Wrath of the Savage (17 page)

They pushed back from the top of the hill and returned to their horses. “Did you see her?” Myra asked when they rode down to rejoin her.

“No,” Bret answered, “but it was pretty hard to tell from that ridge. We'll see if we can't get a better look when they get on the move again.”

The path the village would take was fairly easy to determine, since there was obviously only one good choice. So they rode along the ridge for about half a mile before selecting a likely spot. The ridge was barren of trees of any kind, so the place they picked was a ravine with large rocks on each side. Making sure the back of the ravine was open, in case they had to make a hasty exit, they tied the horses to some scrubby bushes that had defied nature by growing up between the rocks. Once the horses were safely secured, they climbed up to the top of the ravine and picked their spots to wait for the Piegans. They waited more than an hour before the advance guard came into sight.

“Here they come,” Coldiron announced as a column of warriors, two abreast, walked their horses along the river valley.

It was a better position from which to watch, than the hilltop Bret and Coldiron had scouted them from before, but it was still difficult to determine whether or not Lucy Gentry was among them. Myra strained to scan back and forth along the long line of women and children following behind the warriors, searching for the blue cotton dress Lucy wore when they were captured. But there was no sign of it.
She's not here,
she thought in despair. And then she saw one of the women, a slight, younger woman, trip and almost stumble. An older woman walking beside her immediately gave her a couple of swipes with a switch she was carrying. Myra stared harder at the young woman.
It's Lucy!
She had to catch herself to keep from blurting it aloud.

“I see her,” she whispered. “She's wearing an Indian dress.”

“Where?” Bret whispered back.

He was intent upon getting a good look at her, as was Coldiron. Even though she was white, she might be hard to identify in the dark of night, when their best chance of rescue was likely to be. He studied her features as best he could at that distance.

They remained where they were until the herd of horses was brought up behind the village. “Well, we're back to followin' 'em till they make camp,” Coldiron said. “Then we're gonna have to see where they put her for the night.”

•   •   •

The village traveled late that night, later than the nights before, until they reached a point where the Marias changed its course and turned sharply to the west through a wide expanse of grassy prairie. When the three searchers were able to move up close enough after dark to see into the camp, it appeared that the Indians were preparing to stay longer than overnight. After watching for a few minutes, Coldiron said, “They're fixin' to stay here. This must be the place they were movin' to.” He took another look at the camp. “Yes, sir, that's what they're doin'. They got plenty of grass and water for their horses, and wood for their fires in the trees at the foot of the hill.”

“And we're sitting here with two hundred yards of open grass between us and their camp,” Bret pointed out. He took another few moments to consider the situation. “We need to be on the other side of the river.”

“That's what I was thinkin',” Coldiron said.

The other bank was thick with willow trees and berry bushes. If there was any hope of working their way in close enough to be able to see what was going on, it would have to be under the cover of those willows.

Bloody Hand sat by the fire, absentmindedly eating a piece of pemmican while gazing at the white woman sitting on the other side, her chin dropped almost to her breast. It was a position she always assumed whenever he was near her, and one that frustrated him sorely. A few feet from her, Dark Moon sat, a perpetual frown upon her face that had been there ever since her son brought the white woman home.

“Eat!” she demanded, and poked the young woman with a stick she used for a walking staff.

“Leave her alone, old woman,” Bloody Hand said. Then speaking directly to Lucy, he said, “You should be proud to be the woman of Bloody Hand. No other warrior is respected more than I. You must forget the white people. You are now a Piegan, and you are now my wife.”

His words only served to increase his frustration, because he knew that she did not understand them. Sometimes he became so angry with her reluctance to be with him that he thought about killing her, but the hunger he felt for her would not let him take her life. Still she sat there, her head down, refusing to look up at him, until he spat out in anger, “Where is Lame Dog?” His verbal eruption caused the girl to jump, but she quickly resumed her position of silent protest.

“He's eating with Two Baskets and Iron Pony,” Dark Moon answered him, making no attempt to hide her disgust for her son's weakness for the white woman. “He does not waste his time eating with white women.” She knew why her son was asking for Lame Dog. The half-breed could talk white man talk, so he could tell the woman in her tongue what Bloody Hand wanted to say to her.

“Did you call my name?” Lame Dog walked up to Dark Moon's fire, having heard Bloody Hand's outburst.

“Come make the white man talk with this coyote bitch,” Bloody Hand said.

“What do you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her I own her,” Bloody Hand replied, his frustration creeping into his tone again. “Tell her I gave eight fine ponies for her, so I expect her to be a good wife. Tell her it is an honor to be the wife of Bloody Hand.”

Lame Dog smirked, delighted to talk to the woman, and amused to see the frustration in one he wanted to call friend. Bloody Hand was a mighty warrior and, as he claimed, demanded much respect in the Piegan village. Lame Dog was accepted in the Piegan camp, but he had no status since he was not of pure blood.

