"I will fight you to prevent more bloodshed, and I will fight my wife's people to bring you the horses." Geronimo was silent, in no hurry to make his decision.

"My heart is sad for you," he said finally.

"For I think you live in no world and trust no one." There were whispers among the warriors as they anticipated their leader's decision.

"Bring us the horses." There was the slightest pause, and then Geronimo spoke Ryder's name in the Apache tongue, "One-Who-Rides-The-Wind." Ryder acknowledged this with a slight bow of his head before he turned. The irony of the similarities in his Christian and Chiricahua names had never been lost on him, but now the connection seemed more important than ever. Once again he was bridging both cultures, two lives. Ryder returned to the corral alone. He climbed over the fence and dropped inside. Leaning his rifle against the fence, he began to run a leading string around the horses, tethering them together so they wouldn't stray when he released them.

The animals were calm under his gentle direction. The horses lined up docilely, and the burros meekly went to another corner.

Ryder was ready to raise the rope on the gate when a familiar unexpected voice stopped him.

"I'm not going to let you do that," Rosario said lowly. Ryder did not drop the rope, but some small movement he made indicated his intention to go for his gun.

Rosario stepped out of the shadows of the nearby mining machinery.

"And I'm not going to let you do that." The Tonto scout was shielded by Mary's body. He held a knife to her throat. Ryder's face gave no indication of the jolt that went through him. He let the rope fall back into place.

"Let her go." Though Rosario had spoken English, Ryder gave his order in the Tonto dialect of the Apache tongue.

"You only want me."

"I will have both."

"You will have nothing." Ryder practically spat the words.

"You hide behind a woman. There is no honor in that." Rosario recognized the ploy: attack his pride and force him to give up his captive.

"It means nothing coming from a man who has no honor," he said tightly.

The blade was no longer cold on Mary's throat. The edge of it had drawn blood once, and she could feel the trickle against her skin. She was afraid and she was angry, but anyone who knew her would realize in which direction the scales of emotion were tipped.

"For God's sake, speak English," she snapped.

"If I'm going to die over it, then I'll damned well know what the argument's about." Ryder didn't flinch. Rosario, he saw, was taken aback by her tone and her vehemence. The knife was pressed more firmly against Mary's throat, the blade turned in just a fraction more lethally.

"He doesn't want me to release the horses," Ryder told her.

"And he isn't willing to release you in exchange for my promise." He looked past Mary to Rosario.

"You're condemning everyone here to death." Rosario's head cocked to one side, but he said nothing.

"You saw the raiding party, didn't you?" He nodded.

"Less than twenty men."

"You fool. Geronimo is with them. It makes them a hundred strong." He saw Rosario's confusion.

"And they'll run over this camp if I don't give them the horses. No one will escape. Least of all you. You could have had the great Geronimo. You settled for the easy coup instead." Mary felt her captor's anger rise and knew the moment she was going to be pushed away so he could face Ryder. Prepared as she was, the vigorous thrust still sent her sliding forward onto her knees. Her palms scraped the ground as she came to a halt. Catching her breath, she looked up and saw Ryder vaulting over the corral to attack Rosario. Mary scrambled to her feet and removed the knife from her moccasin pocket. Ryder and Rosario were circling each other. Rosario's knife was darkened on the edge by Mary's own blood. Ryder was without a weapon save his Colt, and it was useless because he didn't want to fire it and precipitate the blood bath he was trying desperately to avoid. Mary tossed her knife onto the ground between the men.

Rosario was small of stature, lithe and quick. A bandana held back his long ink black hair, but his locks swirled about his shoulder as he stabbed at Ryder to keep him from retrieving the weapon.

Ryder easily removed himself from harm's way, feinted left then dove right, capturing the hilt as he somersaulted forward. He came to his feet again easily, this time on the other side of Rosario. Now that Ryder was armed, Mary turned her back on the combatants. Nothing she could do there could affect the outcome, but she must save the camp.

Raising the looped rope on the gate post, she let the corral gate swing open and grasped the leading string of the first horse to sidle up to her. With a firm, commanding tug, she led the animal out of the corral. Tethered together as they were, the others had little choice but to follow.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rosario's arm make a wide sweeping arc, saw Ryder duck the lethal pass. Mary pressed on.

She didn't know where she was taking the horses. She was aware of the general direction in which Ryder had gone when he'd left the corral with the four Chiricahua raiders. She supposed, correctly, that they would find her. A band of six warriors stopped her, blocking her route with the animals. Giving herself to God's care and grace, Mary faced them squarely. She held up the leading strings in a tight fist.

"These are for you." No one moved. No one commented. They simply stared at her. Mary was a woman outside the realm of their experience.

Her shirt and trousers gave her an appearance they were not accustomed to in a white woman. The upturned moccasins, similar to their own, identified her as the one Ryder had married. They wondered at her cropped hair and oddly serene expression as she faced them. She did not cower in terror or raise her fist defiantly. If she was afraid she had learned to accept the fear and absorb its strength for herself.

One warrior moved forward.

"She is One-Who-Rides-The-Wind's woman." Mary did not understand what was said, but there seemed to be general agreement among the other warriors.

"These horses are a gift for the great Geronimo. My husband and I wish to make him this gift." The warrior who had come forward now reached for the leads and took them from Mary's hand.

"What do you know of Geronimo?" he asked in English. Mary held her ground, but it was difficult with the horse and the men towering over her.

"I know he has the mark of a powerful man," she said clearly.

"How do you know this?" was the deeply graveled reply.

"He is both feared and respected by his enemies." The warrior considered this a moment, then he translated for his band. There was another general murmur of agreement.

"And would you tell him this if you met him?" Mary shook her head.

"Respect and fear would shut my mouth." There was deep, rich rumbling laughter when this was translated.

"A cunning fox would have to steal her tongue to shut her mouth," he added in Apache and laughed at his own humor. Mary did not have to understand the language to know she was the object of their joking. It was clear they had no intention of harming her. Having made her gift, she was anxious to get back to the corral and Ryder.

"I must go," she said.

"My husband is--"

"Is going to turn you over his knee." Mary spun on her heels as Ryder's voice came to her from behind. Moving past the horses, she launched herself into his arms and planted kisses over his face.

Only half aware of what she was doing, she patted him down, exploring for puncture wounds.

"I swear I am, Mary," he said between kisses.

"Right over my knee." The warrior holding the horses nodded approvingly and offered his opinion in Apache.

Still holding Ryder's dear face between her hands, Mary drew back slightly.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"Geronimo says I should beat you now and save myself years of agony."

Mary blinked.