GYPSY GOLD (PAPERBACK)

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GYPSY GOLD
Chapter 1

200 Years Ago

Red Wing shifted his long, lean body in the warm sand. It was almost time to resume his journey. The sun was loosening its hold on the arid land, allowing the first stars of the evening to glisten in the deepening sky. Through the desert stillness he heard the sound of creaking wood and voices--he was no longer alone.

He moved slowly so as not to draw attention to himself. Lifting his head above the rim of the shallow depression where he had spent the day hiding from the heat of the sun, he saw two men on horseback and eight more driving simple wooden wagons. White men, but not the same white skin as the settlers moving into his people’s homeland. These men were unknown to him.

He would have to wait until full dark to leave his resting spot. He had already crossed miles of open desert and now faced another night of the same. There were no places to hide.

Here on the desert’s western edge, the barren sand began its rise to cover the feet of the purple mountains. Aromatic bushes combined with large boulders provided hidey-holes for small creatures and weary travelers. If the strangers had come upon him the previous day he would have been a dead man.

His gods were still with him.

The strangers’s manner of dress was unusual. They wore tall leather boots with wide-legged breeches belted with ornate silver and rawhide strips. Bands of leather crossed their chests over sweat-stained, long-sleeved shirts.

Their horses were covered in thick white lather and their heads hung low as they strained into their heavy harnesses. Their hooves dragged through the soft sand as they struggled to pull the wagons.

Red Wing caught his breath when he saw the young women in the last wagon. He counted six huddled close together, and as the wagon drew closer he saw that their hands were bound.

He recognized their style of clothing. Apache women. Slowly he slid back into his hiding spot to think. The women were prisoners, most likely taken from their village while their men were off hunting.
This was not good. He was still in Apache land, and their braves were known to be the fiercest of warriors. They would be filled with a bloodlust anger when they discovered the missing women and would kill any person found near them.

The travelers stopped near his resting place. Several of the men spoke in angry tones and gestured toward the mountains ahead.

He watched as the two riders rode back to the wagon with the maidens and spoke in a tongue the scout could not understand. When they did not respond, one of the riders yanked a maiden out of the wagon and pushed her to the ground. He repeated his words and gestured. The remaining women climbed out of the wagon and huddled close together.

The riders forced the women to walk up the line of wagons until they reached the first wagon. They sat the women in the sand and bound them to the wagon’s wheels.

The light was waning, and with its passing the temperature of the air began to drop. The desert creatures began to awaken and crawl from their hiding places to begin their search for food.

Red Wing remained on his stomach, becoming one with the rock next to him, part of its shadow. He searched the land to the west for any sign of movement. The men near him were loud, oblivious to the danger they were in. He strained to hear beyond them, but they made too much noise.

A small movement near the last wagon alerted him to the Apaches' presence. He marveled at their stealth. The scout had been watching for them yet they had approached undetected.

He dared not move, it was too late to leave the area. He slowed his breath as he waited for the attack to begin.

He did not have long to wait.

Wild yells pierced the air. The Apache’s cries silenced the loud strangers and sent a chill down the scout’s back. He fought the urge to move further under the rock and forced himself to remain motionless. Avoiding detection was his only hope of survival.

The strangers reacted too slowly to mount an effective defense against the Apache. Arrows pierced cloth and flesh and knives inflicted terrible wounds as the angry braves sliced away at the kidnappers.

Screams of pain and terror tore through the twilight. The fighting seemed to go on for an eternity but it was only a short time before the scout heard the first cry of victory.

The braves released the women, unhitched the horses and tossed aside their heavy harnesses, leaving only their bridles. Each brave mounted and pulled a maiden up behind him. With a last victory cry they headed off into the night.

Red Wing remained motionless until he was sure they would not return, then slipped from his hiding place and glided over to the scene of the massacre.

The moon had risen in a cloudless sky and provided ample light for the scout to see the carnage that lay before him. The scent of blood hung heavy on the air and he knew it would not take long for the night scavengers to arrive.

He left the bodies and looked into the back of a wagon; a stiff canvas covered the cargo. He lifted the tarp and saw a jumble of gold bars mixed with gold and silver cups. There were crosses set with glittering stones. The next wagon held the same assortment, as did the next. All the wagons were loaded with gold and jeweled items.

In the last wagon the scout spied two short gold daggers. He picked one up and hefted it in his hand. It was beautifully made, the hilt encrusted with large red, white, and green jewels. He placed it in his carry-sack where it nestled comfortably with his remaining food.

He hesitated, and even though they were heavy, added the second dagger to his sack. He had failed to find a new home for his tribe, but he would not return empty-handed. The daggers would make a fine gift for his chief.

He turned east and resumed his journey. He was happy to be leaving this dry land, anxious to return to his home and the banks of the Mother Water that sustained his people.