave until I lose the anger that one such as she finds welcome here.”

Angie did not understand the words they exchanged, but she heard the anger in
his
voice. She was sure that Nee-ko was his name. Mary Ten Horses thought her idea of sketching the hunger on the faces of the women and children of the Apache a good one. Mary had lived among the whites long enough to know that all were not evil, all were not good.

She had to bite her lip to keep from calling out to him, to ask him to stay, for her fingers longed to capture the proud cast of his features. She watched him leave, then listened to the rapid-fire exchange between the sisters.

But she couldn't understand a word, so her thoughts turned to Niko again. She discovered there wasn't any difference between the way an Apache expressed his anger and her brother's clipped, harsh voice. Thinking of her brother reminded her that time was fleeing. He had agreed to take her with him to the fort this morning, but he didn't know that she had talked Mary into coming out to the reservation again. Grant had not been pleased to know he had to wait to see Major Sumner, but other ranchers had been raided and had come to file their complaints.

It was rude to interrupt, but Angie had no choice. She touched Mary's arm to draw her attention. “Please, forgive me, Mary, but I will have to get back before my brother misses me. Ask her if she will speak to Cochise for me.”

“Already I have asked. My sister wishes to know what you will do with these—”

“Sketches, Mary. I will draw the faces to show the hunger of the people. Many of the newspapers back East will pay for these. It will show many whites how the Apache suffer.”

Mary repeated her words to her sister, listened to the old one's question, and relayed it to Angie.

“My sister asks if you have no hunger among your people, that you concern yourself with ours?”

“There is much hunger. Children beg in the streets. But I am here, not in the cities, where men care more for the money that lines their pockets than for the cry of a hungry child.”

The old one raised her hand to still Mary's tongue. She heard the truth in the voice of the young white woman, saw the caring that sharpened her features. “Tell her I will speak to Cochise. He is gone with Red Beard to have the agency moved to Fort Bowie, to stop the treachery of Anglos. They will not listen. Never they listen. I promise nothing.”

The old woman's direct dark gaze and slow nodding head gave Angie her answer before Mary spoke. It was hope, and now she had to convince her brother to allow it.

“You will wait outside for me.”

It was not a request, but an order, from Mary. Angie thanked them both before she stepped outside.

She hadn't realized until that moment that she harbored the hope that Niko would wait. It didn't take the brains of a peahen to understand the meaning of the two fine horses tied to the brush. Why should she care that he had come courting? He was young, and handsome—She stopped herself.

He was dressed as he had been last night, but now the sun shone on the ebony sheen of his shoulder-length hair, and revealed his dark gaze, which sent strange curls of warmth through her. He stood silent for so long, Angie thought he would not speak to her at all.

And when he did, it was not to ask the question she expected, why she was here.

“You have sewn another button on.”

Her hand rose to her neckline. “I had to. In the midst of the confusion last night, no one noticed it missing, but either my brother or sister-in-law—that's who I live with—would have remarked on it.”

“You did not speak of seeing me?”

“No. I…said nothing.” Last night she could have sworn that he didn't understand much of what she said, and spoke very little English. But now… She was distracted by the small boy who wandered close and stood smiling and looking up at him.

It wasn't until Niko hunkered down close to the boy that Angie saw the silver-and-turquoise earring he wore. If anyone had told her that a man could appear so masculine and wear an earring, she would have scoffed at him. But she couldn't imagine anyone poking fun at Niko.

“This is Little One,” Niko said, drawing the boy nearer to the V of his thighs. “He will take a name befitting a man of the Chiricahua when he is older. But he will have no father to stand ceremony with him.”

To the boy Niko smiled, but Angie heard the underlying bitterness in his voice. It prompted her to say, “He is one of the reasons I have come here. I want to draw the faces of the children and show people what is happening here.” She couldn't help staring at the gentle movement of Niko's hands as he cuddled the boy. Hunger for her own child sent pain through her, and she turned away.

