Sun God (35 page)

Amy knew a moment of panic. She quickly sat up and looked all around. She opened her mouth to call out and closed it before making a sound. Her voice would carry and echo through the canyon. She had no desire to alert any patrolling Apache.

She got up, stepped off the spread blanket, and anxiously went in search of her mysteriously withdrawn companion. Rounding a bend, she winced silently when her bare right foot struck a sharp, jagged rock. Making a face, Amy hobbled on, carefully picking her way over rock and sand and gravel and tangled underbrush.

She stopped abruptly when she saw El Capitán seated in the exact same spot, in the exact same position, as when she had left him hours earlier. She wondered if he had sat like that, rifle across his knees, vigilantly keeping watch the whole time she had slept.

Amy hadn’t made a sound, but his dark head swung round and he looked straight at her. At once he leaned the rifle against the wall of rock and came to his feet. It was then that Amy noticed the sleeves had been cut from his fringed buckskin shirt. His long arms were bare all the way to the shoulder, his hard biceps surging, muscles rippling under the smooth skin.

“You got too hot,” she said, gesturing to his sleeveless shirt. And wondered why the meaningless statement so annoyed him.

He advanced on her as if she had insulted him. His bronzed, sinewy presence was so intimidating Amy automatically took a step backward. Again she stepped on a rock, her tender heel coming down directly atop its rough surface.

“Owwww,” she murmured, but kept her watchful eye on his set face and continued to retreat.

“Be still,” he ordered, and reaching her, went down on one knee before her. From inside the waistband of his trousers, he drew out a pair of soft knee-high moccasins. Draping one over his shoulder, he reached for Amy’s right foot. While she held on to him to keep from falling, he set her foot atop his thigh and closely examined it, running inquiring fingers over the soft sole.

Amy’s feet were ticklish. She burst out laughing and attempted to pull her foot away. He wrapped his fingers around her ankle and his eyes lifted to hers.

“Laugh a bit louder,” he said sharply. “Laugh long enough and you’ll draw the Apaches to laugh along with you.”

The laughter died in her throat. “Sorry.”

“Pull up your pants leg so I can get these moccasins on your feet.”

She nodded. “You made me a pair of moccasins from your shirtsleeves.”

“It’s a long way back to Orilla. You’d never make it barefooted.”

“No, I … Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

He said nothing. He slipped the soft doeskin moccasin onto her foot and laced it to just below her knee. He repeated the action with the other foot, then pulled her pants legs down over the newly made footwear and rose.

“Start gathering up the gear,” he instructed. “I’ve seen no sign of an Apache all day. It’s midafternoon. With any luck we could be down out of the Chisos by nightfall.”

“Have you slept?”

He turned and walked away. Over his shoulder he said, “I’ll sleep tonight.”

She followed after him and laid a hand on his bare forearm. “You can’t make it without sleep.”

His gaze coldly touched the pale hand lying on his arm and Amy guiltily snatched it away. He told her, “I can make it without sleep. I can make it without food. I can make it without water if necessary.” He paused. His eyes became black ice. “And, Mrs. Parnell, I can also make it without you.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Well, who ever said you couldn’t? Go on without me! Just leave me here and—”

“Get the gear together!”

It was nearing six in the afternoon.

The pair, riding tandem, were just about down and out of the Chisos. Amy, seated astride and behind Luiz, had her hands locked around his hard waist. They had said almost nothing since quitting the canyon.

Growing increasingly weary, Amy was glad it would soon be nightfall. She was relieved that they had wound their way down out of the Chisos to the wide valley without encountering a single Apache.

She didn’t realize just how tense and wary she had been until now when she began to fully relax. She felt that the danger had passed. Sighing, Amy laid her cheek against El Capitán’s erect back and closed her burning eyes.

She was almost dozing when a faint flapping sound caused her eyes to open, and she stirred. Her head came up off Luiz’s back. She saw two huge black vultures, their wings spread wide, perched on a dead tree ahead. A chill raced up her spine.

It was an omen. She knew it. They still weren’t safe.

“Amy, you awake?” Luiz’s soft, low voice startled her.

“Yes,” she managed, her eyes locked on the pair of hovering buzzards. This cold, unreachable man had called her Amy. He never called her Amy. Something was wrong.

