Savage Courage

His gaze swept slowly over her again, then he looked intently into her eyes. “You are of Indian blood, yet you wear the clothes of white people,” he said, his voice tight. “Why is this?”

“It’s a long story, but I will tell you this much . . . yes, I am Apache,” she murmured, her heart beating loudly at the knowledge that he was Chief Storm, the proud, elusive Apache chief who made his home high on this very mountain.

She gazed more intently into his midnight-dark eyes. “My home?” she murmured. “For many moons I have lived with white people as a white woman. You see, long ago I was taken from my true people. I was only five on that terrible day when my village was attacked by the cavalry. For so long I was not able to remember anything about that day. And then . . . and then . . . a dream came to me that told me of the tragedy. When I awakened, I recalled most of what had happened; slowly the rest came to me in more dreams.”

“Do you dream often?” Storm asked, amazed by her story.

This beautiful woman had suffered the same as he, yet he had been able to flee those who had killed so many that day.

Although her life had been spared, she had been forced to live apart from her people. He didn’t know which was worse, being slain by white-eyes or taken and made into one of them.

“Yes, I dream often,” Shoshana murmured. “I dream of my mother, who I’d always believed was killed that day. Now, I’m not so sure. The dreams give me hope that one day I may find her again.”

“Why are you here in Apache land now?” Storm asked softly. “Where have you made your home since the age of five?”

Shoshana felt the tension between them lessening as she explained about having lived at various forts, and then mainly in Missouri.

“I was treated like a princess,” she murmured. “But after discovering my true heritage, I have never forgotten who I really am, and where I belong.”

“And you are in Apache land now for what purpose?” Storm asked, stepping closer, lifting the chain again and examining the spot where it was attached around her wrist. Soon he would have her free.

“The man who adopted me, who once was in the cavalry, himself, has returned to my homeland to help the cavalry find the scalp hunter. He has accepted this commission even though he has been slowed down, not only by age, but by his wooden leg,” Shoshana said.

At those words Storm’s eyes shot up and stared strangely into hers.

“This man,” Storm said, his heart pounding at the mention of a man with a wooden leg who was in the cavalry. “What is his name?”

“His name?” Shoshana asked, seeing his eagerness to hear her response. She wondered now if she should tell him. Could Chief Storm somehow know about George’s past atrocities against the Apache?

Might he want vengeance if he knew what George Whaley had been guilty of those long years ago? Might Chief Storm not understand how she could have continued to care for him after learning of his role in the attack on her own band?

“Yes, his name,” Storm said thickly. “What . . . is . . . his name?”

“George Whaley,” Shoshana said, tightening inside when she saw a strange light enter the handsome chief’s eyes.

“Chief Storm, do you know the name?” Shoshana murmured. “Do you know the man?”

Although Storm prided himself, like all Apache, on speaking the truth, he knew that a lie was necessary now in order to give him time to decide what he must do.

Ho, fate was working in his favor today. It was unbelievable but true that this woman was the adopted daughter of the man he had despaired of ever finding. This woman must be the joy of George Whaley’s life. Without her, surely he would be half a man.

If she was taken from him, would he not be devastated? Would he not know the true heartache of suddenly losing someone he loved so dearly?

It was hard to see how a man could kill so many Apache, then take one to keep for himself, to raise as his own beloved daughter. Yet it seemed she had not known anything but the love of this evil white man since the day of her capture.

Ho, he must lie to this woman, in order to finally achieve the vengeance he had promised his father so long ago.

Yes, he would promise that he would take her back to George Whaley, but he never would. He would keep her in his stronghold. Instead of killing the man, Storm would deprive him of his daughter. Whaley’s loss would be a heartache that he could never get over; he would experience a loss such as the Apache had known due to the evil of this man.

Heartache could bring a man down quickly . . . especially an older man.

Realizing that Storm was finding it difficult for some reason to answer her question, Shoshana decided to change the subject. There was another question she was longing to ask him.

“Will you take me to your stronghold?” she blurted out, surprised that she trusted a stranger enough to ask such a thing of him, especially a stranger who surely hated all whites with a passion.

But she wasn’t white!

She was Apache!