Free The Pride of Hannah Wade by Janet Dailey Page A

heat waiting, its thorned and spiny plants bristling, and its scorched earth unforgiving. A hostile land.

CHAPTER 5

     
    H OW FAR OR HOW LONG THEY’D TRAVELED, H ANNAH didn’t know. She could no longer judge distance and time. Wherever the spotted rump of the pony in front of her went, the blood bay gelding she rode followed. It stumbled frequently, not as surefooted as the desert ponies on this rocky ground, which forced Hannah to be constantly alert.
    The muscles in her legs and back were cramped from the sidesaddle position, and there was an aching soreness all through her from the long hours and the grueling miles on horseback. The midday sun, high overhead, added to her discomfort, sending its hot rays into the mountain canyons to bake the rocks.
    The ruffed collar of her blouse was damp with perspiration, and the scratchy weight of her riding skirt and jacket seemed to smother her skin. She was so hot; the smell of her own body was strong. Wisp of hair lay wetly along the sides of her face and her hat sat slightlyaskew, but Hannah was too exhausted to expend the energy to right it. Besides, it seemed of little importance.
    With no other means at hand, Hannah raised her arm and used the sleeve of her jacket to blot at the moisture beading on her upper lip. Her mouth and throat were parched, and the salty taste of her own sweat only increased her thirst. Not once had she seen any of her Apache captors take a drink since they had set out. She didn’t know how they kept going.
    The mental stress, the physical discomfort both pressed on her. Her chin dipped and a wetness gathered in her eyes, Hannah shut them, and made her mind focus on anything that might help her. Someone had once told her that Indians admired courage and bravery; she mustn’t let them see she was afraid. Her head came up, her blurred vision slowly clearing, and her lips thinned out, dryly sticking together.
    The stillness was broken by the clatter of many hooves on stone, the rattle of a miniature rockslide and the scrape of a hoof, and the gruntings of the horses as they picked their way along the side of a rocky hill. They followed it around to the base of its steep side. The rising bluff threw a wide band of dark shade onto the ground, and the raiders in the lead stopped to give the horses a rest.
    After her first rush of gratitude had passed, Hannah experienced a twinge of unease. So far they had ignored her, but for how long? She watched the Chiricahua warrior ahead of her slide from his horse, always with that effortless, catlike grace and quickness. The reins to her horse remained in his grasp, but loosely, it seemed.
    All the Apaches had dismounted, save the boy guarding the captured horses, and one moccasined Chiricahua scrambled back along their trail on foot, obviously a sentry. In the seconds it took her to noticethese things, Hannah realized she might never have another chance to escape.
    She kicked her horse and hit it with her hands to mate it pull free of the Apache’s hold. It was a slim chance, and a dangerous one. Even if the horse managed to get away, there was always the risk that it would trip on the dragging reins.
    The tired and sweat-cated bay gelding made a startled lunge forward, whinnying its frightened confusion as Hannah beat at the animal, urging it to take flight. It tried to respond, but its head was pulled around by the heavy hand on the reins. The pressure never let up, twisting the gelding’s head around, doubling it back against its own body until the horse overbalanced. Hannah was thrown from the saddle, falling on the talus slide of the rock face. The shock of the impact stunned her.
    Her horse scrambled to its feet and shook itself, like a dog shaking off water, while Hannah cautiously pushed herself up on her hands, dazed but cognizant that she had suffered no injuries beyond a bruising. A sound, a movement, a sense of something above her caused Hannah to turn over, scooting into a half-sitting position. The