Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) by Constance O'Banyon Read Free Book Online

a lot of desert to cross before
we reach water."
    Makinna raised the canteen to her lips and
took a sip, wishing she could drink the whole
thing. She felt as if she'd swallowed half the
sand in the desert. She handed him back the
canteen and leaned against a boulder, cradling
her head on her arms. "Suppose the Apache
come upon us in our sleep?"
    "I will be watching for them. Now no more
questions."
    She closed her eyes. She was so weary. Why
were the Apache after him? Why had they slain
the people at Adobe Springs? Could she trust
this Indian?
    Her eyes popped open. "Just one more
question," she insisted.
    "What is it now, Mrs. Hillyard?" he asked
wearily.
    "Mr. Rumford said your name was some-

    thing like Silverhorn. Is that correct?"
    He sighed. "That's one of my names."
    "Oh," she said. "What's the other?"
    "Tykota. My name is Tykota."

     

Tykota sat with his back braced against a
boulder, his gaze sweeping the darkened
countryside, his ears attuned to the night sounds.
If the Apache had known he had returned, who
else knew?
    He glanced to where the woman lay sleeping.
She was going to slow him down. He should
have left her behind. Why hadn't he? Because
of her kindness to him? Something in her spirit
that called out to him? Whatever it was, he'd
had time to save only one person, and she'd
been his choice.
    Tykota hadn't even seen her face yet. She'd
been swaddled in a black veil on the coach,
and when she had brought him the food, it
had been too dark to make out her features. He wasn't even sure of her age. Maybe midthirties? She had told Mr. Rumford that she
would be living with her sister in San Francisco.
Odd, she'd made no mention of her husband. And somehow she seemed very alone
in the world.

    He stared back into the darkness. He knew
about aloneness. Both of his fathers, Indian and
white, had died within a year of each other,
leaving an enormous void in his life. He thought
about the letter he'd received from his white
mother just before he'd left England, after
burying George Silverhorn. It had carried a
warning from Mangas, his long-time mentor and
aide to his Indian father, Valatar. His old teacher
had wanted him to know that his half brother,
Sinica, had become the leader of a renegade
band of Apaches and had boasted that Tykota
would never return to Valle de la Luna alive.
Tykota breathed deeply, hoping Mangas was
wrong. He hadn't seen any of his Indian family
since the night George Silverhorn had spirited
him away. But would Sinica truly turn against
him in violence? Perhaps he was still bitter
because his mother had been shamed by their
father, and their father had not named him the
future chief of the Perdenelas.
    Tykota sighed wearily. He had never wanted
to be chief. He was sure he was unworthy of the
honor. He was not ready to make all the
decisions for the tribe.

    Perhaps the Apache attack on Adobe Springs
had been random, he mused. But if it had been
Sinica, he'd come for Tykota. And he would
keep coming.
    Tykota had thought often of that night when
his father had renounced Sinica and Coloradous
and placed shame on them and their mother. And
as he'd grown older he'd still thought that his
father had been too harsh with his other two
sons. They were of his blood, yet he had
banished them from his life. And Sinica,
hot-blooded as he was, would probably settle
for nothing less than Tykota's death to settle
the wrong.
    Tykota glanced back at the woman. It might
have been kinder to her if he'd let her die with
the others back at the way station. If Sinica
did catch them, she would meet a much worse
fate.
    He closed his eyes, feeling tired and heartsick. He would just have to outwit Sinica, and
that was not going to be easy. Although
Tykota knew this desert well, Sinica knew it
better. His half brother had been living with
the Apache, and they were the ultimate rulers
of the Guadalupe mountains and surrounding
countryside. If it