Apache Flame (16 page)

She stared at the men surrounding her. Mitch wouldn’t give
up. He wouldn’t surrender without a fight, and neither would she. No matter how
bad things seemed, there was always hope. Mitch had taught her that.

She wouldn’t just stand there and do nothing, wouldn’t
surrender her virtue without a fight.

A murmur ran through the crowd as the warrior unfastened the
tie and the material fell away, exposing her shoulder. It was now or never.
Taking a deep breath, she drove her knee into the warrior’s groin as hard as
she could.

The air whooshed out of the young man’s lungs as he doubled
over, his hands clutching his groin. There was an explosion of laughter from
the other men as the warrior dropped to the ground and rolled back and forth,
his face a mask of agony.

One of the other men said something to his companions, then
started toward her. It was then that Mukwooru shoved his way into the crowd,
his face dark with anger. He spoke to the warriors gathered around, pointing at
Alisha and then at himself, and though she couldn’t understand what was being
said, it was obvious that he was telling his companions that she belonged to
him.

The other men drifted away, muttering amongst themselves,
while Mukwooru led her to his bedroll and pushed her down.

She stared up at him, her hands clenched, wondering if he
was going to finish what the young warrior had started. Mukwooru stared at her
for several moments, his eyes hot, and then he turned and walked away.

Alisha sank down on his blankets, relief washing through
her. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered fervently. “Thank you, thank you, thank
you!”

Later, as she lay on the ground looking up at the stars, she
remembered another Bible verse that had always given her comfort.
The Lord
hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.

Please, God
, she prayed as she drifted to sleep.
Let
it be so.

Chapter Eighteen

Mitch reined his horse to a halt. Leaning forward, he patted
the bay’s neck while he scanned the ground for sign. He offered a silent prayer
of thanks that the Comanches’ trail was still easy to follow, that, judging
from the footprints he had seen earlier, Alisha was still alive, thank God.

He would find her, or die trying, he thought. And once he
found her, he was never letting her out of his sight again. He was going to wed
her and bed her and she wasn’t going to have a damn thing to say about it. He
had spent the last five years thinking about her, wanting her,
needing
her,
and he damn well meant to have her…

He swore softly, and then laughed. As if he’d ever been able
to make Alisha do anything she didn’t want to. Of course, he’d never really
tried because, growing up, they had always seemed to drift toward the same
things…she had liked hunting and swimming and hiking in the hills, the same as
he had. He had taught her to ride on an old plow horse that had belonged to his
father. Alisha had been eight or nine at the time, and more than a little
afraid of the horse. It had taken him about three days to convince get her up
on that old mare, but once she overcame her fears, she’d done pretty well. Of
course, having only the one horse, they’d had to ride double. Not that he had
cared. At that age, most boys shunned the company of little girls unless they
were teasing them, but Alisha had been his best friend, his only friend.
Growing up, he had beat the tar out of more than one bully who had been mean to
her until the boys at school learned to leave her alone or face the
consequences.

With a sigh, he urged the bay into a trot, hoping that, like
the knights of old in the stories Alisha used to read to him, he would arrive
in time to rescue his lady fair.

* * * * *

He rode all that day and into the evening, hoping to cut the
Comanches’ lead, and just when he was about to call it quits for the night, he
saw the faint glow of a campfire.

He quickly reined the bay to a halt, afraid the mare might
betray his presence is she caught the scent of other horses. Dismounting, he
tethered the bay to a clump of scraggly brush. He crawled forward on his hands
and knees for several yards, then dropped down on his belly, inching as close
as he dared to the camp. In the light of the flames, he could make out the
forms of a dozen warriors squatting around the fire. Alisha sat a little apart
from the men.

Though he couldn’t see her face clearly, Alisha looked none
the worse for wear, as far as he could tell. At least she was alive.

Clinging to that thought, he crawled back to where he had
left the bay. He loosened the saddle girth a little; then, with a blanket
draped over his shoulders, he ate a little of the food his mother had prepared
for him.

