"I suspected it. But I was not certain."
"Yet you did nothing to warn the others. Did you happily leave them to die? Do you hate the white race so much?"
"Do you suppose those fine gentlefolk would have heeded the suspicions of a `savage'?" he challenged. Then he seemed to grow weary. "In truth, Mrs. Hillyard, lately I give very little thought to your race."
But she would not let the subject go. "You could have saved the others, too."
"If I had tried to, you would now be dead."
A sob caught in her throat, but she did not give it voice. Instead she ventured a frail hope. "Perhaps they were able to fight the Apache off."
"There were too many. Fifty, maybe more."
She fought back tears. Mr. Rumford and Mr. Carruthers, massacred? Even the Brownings didn't deserve to die that way. Then there was the stage driver, and the men who'd ridden shotgun, and several Mexicans who worked for the station. Surely they were not all dead.
She glanced at the Indian, wishing there was light so she could see his face. She still wasn't sure she could trust him. For all she knew, he might be an Apache and had known about the raid.
"What are you going to do with me?" she finally asked.
He let out a breath. "God only knows. It was never my intention to be saddled with a difficult, stubbornly inquisitive female."
"I am not your responsibility. You can just leave, and I'll make my way back to Adobe Springs when it's light enough."
He stood up, laughing sardonically. "You would not even know in which direction to start out. You would be hopelessly lost within minutes."
Makinna opened her mouth to deny his accusations but clamped her lips together. After all, he was right. "When the sun rises, you can point me in the right direction, and I'll just walk back."
His hand dropped to her shoulder. "You don't understand, Miss Hillyard. There is nothing for you to go back to. The station has been burned, and everyone is dead."
"But-"
"They're dead," he said harshly, his grip tightening on her shoulder. "You have to accept the truth of that. And if you go back, the Apache will find and kill you. Do I make myself understood? You had better pray that they don't come looking for us as it is."
She shrugged off his hand and lowered her head as sadness enveloped her. She knew he was right, but it hurt to think about Mr. Rumford and Mr. Carruthers being senselessly slaughtered. Still, she knew the Indian was right again. The truth was, she could do nothing to change what had already happened, no matter how tragic, and pretending otherwise only muddled her thinking. She sent up a silent prayer for their souls and tried to focus on what she could do. "What do we do now?"
He turned away, grumbling, "We stay alive. Avoid the Apache if we can."
"But you are an Indian. What have you to fear from them?"
"The Apache have no love for me or my kind. Indeed, they may have attacked Adobe Springs because they had heard I would be there."
"You! But why?"
"Get some sleep if you can, Mrs. Hillyard."
"How can I possibly sleep with so many questions left unanswered?"
"You had better sleep. Tomorrow will test your strength far beyond its limits. We will be traveling fast, and we cannot leave any footprints behind. When the Apache discover I was not among the dead, they will probably come looking for me. And make no mistake, Mrs. Hillyard, the Chiricahua Apache are among the fiercest warriors of any tribe. They can cover forty miles a day on foot and seventy-five miles on horseback. Can you?"
"No human can do that!"
"I assure you, the Apache can."
"Why do they hate you so much that they would commit such atrocities against innocent people?"
He thrust a canteen at her. "Take only one swallow. We have a lot of desert to cross before we reach water."
Makinna raised the canteen to her lips and took a sip, wishing she could drink the whole thing. She felt as if she'd swallowed half the sand in the desert. She handed him back the canteen and leaned against a boulder, cradling her head on her arms. "Suppose the Apache come upon us in our sleep?"
"I will be watching for them. Now no more questions."
She closed her eyes. She was so weary. Why were the Apache after him? Why had they slain the people at Adobe Springs? Could she trust this Indian?
Her eyes popped open. "Just one more question," she insisted.
"What is it now, Mrs. Hillyard?" he asked wearily.
"Mr. Rumford said your name was some-
thing like Silverhorn. Is that correct?"
He sighed. "That's one of my names."
"Oh," she said. "What's the other?"