“I will tell her,” he said, but he couldn't resist correcting him. “You might have forgotten, but you only gave six ponies for the woman. Do you want me to tell her six or eight?”

“Tell her what I told you to say,” Bloody Hand shot back with a flash of anger.

“All right,” Lame Dog said, and turned to Lucy. “You make big mistake if you don't please Bloody Hand. You his wife now. He bought you, so he owns you. You don't act better pretty damn quick, you'll be dead.”

Without lifting her head to look at him, she said, “I'm not his wife. I'm a married woman. I'm married to Carlton Gentry, so I can't be married to him.”

“I'll tell him, but he ain't gonna like it. Your white husband's dead carcass is lyin' on the bank of the Yellowstone, rotting in the sun with no scalp. If you don't be good, Bloody Hand will take your scalp, too. You'd be better off if you just spread them pretty white legs and enjoy the ride.”

He grinned wickedly when she recoiled with revulsion. He told Bloody Hand what she had said then, enjoyed the reactions of both parties. Adding to his entertainment, he glanced over to see the look of contempt on Dark Moon's face.

“Tell her I will kill her,” Bloody Hand said. “Then maybe she can go join her white husband.”

Lame Dog nodded and turned back to Lucy. “Bloody Hand says he'll kill you.”

“So be it,” Lucy replied. “I might as well be dead as live with that monster.”

Lame Dog leered at her for a few moments while he decided whether or not to tell her what he had learned at his father's trading post. He decided it would drive her deeper into despair, so out he came with it.

“You know that other white woman who got captured with you? She got away. Some white men got her back. They came to the mouth of the Smith River, at the tradin' post, lookin' for you, but they don't know a Piegan's got you now. So they don't know where to look for you.” He was at once gratified by her reaction, as she recoiled with the discouraging news. “You're never goin' back to your white folks. You're Bloody Hand's wife now.” Turning back to Bloody Hand, he said, “I told her. I think she's thinking about killing herself.”

Concerned at first that she might do as she claimed, Bloody Hand looked intently at the frail young woman for a few moments, then decided that she would not have the determination do it. He turned to his mother and told her to watch the white woman closely whenever she was not tied securely, however. “It would be better for you if she did kill herself,” Dark Moon told him. “She is making you crazy. I will kill her for you and then you will soon forget this craziness for her.”

His scarred face grew hot with anger. “Do not harm her, or I will beat you. I will take her to my bed tonight, so take her to the river and wash her. She stinks of sweat.”

•   •   •

Many of the Piegan women went to the river to wash away the dust and sweat of a long day's travel. They went about fifty yards upstream where a thick stand of willows offered a screen from the eyes of the village. Several of the young girls were bathing together. One of them whispered to the others when she saw Dark Moon leading the white girl by a rope tied around her neck.

“Here comes Dark Moon with Bloody Hand's new wife.” Her comment brought forth a titter of giggles from her friends.

“Bloody Hand has to go raid the white farms to find a wife,” one of the girls remarked. “I hope she is strong enough to mate with a horse,” another said.

“Shhh,” the first who spoke warned, “or Dark Moon will hear you.”

They feared the old woman as much as Bloody Hand. It was common knowledge among the people of Bloody Hand's village that the fearsome warrior's hideous facial features prevented his being considered a candidate for marriage, especially the ominous hole on one side of his head where his ear once resided.

Dark Moon was getting on in years, but her hearing was still sharp enough to hear the rude remarks from the young girls. She chose not to lash out at them with her stick, choosing instead to move farther upstream away from them. She pulled the doeskin dress over Lucy's head, then replaced the rope noose around her neck. She led her into the river and forcefully threw her down in the dark shallow water close to the bank.

“Wash!” she ordered when the startled girl came up sputtering for breath. “Wash!” Dark Moon demanded impatiently when it was obvious that Lucy did not understand what the old woman was screaming at her. “Maybe if I hold you under till you can't breathe, then you'll understand.” As much as the thought appealed to her, she knew she had to control her urges. As patiently as she could, she made motions of washing herself, then pointed to Lucy. “You do!”

Lucy understood, and began rubbing her arms and torso with water. “There's no soap,” she said, which resulted in a sharp tug on the rope, almost pulling her down. She had started to resume the motions when she was startled by a dark shadow on the bank behind the old woman. It rose out of the thick bushes until it loomed huge and ominous. Lucy froze, thinking it to be a demon rising out of the earth. Dark Moon was puzzled by the young woman's apparent refusal to do as she was told and started to scold her.

But in the next instant, she was snatched up with one massive arm locking her arms to her sides and a giant hand clamped over her mouth, throttling her impulse to scream. While Lucy stood staring in shock, the helpless Piegan woman was lifted out of the water and the huge dark form carried her helpless body back into the willows. Terrified, Lucy was unable to move.

“Lucy Gentry?” She heard the whispered question.

Bret waded out and extended his hand to help her out of the water. He quickly grabbed her with both hands when her knees suddenly failed her and she started to collapse.

