Tykota's Woman(35)

He looked into her eyes. "There is something important I must do."

"Something that concerns your tribe?"

"Yes."

"Will you... will... I... continue my journey to California?"

He appeared startled by her question. "Of course. You are not now, nor have you ever been, my prisoner. As soon as I can arrange it, you will board the Butterfield Stage in El Paso. Then, before you know it, you will reach your destination in California."

Makinna glanced back the way they'd come. The trek had been hard and dangerous. It was a miracle that they had made it this far. But somehow she could not imagine it ending. What would she do when she could no longer hear the sound of Tykota's voice, feel him by her side? "Thank you. I would appreciate that," was all she said.

"Soon this will all seem like a bad dream," Tykota said.

Makinna knew their time together would be something she would always cherish. She tried to keep her voice from trembling. "Do you think the Apaches are still trailing us?"

"Doubtless, more fiercely than ever, because they know that I am getting close to my people and destination. During the night we crossed the Rio Grande into Mexico. I hoped by going the long way to confuse them and slow their search."

"We are not in the United States?" she asked in amazement.

"Indians recognize no boundaries and owe no allegiance to any country other than their own tribe."

"I understand."

He looked doubtful. "Do you?"

He walked away from her. "The horses have rested and fed, so we must ride on. Are you up to it?"

"I can ride as far as we have to."

She approached her horse, then turned back to him. "But without stirrups, I can't mount by myself."

Tykota's hands spanned her waist, and he lifted her onto the animal's back. Makinna rode up the ravine and waited for him there. He frowned down at the tracks left in the mud. He could do nothing to cover them. He would double back into Texas in the hope of throwing the Apaches off their trail. Perhaps gain them a little time.

The sun was at its hottest when the weary travelers stopped again to rest the horses. Makinna dropped down to the ground in the thin strip of shade cast by a yucca tree. She uncapped her canteen and took small sips as Tykota had taught her. Through drooping eyelids she watched while he tended to the horses. Then she slumped over and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a soft bed and a cool breeze.

Makinna came awake quickly when Tykota called her name. "Come," he said, offering her a hand. "We must ride hard. That dust cloud to the south is the Apaches."

That was the only prodding Makinna needed. They hurried to the horses and rode at a full gallop, the sturdy pintos giving their all. Tykota slowed them to an easier gait when he was sure that they had left their pursuers behind.

"Will they not follow?" she asked.

"Perhaps, but they will not catch us today, and tomorrow we will be out of their reach."

Night had fallen when Tykota drew his mount to a halt and motioned for Makinna to do the same. On the edge of a mesa, together they gazed down at twinkling lights below.

"Are those campfires, Tykota?"

"No. It is a ranch."

"It must be huge. There are so many lights."

"It covers over a hundred square miles." He nudged his horse forward. "You will find a warm welcome there."

Makinna felt relief spread through her. They had made it out of the desert and eluded the Apaches. They were going to live!

But when they rode past a corral, a man stepped out in front of them, his rifle cocked and aimed at Tykota. Makinna's heart stopped. The man was an Indian.

"If you have weapons, throw them down and then dismount," he commanded.

Tykota's laughter stunned Makinna, who remained frozen in fear.

"Have I been away so long that your keen eyes do not know me, Mangas?" Tykota said.

The old man stepped beyond the light spilling from the barn. "Tykota?"

"It is I, my friend." He slid off his horse, and the two men embraced one another. "Do you shoot me or welcome me?"

After that, Makinna did not know what they said, because they lapsed into another language.

Finally Tykota turned to lift Makinna from her horse, and the old Indian gazed at the white woman.

"Makinna, this old warrior who tried to shoot us is my teacher and friend, Mangas."

The Indian's gray-streaked hair hung to his shoulders, and he stood tall and straight. Makinna did not know quite what to say to the man who stared at her with open curiosity. "I have heard of you from Tykota."

The old man suddenly grinned. "I have heard of you, as well. The Apache drums spoke of a white woman traveling with Tykota, and their talk reached my ears."