ChasetheLightning (25 page)

“’You are now king of all the animals,” the boy said to the
buffalo.

“When the boy returned to the world above, all the animals
that were on the earth followed after him. The noise of their passage to the
world above woke one of the ravens, who quickly closed the opening. When he saw
that all the animals followed the Apache boy, he said, ‘When you kill any of
these animals, save the eyes for me’.

“The boy followed the trail of the People for four days
before he overtook them. A short time later, they all returned to the camp of
the People. When they arrived, the chief killed the first buffalo. The Apache
boy remembered the raven and saved the eyes.

“There was an old woman who was annoyed with one of the deer
that ate part of her lodge covering. Grabbing a branch from the fire, the old
woman hit the deer on the nose and the ash left a white mark that can still be
seen on the descendants of that deer.

“‘From this day on, you will avoid mankind,’ she declared.
‘Your nose will warn you when man is close.’

“That was the end of the harmony that had existed between
the People and the animals. Day by day, the animals drifted further and further
away from the Apache. The People prayed for their return. From then on, it was
mostly at night that the deer could be seen, but not too close, because they
remembered the old woman’s warning.

“The People soon developed their skill in using the bow and
arrow so they could hunt the deer, and especially the buffalo, for the meat
they loved so much.”

After murmuring their thanks to Walker on the Wind for the
story, the Indians drifted away to their own fires. Trey and Amanda bid Walker
on the Wind and Yellow Calf Woman goodnight and went to bed.

Bone weary after a day in the saddle and her fright with the
snake, Amanda snuggled close to Trey, grateful for his nearness, his warmth.
Whatever else might be wrong, being in his arms was where she belonged.

During the next week, Amanda was plagued by mishaps. One
evening, she left a pot of stew cooking while she went to draw water from the
river and when she got back, the pot was on the ground, the stew soaking into
the earth. One morning, the wood she had collected the night before was soaking
wet and wouldn’t burn, forcing her to scrounge for more tinder to burn hot
enough to dry it, delaying breakfast. The moccasins she had made for Trey
disappeared.

“I think someone’s doing it on purpose,” she said to Trey
that night. “I’ll give you three guesses who it is, and the first two don’t
count.”

“Who?”

“That woman, Red Shawl, that’s who.”

“Red Shawl! Why would she steal a pair of my moccasins?”

“Cause she’s jealous, that’s why. It wouldn’t surprise me if
she put that snake in my path, too.”

He smiled at that. “Red Shawl’s no medicine woman, Amanda.”

“No,” she said, “but I think I have a name for her.”

“What?”

“I’ll give you one guess,” she said, “and it rhymes with
witch!”

His laughter infuriated her still more.

During the next two days, Trey did his best to convince
Amanda that the mishaps she had told him about were just that. After all, there
was no reason for Red Shawl to be jealous. There had never really been anything
between them. But once the seed was planted, his suspicion grew. Aware now, he
noticed that wherever he went, Red Shawl was usually nearby. Several times he
had caught her watching him. It was true that she had let him know, rather
brazenly, that she was willing to be the second wife in his lodge, but he had
put the thought out of his mind almost as soon as the offer was made. He didn’t
need a second wife, didn’t want one.

Now, he watched Amanda prepare the evening meal. She had
learned much in the short time they had been with the People. She could build a
fire that cooked evenly. She rode for long hours without complaint. She could
set up a campsite as well as any of the other women. The children clamored around
her, charmed by her ready smile, captivated by the color of her hair. She
treated his grandparents with respect, did her best to conform to the customs
of his people. And she was, without doubt, the most beautiful, desirable woman
he had ever known.

She looked up from the pot she was stirring, smiled when she
saw him watching her.

“Are you hungry?” She picked up the spoon and licked it.
“Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Starved.” He wasn’t talking about food, and they both knew
it.

* * * * *

They were a day’s ride from the winter camp when the attack
came. Trey had taken the horses down to the stream. Amanda was rolling her
blankets into a neat roll when she heard a shout, followed by a gunshot.

There was a moment of silence, and then pandemonium as
riders clad in dusty Army blue poured into the encampment, rifles blazing.

Amanda scrambled to her feet. Heart pounding, she looked
around for Trey, but he was nowhere in sight. She saw women and children
running toward the river, saw young men grab their weapons and ride out to meet
the enemy, while older warriors stayed back, providing covering fire for the
women and children.

She was trying to decide what to do, where to go, when she
heard a whooshing sound behind her. Before she could turn, pain exploded
through the back of her head, and then everything went black.

