Santa Apache

When a strong arm reached down to grasp her and lift her to the pony’s back, it took a few moments for her to face the reality of what was happening. This was no dream! This was not Toyah! The phantom rider’s hand covered her mouth, silencing her screams. Her throat tightened with terror, but she kicked and squirmed desperately to free herself from his grasp. Sinewy muscles imprisoned her, and her nostrils flared in distaste at the over-powering odor of his unwashed body. The swirl of the sweaty smell combined with the stink of his horse and the reek of animal blood from skinning and gutting a recent kill.

The unknown rider wore a muslin breechcloth, deerhide leggings, and moccasins. His bare, coppery torso glistened with sweat. MeiLi shrank from him. Shudders of horror shook her body. He had high-cheekbones and a narrow jaw, and beneath his smooth, tight skin the bones of his face stood out like flints under streaks of white war paint. The black pebble eyes of her captor glinted at her, and his hate seemed to surface like a black scum on stagnant water. Looking into the cruel face of her captor made her heart race with a desperate pounding.

A wave of fear washed through her, flooding her with hopelessness. Her breath came in strangled gasps. The brave who had grabbed her was one of six pueblo Indians who had ridden in pursuit of another Apache band. It was pure chance that the ride back toward their pueblo took them through MeiLi’s enchanted meadow.

MeiLi choked with terror, when she realized that she had been taken captive. She knew that someone stolen away by another tribe was seldom ever seen by a family again. A shiver skittered like a cold bony finger down the back of her neck, and her brown eyes filled with tears.

She saw no hope of rescue, but she knew she must keep her mind alert and clear. She must be very brave. She must not show her fear and watch for a chance to make her escape.

Her heart banged against her ribs, but she tried to watch for landmarks and sense the direction they were headed. If she could escape, she had to know how to get back to her family. Now she must be cunning and find a way to regain her freedom. In spite of her fear MeiLi stared at the Indian’s face. His eyes looked cold. Sterile. Dead. Perhaps she could reason with the evil Indian who held her in front of him as they rode. In a nightmare of panic she touched his face with a tentative finger to get his attention. When he heard her hesitant words spoken in a quivering voice, he threw back his head with a burst of wild laughter. He looked at her with gleeful contempt and drew her tighter against his hard body, his muscled arms pushing painfully against her budding breasts.

From its perch in the high limbs of an oak, an owl swooped with a hooted warning to sink its claws into an unwary muskrat. The Indian girl shared the fright of the wriggling victim, but she fought her captor savagely.

When her sharp teeth found their mark in his hand, he ended his pain with a blow to her cheek, which mercifully sent her into a protected world of unconsciousness. MeiLi’s joyful dance was ended, and she knew no more.

* * *

At dawn the Apache band broke camp and moved toward the Llano Estacado where they would spend the summer hunting buffalo. MeiLi’s mother, as the tribe’s medicine woman, had gone ahead with an earlier party to care for a dying member of another band. So in the confusion of the move, the young girl was not missed until much later. The rest of the family was unaware of what had happened to her.

* * *

Far across the prairie Medicine Woman struggled to defeat the fever which had spread so quickly. Toward morning she lay down to sleep for a little while. She tossed restlessly and finally fell into a deep slumber. Nightmares invaded her, and she dreamed that MeiLi needed her. She sat up suddenly and gathered the medicines which she had not used. She waked the leader of the small clan and explained, “I have to leave at once. I have dreamed that my daughter is in terrible trouble. I must go to her.”

Usually so calm and sure, Medicine Woman was frantic with worry. A cross hatch of tiny square wrinkles framed her eyes which were big and black and stared straight into you. Her concern deepened the lines above her eyebrows etched time. She was a woman who never said much, but never needed to; her face expressed it all.

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