Janos, but his followers told the doctors that he must be cured or their
town would be destroyed. So he survived.
"Mangas Coloradas survived so that he could come a year later, under a
flag of truee, to parlay with the soldiers and miners for peaee. He was
seized.
Your general ordered that he have Mangas Coloradas the next morning,
alive or dead. So do you know what your civilized white people did to
him?
They heated their bayonets in the fire, and they burned his legs, and
when he protested, they shot him for trying to escape. It was not
enough. They cut off his head, and they boiled it in a large pot. Do you
understand? They boiled his head. But now you would sit there, and you
would tell me that I am savage?"
She wasn't sitting, she was kneeling, in exactly the position in which
he had pressed her. She was trembling, shaking like a leaf blown in
winter, and she was praying that Jamie would arrive and rescue her.
But of course, she didn't know if Jamie was alive or dead. He had faced
Chavez in a knife fight, and she couldn't know the outcome. And now she
was facing an articulate Apache who seemed to have reason to want
vengeance.
"You speak English exceptionally well," she said dryly. He did not
appreciate her sense of humor. He wrenched her to her feet and pulled
her against him. "You will find no mercy with me," he assured her.
"Do not beg." "I--I never beg," she said, but the words came out in a
whisper. She wasn't certain if they were defiant or merely pathetic. It
didn't matter. He pushed her forward, then tossed her over his shoulder
again.
"No!" she protested wildly. She hit his back, but he did not notice her
frantic effort. She braced against him and screamed, loudly.
desperately.
Jamie. Dear God, where was he now?
Perhaps it did not matter. Perhaps there was no help for either of them
anymore.
That brought him to a halt. He lifted her and slammed her down upon her
knees. She tried to rise, and he pressed her down with such fury that
she went still. He towered over her.
"Savage? You, a white woman, would call me savage? No one knows the
meaning of brutality so well as your own kind. Let me tell you,
Sun-Colored Woman, what the white man, the white soldier has done to us,
to my people." The moon rose high, shimmering down upon him with sudden
clarity. Nalte, his bronze shoulders slick and heavily muscled, walked
around her.
"In 1862 your General James Carleton sent a dispatch unit through Apache
Pass. Cochise and Mangas Coloradas lay in wait. There was a fierce
battle, and Mangas Coloradas was seized from his horse. He was taken to
Janos, but his followers told the doctors that he must be cured or their
town would be destroyed. So he survived.
"Mangas Coloradas survived so that he could come a year later, under a
flag of truce, to parlay with the soldiers and miners for peace. He was
seized.
Your general ordered that he have Mangas Coloradas the next morning,
alive or dead. So do you know what your civilized white people did to
him?
They heated their bayonets in the fire, and they burned his legs, and
when he protested, they shot him for trying to escape. It was not
enough. They cut off his head, and they boiled it in a large pot. Do you
understand? They boiled his head. But now you would sit there, and you
would tell me that I am savage?"
She wasn't sitting, she was kneeling, in exactly the position in which
he had pressed her. She was trembling, shaking like a leaf blown in
winter, and she was praying that Jamie would arrive and rescue her.
But of course, she didn't know if Jamie was alive or dead. He had faced
Chavez in a knife fight, and she couldn't know the outcome. And now she
was facing an articulate Apache who seemed to have reason to want
vengeance.
"You speak English exceptionally well," she said dryly. He did not
appreciate her sense of humor. He wrenched her to her feet and pulled
her against him. "You will find no mercy with me," he assured her.
"Do not beg."
"I--I never beg," she said, but the words came out in a whisper. She
wasn't certain if they were defiant or merely pathetic. It didn't
matter. He pushed her forward, then tossed her over his shoulder again.
"No!" she protested wildly. She hit his back, but he did not notice her
frantic effort. She braced against him and screamed, loudly.
desperately.
Jamie. Dear God, where was he now?
Perhaps it did not matter. Perhaps there was no help for either of them
anymore.
Chapter Eleven.
Nalte moved through the darkness so swiftly that Tess had little idea of
how far they traveled. She felt as if they twisted and turned
rdentlessly, but slowly she realized that they were moving downhill. She
tried at first to reason with him, but he ignored her, and it was
painful to t~ to talk when she was held so 'tightly against him. She was
exhausted, and the words she hzd said to Chavez were true at the very
least. She wanted to be free from Nalte, but she did not feel the same
loathing for the man that she had felt for Chavez. And now she knew
Jamie was alive. Or at least he had been alive. lie had gone to battle
Chavez, but now she had hope, if not ling else.
Hope. Could he come for her against Nalte? Could he slip out in The
darkness and come furtively against the Apache? S~ didn't know what to
think anymore. She hadn't thought that Nalte would speak English, but he
did so, very well.
He halted suddenly, letting out the cry of a night bird, and was
answered in kind. He started to walk again and they descended a final
cliff to a clearing where tepees rose magically againft the night sky,
and where camp fires burned with soft gl~s, where only the movement of
shadows could be seen.
Nalte set her down and let out the soft sound. of a bird cry once again.
From the shadows a man emerged. He was dressed as Nalte was, in a breech
clout He wore high buckskin boots and numerous tight beaded necklaces,
and carried what appeared to be a U. S. Army revolver. He began to speak
with Nalte very quickly, and Nalte replied. Then the man turned and
disappeared into the shadows. The Apache camp was sleeping, Tess
thought.
"Come," Nalte told her, catching her arm and leading her across the
camp.
She saw more shadows. The camp might sleep, but men were on guard.
She started to shiver, realizing that now she had no defenses. She had
enjoyed a certain safety with Jeremiah and David, so much so that she
could even be sorry that Jeremiah had been killed so coldly. But now.
She had come here as Nalte's prize.. That had been yon Heusen's plan.
The darkness lay all around them, and Nalte was leading her toward the
largest tepee. It glowed in moonlight, and she could see the designs and
colors upon it, the scenes of warfare, the furs attached to the flaps.
Smoke rose from the hole where the structure poles met at the top
indicating a fire within the tepee.
"Get in," Nalte said, thrusting her inside.
She nearly fell, but she regained her balance and stood quickly, ready
to fight him whatever came. He let the flap fall over the entryway and
crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. She moved backward,
noting the amusement that flickered in his dark eyes. She stumbled upon
something, looked around and saw that blankets and packs of clothing
were neatly rolled against the sides of the tepee and that there were
several cooking utensils by the fire that burned in the center of the
tepee. Its smoke escaped through the high hole.