* * * * *

At the sound of the first gunshot, Trey had swung onto the
stallion’s back, his only thought for Amanda. A trooper rode into his path,
bringing his rifle to bear down on Trey.

Trey reacted instinctively. He drew his Colt from the
gunbelt he wore over his clout and fired in one smooth motion. The trooper went
backwards out of his saddle and Trey bent low over Relámpago’s neck and plunged
into the thick of the battle.

The fighting raged all around him. The air was filled with
dust and the stink of gun smoke, the sound of rifle fire, the war cries of the
Apache, the shouts of the soldiers. Urging the stallion on, Trey thumbed the
hammer of his Colt repeatedly, reloading from his gunbelt, as he fought his way
to where he had left Amanda. She was nowhere in sight.

The battle was violent and bloody and quickly over. The
Apache fought hard and when the fight turned against them, they scattered like
ashes in a whirlwind, taking what they could carry and leaving the rest behind.

Trey took a last look around, and then rode for cover, his
only consolation the fact that he hadn’t seen Amanda’s body lying with the
others.

By late afternoon, the soldiers were gone. Heavy-hearted,
Trey rode back to the camp. It was a grim scene. Wickiups had been knocked
down, a few were in flames. He saw men and women moving through the rubble,
gathering what blankets and foodstuffs hadn’t been destroyed or carried off by
the soldiers. Others drifted in to the camp as the day wore on. The dead were
quickly buried.

Trey found Walker on the Wind tending to a bullet wound in
Yellow Calf Woman’s shoulder. Dismounting, he propped a rifle he’d picked up
during the battle against the side of his grandmother’s lodge, which was
miraculously untouched. The lodge he’d shared with Amanda was scorched on one
side.

After making sure his Colt was fully loaded, he knelt beside
his grandparents. “Have you seen Amanda?”

Walker on the Wind shook his head.

“I saw Red Shawl hurrying toward her soon after the battle
started,” Yellow Calf Woman said.

“Are you sure?”

His grandmother nodded. “I only saw them for a moment, and
then…” She gestured at her arm. “One of the Blue Coats shot me.”

“Where is Red Shawl now?”

Walker on the Wind pointed to a group of people standing a
short distance away. “She was with her mother, over there.”

“Thanks.” Trey looked at his grandmother. “You gonna be all
right?”

“Do not worry about me. I killed the
yudastcin
who
did this.”

Trey grinned, amused by the fire in her eyes. “I need to
talk to Red Shawl. I’ll be back to help you gather your stuff up later.”

“Aman-da is unhurt,” Walker on the Wind said as Trey stood
up.

Trey stared down at his grandfather. “You’re sure?”

Walker on the Wind placed his hand over his heart. “I feel
it, in here.”

Trey nodded. If there was one thing he had faith in, it was
his grandfather’s intuition.

Looking around, Trey saw Red Shawl standing with her mother
and sister. She looked up at him and smiled. He nodded at the other two women,
then motioned for Red Shawl to follow him.

“Have you seen Amanda?” he asked when they were away from
the others. “Do you know where she is?”

Red Shawl looked up at him. “How would I know? Perhaps she
was killed.”

She sounded far too pleased about that possibility for Trey’s
peace of mind.

“Did you see her before the attack?”

“I do not remember.” She placed her hand on his arm. “You
will need a new woman in your lodge now.”

He knew, in that moment, that it had been Red Shawl behind
the string of mishaps that had bedeviled Amanda, just as Amanda had suspected.

“Know this,” he said, lifting her hand from his arm. “You
will never be my woman. And if you value your life, you had better pray that no
harm comes to Amanda.”

“Long Walker…”

“I know you’re responsible for her disappearance,” Trey
said, his voice cold. His hand gripped her forearm. “Where is she?”

“You are hurting me.”

“Where is she?”

“I do not know. You are hurting me!”

“I ought to break your arm.”

“Long Walker, let her go.”

Trey glanced over his shoulder to see his grandfather
walking toward him, accompanied by a young boy.

“Let her go,” Walker on the Wind repeated. “Young Bear has
information you will want to hear.”

Trey released his hold on Red Shawl’s arm. “Get out of
here.”

Rubbing her bruised flesh, Red Shawl hurried away.

“Speak, Young Bear,” Walker on the Wind said. “Tell my
grandson what you told me.”

“I saw Red Shawl hit your woman over the head and drag her
away from camp during the battle. Red Shawl left her there.” Young Bear pointed
to a large rock some distance away. “Two soldiers found your woman and took her
away.”

“Was she alive?”

Young Bear nodded.

“
Ashoge
, Young Bear.”

The boy nodded, his chest slightly puffed out with pride as
he walked away.

