Savage Cry (27 page)

“Maybe,” was all Clay would concede at the moment. He had been convinced that Martha was still a captive, bound hand and foot in one of the many lodges. But he could not totally dismiss the worrisome feeling that she could be dead. “We’ll watch the camp for the rest of the day. Then if I don’t see her, I’m going in close tonight. I’ll find her if she’s here.”

“All right,” was all Badger said, but he wasn’t sure he liked the fatal tone of Clay’s voice. He had a pretty strong feeling that, if Clay didn’t find his sister, he would be more determined than ever to find Black Elk. And that sounded like a surefire way to commit suicide. He couldn’t stop the man if he was bound to go in recklessly looking for revenge against the warrior who abducted his sister, and maybe killed her. Clay was too powerful a man to restrain physically.
But Badger thought he should at least try to talk some sense into his young friend.

“You know, son, you might not wanna throw all your gunpowder into the fire at once. There’s a heap of Injuns in this here camp. We ain’t hardly give it enough time to see all the women in the whole damn village. Why don’t we give it a few more days before you git in too close? She may be here and we just ain’t seen her yet.” He paused to see if Clay was hearing what he said. “There’s another possibility. She might be somewhere else, not in this camp a’tall, and we just have to keep lookin’. Black Elk mighta traded her to somebody else. You don’t wanna lose your scalp here if she might be with another band of Injuns.”

Clay had considered that possibility, and it gave him pause. Maybe Martha wasn’t here, but he knew for sure that this was Black Elk’s village, and his hatred for the savage that abducted his sister was smoldering inside him, threatening to explode. His rational mind understood what Badger was trying to impress upon him, and he knew that it would be foolish to get overly reckless in his determination to find out what had happened to his sister. Then, too, there was his responsibility to Badger. He could not take any action that might endanger Badger’s life. Still, the longing to avenge Martha was so strong within him that he knew he would not rest until he had settled with Black Elk. As he knelt there in the trees, his mind was in a quandary. He was tempted to go back, get his horse, ride right into the middle of the village, and challenge this Black Elk to face him.

“That would really be suicide,” Badger retorted when told of Clay’s thinking. “Let’s just keep watchin’ ’em like I said before.”

“All right,” Clay replied impatiently. “We’ll watch ’em, but I’m going in tonight.”

Since they were already on the lower side of the village, near the creek, they decided to work their way up to a cluster of alders across the water from the pony herd. Once they had advanced as close as they dared, Badger made himself comfortable and pulled out a piece of deer jerky to chew on. Offering some to Clay, he joked, “Here, better keep your strength up since you’re figurin’ on fighting this whole band of Injuns.”

Clay declined the offering. “There ain’t but one of ’em I’m looking to fight,” he stated.

The afternoon wore on. There were a great many people coming and going in the gathering of lodges near the creek. Hunters in twos, threes, and some larger parties returned to the village as the sun settled low in the mountains beyond. The women scurried about busily, taking charge of the day’s kill, gathering firewood, and preparing for the evening meal. But amid all the activity, Clay saw no sign of Martha or Robert. By the time the sun began sinking low on the second day of their surveillance, Clay was convinced more than ever that she was dead. He rejected the possibility that she had been traded away. As the shadows lengthened among the alders, he and Badger withdrew from their position near the creek bank. It was time to return to their camp in the hills to take care of their horses.

“Git down!” Badger suddenly whispered, just as they were about to leave the trees below the camp. Both men dived for cover behind a fallen cottonwood only moments before a party of six Blackfoot hunters entered the clearing between the creek and the hills. Their ponies padded softly by, no more than a few yards from where Clay and Badger lay hugging the
ground behind the dead tree. So close were the hunters that Clay could plainly hear their conversation.

“The hunting has been good today,” one of the hunters said. “There will be many feasts in the village tonight.”

Another answered. “It has been good, but I think Bloody Axe is ready to go and find the buffalo that have been reported to the east. At least, that’s what Three Bulls told me this morning. What do you think, Black Elk?”

