Chiricahua

All characters in this story are over 18. I have researched Apache names and lifestyle but apologise for any cultural faux pas. The characters and storyline are fictitious.

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Rebecca didn't know how long they'd been sitting among the rocks. Maybe two or three hours. She shifted her weight slightly to reposition the rock that was sticking in her back. Two hours ago, it had seemed quite comfortable but was now beginning to seriously irritate her. That, together with the blistering dry heat cracking her lips and a blinding headache with a raging thirst, made for one disgruntled girl.

Noon in the Sonoran Desert, in northern Mexico, in June, was not a place for pale English girls to sit in the sun, even if the events of the last few months had toughened them up both physically and mentally. She glanced to her left and wished she could sleep like her identical twin sister, Charlotte, who was curled up on a small patch of dusty sand. The thin sunshade, erected by their mother from an old bed sheet, offered little relief from the scorching sun.

Raising her head, she could see their parents through the shimmering, super-heated air working to try and fix the axle on the big old wagon on the dusty track, maybe one hundred feet below and a quarter of a mile away.

The year is 1848. Arizona doesn't yet exist. The Gadsden Purchase has not yet been made. In future years, this would become Southern Arizona, but for now, it was Mexico and the border with New Mexico Territory was around 30 miles to the North.

Rebecca lowered her head and closed her eyes, concentrating on breathing through her nose to stop her mouth drying out. They had a water bottle but it was three-quarters gone and their father would not be best pleased if she went down to the wagon to re-fill it. Her mind wandered back two weeks, to the day they left Santa Fe with twelve other wagons. She and Charlie, the name she always used for Charlotte, had shared a hot bath in a hotel the night before they left. God, that seemed so long ago. After the bath, they'd brushed each other's long blonde hair. Hair which was now tangled and caked in dust.

The journey had been uneventful until this morning when the wagon's rear axle had begun to creak ominously. Although they were only twenty miles from the San Pedro river crossing, the traders on their laden wagons refused to help or wait. Money and trade was their priority. Their father was unconcerned; the axle just needed some grease. But it needed more than grease.

Their father had discovered a long crack in the axle, so had stopped where the track weaved through this rocky outcrop, where they could work on the wagon largely hidden from view.

It had all seemed so easy when they left Independence, Missouri three months earlier. Two months on the Santa Fe trail had been trouble free, even boring for the girls. Just day after day of relentless vibration, dust and heat. Their father's original plan had been to stay in Missouri until August to reach Santa Fe in November enabling them to cross the deserts of the south-west during the mild winter. But things rarely go as planned. It quickly became obvious to their parents that their meagre savings would not last long in Missouri. They had to press on westwards. Arriving in Santa Fe in late May, there would be no immigrant wagon trains heading west until September or October, only traders carrying goods overland to California.

This was Apache land. Rebecca could sense that her father was worried. He'd unhitched the two horses and saddled them, then sent the girls into the rocks. "If the Apaches attack, stay in the rocks, don't come down, you'll be safe. Your mother and I will escape on the horses and return for you when the Apache have gone. Stay still in the rocks, pull down the sheet and you'll be safe".

The sweatband on Rebecca's hat helped a little, but still, sweat ran into her eyes. Each breath she drew sent searing, drying hot air down her parched throat.

A movement to her left caught her attention, but she relaxed when she saw it was only an eighteen-inch Gila Monster, plodding about its business, probably looking for Quail eggs or chicks. She'd seen one two days earlier and had enquired of one of the traders. Now she knew that it was a venomous lizard, but it was slow and ponderous; you had to be pretty dumb to get bitten by one. She loved the animals and birds, becoming quite a pest, bombarding the traders with questions. One of them, Bo from Norway, had enjoyed teaching her.

Behind, in the rocks, she could hear Cactus Wrens squabbling and calling, whilst others were busying themselves among the towering Saguaro, feeding on the tasty fruit near the top. Again, movement caught her eye, this time a dazzling, iridescent hummingbird, flitting from plant to plant looking for nectar or insects. How could something so beautiful live in such a godforsaken place? She thought.

Rebecca let out a long sigh, cleared some of the gravel and rocks from around Charlie and managed to squeeze onto the small patch of sand behind her sister, spooning her.