“Can you fall off this horse without breaking anything?”

“What is it?” Amy asked anxiously, feeling the blood turn cold in her veins.

“We have company,” he told her calmly.

Her head snapped around. Squinting anxiously, at first she saw nothing.

Then, about a hundred yards behind her, the Apaches came into sight.

“I counted nine of them,” said Luiz.

“Then why are we going so slowly?” Her voice grew shrill with fear. “Put the paint into a dead run and get us out of here!”

“Not quite yet,” he said, no urgency in his tone. “Now listen carefully and do exactly as I tell you. We are going to maintain our present pace—let them close in. Meanwhile, unstrap our gear from behind the cantle. Reach under my shirt, take the revolver from my waistband, wrap it up inside the gear. Hang the canteen over your shoulder. But first, take the Winchester from the saddle scabbard and hand it up to me.”

Amy didn’t hesitate. She set to work immediately, knowing whatever his plan was, she must follow it without question.

“You see that beginning string of Santiago foothills rising from the valley floor directly ahead of us?” Amy nodded anxiously but didn’t make a sound. “Amy?”

“Yes. Yes, I see them.”

“When we have rounded the very first one and are out of the Apaches’ sight, let your body go completely limp, fall off this horse, get up and dash up the timbered slopes the minute you hit the ground. Can you do that?”

“Yes. But where will you be?”

“Hopefully drawing the Apaches away from you.”

“No, Luiz! I won’t let you do that. I’m staying with you. We’ll take our chances together.”

“Don’t argue with me!” His voice had taken on a cutting edge. “Get busy. Do everything I told you, but as you work, hang on tight with one hand. I am fixing to tell this big paint to stretch it out.”

A touch of his heels to the stallion’s flanks sent the creature into a rapid gallop with an amazing burst of speed. Half a mile behind, nine shouting, shrieking Apache braves madly pursued. Luiz was not worried about them firing their weapons. At least not yet.

They had been ordered to bring the pale-skinned woman back to their chief unharmed. They didn’t dare risk a misplaced bullet striking Amy. That had been Luiz’s reason for having her ride behind him.

It was a fancy balancing act Amy performed atop the sprinting paint. She managed to get the Colt revolver wrapped up in the blanket, the whole pack rolled back up, and the canteen draped around her neck. She passed the Winchester up to Luiz.

She was ready.

The trees were flashing past. The wind was stinging her eyes. Her heart was pounding with anticipation. She knew that any second El Capitán would give the command for her to fall off the speeding horse and …

“Now, Amy, girl,” said Luiz, turning his head, and Amy tumbled from the galloping stallion and crashed to the grassy ground. Her elbow struck first, hitting squarely on her funnybone. Fingers of numbing pain shot up the useless arm and Amy dropped the pack.

She jerked it up with her other hand and sprang to her feet. In her protective moccasins, she scrambled quickly up into the dense undergrowth. Low, leafy limbs hit her in the face; a jungle of vicious thorns and barbs slapped at her arms and legs, but she plunged on.

She didn’t stop until she had climbed high up the mountain slope. When finally she was so out of breath, her lungs burning so painfully she could go no farther, she sank to the ground, her legs so weak she could no longer stand.

She heard the drumming hooves of the Indians’ ponies passing directly below. Luiz’s plan had worked! The Apaches had no idea she was no longer riding with him.

Amy wearily dropped the heavy pack to the ground and searched hurriedly through it until she found the heavy revolver. With shaking hand she lifted it. It wavered and dipped and she brought around her other hand to help support the weapon’s weight.

Sucking anxiously for air, Amy sat in the dappled shade, the gun raised defensively before her. She jumped reflexively when she heard the first burst of gunfire. The whine of ricocheting bullets striking rock made her fall down onto her belly and flatten herself to the ground. Her weight supported on her elbows, the gun pointed down the mountain, she stared wide-eyed through the trees.

The gunfire blasts continued—rapid and frightening—but growing steadily softer as the Apaches rode farther away. She was momentarily safe, but what about Luiz? Had he avoided that fierce barrage of bullets. Was he hit and badly hurt? Dying? Dead?

