They had come in the morning, as her mother was preparing breakfast. Her sister Rachel was still in bed and her father was feeding the livestock. The Apaches had approached stealthily and killed her father at the wire fence before he could do more than wing one of them. Lorna had been by the window and seen the arrow thud into his chest, then started to scream as a brave leaped from his pony to claim the scalp. Even before her mother had time to rush to Lorna's side twenty more braves, led by the tall, arrogantly handsome Cochise, had sprung into the house through doors and windows, whooping their triumph and brandishing knives dripping with the blood of slaughtered livestock. Two of them emerged from the bedroom carrying the screaming Rachel, their hands exploring her nakedness as lust contorted grotesquely daubed faces. As Lorna and her mother tried to rush across the room to Rachel's aid, Cochise restrained Lorna with an arm around her waist, while her mother was felled by a vicious slap across the face. Lorna began to struggle frantically, fear and rage exploding from her throat in a continuous, high-pitched wail which was drowned by the demonic laughter of Cochise and the jubilant whooping of the braves as they staked out Rachel on the floor and bound the girls’ mother to a chair.
Then the orgy began, as brave after brave dropped his breechcloth and threw himself upon the helpless body of a girl who had gone to bed a virgin. As the girls' mother pleaded for release from the torture, those braves who had spent themselves at the bloodied loins of the hysterical Rachel rampaged through the rooms, smashing, tearing and defiling everything which had made the house a home for the Fawcetts. As Lorna watched, she experienced a metamorphic transformation inside her mind, perhaps even her soul. She became quiet, almost docile, in the vice-like grip of the Apache chief and her throat, seared by the screams, blocked any further sound. Her bright eyes continued to stare, wide and pained, at the scene of savagery, but it was apparent that she had capitulated to the inevitability of what was happening. It was as if a shutter had been slammed down upon her will to resist and when the last brave had satiated his lust and two more leaped forward to hack off the breasts of their victim, Lorna could merely shudder at the sight and wince at the sound her young sister's screams. And when the tomahawk crashed down on to, and then through, the skull of her mother there were no more emotional reserves upon which Lorna could call. She watched the action and saw the great spurt of crimson blood with an expression of vacant acceptance, and the set of her features did not alter as the braves grouped before her and made their wishes clear with the lower parts of their naked bodies as they shouted to Cochise.
But Cochise had his own plans for Lorna and the braves accepted his orders meekly, garbing themselves in their breechcloths and filing out of the house to mount their ponies. Then, with the ease of a child carrying a rag doll, Cochise slung Lorna across his shoulder and left the house, whispering softly in her ear words she would not have heard even if the Apache had been speaking English. For the viciousness of what she had witnessed had rendered Lorna insensible to everything which happened after her metamorphosis. Thus, she experienced without emotion the ride to camp, the hatred of the Apache squaws as she was led to the chief's tepee and the ordeal of Cochise's cruel raping.
Since becoming the chiefs white squaw she had accepted everything without resistance, eating, sleeping, and spreading, her voluptuous body beneath the hard maleness of Cochise whenever he signaled her to do so. Her only contact was with him and she was allowed to roam no further than a few feet from his tepee: she was universally hated by the Apache squaws and the object of blatant envy from the braves. She was a beautiful zombie and showed her first sign of human curiosity when she saw the two braves ride into the center of camp with a white man as their captive.
Standing before the tepee in the bright afternoon sunlight, she followed the progress of the braves and their prisoner with bright eyes and there issued from her throat a low grunting sound which could have been indicative of pity for Lord Hartley Fallowfield or perhaps was an exclamation of recognition for a fellow human being who was not a member of the savage tribe with whom she had been forced to live. The braves and their captive immediately became the center of interested attention and as they approached the chiefs tepee other braves fell in behind them so that when the two mounted Indians halted in front of Lorna, they were at the front of a huge assembly of braves. And, formed into lines at each side, were the women of the tribe. There was no noise, except for the quiet groans of the white man as he regained consciousness. The braves who had captured him slid from their ponies and the animal across which the Englishman was slung was urged forward a few paces. Then, as the Englishman groaned again he tried to raise his head but dropped it at once, moving his center of gravity so that he slid off the neck of the pony and crumpled into a heap on the ground. The flap of the chief’s tepee was pushed open and Cochise stepped out, the clean lines of his handsomeness unmarked by warpaint.
He stood beside his white squaw and surveyed the scene in silence for several moments, then barked a question. Both braves stepped forward and began to answer at the same time, anxious to claim the capture as his own. Cochise silenced them with a sharp command and pointed to just one of them, who rattled out his report. Lorna Fawcett continued to look at the Englishman, who had raised his head and was staring back at her with a confused expression.
"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?'" he croaked, trying to raise a smile but failing.
They were the first words of English the girl had heard since she had listened to the hysterical pleas of her mother and her lovely face showed comprehension. But she held her peace and watched without emotion as at a command from Cochise, the two braves hauled the Englishman to his feet. They had to support him in the upright position for his confused brain could not coordinate his muscles and he stood like a drunken man. His black hair was matted with dried blood from where the tomahawk blow had split his scalp and as he stood Lorna saw for the first time the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from his shoulder, the patch of black, coagulated blood crusting his suit coat. Pain masked his face, but he attempted to hold himself with dignity as Cochise stepped in front of him, hatred shining in the dark, Apache eyes. Moving with a precise speed, Cochise brought up his arm, grasped the arrow shaft and jerked it from the wound, raising an agonized scream and drawing fresh blood from the Englishman, whose pain was mercifully swamped by the soft blackness of a faint. The braves prevented him from collapsing to the ground and in obedience to another command from Cochise, dragged him unceremoniously into the chief’s tepee. The group began to break up then, but two of the more elderly squaws came forward at a signal from Cochise and followed the braves in through the flap. Lorna went in after them and sat in the comer, watching as the braves were dismissed and the women began to attend to the unconscious man's wounds, using herbs and hot water from the cooking pot and applying salve with bunched leaves. Cochise, too, watched for several minutes, then seemed to tire of the nursing and moved out of the tepee without a glance in the direction of Lorna. He never paid any attention to her unless the biological urge stirred in his loins.
The squaws worked with skill and in silence and even in her trancelike condition Lorna was able to realize that their care was having a beneficial effect, for the Englishman, stretched out on the crude settle, began to breath more regularly and his face grew, less haggard and gained some color. A gentle bathing of his brow with warm water finally revived him.
He awoke to find himself naked above the waist and saw his shoulder was padded with a leaf dressing and felt that his head was also expertly bound with a crude bandage. He glanced around him, grimacing with pain, but able to force a smile at the two squaws, who answered him with vacant stares. Then he saw Lorna and raised his hand in a weak gesture of greeting.