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  “No!” I wailed as my gaze locked on the man who had killed Grey Bear. The man brought his rifle to his shoulder and took aim. I knew his bullet was meant for my grandfather. Shoving my weight against one of the horses, I broke free of the circle and raced toward camp.

  “Take cover!” Grandfather shouted to the remaining warriors, ushering the children to safety.

  A gun shot cracked through the air like a falling tree and I saw the Uniform smile. I turned back toward my grandfather and saw him grab his chest as he fell to the ground.

  “Grandfather,” I stumbled to his side and knelt beside him, turning him over onto his back. He lay still, his eyes open, blood flowing from the large hole left in his body.

  The grit of dust from racing horses blurred my vision and filled my mouth. As I tried to stem the flow of blood, warm and sticky against my hands, my stomach heaved and I swallowed the bitter bile that pooled in my throat.

  “Grandfather, Grandfather,” I pleaded. “Do not die.”

  My gaze scanned the village and my eyes filled with disbelieving tears. Women and children were sprawled on the ground. Yellow-Bird lay unmoving upon the trail we had walked early this morning.

  My vision blurred and I cried out to the Creator. “Why is this happening? Why are these men killing my people?”

  A man came from behind me, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. I pulled against the grip of his dirty hand and kicked at him. I heard him groan and I struggled harder. “Let me go!” I screamed at him, “murderer, killer of women and children!”

  I had to get free. My grandfather was dying and my grandmother and aunt were injured.

  Again, gun fire filled the air. The sick smell of blood and the dying carried its stench to me on the breeze and, behind it, the sound of desperate screams.

  I aimed my mouth at the tall man’s brown wrist and bit until I tasted blood. I had to make him stop killing my people!

  The man shouted to the Uniforms in Spanish.

  I struggled more. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me until I could no longer stand. Then he bound my wrists behind my back with narrow strips of rawhide, cutting the circulation off to my hands. I parted my lips to scream and he shoved a dirty rag in my mouth.

  “Silence!” he ordered.

  The rag tasted foul. Gagging from the odor of the cloth, I kicked and cursed at him as best I could. He responded with a grunt when my food connected with his knee and he slapped my face with the back of his hand, nearly knocking me to the ground. A hot sensation of fire engulfed my cheek and a hollow ringing sounded loud in my ears.

  Blackness came upon me from pain and terror until it threatened to overtake me. My legs collapsed. Bile began to rise in my throat with every breath. I swallowed again and again to keep the nausea down. I am Nde. I thought as the sound of horses hooved echoed around me. The blood of Cochise runs in my veins. I will never surrender to these killers.

  Pushing aside another wave of pain, I staggered to my feet. The murders would be punished for what they had done!

  “El Capitán, one of the men shouted.

  My captor glanced toward the encampment and gave the man instructions, pointing at the lodges.

  Before I could protest, he grabbed me and slung me atop a horse. My breath rushed from my lungs in a hard gasp and my rubs throbbed n unbearable pain, as I tried to seat myself. I ground my teeth and held back a moan If I only had my knife.

  El Capitán tied my wrists to the saddle horn and mounted his horse. I twisted around and watched in horror as two men grabbed the very branches our warriors had used as weapons. They fastened them into torches, pushing them into the dying embers of our camp fire.

  The torches caught fire and a harsh flame engulfed each tip. One by one the Uniforms waved the torches at the base of our lodges. Within seconds my village was a world of smoke and white-hot flames.

  My home! My People! The roaring flames echoed in my ears as it covered the last lodge. The waves of heat seared into the breeze. A numbing cold fell upon my body. I looked around as if seeing through someone else’s eyes.

  The Uniforms watched and laughed, before turning their horse toward the south.

  My mount moved along behind the riders. Helpless, I swayed and bobbed with each muscle the animal used. I waited for the moment. I too, would die—but death never came. The Uniforms kept me tied to my mount and led me away, until my village was no more than a memory in the distance.

