Lacey's Way by Madeline Baker

Author:Madeline Baker [Baker, Madeline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Butterfly Kisses Press
Published: 2016-10-10T23:00:00+00:00

Matt’s gaze wandered around the village, his eyes and ears absorbing the sights and sounds and smells of the Indian camp. His mother had been born and raised in a village like this one. He studied the women as they moved about. Had his mother laughed as those women were laughing? Had she loved Saul Drago, or hated him because he had been a white man? If she had lived, Matt might have been raised in a village much like this one. He might never have known any other way of life.

He watched several boys who were shooting arrows at a rabbit skin pegged to a tree trunk. What would it have been like to grow up here, to have been taught from childhood to hunt and track and fight? He glanced at his skin. He was nearly as dark as the Indians. His hair was black and long. Only his eyes betrayed the white blood in his veins.

His gaze strayed toward the wickiup where Lacey had been taken. Three hours had passed since their arrival, and no one had entered the lodge. He wished he could go to her, comfort her. He knew she must be frightened half to death. And rightfully so. They were in a hell of a predicament, there was no doubt of that. He wondered what his captors would say if he told them he was half Apache. Would they believe him, or accuse him of lying to save his skin?

Matt swore under his breath as the sun moved slowly across the sky. Sweat stood out on his brow and trickled down his back and arms and legs. He longed for a drink of water, but knew he was not likely to get one, even if he humbled himself enough to ask.

Another hour passed, and another, and now the sun was at its zenith. The village lay quiet. Warriors lounged in the shade of their lodges, gambling or chatting with their neighbors. Women put their babies down for naps. The dogs lay sprawled in the shade; the horses stood head to tail, idly swishing flies.

Matt closed his eyes against the sun’s burning brightness. His whole body was damp with sweat. His throat was as hot and dry as the desert in mid-July, and he thought he might easily sell his soul for just one drink of ice cold water. The heat made him lethargic, and he longed to lie down and sleep for just a few minutes. Resting the back of his head against the post, he dozed fitfully.

At sunset the women began to prepare the evening meal. Matt’s stomach rumbled loudly as the aroma of roasting meat tickled his nostrils. The Indians went about their business as though he were not there. Behind the village, a dozen young braves were engaged in a horse race. Several young girls made their way to the river for water, their dark eyes sliding curiously in his direction. Little boys chased each other around the wickiups, shrieking loudly,

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