His mother. It was still hard to believe that she was alive.
He wished now that he hadn’t waited so long to visit her people. All these
years he’d thought her dead, and she had been living with the Apache, getting
married, having another child. He grinned as he thought of his little brother
and then frowned as he turned his thoughts back to Alisha. He had to get her
away from the Comanches now, before they reached their village. Trying to sneak
her out of their camp would be suicide. Trying to pick the Indians off one at a
time would only alert them to his presence. What he needed was a diversion.

He grunted softly. There was plenty of dry grass and brush
in the area. It was risky, but at the moment, it was the only thing he could
think of.

Judging from where the Comanches were now, and the course
they had been following, he had a pretty good idea of the direction they would
take when they broke camp. With luck, he would be able to get ahead of them,
unseen.

* * * * *

Alisha wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of smoke.
She’d been half asleep. Now, she looked up as Mukwooru reined his horse to a
halt. Her own mount stopped beside the warrior’s. A fierce wind had started
blowing a short time ago. Since Mukwooru was leading her horse, there had no
need for her to watch where she was going, and she had been riding with her
head down and her eyes closed to keep the wind from stinging her eyes. Now, she
heard the warrior mutter what sounded like a curse.

The other warriors gathered around Mukwooru, all talking
quickly. It was then that Alisha noticed a heavy layer of smoke in the
distance.

Looking closer, she saw that the grass was on fire. Fanned
by the wind, it was coming in their direction. Alisha looked at the smoke,
wiped her eyes, and looked again. It wasn’t possible, but she would have sworn
she had seen a man riding in the midst of the smoke, dragging a clump of
burning brush behind his horse. She tried to get a better look, but the smoke
was too thick now. Her horse danced beneath her, its ears twitching uneasily as
the acrid smell of the smoke grew stronger.

Mukwooru silenced the warriors. He spoke to them, his tone
urgent as he gestured at a dry creek bed about a hundred yards in the distance.

With a wild cry, the warriors whipped their horses, heading
toward the creek bed, which was their only possible refuge from the fire. With
luck, the flames would jump the creek bed and leave them unscathed.

Alisha grabbed hold of the saddle horn as Mukwooru urged his
horse into a run, forcing her horse to do the same. She glanced over her
shoulder. Thick clouds of blue-gray smoke hovered over the prairie. She could
see the flames now. Hot red tongues of fire that danced and slithered over the
ground, greedily devouring the dry prairie grasses. A jackrabbit sprang out of
a clump of sage, bounding away.

She screamed as her horse plunged over the sandy embankment,
sliding on its haunches before it gained its feet again.

The other warriors quickly dismounted. Forcing their horses
to lay down so that they were below the level of the creek bed, the men lay
across the necks of their mounts to keep the animals from rising.

Mukwooru dropped the reins to Alisha’s horse as he
dismounted, then turned and handed his horse’s reins to one of the other men to
keep the animal from bolting. Seeing what might be her only chance to escape,
Alisha leaned forward in the saddle, one hand clutching the pommel while she
grabbed her horse’s reins. Heart pounding, she slammed her heels against
Sophie’s flanks as hard as she could.

It was a big risk, one that might very well cost her her
life, yet it might also be the chance she had prayed for. Knowing she would
rather die than spend the rest of her life as a captive, she urged the mare
onward.

The horse, already spooked by the scent of smoke, sprang
forward, its shoulder slamming into Mukwooru, knocking the startled warrior off
his feet.

She heard Mukwooru’s shout as Sophie scrambled up the
embankment. Holding the reins in one hand and the saddle horn in the other, she
hung on for dear life as the mare raced across the prairie, heading for the
tree line, away from the Comanches, away from the fire that chased her like a
living, breathing thing. She had to reach the trees, had to find a place to
hide. It was the only chance she had.

“Run, Sophie!” she cried, drumming her heels against the
mare’s sides. “Run!”

They were almost at the tree line when Alisha heard a shout.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Mukwooru riding out of the smoke toward
her.