“Are you so poor in love,
iszáń
, that you see shame in a man giving it to a child? Do you see evil in the ways of my people, that a warrior holds a boy?” He rose and, with his smile still in place, sent the boy off. “Look at me. Is this what you have come to show? Will you twist what you see into more lies against us?”

Angie steeled herself to face him. She couldn't stop the tears from falling down her cheeks, nor did she try.

“Tears? Have my words brought them to your eyes?”

She searched his eyes for scorn and found only a deep concern. Honesty was the only answer she could give him.

“No. Not your words. I was touched here,” she said, lifting her hand to her heart, “that you are proud and strong, yes, strong enough to show love and gentleness to a child. That is a strength all its own. Not many men would be so open before a woman.”

Niko looked away from her. Once again she watched him with the eyes of a woman for a man, and he knew, in his heart of hearts he knew, he should walk away from her now. There had been sadness in her gaze upon the boy, and a longing, as if she, too, wished to hold him. He had to be wrong. She was white. Her pale hands would not touch the skin of an Apache. Not willingly. Or would she? Like the winding movement of a snake, the question wove itself into his mind, raising the heat of his blood, bringing to life the fire in his loins.

“You will not come back here. There will be no drawings made. I will forbid it.”

“Forbid it?” His harsh grating tone stated that he would snatch away the rope she needed to cling to before she drowned in a sea of guilt and grief.

“No! You will not do this to me. I need—” She broke off and stared at the implacable set of his features. She couldn't tell him about Amy. She couldn't speak of it to anyone. Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her burden, and the fight left her.

She held the hope that the old woman would talk to Cochise. But were the Apache men any different from the whites, who would always listen first to a man's words? She didn't think so.

A far-off cry rang out. Niko spun around as whispers spread. He saw for himself the rising cloud of dust and the glint of the sun's rays on brass buttons. Soldiers. He hated the bold way they rode into the camp. The woman was forgotten in the face of this new threat to his people.

He was alone, for Dezyo had long since returned to the others. Old women and young children were all that remained in camp. The young women tended the hidden patches of corn. Twice now the fields had been discovered by Anglos bent on their destruction. The warriors who hunted, and the others that kept watch over the horses, would come at a signal from him, but he would not give it. Any sign of resistance would be seen as a threat against the soldiers.

Niko would not flee. He even walked out to the clearing where they had to stop their horses.

Angie was right behind him. When she saw that they were soldiers from the fort, she looked for her nephew. Dismay filled her when she recognized her brother riding with them. What was Grant doing here? While she silently asked herself, she noticed the leader of the small patrol. Corporal Eric Linley had been invited to supper twice since she arrived, despite her pleas to her brother that she wasn't ready to think of marriage.

“Stand away,” Niko ordered, but of necessity his voice was very low.

“There she is!” Grant yelled, spurring his horse to the front. “And that's the filthy buck that stole her!”

“He didn't steal me.” Angie ran forward, crying out, “No one stole me. I came on my own, Grant.” She tried to grab hold of his stirrup. Shocked, she felt his foot lash out at her. She stumbled back, vaguely aware that a few of the soldiers cursed him.

With his gaunt features livid, fury alight in his eyes, Grant dismounted and holding his reins, grabbed hold of her arms. “What lies are you muttering?” He shook his sister as if she were a tree whose fruit he wanted to jar loose. “What happened to you? Tell us what he did. You ain't got to fear—”

“B-but I'm not a-afraid!”

“I seen you. Stop lying for that heathen savage, Angie. You were close to him. My own eyes ain't lying to me. You were
talking
to him.”

She ignored the pain of his fingers biting into her arms, and his look of warning. Grant had never lost his temper with her. But she couldn't keep quiet about this. Her brother was wrong.

“Grant, just listen—”

“Your sister speaks the truth,” Mary Ten Horses said, walking toward them as fast as her girth would allow. “She rode here with me, to visit my sister.”

“Then what the hell was she doing with that damn buck!”