Trey stood there a moment, then ducked into his lodge. He quickly
changed into his shirt and trousers, which the looters had left behind.
Everything else of value, including Amanda’s dress, had been stolen. Going back
outside, he picked up the rifle he had left propped against his grandmother’s
lodge.

“You are going after her,” Walker on the Wind said. It was
not a question.

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

Trey nodded. He was in a hurry to be on his way. He didn’t
have time to wait for the Apache to mourn their dead, or for a war party to be
assembled.

Walker on the Wind grunted softly. “Sometimes one is better
than many.” He paused, his head cocked to one side, as though listening to a
voice only he could hear. “I had a dream last night. You were riding with us,
but then your path turned from ours and I saw you riding in a different
direction. Your woman was with you, taking you to a faraway place. This
morning, the spirits told me it was time for you to give up your quest for
vengeance, that a new life awaits you.”

“A new life?”

Walker on the Wind placed his hand on his grandson’s
shoulder. “We will not see each other again in this life,
ciye
. Remember
who you are, and where you came from.”

“I will,
Shinale
.”

“Shortly before you returned to us, I saw you in a strange
place,” Walker on the Wind remarked, his brow furrowed. “The woman, Aman-da,
was with you. You were in a large wickiup, surrounded by the clothing of the
white man.”

“You saw that?”

Walker on the Wind nodded. “There were many hats there. And
on one wall, the head of a white buffalo.”

Trey shivered in spite of himself. He had known for years
that Walker on the Wind communed with the spirits, but he’d had no idea that
his grandfather could see into the future, as well. “What else did you see?”

Walker on the Wind shook his head slowly, his brow furrowed.
“I saw you with the woman. You were sitting down, and you were going very fast.
I do not know what you were riding. It was like nothing I have ever seen…”

Trey grinned. “It’s called a car,
Shinale
. And it was
very fast indeed. I wish I had it now.”

“Go quickly,” Walker on the Wind said. “I shall pray to
Usen
on your behalf.”

“
Ashoge
,
Shinale
.” Trey handed the rifle to
his grandfather. “This is for you.”

Walker on the Wind nodded his thanks as he tucked the rifle
in the crook of his arm. “You will not need it where you are going.” He made a
small gesture with his chin toward Trey’s gunbelt. “Your short gun serves you
well.”

Trey hugged his grandparents, then swung onto Relámpago’s
back. A last look at all he was leaving behind, and then he was gone, riding
hard toward the east.

* * * * *

Amanda woke with the worst headache she’d ever had. Where
was she? Raising herself up on one elbow, she glanced around. She was on a cot,
in a tent of some kind. There was a folding table and chair across from the
cot; a lantern on the table.

She sat up, groaning softly. What was she doing here? And
why did her head hurt so much? She lifted a hand to the back of her head,
winced as her fingertips encountered a lump the size of a golf ball. How had
that
happened? And why couldn’t she remember?

From outside came the shout of men’s voices, the blare of a
bugle, the clank of harness, the whinny of a horse. It sounded like every
Western movie she had ever seen.

The fabric was canvas, not buffalo hide. Sun beat down on
it, making the interior hot.

Where was she?

Trey…

She stood so quickly, it made her dizzy. Pain lanced through
the top of her head. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, walked unsteadily
to the entrance of the tent and peered outside.

She was in the midst of a cavalry encampment. She blinked,
closed her eyes, and looked again, half expecting to see John Wayne come
striding down the line of tents. There were soldiers everywhere, engaged in
various tasks. Some were cleaning their weapons, some were watering the horses
tethered to a picket line a short distance away, some were sitting in the
shade, drinking coffee.

A tall slender man wearing the bars of a lieutenant on his
shoulders was talking to a trio of soldiers. He had a strong profile, blond
hair and a sweeping, cavalry-style mustache.

There was no sign of Trey or his people.

She backed away from the tent flap as a rather portly man in
a rumpled blue uniform strode toward her. His bars made him a captain. An Army
doctor, she assumed, noting the black satchel he carried.

“Ah,” he said, entering the tent. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Where am I?”

“In the back end of beyond, by the looks of it,” he replied
good-naturedly. “I’m Captain Rathburn. You’ve had a rather nasty blow to your
head.”

She nodded. Not a good idea. The tent seemed to spin out of
focus.

“There, there,” the doctor said, grasping her arm to steady
here. “Here, I think you’d better sit down.”

She didn’t argue. She sat on the cot while he pulled a
stethoscope from his bag and listened to her heart, checked her pupils,
examined the lump on the back of her head.

He tucked the stethoscope back into his bag. “Do you know
your name?”