Jessica, strapped to a tripod made from tree branches, struggled against the rawhide. The fire crackled beneath a large cooking pot and gave off dancing shadows on the rocky ledge above Jake, staked out in the soft earth.
Maco, the leader of the Apaches, motioned to her to prepare the evening meal for the small camp.
Jessica stretched against her bonds. “I can’t.” She locked eyes with the rugged Apache.
Maco loosened her restraints enough so she could move about.
“Thank you.” She adjusted her dress and rubbed her wrists.
He stared at her but said nothing.
Later, Jessica watched as some of the braves fought among themselves to see who would take her. She cringed, sank next to the tripod, and gazed into the flames.
Maco, after checking on the picketed horses, walked toward the fighting warriors. They stopped brawling when they saw him and backed away. He gestured to Jessica that in the morning she would go with him. He threw her a blanket.
His eyes told her not to resist. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and drew her knees up close.
Jake, still tied to the stakes, watched what had happened. He knew he’d be left behind or killed. Jessica would have to survive on her own. He couldn’t help her.
First light came and brought forth overcast gray skies. The raiding party prepared for the journey to their mountain fortress. The campfire was put out and the horses untied.
Maco cut Jessica loose and set her on Sam, Jake’s buckskin. She looked to see if Jake was freed also, but Maco waved her off. One of the braves tied a rawhide strip across Jake’s throat and poured water over it.
Jessica looked on in horror, knowing that when the sun came out later in the day, the leather band’s constriction would siphon Jake’s life away.
Jake tried to watch as the Apaches and Jessica rode out of sight but could see only the cloud-covered sky. Thank God, the sun wasn’t searing him yet. Then he heard thunder rumble in the distance and imagined a cloudburst rushing through the arroyo. The more he struggled with the rawhide strips around his wrists and feet, the more his throat ached from the pull around his neck.
Blackie walked his stallion slowly through the narrow canyon. At first, he didn’t see the trail of hoofprints, but as the ground became softer the tracks stood out more. He stopped, checked his pistol, then continued. The trail seemed to vanish into the rocks, but after closer inspection Blackie saw it worked its way around a large collection of rounded boulders and went up the side of the arroyo.
Jake heard the sound of hooves against stone. He stiffened. Were the Apaches coming back to finish him? He struggled with his bonds, but the rawhide did not give. He tensed, waited.
Blackie edged Ace around the curve next to the ledge Jake was under. He saw Jake lying face-up, leaped from his horse, and rushed to the large man pinned to the ground.
“Apaches?” Blackie bent down.
“Yeah.” Jake relaxed.
“Here, I’ll cut you free.” Blackie pulled a knife from his belt.
I'm straining to remember the connection between Jessica and Jake from another excerpt. What I read here has all the Indian and Western lore. Especially the idea of wet rawhide shrinking when dry.
It certainly is a coincidence that Blackie would be in the area and come across Jake just as he was in greatest need. I believe Blackie was tracking something.
Story inspired by life of the author's great grandfather, a Black Cowboy who kidnapped his Native American bride after a cattle drive from Waco, TX to Dodge City, KS. Their story, him a master horseman and her a trained to be a healer with herbs and
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