  During my first day, the horses made the difficult climb along an uneven pathway into the wilderness. Here El Capitán skirted the many box canyons that would confuse an unfamiliar traveler. My captor seemed to know the canyons possessed only dry springs, rattlesnakes, and was the home of demons.

  My dry lips cracked into a brittle smile. Perhaps this was my captor’s home. For whenever I looked into his dark eyes, I knew I’d gazed into the soulless heart of a demon!

  Miles and miles of chaparral blocked the way. Catclaw and cacti tore my buckskins and scratched my unprotected legs and arms until they bled.

  Before darkness fell my captors looked for a place to camp for the night. They found a section of the rocky hill where the ground was even and free from boulders.

  El Capitán dragged me from my horse and ordered me to sit upon the rocky ground. He forced me to draw my knees to my chest. I watched him bind my ankles together so I could not escape.

  His foul-smelling breath fanned against my neck, and I reprocessed a shudder. I would kill him if I had the chance. What, I wondered, were his plans for me?

  El Capitán seemed to sense my thoughts; he looked at me, his narrow lips curling into a sneer, while his hand encircled my wrist.

  I felt his hot flesh against mine and jerked away from his touch. “Filthy murderer,” I spat.

  “Infidel,” he responded, pulling my arms so that he could tie the bindings of my wrists to my ankles. Satisfied, he gave the rawhide a vicious yank.

  I gave a sharp gasp of pain.

  “Buenos noches,” he said, then stood and returned to his men.

  It was upon the second day when shock no longer dimmed my senses that I realized these murderers considered me a captive.

  El Capitán’s captive! I’d never be their captive. No enemy took the Nde as a slave, or turned them against their own people.

  The horse sensed my fear and became skittish. I watched the animal’s shape hooves bite into the sandy soil and I knew if I fell I would be trampled to death. But the moment I saw the hazy shadow of Cochise’s stronghold against the distant mountains, I knew I must make my final bid for freedom.

  I sucked in a deep breath and patiently worked at my bindings. Back and forth I moved the leather, trying to push the narrow strips up over the saddle horn. My wrists were still raw, but they ceased to hurt me. Hope filled my heart with each mile we rode. This was the land of my ancestors. If I was to be free I must act soon.

  El Capitán had not re-tied my bindings since mid-day when the sun was high and the air dry and hot. It was evening now. The air was cooler and filled with the rich heady fragrance of almonds, and the dampness of coming rain.

  I glanced at my captors. Their concentration was set on the uneven pathway that led to the boulder ridge-bone of the mountains, not upon me.

  I pulled at my wrists and felt the leather give. My heart pounded hard in my chest and I felt light headed. Quickly, I slid the leather over the saddle horn and freed my hands.

  I bit back a hiss of pain when the returning circulation sent stinging needles into my blood starved hands.

  Grabbing the saddle horn with trembling fingers, I steadied myself. I leaned forward to make certain the long sleeves of my dress hid my wrists from the view of El Capitán and his men.

  We reached the point where the trail crests. The light was fading, and the harsh wind howled along distant ridges. This was the perfect moment to make my move.

  Soundlessly, I slid from my horse. The animal broke stride for only the length of a crow’s cry. I watched the li
ne of horses continue along the pathway toward the plateau.

  I crouched beside a covering of brush, low to the ground and unmoving and listened to the sounds of the wind and the cry of a hawk circling the mountain peak.

  Slowly I crept along the brush, away from the setting sun. Sharp stones bit into my palms and my legs burned with effort. I knew if I got far enough away, El Capitán would not find me in the shadows.

  The stronghold For as long as the rivers flowed, the stronghold had been a place of safety for my people. Three days would be the distance on foot. I was tired and weak, but I knew I could make it.

  I squinted against the fading light, and crept along the rocky ground, careful not to disturb the gravel or signal my escape from El Capitán.

