Apache Gold
Copyright© 2026 by Sonarflash2026
Chapter 8
Western Sex Story: Chapter 8 - A half-blood Apache, Concho is tossed between two worlds. As a child of seven, he is kidnapped by missionary zealots, taken to the cruelty of a residential school. He escapes, is given refuge by a wealthy Baltimore family, but ultimately, as a teen, gets sent back to the hardship of reservation life. He raids the agency store, taking food for his mother. On a stolen horse, he flees into the White Sands desert, where he discovers a mystery, a woman, and gold.
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal Sharing First Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Violence
Louis LaSalle watched with satisfaction as the body of Jones was taken away, his animals unloaded; and Bixby chained to the inside of a shed. He quietly edged away from the mixed crowd of onlookers, finding a patch of shade between a large cottonwood and scrub oak. There, he squatted on heels, back against a tree.
After a short interlude, Annabelle waved off one of the deputy marshals and followed the hulking mountain man. When she stopped several steps away, he cast furtive looks at her, then gave her daughter a grin that showed stained even teeth.
“Sure a pretty little thing,” he commented, meeting the child’s big, dark brown eyes. “Right pretty. Doesn’t favour you though, pardon my saying ma’am.”
“No offence taken sir,” Annabelle replied, looking around before moving two hesitant steps closer to the hulking, buckskin clad character, nervously recalling the dispassionate way he had killed a man. “I believe she may favour her grandmother.”
Louis LaSalle blinked, a big, crooked grin creasing swarthy, sun-baked features. “So, that’s the way of it?” He scrutinized the child. “Mayhap. Could this teeny sweet be my great granddaughter?”
Once again checking that nobody was within hearing, Annabelle nodded. “Isabella Worthington, say hello to your great Grandpapa.” She placed the child down, giving her back a light push. “We call her Bella.”
“Pleased to meet you Bella,” LaSalle murmured, voice a low rumble.
“Hello,” the girl said,, stopping halfway before taking shy. Eyes going large, she crinkled her nose, sniffing. “You smell bad!”
“Bella!” her mother gasped.
Louis LaSalle chortled. “Imagine I do child. Been some time since I had a good wash and visited a sweat lodge. Bar grease and these here buckskins do get a bit ripe. I’ll give you a hug after taking a bath and a cleansing with steam, sage and birch branches. He smiled up at Annabelle. “Concho told me you were a pretty lass. Broke his heart when your pap sent him away.”
“I’ve come for him,” she declared. “I love him, and my father was wrong! Concho has a brilliant mind. By now, he should have been studying at the university. Thanks to Bella, my father finally came to his senses. He realizes he made a serious error in judgement.” She grinned. “That was quite humbling for a wealthy businessman and proud federal justice.”
“Well now, that does present a few problems,” Louis said, scratching at his thickly bearded cheek. “First off, he’s on the run. Left the res. Vanished like any bronco. If he don’t want to be found, he never will. Second, he likely won’t ever leave this territory again, leastwise not willingly. Apache is in his blood. You being civilized eastern city folk, you probably won’t never understand that. Surprises me that he lasted ten years without gutting a missionary or lifting a scalp after they stole him from his mama.”
Annabelle tittered, covered her mouth and blushed. “He almost did, A few years before we learned of him and took him in.”. One of those missionaries in Boston was set to give him a whipping. Next thing, he was on the floor, screaming, clutching his leg. Concho slashed his hamstring with a small kitchen knife. He was trying to cut off the man’s scalp when family servants beat him senseless and pulled him off. That’s when they sent him to a residential school. He escaped the next spring. While living with us he never raised a hand to anybody. Well, not any of us. Once, when a boy at school tried to molest me, Concho thrashed him with his fists.”
“Wal child, that may be, but he’s still Apache. “ Louis LaSalle scratched his beard. “I might be able to find him, with a Few Apache friends helpin’. Won’t be easy, nor quick. You might want to return to the comfort of a civilized hotel until then.”
“First, I want to meet his mother, and introduce her to Bella.”
Louis rose, uncoiling his bulk, cracking his shoulders. Silently regarding the young woman and child, he slowly shook his head. “You don’t know what yar askin’ girl. Likely ain’t never seen the likes of this place, the filth, poverty, and smells. Bela here thinks I smell bad, and compared to some, I’m a bloomin’ rose.”
“Nevertheless, we are here, and I will meet her,” Annabelle stated, chin lifting in a show of determination.