It wasn't a question. Angie tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let her go. “Grant, stop this,” she pleaded. “Yes, I spoke to him. But that's all. You're acting as if—”

His slap rocked her head back and immediately silenced her. Stunned that her brother had raised his hand to her, Angie didn't see Niko lunge for him until it was too late.

The sheer force of Niko's tackle ripped Grant's hands from her arms. Before Grant could recover, Niko took hold of one hand, bending and twisting his fingers until Grant released a howl of agony and went down on one knee.

Niko never thought of pulling his knife. This was a dog that should be kicked to the earth. His foot lashed out, but the moment he was unbalanced, six soldiers jumped him.

“Stop them!” Angie screamed. She rounded on the three men who stood holding the horses' reins. “Do something,” she demanded. One by one they looked away. She ran toward Eric, only to stop. “Please. Order your men to leave him be.” Her appeal fell on deaf ears, for he, too, turned away.

“How can you let this happen?” Everywhere she looked, she saw the stoic faces of the Apache. No one moved. Not even the children. But they didn't look away from the horror of one man beaten by so many.

Angie couldn't stand it. She ran forward, trying to pull the soldiers off him. Her cries didn't matter. She used her fists, she clawed skin and cloth, even landed a few kicks on several men's legs.

“Have you lost your mind?” Eric grabbed her arms, yanked them behind her back and dragged her clear. “For my sake and your reputation, Angie, remember who you are. There will be enough gossip attached to this as it is. I can't imagine what got into you to behave no better than these animals.”

“Animals? You call them animals? What of your men, Corporal? These are brave soldiers conquering the enemy?” She tried to angle her head back to see him, but he moved to the side. “Damn you, Eric. Damn you and those men to hell for this day's work.”

She stopped struggling. The violence of the beating appalled her. Her throat was so raw she couldn't even cry out anymore.

Niko forced himself not to move. He knew he had no chance against so many. They wanted him to fight, these Anglo dogs, goaded him with vipers' tongues that insulted his manhood, his people, even the spirits that he believed in. Only once did a groan escape his lips. A heavyset soldier's boot landed a solid kick to his kidney. He tried to shove them off him, fought to rise, rage exploding inside him that
she
had to witness his shame at their hands.

He was blinded by sweat and blood. His headband was gone, and hair hung in front of his eyes. One moment he was struggling to sit, and in the next, pain roared through his head. He fell back to the warm earth.

“That'll fix the bastard.” Replacing the pistol he'd used to knock the Apache out cold in his leather holster, the soldier kicked one limp leg. “Ain't gonna give us no trouble now, Corporal.”

Bile rose in Angie's throat as they backed away and she viewed his broken, bleeding body. Nausea roiled in her belly. She wouldn't, couldn't, be sick in front of them.

She turned her head and met her brother's furious gaze. “Are you satisfied now, Grant?”

He ignored her and addressed himself to Eric. “I want him arrested. I demand that.” He shot a glance at Niko's body. “That savage attacked me. You all saw that.” He sent a searching look at the now-silent soldiers, standing in a half circle, more than one wiping blood from his mouth.

“You can't let him get away with this. If you don't haul him back to the fort, I'll go to your commanding officer.”

“No.” Mary came forward then and stepped between Grant and the soldiers. “I will go to Major Sumner. I cook, clean and launder for him. He will hear the truth from me.”

“And me.” Angie found herself released from Eric's hold, and she walked on shaking legs to her brother. “Leave it be, Grant. You're making a fool of yourself. They beat him for you.” She spat out the words, scorn underlying every one. “He didn't do
anything
to me. You're the one who hit me and he came to my defense. Something,” she stated, looking over her shoulder at the soldiers, “a
white
man didn't have the courage to do.” Head held high, she challenged her brother with her gaze.

“You dare! After all I done for you? Trouble's what you are. I don't know why I took you in when no one else would have you. Worthless, ungrateful—taking up on the side of a filthy buck against your own brother! You'd be beggin' on the street if it wasn't for me. No one wanted a nagging witch that caused her husband's death. Giving yourself airs. You're forgetting it was your own neglect that killed your child?”