No, she told herself forcefully. Had he been bit, the firing would have stopped. He had eluded them. He was an expert horseman and an expert marksman. He would either outrun them or kill them all!

Long minutes passed.

The firing finally stopped and Amy’s fear escalated. Had the Apaches killed him, and were they now combing the woods for her? She rolled over onto her back and sat up.

An hour went by. All was silent save the occasional call of a mountain thrush and the yelping of a coyote as dusk settled over the Santiagos.

Amy waited, long after the sun had gone down and the night air had chilled and her densely timbered redoubt grew oppressively dark.

She told herself she had to remain calm. El Capitán knew what he was doing. He was cunning and ingenious. He was not dead! He had eluded the Apaches and he would come back for her. All she had to do was remain concealed and wait. Soon he would come riding up out of the darkness astride the big paint and everything would be all right.

The moon rose high above the trees, but its silvery light could not penetrate the lush canopy of heavily foliaged junipers and tall piñon pines. Her hand numb from holding the revolver so tightly, Amy sat blinking in the thick pervasive darkness, every muscle in her body stretched as taut as a violin’s strings.

They’ve killed him, her frenzied brain screamed out. He couldn’t lose them, couldn’t outrun them. They’ve caught up with him, pulled him down off the paint, butchered and scalped him. Now he was lying out there in the moonlight, dead, his lifeless body growing cold, his unseeing eyes open and staring sightlessly up at the heavens.

Her imagination running away with her, Amy’s body began to jerk with fear and anguish. El Capitán was dead. And, once again, it was her fault. She was alone and the mountain was crawling with Apaches and any second they would close in on her and rape her and scalp her and slit her throat from ear to ear and … and …

The faint sound of a twig snapping nearby brought Amy scrambling to her feet in terror. She blinked frantically in the thick darkness and couldn’t see a thing.

The gun wavered. She couldn’t hold it level in her cold, shaking hands. She stiffened her arms out straight, but had no idea in which direction she should point the weapon. Her heart beat so fast she could scarcely get a breath.

Frantic, she strained to listen and spasmed with panic when dead chaparral crunched lightly beneath the intruder’s foot. She whipped about to face the direction from which the sound had come. Her finger curled around the .44’s trigger, she pointed at the wall of impenetrable blackness and waited, trembling, for her attacker to emerge.

From behind her, a hand shot out of the darkness, clamped tightly over her mouth, and she was slammed back against a tall, solid frame. A steel-like arm wrapped around her, pinning hers to her sides. The gun hung useless in her right hand.

Against her ear a deep, reassuring voice whispered very softly, “Amy, it’s Luiz. Sorry I had to frighten you, but I couldn’t permit a scream.” He felt her slender, jerking body go slack against his. He went on, his lips so close to her ear Amy could feel their warmth, “When I take my hand away, don’t speak, don’t make a sound.” Her eyes closing with relief, Amy nodded against his covering fingers.

Luiz took his hand from her lips, took the heavy Colt from her hand, and when she turned and threw her arms around his neck, he held her, his bare arm around her, comforting her.

When she had calmed, Luiz warned her to remain totally mute. She did but she refused to let go of him. So, holding her, Luiz looked watchfully about, his eyes narrowed keenly. He listened and then whispered against Amy’s ear.

“Directly in front of you, exactly eight feet from where we’re standing, there’s a big-trunked ponderosa. Go quietly to that tree. When you reach it, turn your back to it and step away two feet.” He gently removed her arms from around his waist.

Amy tiptoed forward to the tree, her hands out before her like a blind person. When she reached it, her searching fingers swept over its rough bark, and she turned around, stepped two feet back toward Luiz, and waited.

After what seemed forever, he came to her, placed a gentle hand atop her shoulder, and urged her to sit down. When she was settled on a smooth, soft patch of grass, he stepped around behind her and slowly sank to the ground, spreading his bent knees to enclose her. He leaned his back against the large tree trunk.

Again his lips touched her ear and he whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe. Think you can rest in this position?” She nodded. “Then lean back on me and relax.”

Amy didn’t have to be told twice. The nights were still nippy at this altitude and the winds seemed to go right through her blue cotton shirt. She needed the heat of his body, so gladly she scooted close against him. She leaned her back against his broad chest. She laid her head on his shoulder and pulled her knees up.