  A rock spur jutting over the face of the peak made the perfect hiding place, and I quickened my steps. My hands pushed aside the heavy brush obscuring my path and I felt my heartbeat pound against my ears.

  When I reached my hiding place, my lungs were burning with effort and white spots danced before my eyes. The slanting little perch had enough room for me to hide under. My heart quickened with hope. Renewed strength entered my tired legs as I pushed myself between the round and the smooth underside of rock.

  Soon I would be free!

  The wind whipped against the brush and grainy pellets of hail began to pepper the ground. I heard the startled cry of several horses and the shout of the Uniforms as their mounts shied and refused to continue along the path.

  El Capitán shouted, and I knew I was no longer safe. This time if I was found, he would kill me!

  Wedging myself under the rock perch, I tucked my dress beneath me, suddenly fearful that the beadwork would catch a glimmer of the fading light.

  I prayed to the Creator, as I listened to the hoof beats pounding against the ground.

  The wind howled louder and louder. The sky filled with dark clouds and rain began to fall. Could rain, white against the darkness of the sky.

  My heart pounded and my mind became numb with both cold and fear. If he caught me he would kill me.

  I did not wish to die!

  I peeped through the narrow slit between my perch and the ground. El Capitán rode his horse, surely along the mountain. Slowly, patiently, he guided his mount in circles, scanning the ground for signs of my passage.

  Several of his men dismounted and walked in different directions covering the ground on both sides of the pathway.

  I knew they were gauging the land.

  One of the men gave a shout of triumph.

  I was certain they’d discovered the spot where I’d jumped off my horse.

  Suddenly, I heard the sound of slate and gravel rushing down the mountainside. It was as if the Creator answered my prayers. The anguished cry of a rider and his horse filled the air.

  One of the men had gone over the ridge.

  I watched El Capitán move toward the rise.

  I crawled from my hiding place and pulled my beaded top over my head, tossing it to the ground.

  My throat ached and my eyes burned with unshed tears. I knew Yellow-Bird’s gift must be left behind. The top’s shiny beadwork would reflect the starlight and El Capitán would find me. Still, my heart felt like it was breaking when I turned away.

  With one quick burst of speed, I snaked along the stands of sagebrush toward the dim blue silhouettes of the stronghold.

  I remember the passage of days and nights. I could not find the stronghold nor any other bands of Nde. I was alone and afraid.

  Then I heard the distant sound of cattle and the shouting of men. It was many days before I recalled anything else.

  ***

  “She’s just a child, poor thing,” a woman’s voice said.

  I knew nothing of her words. But I understood her kindness as she leaned close to my face, looking by candlelight at my wound. A cool hand touched my forehead as someone lifted me from the wagon bed and carried me into the fortress.

  During the weeks that followed by body healed and I regained my strength.

  I learned I was the only one who survived the massacre at Frozen River Camp. The only living member of my band! I had watched my family and friends die.

  In time, I came to understand the white woman’s words. It was then that I was told I was to live at the white people’s school.

  School, such a strange word, I thought as I climbed into the wooden wagon. It seemed a word of great importance to the woman who had bathed my wounds and fed me. She had made me repeat the word over and over. And even now as she bid me good-bye, she smiled when she repeated the word. I carried that smile with me until I reached the school.

  Annual Report of the Department of Interior

  Gathered from the cabin, wickiup, and tipi, partly by threats, partly by bribery, partly by force, they are induced to leave their families, to enter these schools and take upon themselves the outward appearance of civilized life.

  Chapter 3

  Climbing out of the wagon, I was herded, along with ten other girls, to stand in a line outside of the white man’s lodge. One of the first girls in the line was very young, and clutched the hand of her older sister. Judging from the long deerskin dresses with flared skirts and wide, long sleeves trimmed with fringe that they wore, I knew the two were Comanche. I eyed the bits of metal and beads sewn on the front of the older girl’s dress and glanced down at her buckskin moccasins and wondered whose camp they had raided to gain these adornments.