“Grant, no!”

“And now you shame me, defending an Apache dog! Get out of my sight. I'll deal with you later.”

Angie fell back as if he had hit her again. Mary kept her from falling. Mary, whose arms offered her comfort when her brother turned his back on her. But Angie didn't cry. She couldn't let Grant see the wounds he had ripped open inside her. Shame? He dared to speak of shame, after he'd twisted her grief and laid bare her sorrow by blaming her?

Niko came to in time to hear Grant. A child? She had a child? No. He drifted in and out of a sea of pain. It took all his strength to will his body not to struggle when they used rope to bind his hands behind his back, then tied his ankles together. As they lifted him like meat ready for the spit, he managed to open his eyes, and saw that
she
still watched him. He named her then, mouthing the words—Woman of Sorrow, for such were her eyes that her sorrow pained him more than his own. It was the last thought he had.

No one stopped the soldiers from taking one of the bay mares that were to have been Dezyo's gift to the old one. She stood near her wickiup, mumbling to herself, but gave no other sign that she saw or heard what had happened. Angie waited for someone else besides Mary to come forth, to raise a protesting voice when they flung Niko's body over the mare's back and tied his hands and feet together beneath the horse's belly.

Silence reigned as the soldiers mounted and rode out, leading him at the last, where the dust was sure to choke him.

“Mary?” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “What will they do to him?”

“If he lives?”

Angie didn't know where she found the strength to grab the older woman's arm. “What did you say? If he lives? Why won't he? Surely they don't plan to kill him? My God, Mary, he didn't do anything to deserve death.”

“He attacked a white man. That is enough. Apache have died for less.”

Her soft words, spoken without any hint of emotion, acted as a spur to Angie. “We can't stand here, Mary. We'll follow them to the fort. Between us, the truth will be told. It wasn't his fault. He only protected me.”

“No. This I will not do. You go to your small house.”

“But you just said…you told them that you'd go to Major…”

“Mary go. Mary talk. Mary alone.”

“But I'm the one who was hit. The major will have to listen to me. Mary, please, don't send me away. I need to do something to help him.”

“You no listen to Big Ears. He tell you—”

“Big Ears? Who?”

“The bluecoat with hair like cow's hide.”

“Eric? Eric is Big Ears?” For a moment, the twinkle in Mary's eyes distracted her as the woman nodded. Angie couldn't argue. Eric did have big ears. She was beginning to understand how the Apache named things and people. But, more, she found that they had humor in their ways. “All right, Mary, tell me why anything that Big Ears said should matter.”

“Here,” she said, touching Angie's left breast for a moment, “your heart is good.” She lifted her hand and cupped it on the side of Angie's head. “Here, you are as one who had all reason stolen by Owl.”

Just from her hushed tone, Angie knew that was something bad. But she couldn't let superstitions stop her.

Mary shook her head. “You no listen. You are white woman. You no speak for Apache warrior. Anglos make ugly words. Hurt you. Hurt you bad.”

“Gossip, Mary, can't hurt me. I won't stand by and do nothing. If you won't take me with you back to the fort, I'll find my own way there.”

“Take her, my sister,” the old one said.

Mary's shrug told Angie she had won. But she could not spare a moment to be happy about it. She had to figure out what she would say that would free Niko.
Niko
. His name came easily to her lips. Too easily. She liked saying it to herself as she climbed up to the buckboard's seat.

Unaware that her lips were almost curved in a smile, Angie didn't see Mary shake her head.

Clucking to her mules, Mary set them on their way.
No good will come of this day. The
gode
had been set among them. All knew what the Gray One caused. All but the woman
. Mary glanced skyward.
Thunder People, protect your son of earth and fire. Strange are the ways of a woman's heart. Strong are the legs that carry her on her chosen path
.

Her memories turned back in time, to a summer when she had been young and strong and a bold trapper had courted her. He had fought bravely to make her his wife. To cross the land took courage. Mary glanced at Angie.

Have you the courage to cross the lines that divide us?

She would not ask.