Louis shrugged, giving a slow nod. “De’nzhone’ will like that. Soon as you’re ready. Best prepare for a shock though. The rancharia isn’t a pretty place. Squalid, full of stinks, drunks, black despair and livid hate for white folks.”
Annabelle and Thomas Worthington soon realized that Louis LaSalle’s repeated warnings hadn’t fully prepared them. Brush and patchy hide wickiups hardly looked habitable. Dirty, naked children sat in the dust or wandered about listlessly, several of them coughing, their bellies swollen, their ribs showing. The encampment smelled of human waste, rotting bones, dog scat, decayed flesh, mesquite smoke and unwashed bodies. Two wrinkled old men wearing only breechclouts and moccasins lolled under an oak, drunkenly arguing over the few remaining drops of Tizwin in a pottery jar. A few hundred paces back, under scrub pines and shading cottonwood, there was a markedly better wickiup covered with neatly stitched, bleached hides. Close by was a deep, nearly dry wash. At the bottom were a few stagnant pools thick with green slime. Nowhere was there any sign of a well or pump.
Features seamed with a multitude of wrinkles, a small woman pushed through a cloth flap and stood to greet them. She wore short, fringed moccasins with coloured beadwork that looked fairly new. Her skirt was made of fringed, bleached white doeskin. A knife belt of woven hide lacing cinched in the skirt at her waist. Her blouse was nearly shapeless, made of faded red cotton. Her hair was loose, glossy black, streaked with white and grey. Around her neck was a choker that looked to be of shells, on both skinny wrists were silver bracelets, one set with a large oval of turquoise, the other a circle of polished malachite.
Louis LaSalle raised a hand and spoke a few hissing, guttural words. The woman’s bright, black eyes regarded the two easterners and the child. Without smiling, she spoke Apache to her father-in-law. He ducked into the wickiup, pulled out three hides and spread them on a patch of dusty ground before the door flap.
“My daughter invites you to sit,” Louis told them, folding his thick legs, settling several feet away and downwind out of deference to his great granddaughter’s sensitivity.
The woman sank down, crossing her legs. She spoke again and he interpreted. “She welcomes you to her home. Her heart is made glad with sight of her son’s daughter.”
Annabelle shot him a startled look. “You already told her?”
LaSalle shook his head. “De’nzhone’ has powers. A witch woman. She already knew.”
Concho’s mother reached out both arms, flicking her fingers. To Annabelle’s surprise, Bella bounced off her lap and into the woman’s embrace. One little hand patted the woman’s chest, then reached up, stroking the seamed, leathery cheek. Concho’s mother smiled, speaking to LaSalle in Apache. The man translated.
“My daughter says the child should also have her name. She has a spirit that runs deep.”
“Bella means beautiful.” Annabelle gave the mountain man a searching look. “Isn’t that what De’nzhone’ means?” He gave her a nod. She gave the wrinkled woman a smile and nodded, then said to her daughter, “Bella, give a proper hello to your grandmother.”
Still snuggled against Concho’s mother, The child glanced at Annabelle, eyes again large. Taking a breath, looking up into the woman’s face, she said, “Dah’go’teh shee’choo.”
Lips hardly parting, Concho’s mother smiled and replied, “Dah’go’teh shee’choo De’nzhone’.” then in accented English, “welcome granddaughter. You said that nicely. One gives you her name, De’nzhone’, which also means Beautiful.” She looked up to Annabelle, lifting her brows quizzically.
“Concho taught me some words, so I taught Bella.”
“And now, my son has been forced to run away,” De’nzhone’ said quietly.” She glanced over at Louis LaSalle. “You will find Concho so that he can meet his daughter?”
“That might prove difficult.” LaSalle shrugged. “You gave him your spirit gifts, and he is my grandson. He may not wish to be found.”
De’nzhone’ considered him thoughtfully, stroking the girl’s dark auburn curls, giving a fleeting smile. “You wish to meet your Apache papa?” Eyes again going large, Bella bounced and gave an eager nod. De’nzhone’ quietly spoke a few words in Apache, then tilted her head back, eyes going distant. More words followed, slipping into a whispering, hissing sing-song. A silence seemed to press down upon everybody. Thomas Worthington leaned forward, immediately absorbed in the elder woman’s actions. Annabelle experienced a stirring of fear. Questions began to arise, then as quickly, something deflected that curiosity, distracting her with fragments of memory. Her daughter stilled, eyes becoming unfocused, then distant. A sense of mystery and unearthly power settled about the small gathering.
After several minutes, the woman fell silent. She blinked, slowly refocusing, appearing to return from some great distance. She smiled down at the child, this time showing yellowed, broken teeth and two blackened, decayed stumps. “Yusen is with your papa. Do you know about Yusen?”
