Makinna wished she had the willpower to refuse the water, but she drank thirstily, and when he released his grip on her hair, her head fell forward again. She prayed Tykota would not come. The Apaches were armed and waiting for him. Surely he must know that.
Tykota had already ridden one horse to death, but Mangas's riderless horse was still fresh. He had no trouble following the Apaches' trail, even by moonlight, but that was because Sinica wanted him to find them. His one advantage was that with the fresh horse, he could make better time than they did. Sinica would expect him to be at least a day behind them, while he was now within an hour of them.
A short time later, Tykota reined in his mount and gazed at the distant mesa that stood like a dark shadow against the sky. That was where Sinica would be waiting, with Makinna as his hostage. Sinica hadn't killed her yet, or he would have left her body behind for Tykota to find. Mangas was probably right. Part of Sinica's revenge would be to make him watch Makinna die.
A muscle in Tykota's jaw tightened. He pitied Sinica if he harmed Makinna in any way.
Makinna was barely conscious when the sun rose. She sagged against the stake, and she couldn't feel her arms, which were tied tightly behind her. She tried to clear her mind, but everything was fuzzy. She was dimly aware of men feeding horses, laughing among themselves, and standing guard.
Sometimes one of them would come to her and lift her head to see if she was still breathing.
She was dying, she knew, but it didn't seem to matter. She closed her eyes, feeling as if she were baking in an oven. It was so hot.
Then suddenly water was being splashed in her face, and some kind of dried meat was being held to her mouth. "Eat, white woman."
If she only had the strength, she would have spit in the Indian's face. She almost wished she would die, just to spite him. But cruel hands forced her to eat and drink. She was not going to die today.
Tykota chose his time of day carefully. It was almost twilight, and deep shadows crept across the landscape, making it hard to see. That would be to his advantage.
He crept along a ravine that led toward the mesa where Sinica had set up camp. He paused, his gaze running the length of the table rock, locating the guards. He paid particular attention to a sharp slope which was guarded by only one sentry.
Tykota dropped to his stomach and crawled up the slope careful inch by inch, cautious not to cause a single pebble to slide and alert the enemy of his presence.
The sun was almost down and the sky was blood-red as he crept to the top. The Apache guard was no more than a dozen paces from him. He waited patiently as the guard paced back and forth. But the moment the sentry became distracted by taking a drink from his waterskin, Tykota leaped forward. Gripping the man's neck in a choke hold he placed his knife at the Apache's throat, and hissed in his ear, "If you value your life, do exactly what I tell you."
"You will slay me anyway," the man answered, trying to claw Tykota's arm away from his throat.
"Not if you do as I say."
Knowing he was helpless against Tykota's superior strength, the Apache finally stopped struggling and nodded.
With his knife still at the warrior's throat, Tykota forced him forward. "Where is the woman? Take me to her. And make no sound."
"She is tied to a stake fifty feet or so from here."
Tykota's knife pressed against the man's throat as they moved ahead. "Is she alive?"
The Aphache licked his dry lips. "She was when I went on guard."
Finally Tykota could see Makinna. She was tied to the stake. Her head had fallen forward, but she appeared to be alive. Anger shot through him like a burning arrow. He wanted to cut Sinica's heart out and feed it to the wolves while it was still beating. He wanted to run to Makinna, slash through her bonds, and hold her in his arms. She must be so frightened. But that was just what Sinica wanted him to do. He would only have one opportunity to get Makinna out of this alive. And even that was a gamble.
Makinna became aware of frantic activity around her. With effort, she raised her head and blinked the sweat out of her eyes so she could see. "No," she moaned, seeing Tykota walking into the enemy camp his only defense the knife he held at the throat of an Apache.
She blinked again. Perhaps she was only dreaming, or the twilight was deceiving her eyes.
But no. Several Apaches had clutched their rifles and were aiming them at Tykota. Still he moved forward, seemingly unafraid. He even shoved his prisoner aside, with enough force that the man hit the ground and rolled to the edge of the mesa.
Makinna watched Tykota fearlessly approach the leader of the Apaches. She did not understand the language they spoke, but she recognized the threat in Tykota's tone.
Oh, why had he come? He would surely die. What could one man do against so many?