  Comanche, the hatred between our two tribes ran as deep as the gullies that cut through my people’s lands.

  Thieves and raiders, grandfather called them. Grandfather spoke of the old days when the Comanche had driven the Nde from the southern plains. The Comanche knew the value of our old lands; the winters mild and the summers abundant in game and harvests. The men wore their hair very long, rubbed bear grease into it, then parted it down the center of the forehead to the neck. Afterwards, they braided their hair; sometimes the men even painted their scalp with yellow, red, or white clay—like their women, grandfather had sneered.

  I smiled at the memory and lightness, for the first time in many sleeps, lifted my heart. Grandfather had loved telling the old stories. And I had always begged to hear more.

  “Nde,” grandfather had often said, “wear their hair like true warriors.”

  Our men sliced their hair to shoulder length, securing it with a cloth strip around his forehead. A warrior did not spend hours beautifying his hair as if he were an old woman looking for a husband.

  If grandfather was alive he would caution me against these two girls, and many of the others I saw around me. Ute, Cheyenne, Crow, I recognized their dress, but several of the others were unfamiliar to me.

  I narrowed my gaze at each one of them, but it would be the Comanche I would watch more than the others. I would make certain I never turned my back to them, for they could not be trusted.

  As I watched, the older girl leaned over and spoke to the young one. This angered one of the white women and she struck the older girl upon the cheek. I stared at the action, not understanding. What type of place is this school? I wondered. Even though the Comanche were the sworn enemy of my people, my heart felt sadness at this act.

  The Nde never hit their children. If a child did something wrong, he was guided with love. If he disobeyed again, one of the elders spoke to him. In this way he realized his actions brought shame not only upon himself, but his relations. Even the Comanche, with all their fierceness, never harmed their own children and seldom those of their captives.

  The sun beat, hot, upon my head. My legs and my back ached from standing. I longed to return to my people’s camp. Even the sounds of this place hurt my ears. Children were crying. A loud clang-clang came from a tall building in the distance. It was late morning but I didn’t detect the aroma of game roasting on a fire, or stew bubbling from a pot. I was confused. The woman at the fort had offered kindness. I had thought this school would offer the same.

  My stoma
ch grumbled, and my throat was dry. After traveling such a distance, the Nde always offered water and food. Was it not the custom of these people to do the same?

  I pushed back an on rush of fear. What if I could never return home? What if I must stay in this place all of my days?

  No. my mind would not allow such thoughts to take root. I would rest. I would find out what this school was and then I would find a way home.

  After a time, the line I stood in moved forward and I heard the small ones begin to cry. As I entered the wooden lodge, I realized why.

  Upon the flor lay twenty sets of braids. One of the older white teachers grabbed a girl and sliced off her long hair. The girl struggled and the women, both clothed in long, dark dresses, called the girl a heathen. I did not know what the word meant, but I understood the tone, it was one of captor to captive. I felt a small shiver of worry crawl across my shoulders and I fingered my long hair. Soon, I too, would lose my hair and follow the others into the foul-smelling tub.

  After what remained of the girl’s black hair was tied at the base of her neck, she was stripped naked and placed in a large metal tub. One woman held her while the other woman dumped strong-smelling water on her body and scrubbed her with a brush. Later, I learned this water was called alcohol and the teachers used it upon the Indians because of germs.

  I looked around the lodge and spied a girl about my own age. She was Indian, but her manner of dress confused me. The girl wore a mud brown colored fabric dress and black shoes that appeared to weigh heavy upon her feet.

  This girl moved beside the tallest woman, handing her a large piece of cloth as she said, “Teacher, would you like me to help you?”

  Her voice was soft and musical like the Navajo, but her language was like that of the white teacher’s.

  Before the teacher could reply, the child in the tub let out a scream of outrage and doused the front of the woman’s dress with foul-smelling water. “Mary Billy, take this one. Dress her and give her to Sister Enid. Tell her she is to be disciplined.