Her mind drifted back to their idyllic life in England. To the water mill on the banks of the River Dudwell in deepest Sussex where their father was a fifth-generation miller. To the sound of the water wheel, the smell of the honeysuckle, the flash of a kingfisher over the mill pond. The pond where she and Vicky would often swim, sometimes naked. To the soft lips of Tyler Harding, the blacksmith's son, who she kissed last September. Her first ever kiss.

But the idyll was shallow. All was not well. She would hear her parents arguing at night, her mother crying. Sometimes she would listen at the top of the creaky cottage stairs. She didn't understand everything she heard, but it was obvious that the mill was in trouble. Due to industrialisation, people were leaving the countryside for the cities in their thousands. Men working ten hours a day in a factory could earn double the wages of a man working twelve hours on a farm. In the big city ports; Liverpool, Bristol, Southampton, London, ships were arriving almost daily from America and Canada, their holds bursting with wheat. And at those ports, new steam-powered roller mills could produce vast quantities of flour almost on the quayside.

Every mill along the river was struggling. One or two mills could still make a profit but not five. However, they were lucky, they had thirty acres of good quality farmland. A neighbouring farmer, a good friend, had offered a fair price for the mill and land. In fact, a generous price. Mother wanted to stay and work the farm but Father said they would always be poor. He wanted to go to California where the sale of the thirty acres would buy hundreds of acres of fertile land. Father won. That money was sewn into mother's undergarments in the form of gold sovereigns. Three months later, Rebecca and Charlie had sat on the dockside in Southampton, staring wide-eyed at the vast ships and fevered activity. She recalled the movement of the ship as they crossed the vast ocean..., and a kiss.

Charlie woke with a start, "What was that?"

"Huh?", responded Rebecca, rubbing the dust from her eyes, irritated that her dream of Seamus, the wild Irish boy she'd befriended on the ship had been disturbed.

"I heard a shout."

Rebecca sat up and looked towards the wagon. Their parents had stopped work on the wagon and were looking back along the trail. Suddenly their father dropped his tools. Both of them ran for the horses, mounted and rode frantically westwards along the trail, their mother glancing up into the rocks. "Quick, get down!", said Rebecca.

She pressed Charlie down into the dust, pulling the shade-giving sheet down with them. "Keep quiet," she whispered.

"What is it?", asked Charlie, fear in her voice.

"Apaches I think, riding in from the east, maybe a dozen from what I could see, we'll be safe if we stay here and stay quiet."

For the next hour or so, the girls huddled together out of sight, not daring to look up. They listened to the strange voices, the shouts, the sound of pots banging, wood breaking and men laughing. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they heard the horses galloping away eastwards again.

They waited ten minutes before peering over the rocks. "Oh Becky!", cried Charlie, her hand over her mouth. Everything from the wagon was spread over the ground, clothes scattered, cases broken, cans of food, glass shards. "Why did they do that?"

"Probably looking for guns, whisky, gold, anything they could carry that was of use or of value," said Becky, "Come on."

"Father said to stay in the rocks until they come back."

"That might be days," said Becky, "They've probably gone to Tucson Presidio for help, that's at least a days ride each way. We need water, Charlie, the Apache might have left some. We'll go down, refill the water bottle, then go back up into the rocks to wait. There might be food and blankets as well."

"Perhaps we should wait for sundown."

Becky shook her head, "That's nine hours, we've got about two mouthfuls of water left."

"Okay," said Charlie, "But if we move down through the rocks on the left, over there, we'll be in cover for longer, just watch for rattlers."

Carefully, keeping out of sight, the girls edged their way down. At the remains of the wagon, they stood and stared. The dusty ground was strewn with their smashed-up lives -- clothes, books, photographs, flour, beans, everything. "Well, so much for food, where are the water barrels?" asked Becky.

"Over there," said Charlie pointing, "Both on their sides." She walked over to them and looked. "Bring the water bottle over Becky, there's a little bit left in each barrel, maybe a bottle full."

Using a spoon they found in the dirt, they managed to salvage a bottle of water plus a few extra spoonfuls that they drank. Just as they were about to head back into the rocks, Charlie screamed. Becky spun around. Staring at them, no more than 20 feet away, were two Apache, one carrying a rifle, the other holding a cavalry sword. The girls turned to run for the rocks, but saw their route blocked by four more Apache, feathers in their hair and paint on their faces. Becky grabbed Charlie and held her tight. "W..., what do you want?" stammered Becky, her voice cracking.