The toddler blinked. Shivering, she regained focus, looking up into the woman’s eyes. Bella smiled back, saying earnestly, “Yes grandmother. He sends me dreams. I keep dreaming of papa in a very dry place, only he isn’t thirsty.” She screwed up her little face, head turning. Lifting her hand, she pointed to the southwest... “He went that way. Under the ground. I saw him...” She hesitated, shooting a nervous glance at her mother, then back to the elder woman, eyes questioning.
“Under the ground?” Annabelle said with a gasp. “Is he buried?”
De’nzhone’ gave her a quelling look, then to the child, said, “one who has been gifted must speak whatever truth has been revealed.” She gave Bela a slow nod of encouragement. “I felt your spirit flying there with mine.”
“Not buried. Real deep under the ground.” Bella drew a breath, saying in a rush, “Papa was kissing a pretty woman with hair like golden moonlight. She looked magical.”
Annabelle sucked a breath, lifting a hand to her mouth.
De’nzhone’ nodded again, turning to her father-in-law. “Concho is across the basin, far to the south, below a wall of grey rock. There, the earth was split open. Perhaps from that shaking twelve years past.”
“Split open?” Louis De Champlain LaSalle said, puzzling at her riddle. “Daughter, there are many canyons along the western foothills. Did he tell you where he was going?”
“He said he was going to Mexico, but, as you know, the horse pulled up lame,” she replied in reasonably good English. “He did not get to Mexico. He walked across the basin, then south below the foothills. He is below the grey rock, below the white sands, a deep hole in our mother that Yusen has kept hidden from whites ... and from the People.”
Perplexed, Annabelle looked to her brother,. Equally puzzled, Thomas returned her stare. Brows arching, he shrugged his shoulders. He turned to De’nzhone’, asking politely, “pardon, but how do you know? I mean, if Concho didn’t tell you?”
“I prayed. The diyí of that place revealed things. Yusen has shown the mystery to Bela. They are pleased by the respect my son has shown,” De’nzhone stated with quiet seriousness. “Yusen took our spirits across the dunes, down into a narrow canyon. It is as the child has seen.”
Heart fluttering, Annabelle blinked and swallowed. Glancing from her daughter to the elder woman, she quietly asked, “Concho ... is with a woman? One with blonde hair? How? Why?”
“Coyote is up to his usual mischief,” De’nzhone’ told her, urging Bella back to her mother. “My son’s daughter has seen a true vision. Yusen is also working magic that will twist coyote’s tail.”
Annabelle scooped up her daughter, hugging her close. “We ... came for Concho.”
De’nzhone’ stared intently at Annabelle, searching the younger woman with intense, black eyes. “You do not understand, but that is because you are not Apache. You came seeking my son, and you shall find him. Unfortunately, you are a white woman from the east, wanting things which can never be. Once, Concho was stolen away. He will never leave this land again. You cannot fashion him into something that Yusen never intended. You can change your own path, but not that of another.” She held up two fingers, separating them. “Your life has come to a place that forks.”
“What does that mean?” Annabelle asked, a sinking, frightful sensation gripping the pit of her stomach.
“I think you already know,” De’nzhone’ replied. “Seek Yusen for the meaning. Look into your spirit for the truth. Seek Yusen for understanding. Seek a vision so that you may tread the best path.” She smiled gravely, then looked down at the child now curled into her mother’s lap. “Your daughter has my gifts. You should ask about her dreams, but only if you are willing to listen. Sometimes, we do not want to hear the truth. Especially from a child. Sometimes, truth is painful.” She gestured at the wickiup, glancing at Annabelle’s brother. “My daughter and granddaughter may stay here, sharing my poor wickiup, or you can all leave. You can return to that place where the sun rises, or you can stay in this place where Yusen has brought you. The choices are yours.”
Moving close, the doctor slipped an arm around his sister. “I want to stay,’ he said. “I have already seen terrible sickness and need here. Perhaps I can do some good? Be of some help to your people?”
De’nzhone’ fixed him with an intense stare. For a long time she seemed to be looking inside, sifting him, weighing his motives. She finally blinked, smiled and said, “yes, that would be a good thing. Your heart is in the right place, but a life here has risks, dangers, and the path may be very hard. You are one of the hated.”
Thomas Worthington laughed. “I’m already finding the heat unbearable, the smells awful, and the sights appalling.” He gestured at the dry wash and slimy pools. “Where do you get drinking water?”
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