Tykota's Woman (Historical Romance) Read Online Free Page A

chief's son by his first wife. Apparently she
and her son were forced to go back to her tribe
in shame. He said the young chief would
appear when the tribe needed him. If the old
chief is dead, I reckon they'll be needing him
now."
    "Unquestionably a yarn made up by someone
with a superstitious mind," Mr. Carruthers stated
emphatically. "But it makes .a good tale."
    "I don't know. That Apache was mighty
fidgety and nervous, looking around to see if
anyone was listening as he told me the story.
And I've learned over the years that it takes a lot
to scare an Apache."
    "You will never make me believe these yarns
of hidden treasures and mysterious Indian tribes. This is the nineteenth century, not the
Dark Ages," Mr. Carruthers said firmly.

    Horace Rumford turned to Makinna and
asked, "Does my tale tap into your sense of
adventure, Mrs. Hillyard? Aren't you just a little
captivated by the thought of a secret Indian tribe
and hidden treasure?"
    She shuddered. "I'm afraid I'll have to go
along with Mr. Carruthers on this. I saw my first
Indians at the way station at Manora, Texas, and
they were certainly not mysterious or captivating
but wretched and pitiable. They looked lean and
hungry and desperate for a crust of bread. One of
them looked at me with those dark, piercing
eyes, and I was terrified."
    "But you defended the Indians just a while
ago," he reminded her.
    "To defend their right to this land is not the
same as being eager to keep company with them
on it. No, I want nothing to do with any Indians,
least of all your dangerous, feuding Perdenelas
and Apaches."
    The man sitting across from Makinna chose
that moment to remove his hat and place it on his
lap. And Makinna looked into the darkest, most
contemptuous eyes she'd ever seen. The man's
face was bronzed, his cheekbones high, and his
hair even blacker than his eyes.
    In spite of his manner of dress, there was no
mistaking the fact that he was an Indian.
    Fear clutched her heart, and Makinna pressed her back against the seat to gain as much
distance as she could in such a limited space.
She quickly glanced at the other two men, who
appeared to be as shocked as she was.

    After a heavy silence, Mr. Rumford was the
first to speak. "Sir, we have not been introduced,
since you were asleep when we boarded. Name's
Rumford, and this is Mr. Carruthers." He chose
not to introduce Makinna.
    The Indian did not offer his name or
acknowledge the introduction except with the
slightest nod of his head.
    This did not deter Mr. Rumford. "You from
these parts?"
    The Indian nodded.
    Mr. Rumford prodded further. "El Paso?"
    "That general vicinty."
    Makinna had averted her eyes from the Indian,
but she now looked at him. His voice was deep,
but what mystified her was that he'd spoken with
a decided English accent.
    "You been abroad?" Mr. Carruthers asked,
eyeing the Indian's fine clothes. He, too, had
detected the English accent.
    "Yes. I have."
    Mr. Rumford continued his questioning.
"Sounds like you spent a good deal of time in
England-is that right?"
    The Indian drew in a long-suffering breath.
"Yes." It was obvious he did not want to make
conversation with his traveling companions.

    Mr. Rumford ventured still further. "I was just
telling Mr. Carruthers about the legends of the
Perdenelas tribe. Do you know if they really
exist or if they're merely mythical?"
    "I can tell you nothing."
    "You're an Indian, aren't you?" Mr.
Carruthers asked. "Mr. Rumford here said that
other Indians know something about these
Perdenelas stories. Why don't you tell us what
you know?" he added with a somewhat superior,
condescending air.
    The Indian's eyes were piercing as he gazed at
the man from St. Louis, and his voice held a hint
of irritation. "I said that I can tell you nothing
about the Perdenelas."
    Mr. Rumford was clearly annoyed with the
arrogance of the Indian and decided to put him in
his place. "I'm a Butterfield Stage Line