“We've come to save you,” Bret whispered. “You're all right now. Myra is with us. She's waiting to take care of you.” Still finding it hard to believe, she managed to regain her composure a little, even while unsure she was not dreaming. “We need to move quickly,” Bret encouraged as he helped her to the riverbank. Then he picked up the doeskin dress that Dark Moon had dropped on the ground. “Here, put this on. Let me take that rope off your neck. I need it for something else.” Then he held the dress up while she inserted her arms and let it fall over her shoulders. “Are you all right now?” he asked when she appeared to be stable.

She nodded rapidly, only then beginning to realize that it was no dream.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes,” she answered, and followed him into the willow trees, where they found Coldiron waiting, holding the squirming bundle that was Dark Moon.

“Like tryin' to hold on to a coyote,” Coldiron said. “Pull that piece of cloth out of her belt and tie it around her mouth so I can use this hand.”

He paused then just long enough to say, “Howdy, Mrs. Gentry.” Then turning his attention back to the wildcat he was struggling to restrain, he waited while Bret firmly gagged her; then he asked, “You get the rope?” Bret said that he did. Holding her arms pinned to her side, Coldiron put her facedown on the ground so Bret could pull her hands behind her and tie them together.

When she was securely bound and gagged, Coldiron said, “Come on, darlin',” picked her up, and backed her up against a willow tree. “Use all that rope you got left to tie her to the tree, and make sure you don't leave the knot where she can get to it.”

When he was sure that the irate Indian woman could not free herself from the tree, Bret stood back and said, “Take a look. Does that satisfy you?”

“Yep,” Coldiron replied. “I reckon she'll stay here a while.”

They paused to listen for any sound of alarm from the Piegan camp. There was nothing but the occasional lilt of the young maidens bathing a short distance downstream. He turned and started back the way they had come through the willows.

Standing dazed and dreamlike during the short time it took to truss Dark Moon to the willow tree, Lucy feared that Bloody Hand would somehow realize what was taking place, and would come down upon them before she was safely away. And she wasn't sure she could survive if recaptured. She jumped, startled, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, but relaxed when she heard Bret's gentle voice.

“Follow him, miss. I'll be right behind you, and we'll be away from here in just a few minutes.”

Myra rushed past Coldiron to embrace Lucy when they returned to the small clearing where she waited with the horses. Bret allowed only a few moments for the reunion of the two women, but it was long enough for both women to sob in relief.

“I don't reckon I have to tell you that we've got to get the hell out of here,” he said. “You can have your time to talk after we put some distance between us and those Indians. Can you ride?” he asked Lucy.

Myra answered before Lucy had a chance to. “She can ride. Put her on that horse and let's get going.”

Coldiron was ready to do her bidding. He lifted Lucy and placed her on the black Indian pony, and in a matter of seconds they were galloping off into the darkness.

•   •   •

Fully aware that their six horses were not going to be hard to track if they continued to follow the river, they reined them back after about three-quarters of a mile, knowing they would wear them out if they maintained that pace for very long. There was also the fear of breaking a leg in the dark over such rough ground.

Continuing at a fast walk, Coldiron led and watched for a likely place to cross the river. He was more interested in the other side of the river than the side they now rode on. The spot he settled on was a wide place where the water flowed around an island in the middle. He held up and waited for everyone to catch up to him.

“We're gonna cross over right here. I want ever'body to follow me in single file, all right?” He waited until all three agreed, then looked at Myra, remembering her last river crossing. “The water ain't deep enough to reach your knees this time of year. So ever'body follow me, right behind me, 'specially when we cross over that little island.” Assured that everyone understood, he guided his buckskin into the water. Bret held back to let Myra and Lucy go ahead of him, then followed.

Angling across to the island, Coldiron continued on the same course when he reached it, cutting across the little island at an angle also, generally leading in the same direction as when they were following the river. He looked back once to make sure everyone was on his line of travel. When Bret's packhorse was in the water, having just left the island, Coldiron reined his horse back again, remaining in the water.

“Here's where I hope we can slow 'em down a little,” he explained. “We'll keep the horses in the water and head back downstream a ways before we come out onto the bank.”

Bret understood why his big friend was so particular about following him exactly. By crossing the island at an angle, he hoped to give the impression that they were still running in the same direction as they were before entering the water. With everyone now in the water, they reversed their course and went back downstream for almost a quarter of a mile before reaching the place that Coldiron had spotted before. It was an expanse of chalky rock and gravel that the river swirled around. He nudged his horse and the big buckskin climbed out onto the rock. Then he waited while the rest of the party left the water.

“It might take 'em a while to find where we went into the water,” he said. “I'm hopin' they waste some time lookin' north to find where we came out, before they give up and figure we doubled back on 'em.” He pointed to the south. “We're headin' thataway, and there's grass once we get offa this rock, so spread out, 'cause ridin' single file will leave too heavy a track through that grass.”