had happened.

She gasped yet made no noise, and her heart began to thunder with

renewed terror.

He stood before her, naked except for a breech clout his arms crossed

over his chest. He was as tall as Jamie, as broad, and very, very dark.

His hair was ebony and it streamed straight down his back. He was nearly

copper in color, and his features were very strong and hard.

He reached down, grasped her wrists and drew her to her feet.

Instinctively she tried to pull away from him. His grip upon her

tightened.

He smiled very slowly, and though she struggled, he held her tightly.

"Let me go," Tess said.

"Jamie--er, Lieutenant Slater is right behind me, and he'll shoot you."

She was losing her mind. She was trying to explain things in English to

an Apache savage.

"So you are the blond woman who costs so dearly," he responded in

perfect English.

"You have escaped the Comancheros. You will not escape me."

She shook her head wildly.

"No! You do not understand me! Let me go.

I've a friend. He's fight behind me. He's killing that Comanchero and

he's going to kill you. He"--" Shut up, Sun-Colored Woman."

"My name is Tess. Or Miss. Stuart. It's" -- "Sun-Colored Woman. That is

to be your name. I am Nalte, and it will be so."

"Nalte!" she breathed. She had escaped the Comanchere to run into the

arms of the very Apache who had ordered her as if she was dry goods for

a mercantile store! "You--you speak English," she said.

"Yes. Now you will come."

"No! Please, listen" -- He wasn't going to listen. He grasped her wrists

and drew her over his shoulders. She slammed her fists furiously against

him.

"Let me go, you savage! Let me go fight now! You can't just buy a blond

woman! Please ..."

But he wasn't listening to her. He was moving flcetly up the hail. He

didn't seem to be running, but the trail was disappearing beneath his

feet, and they were moving higher and higher into the mountains. He was

ignoring her pleas.

"Bastard!" she cried in furious panic.

"Savage! Horrid, horrid savage!"

That brought him to a halt. He lifted her and slammed her down upon her

knees. She tried to rise, and he pressed her down with such fury that

she w~nt still. He towered over her.

"Savage? You, a white woman, would call me savage? No one knows the

meaning of brutality so well as your own kind. Let me tell you,

Sun-Colored Woman, what the whi~ man, the white soldier has done to us,

to my people." The moon rose high, shimmering down upon him with sudden

clarity. Nalte, his bronze shoulders slick and heavily muscled, walked

around her.

"In 1862 your General James Carleton sent a dispatch unit through Apache

Pass. Cochise and Mangas Coloradas lay in wait. There was a fierc~

battle, and Mar~gas Coloradas was seized from his horse. He was taken to

Janos, but his followers told the doctors that he must be cured or their

town would be destroyed. So he survived.

"Mangas Coloradas survived so that he could come a year later, under a

flag of truee, to parlay with the soldiers and miners for peaee. He was

seized.

Your general ordered that he have Mangas Coloradas the next morning,

alive or dead. So do you know what your civilized white people did to

him?

They heated their bayonets in the fire, and they burned his legs, and

when he protested, they shot him for trying to escape. It was not

enough. They cut off his head, and they boiled it in a large pot. Do you

understand? They boiled his head. But now you would sit there, and you

would tell me that I am savage?"

She wasn't sitting, she was kneeling, in exactly the position in which

he had pressed her. She was trembling, shaking like a leaf blown in

winter, and she was praying that Jamie would arrive and rescue her.

But of course, she didn't know if Jamie was alive or dead. He had faced

Chavez in a knife fight, and she couldn't know the outcome. And now she

was facing an articulate Apache who seemed to have reason to want

vengeance.

"You speak English exceptionally well," she said dryly. He did not

appreciate her sense of humor. He wrenched her to her feet and pulled

her against him. "You will find no mercy with me," he assured her.

"Do not beg." "I--I never beg," she said, but the words came out in a

whisper. She wasn't certain if they were defiant or merely pathetic. It

didn't matter. He pushed her forward, then tossed her over his shoulder

again.