Like a sharp knife, the name Black Elk slashed a jagged scar down the length of Clay’s spine, numbing him to his fingertips. As quickly as he could, he crawled over to the end of the dead tree where he could risk taking a look without exposing himself. It was him! The powerfully built warrior he had seen the night before. He scolded himself for not guessing as much when he first saw the young warrior. Now Black Elk was answering the warrior who had asked the question, but the words were lost on Clay. His soul was so filled with the fury that had been building for almost a year that he couldn’t even hear Badger’s whispered warnings. “Easy, son, easy.” His concentration centered on one thing, Clay began to slowly rise up from the ground until he felt the steel grip of Badger’s hand on his arm, holding him back.

He was about to wrench his arm free of Badger’s grip when he looked back into the old trapper’s face. Badger slowly shook his head, then motioned over his shoulder. When Clay looked in the direction indicated, he saw why Badger was trying to hold him. A second party of hunters was following Black Elk’s party, and was only a dozen or so yards behind. Clay hesitated, stone still for a long moment, as if deciding what to do. Finally, seeing the folly of what he was about to do, and realizing there was also Badger’s neck to
consider, he sank back to the ground and waited. He felt Badger’s hand relax as the old trapper sighed in relief.

They remained flat on the ground behind the fallen tree until all the hunters had passed and were out of sight. When the way was clear, Badger scurried up from behind the log and headed for the tiny meadow in the hills where the horses were tied. Clay was close behind him. Once they had gained the cover of the hills, Badger spoke.

“For a minute back there, I thought you was gonna cook our bacon for sure.”

Clay didn’t answer. His mind was still locked on the image of the fierce Blackfoot warrior, and his body was still tense from the closeness of the encounter. Badger, fully realizing just how close they had come to losing their scalps, kept up an almost constant stream of conversation all the way back to their camp, hoping to cool Clay’s temper. It seemed to work, for Clay appeared to be calm once again as the two of them took care of their horses.

“I’m going in after that son of a bitch,” Clay suddenly blurted.

“What?” Badger replied, surprised by his young friend’s outburst. Clay had been sitting silently for a long time, staring into the fire, apparently submerged deep in thought.

As if just coming out of a trance, Clay turned toward him. “I said I’m going in that village after the son of a bitch that killed Martha.” The steady blue eyes firmly fixed upon Badger told of the sincerity of his statement. “I know which lodge is his. I saw it last night when we went down to their camp. I’m not making that decision for both of us, mind you. I don’t want to put you in any danger, so it might be a good
idea if you packed up and put a little more distance between you and this place.” When Badger was obviously too dumbfounded to reply right away, Clay continued. “Badger, I’m much obliged for taking me this far, but I’m not gonna risk your neck any further.”

“Well, if that ain’t somethin’,” Badger finally found his voice. “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve heard in a while. Is livin’ that damn unpleasant to you?”

“I know, I know,” Clay said impatiently in an attempt to cut the lecture short. “You might as well save your breath. It’s just something I have to do. But I ain’t asking you to help me.”

“What if your sister ain’t dead? Maybe she’s just with another band of Injuns.”

“She’s dead,” Clay pronounced solemnly. “We know for sure she was with Bloody Axe’s band, and she’s not here now. That murdering devil Black Elk killed her. I know my sister. She wouldn’t give in to them, so he killed her.”

“Clay, what you’re thinkin’ about doin’ don’t make a lick of sense. There’s maybe a hundred Blackfoot warriors in that camp. Even if you git in there and kill Black Elk, you’re gonna have the whole blame bunch of ’em on your tail.”

Clay was unmoved. “That’s why you better make some distance between you and them while you’ve got the chance,” he said calmly.

Badger was about to protest further, but decided it would be wasted effort. “Damn, Clay . . .” was all he offered.

“I know,” Clay said softly. He understood Badger’s concern, and he appreciated it. “I’m much obliged for all you’ve done for me, but I reckon this is where we part company. I don’t aim to commit suicide any more than the next man, but that damn Indian is gonna
have to pay for stealing my sister, whether he murdered her or not. I didn’t come all this way to just turn around and go home when I didn’t find her.”