The man with the sword said something they didn't understand, then the one with the rifle stepped forwards, "You."

"Our parents will be back soon with many men, they will kill you," said Charlie defiantly.

The one with the rifle looked maybe seventeen or eighteen, the others not much older. "No. They go Tucson. No men come." He pointed to the water bottle, "Here you die, you come."

"Are they rescuing us, Becky?" asked Charlie.

"I don't think so," said Becky, "Why destroy the wagon? No, I think they are going to take us with them. They won't kill us, we are valuable to them. He's right though, we won't last two days with just this bottle of water. We'd better do what they say, father will be back with help, he'll find us, just stay close to me sis."

"Do you have a name?" Becky asked the one with the rifle.

"Itzachu".

Becky thought for a moment. Perhaps they would be treated better if weren't anonymous. If they had personalities. "I am Becky and this is my sister, Charlie."

Itzachu looked from one to the other, "Look same", he said.

Becky nodded.

Three more Apache rode up leading a group of horses. The girls watched as each man easily jumped on his horse. "Are we supposed to walk?" Charlie asked her sister quietly.

"I don't think so", said Becky, "We'd slow them down too much."

"You", said Itzachu pointing at Charlie, then at one of the other Apache. Looking at Becky, he held out his hand and nodded. In one movement, he lifted her onto the horse with ease so she was sitting behind him. Becky had ridden before, as had Charlie, but never bareback. "Hold", said Itzachu, taking her hands and placing them around his waist.

Charlie walked over to the man she appeared to have been allocated to. Like Becky, she was lifted like a small child. The man was a bit older than Itzachu and much heavier built but not one ounce of it was fat. He pointed to his chest, "Biminak".

"Charlie", said Charlie feeling a little silly introducing herself to a savage. She copied her sister and put her arms around his waist. With a yelp, the horses and riders set off at a gallop across the desert towards a range of mountains barely visible in the shimmering distance.

The lack of saddles meant that the girls had to grip tightly to avoid falling off. Becky, though scared, loved the speed and power of the horse and the rippling muscles of Itzachu's brown muscular body. The rhythm of the horse forced her small breasts to rub against his back, hardening her nipples.

On the other horse, Charlie discovered that a hard part of the horse's spine was rubbing on her cunny and little button, sending tingling sensations up through her young body. Her face was contorted in fear and pleasure.

Eventually, after half an hour, the men slowed to a canter and after another half hour, to a walk. The desert appeared to be flat and featureless but suddenly the depression of a dry creek appeared in front of them. Becky was amazed at how the lay of the land had hidden it from view. Steadily, the horses descended the loose dust and rock to the bottom. It was only about ten feet deep but Becky realised they were now hidden from the sight of any pursuers.

The girls were lowered to the sandy creek bed and shoved into the shade of some Mesquite bushes. They both watched silent and blinking as the men secured the horses and posted two men higher up as lookouts. Biminak looked at the girls, pointed at the sun and drew his finger to the horizon in the West.

"What does he want?" whispered Charlie.

"I think he's telling us that we're staying here until sunset," said Becky. "Here, have some water, I managed to hang on to the flask."

Charlie took a mouthful and said, "We've got to stick together sis. No matter what happens, we mustn't let them split us up."

"Yes, and we've got to be nice to them, be friendly. They're less likely to hurt us if they like us."

"What was it like holding on to Itzachu?" asked Charlie quietly.

Becky grinned at her, "I've never held a man like that before. It felt amazing. He's just pure muscle. You looked to be enjoying yourself too though. When I looked across you had your head resting on Bimunak's back with a dreamy look on your face.

Charlie giggled, "I started feeling all funny, sort of tingly. I was quite disappointed when we stopped."

"Where do you think they're taking us?" asked Becky.

"The mountains probably. Lots of places to hide there. There's nothing down here on the desert floor, plus I guess there's water and food in the mountains. Why do you think they took us? Ransom?"

"I hope so."

"What do you mean?"

Becky hesitated before answering. She didn't want to worry her sister but they'd always sworn not to keep secrets. "I...., I read some newspaper reports while we were in St Louis. They said that the Apaches were taking captured white women deep into Mexico."