"No!" she protested wildly. She hit his back, but he did not notice her

frantic effort. She braced against him and screamed, loudly.

desperately.

Jamie. Dear God, where was he now?

Perhaps it did not matter. Perhaps there was no help for either of them

anymore.

That brought him to a halt. He lifted her and slammed her down upon her

knees. She tried to rise, and he pressed her down with such fury that

she went still. He towered over her.

"Savage? You, a white woman, would call me savage? No one knows the

meaning of brutality so well as your own kind. Let me tell you,

Sun-Colored Woman, what the white man, the white soldier has done to us,

to my people." The moon rose high, shimmering down upon him with sudden

clarity. Nalte, his bronze shoulders slick and heavily muscled, walked

around her.

"In 1862 your General James Carleton sent a dispatch unit through Apache

Pass. Cochise and Mangas Coloradas lay in wait. There was a fierce

battle, and Mangas Coloradas was seized from his horse. He was taken to

Janos, but his followers told the doctors that he must be cured or their

town would be destroyed. So he survived.

"Mangas Coloradas survived so that he could come a year later, under a

flag of truce, to parlay with the soldiers and miners for peace. He was

seized.

Your general ordered that he have Mangas Coloradas the next morning,

alive or dead. So do you know what your civilized white people did to

him?

They heated their bayonets in the fire, and they burned his legs, and

when he protested, they shot him for trying to escape. It was not

enough. They cut off his head, and they boiled it in a large pot. Do you

understand? They boiled his head. But now you would sit there, and you

would tell me that I am savage?"

She wasn't sitting, she was kneeling, in exactly the position in which

he had pressed her. She was trembling, shaking like a leaf blown in

winter, and she was praying that Jamie would arrive and rescue her.

But of course, she didn't know if Jamie was alive or dead. He had faced

Chavez in a knife fight, and she couldn't know the outcome. And now she

was facing an articulate Apache who seemed to have reason to want

vengeance.

"You speak English exceptionally well," she said dryly. He did not

appreciate her sense of humor. He wrenched her to her feet and pulled

her against him. "You will find no mercy with me," he assured her.

"Do not beg."

"I--I never beg," she said, but the words came out in a whisper. She

wasn't certain if they were defiant or merely pathetic. It didn't

matter. He pushed her forward, then tossed her over his shoulder again.

"No!" she protested wildly. She hit his back, but he did not notice her

frantic effort. She braced against him and screamed, loudly.

desperately.

Jamie. Dear God, where was he now?

Perhaps it did not matter. Perhaps there was no help for either of them

anymore.

Chapter Eleven.

Nalte moved through the darkness so swiftly that Tess had little idea of

how far they traveled. She felt as if they twisted and turned

rdentlessly, but slowly she realized that they were moving downhill. She

tried at first to reason with him, but he ignored her, and it was

painful to t~ to talk when she was held so 'tightly against him. She was

exhausted, and the words she hzd said to Chavez were true at the very

least. She wanted to be free from Nalte, but she did not feel the same

loathing for the man that she had felt for Chavez. And now she knew

Jamie was alive. Or at least he had been alive. lie had gone to battle

Chavez, but now she had hope, if not ling else.

Hope. Could he come for her against Nalte? Could he slip out in The

darkness and come furtively against the Apache? S~ didn't know what to

think anymore. She hadn't thought that Nalte would speak English, but he

did so, very well.

He halted suddenly, letting out the cry of a night bird, and was

answered in kind. He started to walk again and they descended a final

cliff to a clearing where tepees rose magically againft the night sky,

and where camp fires burned with soft gl~s, where only the movement of

shadows could be seen.

Nalte set her down and let out the soft sound. of a bird cry once again.

From the shadows a man emerged. He was dressed as Nalte was, in a breech

clout He wore high buckskin boots and numerous tight beaded necklaces,

and carried what appeared to be a U. S. Army revolver. He began to speak

with Nalte very quickly, and Nalte replied. Then the man turned and

disappeared into the shadows. The Apache camp was sleeping, Tess