Apache Caress Read Free

He could hardly walk across that giant bridge. Maybe he could sneak aboard a freight train headed west across it.
    With that thought, he paused when he saw the rails gleaming in the moonlight. Yes, maybe he could follow the tracks back, almost to the giant river, and sneak aboard a train. It might take the white men several days to get tracker dogs. Right now, his first priority was getting the chains off.
    He walked along the tracks, headed west. Several times he stopped and scouted out a farm, hoping to find tools and food. But always the distant barking of dogs or the sight of men in farmhouse windows, made him decide to move on, seek an easier target. One thing was certain, he needed to be unfettered and on his way before daylight.
    His belly growled, and his body ached. Dried blood stained his headband. But Cholla was used to hardship. His father had been killed by drunken warriors in a raid, and he, Delzhinne, and Mother had nearly starved before Mother began to clean and cook at the white soldiers’ fort. Cholla had grown up among whites. The last several years, he had scouted for the Army because he knew that leaders like Geronimo would only prolong his peoples’ ordeal. General Crook had given his word that they could stay in their beloved country.
    However, General Miles had taken over and the promises Gray Fox Crook had made were no good. All the Apaches had been betrayed and gathered up to be shipped away to prison, even those who had served as Army scouts. Anger at the injustice burned deep in Cholla’s heart as he moved across the dark countryside. Never again would he trust the whites. He who had been lied to, mistreated, and shown no mercy would respond in kind.
    Around him, crickets chirped in the dark night and somewhere a dog howled. The lonely sound echoed through the stillness, making him think of his own dog, Ke’jaa. Cholla winced when he remembered the chaotic scene at the railroad station as the Apaches were forced on board the train. Hundreds of the Indians’ dogs had run about in the confusion, barking and whimpering, trying to follow their masters onto the train. They had been beaten back by the soldiers.
    Cholla had put his face against the window as the train pulled away. His friend, Sergeant Mooney, stood forlornly on the platform, the dogs barking and milling about, running after the departing cars. Ke’jaa. The name meant “dog” in his language. Big and half-coyote, his pet had run alongside the train for miles, trying vainly to keep up with Cholla while Lieutenant Gillen had laughed about the fate of the Apaches’ dogs once the train was gone. No doubt Ke’jaa had been shot along with hundreds of other dogs.
    At least Gillen wouldn’t be riding Cholla’s fine stallion now. The Apache took some satisfaction in that thought as he paused and caught his breath. In the moonlight, he tried to get his bearings. Where was he and how far had he come?
    Up ahead lay a farm. He could see faint light streaming through the windows of the small house near the train tracks. Were there dogs? If not, maybe he could steal some tools from the barn, or even a horse. If he were lucky, there might be a smokehouse with some ham or bacon. Though Apaches weren’t fond of pork, Cholla had lived too long with the whites to like mule meat and some of the other delicacies the wild Apaches relished.
    Cautiously, Cholla slipped closer to the house. Out front was a small, canvas-covered wagon, the type a peddler might use. There was something familiar about this place, but he had passed a hundred such scrabble-poor farms on the long train trip.
    He moved along, silent as a shadow, listening for a dog or maybe a man’s voice drifting through the open windows. Nothing. Out behind the house, a small barn stood silhouetted against the moon. He remembered then why the place looked familiar to him.
    In his mind, he stood on the swaying train platform again, returning the stare of an ebony-haired girl in a black