"Why?" asked Charlie, looking worried.

Again, Becky hesitated, before whispering, "To..., to sell as slaves."

"What!" cried her sister.

"Shhh..," said Becky, "They musn't know that we know. For now, we'll just go along with whatever they want -- we'll be model captives. Don't give them any reason to be nasty to us. The newspaper reports are probably wrong anyway, you know how they make stuff up but we can't be sure. We mustn't give them any reason to tie us up. Just smile and be obedient."

"When do you think father will be back with help?"

Becky looked at her twin sister. She could feel tears welling up. How could she tell her?

"Becky?" said Charlie, "What's the matter?"

Wiping her eyes, Becky said slowly, "I don't think he's coming."

"What?" said Charlie, "Why not?"

Becky took a deep breath, "We're in Mexico. The only people in Tucson will be Mexican or traders. Neither will be interested in rescuing us. There might be some Mexican Army there but are they really going to be bothered about a couple of Gringo girls? No, unless they take us far to the north through the mountains and across the border where the US Army might rescue us, I can't see us being rescued. It's going to be down to us Charlie. We've got to cooperate and stay alert."

"Do you think we might get a chance to escape?"

"Probably, but there's no point in escaping into the desert and dying. Escaping will be the easy part, staying alive will be the hard part. The more we cooperate, the more they'll trust us, the less they'll watch us. I don't know what sort of chance we'll get but we've got to be ready to take it if it arises."

Charlie looked across at the Apaches, "Okay sis, we'll do as they say, for now. Best we get some rest, we may be riding into the night."

Becky was woken by someone kicking her leg. Blinking, she pushed herself up on one elbow. It was still hot, even though the sun had sunk behind the mountains. Itzachu was holding a handful of dried meat jerky and waving it at both of them. "Eat," he said, "Soon ride."

"Where are you taking us, what are you going to do to us," asked Becky, sitting up and taking a piece of the jerky.

"To mountains, you stay there."

Itzachu appeared to be studying the girls closely. "For how long," asked Becky, "Are you going to kill us?"

Itzachu laughed and shook his head. Becky was stunned at how beautiful his smile was. "We no kill, no hurt, you do as told, we trade. We not savages, just protect our land."

"This jerky is very good," said Charlie as she tore another piece off with her teeth.

"Biih," said Itzachu. Seeing the girls looking puzzled he made two horns above his head with his fingers.

"Pronghorn," the girls laughed together.

"How did you learn to speak English?" asked Charlie.

"Traders. I learn some words, talk for my father, learn more words."

"We can teach you words too," said Becky, "You could teach us some Apache."

Itzachu shook his head, "Where you go, need Spanish not Apache." Becky thought she detected a hint of sadness in his voice. "Eat fast, we move soon," he added before striding away.

"Becky?" asked Charlie.

"Uh huh," replied Becky watching Itzachu's muscular bottom.

"You know you said we should co-operate?"

"Uh huh."

"Well..., how far do we co-operate? I mean..., what if..., I mean..."

"What if they try to rape us?"

"Well..., yes..., I guess so"

Becky looked at her sister, "We do whatever is necessary to survive, however horrible. Normal, civilised, white-man's standards no longer apply. Whatever is necessary Charlie."

They both watched the men, considering the implications.

"Becky?"

"Mmmm."

"I've watched someone do it."

"Do what?" said Becky, still watching Itzachu and the other men.

"It, silly, you know..., it."

"Intercourse, you mean?" said Becky now staring at her sister. When?"

"On the boat."

"What? How? When?"

"The second night out from Southampton. I woke up and couldn't breathe down below. I went up on deck for some air. You remember those big steam ploughs that were bolted to the deck for shipment? Well, I sat in the seat of one of those. A man and a woman came along. She was one of that group of six cockney women -- I heard father tell mother that he thought they were prostitutes. I think the man was one of the crew, a big black man. The woman -- well, a girl really -- had on her nightgown. They disappeared behind some crates. I didn't think anything of it but then I heard noises."

"What sort of noises?"

"Well..., grunting and moaning. I clambered across to the other plough for a better look. The girl was on her hands and knees, her nightgown up around her chest. I could see her bottom and breasts."