Mangas stood up and looked around, his eyes seeing that which few people could. He pointed to the muddy riverbank. "That is where the woman went into the river, and that is where her horse left with the others. But it was lighter. She was carried away."
"Are you certain?"
"I am."
Tykota knew Mangas was never wrong when it came to tracking. "I must go after her."
"That is what Sinica wants you to do."
"Yes."
"He will be expecting you."
Tykota nodded.
"They will be ready for you."
Tykota swung onto his horse. "I want you to go back to the house and tell my mother what has happened, then see if you can find Cochise. He might be our only hope. He must want Sinica as much as I do."
Mangas's gaze settled on Tykota. "You send me away because you fear we will not come back alive."
"This is my fight. I go alone."
"I am an old man. If I die today, I have lived many years. I have no fear of death."
"I go alone," Tykota said in a tone that brooked no dissent. "They will be expecting me to bring many men with me. I will have a better chance to surprise them ifI am alone. Go, Mangas."
Mangas looked with sad pride upon the warrior he had once taught. Tykota was now chief of the Perdenelas tribe, a man who must be obeyed. "I will do as you say."
"I will need your horse. Can you make it back to the house within the hour?"
Mangas nodded and handed over his reins. "Remember all I taught you. Do not rush foolishly into danger."
When Mangas turned to head back toward the ranch house, Tykota glanced down at the tracks of the Apaches. He knew they would be expecting him. The thought of Sinica touching Makinna chilled his blood and stirred his rage.
How would he live if they harmed her?
After riding all day and most of the night, Makinna barely had the strength to stay on her horse. The Apaches stopped only for brief periods to rest the horses, then ride on again. She remembered Tykota telling her that an Apache could ride seventy-five miles a day, and she believed it.
The sun was coming up on the second day when they finally halted to make camp. They chose a high mesa that offered a panoramic view of the countryside.
Makinna had not been given food or water, and she was so thirsty that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her lips were cracked and bleeding. There was a gash on her forehead where the Indian had struck her, and it throbbed painfully.
Suddenly, she heard horses approaching, and ten more Indians rode into camp. One of the newcomers dismounted and walked toward her, his dark gaze sweeping over her menacingly.
Makinna shrank away from him, but he grabbed the rope that bound her hands and yanked her up from the ground. He was different than the other Indians. He had more of a presence. She knew he was the leader.
"You are Tykota's woman?" he asked in stilted English.
She said nothing.
He rammed a knee into her stomach, making her double over in pain. "You will answer me."
"No," she whispered, her eyes on the knife in his hand. "I am not Tykota's woman."
"You lie, white woman. You are my brother's woman."
Brother. She shook her head. This man was nothing like Tykota. He did, however, resemble the other Apaches. But she was almost too weary to think or care. Why didn't he just plunge the knife into her and get it over with?
He dragged her to where two other Indians had been hacking away branches from a slender mesquite tree, leaving only the trunk. She cried out in pain when the Apache slammed her against the rough bark and looped a rope around her several times to secure her to the stake.
The sun beat down on her, and Makinna licked her dry lips. "Water, please," she begged. But her plea went unanswered, and her head fell forward, her chin resting against her chest.
The Indian grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her head up. "You will die, white woman," he said, peering steadily into her eyes. "And Tykota will cry out in agony when he sees what I do to his woman."
She stared back at him. "I am not his woman."
He smiled with malice. "You were with my brother-you are his woman."
"He will not come after me," she said defiantly. "You can kill me, and he will not care."
He ran a hand down her cheek. "You are good to look at, for a white woman." He ran his hand over her breasts, and when she shuddered, he laughed. "My brother, I think, will grieve much for you, as I have grieved for my shame and that of my mother."
"Do what you will," Makinna challenged weakly.
He motioned one of his men forward and took his canteen. "But you will not die yet. Tykota must see you breathe your-last."-