Free Arizona Gold by Patricia Hagan

wiped at them with the back of her tied hands.
    She heard the sweeping of brush and had noticed how the Indians at the rear of the line used branches to remove any trace of their having passed by. They continued to do so even though they had traveled a long way since leaving the road where she had first been taken.
    And then a path appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. The ground was smoother, and as she kept her gaze downward, she could see many tracks.
    Without warning, Kitty’s knees buckled. She went sprawling into the parched dirt and, with a cry of panic, realized she was sliding straight toward the edge of a boulder on her way to plunging into the canyon below.
    Ryder, having let the end of the rope go slack in his hand as they topped the final hill into the Indian camp, did not realize the boy was falling in time to grab hold. The rope slipped from his hand, and he whirled about to see the boy plummeting headfirst down the incline and straight toward the edge.
    Leaping from his horse, Ryder dropped to a squat and let the bottom of his slick moccasins and the seat of his pants take him in a rapid slide down the rocks to catch the rope and grab it. Digging in his heels, he held tight as the boy went toppling over.
    Kitty was too terrified to scream and went sailing, paralyzed, over the brim—only to be abruptly held back by a sharp, painful jerk. Her arms were yanked above her head and felt as though they were being pulled from their sockets.
    “Use your feet to climb the rocks,” Ryder yelled. “Push yourself upward.”
    But Kitty was too weak. Her legs felt like wet loaves of bread—mush. She had no power over them, no will.
    Coyotay came running to help Ryder, grumbling all the while. “I should have slit his throat when you stopped me. He is nothing but trouble.”
    As the boy was finally pulled up, his hair parted from his face for a fraction of an instant, Ryder could see defiance and anger despite the close brush with death.
    Coyotay, he feared, was right. The boy was trouble, and the sooner he found a way to get him back to his people, the better. But that would take time and careful planning, because he could not risk annoying Coyotay more than he already was.
    The camp was directly ahead. Word had spread from the posted guards that they had returned, and a curious crowd was gathering.
    Coyotay and the others rode ahead, while Ryder hung back, pretending to get the boy to his feet and secure once more. What he wanted, however, was a chance to make him see that his best chance for survival was to surrender his spirit. “If you want to live, you are going to have to humble yourself. I won’t always be in camp to look after you.”
    Kitty’s eyes narrowed behind her unkempt hair. “If you are so concerned, why in the hell did you take me prisoner? And what are you, anyway?” Her eyes swept him from head to toe. “You aren’t like the others.”
    Once more, Ryder was reminded how it was easier for him to pass for white, but he offered no explanation, instead saying, “I took you for my slave to save you from Coyotay. He would have tortured you for shooting him.”
    “I wish I had killed him,” she said defiantly.
    Ryder shook his head at the boy’s audacity. “It is a good thing the others understand little of your language, because they would cut your tongue out. Maybe I should just turn you over to them, anyway. You don’t appreciate my trying to help you.”
    “So what do you want from me?”
    “You’re going to be my slave and do my bidding, and when I am not here, you will work for my mother. Right now, though, you’re going to answer my questions. And none of your insolence.” He gave the rope a hard jerk for emphasis.
    She could not hold back a grimace of pain, for her wrists were torn and bleeding.
    He saw, and loosened his hold. “My mother will take care of your wounds in a little while. Now tell me about the women passengers that were on the stagecoach with you earlier. Did any of