There was little more to talk about after that. Badger could do no more than shrug his shoulders and wonder at the impetuousness of youth. Clay was a grown man, and if he wanted to risk his neck . . . well, it was his neck. Out in this country, a man did pretty much what he wanted to—if he had the iron to back it up. And Clay Culver had more than his share.

A half-moon hung low over the ridge far to the east of the little valley Clay had just crossed. It provided just enough light to cast faint shadows from the silent cottonwoods along the creek bank as Clay made his way through the trees looking for a good spot to tie his two horses. It was important to pick a spot that he could easily find again in the dark because, if things went the way he hoped, he’d be in one helluva hurry when he came back. Contrary to Badger’s thinking, Clay was not intent upon committing suicide, but he was determined to settle the score with Black Elk. He owed Martha that much—somebody owed her; Robert and Charley had failed her. So it was up to him.

Ahead of him, he could now see the glow from the cook fires through the trees. Most of the women were cooking outside this time of year, and all but a few had already finished, leaving the flames to die. He decided to wait to make sure the camp had settled in for the night before advancing to the lodge where he had first noticed the young warrior on the night before. As he sat waiting, he remembered how impressed he had been when seeing the powerful warrior. He should have guessed then that the man he was watching was none other than Black Elk, if only by his physical appearance. He stood out among all other
Blackfoot men Clay had seen. Under different circumstances, he might have thought it a shame to kill such a specimen, but Clay could not rid his mind of the terrible abuse Martha must have suffered at the hands of one so powerful.

At last it was time. Clay felt the excitement of this long-awaited confrontation. It would have to be done with his knife; a rifle shot would bring the whole village down on him in an instant. He would need to find a convenient place to leave his rifle so he would be able to get to it in a hurry if he had to.

Thoughts of Martha ran through his head as he checked to make sure his rifle had a full magazine. He wished he could apologize to her for taking so long to find Black Elk, but it couldn’t be helped. Once his rifle was ready, he removed his cartridge belt and hooked it over his saddle horn, ridding his body of anything that might be cumbersome. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to use his rifle, but it might be the only thing that would permit him to escape after he had done what he came to do. One last look at his horses and he turned to make his way silently through the trees.

Working his way slowly and cautiously forward, he moved to the same point from which he had first seen Black Elk. Kneeling low to the ground, he waited there for a while, watching and listening, staring at the cowskin lodge. As before, the white pony was tied close by. He looked away toward the other lodges. All seemed quiet in the Blackfoot camp. While he scanned the sleeping village for any sign of sentries, he thought about the look of sheer power in the warrior’s shoulders and arms. A man of lesser courage might have thought twice about engaging such a physical specimen in hand-to-hand combat. Clay never questioned his resolve to conquer the Blackfoot warrior.

Then another image invaded his thoughts. On that first night, he had watched while the warrior playfully picked his wife up in his arms and carried her into the lodge. Clay snorted silently like a mountain lion trying to rid its nostrils of an offending odor, and shook his head in an effort to clear away thoughts of his prey as a loving husband. His was a mission of vengeance. He could not think of the effect Black Elk’s death would have on his widow. To remind himself of the cruel nature of the man he stalked, Clay forced his mind to picture Martha, beaten and starved, tortured and raped. Once again his anger flamed up in his soul, and he rose to his feet. Knife in hand, he advanced toward the Blackfoot lodge.

Sensing her husband’s eyes upon her, Martha turned to smile at him. Black Elk found it fascinating to watch her brush her hair. Her soft dark tresses seemed to reflect the firelight so that there was a mystical sheen about it. And the way she pulled the brush slowly through them caused the long gentle locks to float about her shoulders with the softness of a cloud. It pleased him that she had found the brush in the packs he had taken from the two evil white men. She brushed her hair with it every night, and he never tired of watching her. He didn’t say anything when she smiled at him. She knew his heart. Words weren’t necessary.