“Surely you’d recollect the descent if you had gone through the pass?”
Trapped. Even at dark, there was no way a person would not be aware of the descent from the summit. “Yes, you’re right. We did go through. We must have.” At least, she thought, he would think the entrance to the stronghold was on the west side of the Chiricahua Mountains, when it was on the east side. But she had slipped. He was wearing her down.
“All lies,” he stated flatly.
“What?” Her heart sank.
He smiled. “Yesterday you told me that after the guide had left you, you found yourself in Sulphur Springs Valley.”
How could she have said something so stupid!
“Who are you protecting? Are you—”
There was a knock on the door.
Bradley paced forward with controlled anger. “I asked not to be disturbed,” he said stiffly.
“Sir, we got him. Savage.”
Candice gasped, standing. Bradley noted her reaction, and the way she moved to the left to see past Sergeant Holden’s form in the hallway. But there was no one there.
“Good work,” Bradley said. “Is he harmed?”
“He’s got a bullet in his shoulder, but it’s just a flesh wound. He gut-stabbed Myers, though, and nicked Lewis. Lewis is okay. Myers is dying. Savage is outside.”
“Heavily guarded, I hope.”
“Yes.”
“Take him to the stockade. Have the surgeon fix him up. Under no condition shall he die. Do you understand? This prisoner is invaluable.”
“Yes, sir.” Holden gave a lazy salute and left.
Candice couldn’t move. She was frozen, and Bradley was looking at her. Too late, she tried desperately to relax her face, but she couldn’t.
“You love him,” he said with interest. “But you obviously ran away. Why?”
She walked to the window, giving him her back. She saw him then, clad only in buckskin pants, his torso bare, wrists shackled behind his back. They were leading him away. He walked proudly erect, the sinewy muscles of his back rippling in the harsh summer sunlight, his sable hair shimmering with rich highlights. There was a soldier on each arm, and a few paces behind, Holden held a rifle pointed at his back.
“Because of Christina,” Candice said unevenly. She could hear her heart beating, it was pounding so loudly. “I could not let her become a squaw, hating her own people.”
She turned to him. “What will you do with him?”
“Interrogate him.”
“And then?”
“He’ll hang.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
Jack knew she was still there, he could feel it. His shoulder throbbed. Despite his wound, his wrists were still shackled behind his back, and because he could lie only on his back, it made the pain in his shoulder worse.
Why was she there?
Had she betrayed him again by betraying his people?
He heard a baby crying. Started, he sat upright, knowing beyond a doubt that it was his daughter. An ache swept through him that had nothing to do with his wound, and he stood, shakily, almost falling, but managed to stagger to the wall where mere was a narrow, barred window. He gazed out, across the parade ground, toward where the baby’s crying had come from. She was quiet. Candice was probably nursing her.