Time slowed, stood still, and she knew he was going to catch
her…

* * * * *

Mitch glanced over his shoulder. The fire behind him was
spreading across the prairie, fanned by the wind. Dropping the rope secured to
a clump of burning brush, he rode on aways, then stopped again and looked back
to see if his plan worked. He had taken a big gamble in setting the prairie
grass on fire, but then, he’d never been afraid of risks, until now. He had
been certain the Comanches would take shelter in the dry creek bed rather than
try to run for the trees, which were farther away, and time proved him right.
He felt a surge of satisfaction as the Indians ran for the creek bed. As a
child, Alisha had always had more than her fair share of gumption and he was
praying that that hadn’t changed, that in the confusion caused by the fire, she
would cut and run if the opportunity presented itself.

He smiled, his heart swelling with pride and relief when he
saw her horse break from the creek bed a few minutes later, but the smile
quickly died when he saw one of the Comanche warriors set out in hot pursuit.

Mitch spurred his horse, his heart leaping into his throat.
This was something he hadn’t planned on.

His horse was digging up the ground with every stride as
they raced toward the creek bed where the rest of the Comanche had taken
refuge. He bent low over his mount’s neck, felt the big bay gather itself, and
then they were sailing over the creek bed.

He heard the surprised shouts of the Indians as the bay
cleared the ravine. Glancing back, he saw the warriors pointing in his
direction, heard their angry cries as they vaulted onto the backs of their
horses and poured out of the ravine like angry ants whose nest had been
destroyed.

But he had no time to worry about them, not now, not when
Alisha was in danger. Looking ahead, he sought a route that would take him
around the fire and into the trees.

* * * * *

Mukwooru lashed his horse unmercifully, determined to catch
the white woman. He had no woman of his own, had wanted no woman until he had
pulled the white girl from the back of her horse and looked into her terrified
brown eyes. He had quickly claimed her as his captive and warned the other
warriors to leave her alone. He would not lose her.

He slowed his horse as he entered the tree line. The trees
might catch fire, but they would not burn as quickly as the dry grasses of the
prairie. The heavy foliage would slow the fire’s onslaught.

The smoke was another matter. It enveloped him in an acrid
gray cloud.

Seeing movement in the underbrush, he reined his horse to a
halt and dismounted; then, war club in hand, he wound his way through the
trees, a faint smile on his lips. She was there, and he would have her.

He came to an abrupt halt as a gust of wind cleared the
smoke and a warrior stepped into view. An Apache warrior.

Elk Chaser raised his war club as a Comanche warrior
materialized out of the smoke. A harsh cry rose in his throat as he sprang
forward. The other man was younger, swifter, and he quickly ducked out of the
way. Spinning around, the Comanche lunged forward, his own war club lifted
high. Elk Chaser was ready for him and they came together, clubs swinging.

Elk Chaser grunted as his foot slipped on a sprinkling of
pine needles and he went down on one knee. Hands locked on the ends of his war
club, he held it over his head to ward off the Comanche’s attack.

A long ululating cry filled the air as Cheis and Diyehii ran
forward to help Elk Chaser. With the ease of long practice, Diyehii put arrow
to bow string and let it fly. The arrow caught the Comanche in the chest,
driving him backward, until he was lost in the smoke.

Elk Chaser gained his feet, then peered into the distance.
The fire was at the trees now. There was no chance of riding through it, no
hope of finding White Robe’s son, or the girl he had come to rescue.

He was lamenting the fact that he would have to tell White
Robe that her son was truly lost to her this time when he heard the sound of
horses approaching.

Fearing the Comanches had found them, he motioned for
Diyehii and Cheis to take cover.

Like shadows hiding from the sun, the three warriors ducked
into the underbrush just as a pair of horses burst into view through the heavy
smoke.

Elk Chaser sprang from cover, frantically waving his arms as
he recognized White Robe’s son. “Otter,” he called. “Over here!”

Surprised to see the man, Mitch jerked hard on the reins to
keep from running him down.