Wrath of the Savage (18 page)

After Myra checked to make sure Lucy was all right, they left the banks of the Marias and set out for Fort Benton, which Coldiron estimated to be no more that thirty-five or forty miles. He didn't figure that a Piegan war party would risk following them there. They rode what he figured to be about half that distance when it became obvious that the horses were getting too tired to go much farther without rest and water.

“We're not gonna stand much of a chance if they figure out which way we went and we're trying to ride dead horses,” Bret said. “So like it or not, we've got to rest these horses.”

“I can't argue with that,” Coldiron said. “Let's push 'em a little bit farther to see if there ain't some kind of water ahead. How you women holdin' up?”

“We're all right,” Myra said after checking with Lucy. “Let's see if we can't find some water.”

“All right,” Bret said. “We'll push 'em a couple more miles, but after that, we'd better dismount and walk ourselves.” He wasn't sure if they were being trailed or not. Maybe they weren't good enough trackers to pick up their trail at night. But if they were, he didn't want to risk having horses too tired to run. So they pushed on for a mile or two farther before coming to a stream, barely more than a trickle, but enough to let the horses drink. They made their camp there.

•   •   •

Having waited for what he considered much too long for Lucy to have a bath, a thoroughly irritated Bloody Hand left his campfire and went in search of the two women. At the edge of the river, he met a group of younger women and girls on their way back to the camp. As usual, when he approached, they ceased their lighthearted chattering and became stony silent.

“Have you seen Dark Moon?” he asked.

“She went upstream, beyond where we were bathing,” one of the girls answered.

“We did not see her again,” another said.

Angry now, Bloody Hand walked past the girls without another word, intent upon scolding his mother when he found her. She knew he awaited his captive bride, and it made him furious when she tried to keep him away from her.

It was too dark along the river now to see very far ahead of him, but he kept walking, nearing a thick growth of willows.
She must have gone back to the camp a different way,
he thought, and that brought even more anger. He had turned around to go back when he heard a muffled sound he could not identify. It seemed to be coming from the willows.
An owl? Some other night bird?
He could not say, but his curiosity was piqued enough to try to find out.

When he reached the edge of the willow thicket, he discovered many broken branches as if a large animal had pushed through. Without consciously thinking about it, he dropped his hand down on the handle of his knife, and he became more alert. Making his way cautiously through the trees, he followed the trail of broken branches. Suddenly he heard the muffled sounds he had heard before, this time right in front of him. He took a cautious step back while he stared at the struggling figure only a few feet before him. In another few seconds, his eyes adjusted to the heavier darkness in the thicket, and he was astounded to discover Dark Moon tied to a tree.

As fast as he could, he untied the cloth in his moth- er's mouth to release her screeching protests upon his ears. She was almost insane with anger, screaming that she was attacked and no one would come to her aid.

“Where is the woman?” he demanded, ignoring her protests.

“Gone!” she screamed as she flung the ends of the rope from her as he untied them.

Impatient with her hysteria, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently. “What do you mean, gone?” he demanded. “Gone where? How did she tie you up like this?”

Calmed enough to answer his questions now, she railed at him. “They took her! They tied me up and took that bitch!”

“Who?” he asked in anger, and shook her again.

“Two white men,” she finally told him, “one as big as a grizzly. They crept in while I was washing her and grabbed me from behind. There was nothing I could do to stop them.”

Bloody Hand was stunned for a few moments, unable to believe what he was hearing. Then he was overcome with anger.

“Two white men walked right into our camp and stole her?” Suspicious then, for he knew his mother would go to any lengths to get rid of the white woman she hated. “That is not possible,” he charged. “Someone would have seen them.”

“I saw them,” Dark Moon exclaimed. “I told you.”

“Maybe you let her run away.”

“Can you not see?” she screamed at him. “They tied me to a tree!”

Still harboring suspicion, he countered, “Maybe you let her go and told her to tie you to the tree.”

Now it was she who could not believe her ears. “Your desire for that white bitch has made you crazy. Two white men took her,” she stated emphatically.

“Which way?” he asked, reminding himself that he was wasting time. He must go after her at once. She pointed upstream. Not bothering to wait for his mother, he ran back to the camp and called out to everyone sitting around their campfires. “Hear me! Our camp has been attacked!” He had everyone's attention immediately, and every warrior grabbed his weapons and prepared to defend the village.

“Who is attacking us?” White Hawk asked, since there were no shots or arrows flying.

Bloody Hand explained, “Two white men came into our camp, tied Dark Moon to a tree, and stole the white woman I have taken for my wife. We must go after them and bring her back.” He was not totally convinced that Dark Moon's version of the kidnapping was true, but he decided to act upon it as if it were.

The warriors were gathered around their chief, White Hawk, now, but instead of the immediate outcry to take to their ponies and give chase, there was a rumbling of indecisive reactions. Seeing that, White Hawk spoke.

“I think it will be hard to track these two white men in the dark. Maybe we will have to wait until morning, when we can see.”

Another man, the highly respected warrior Walks Silently, spoke. “It seems to me that we have not been attacked by these white men. It appears that they came only to take the white woman back. And I would say to Bloody Hand that he and the village are well rid of her, for she clearly had no desire to remain here. I say let the woman go back to the people she belongs with.”

His statement was representative of the feeling that most of the village held for Bloody Hand and the white woman. As far as they could see, she was a constant hazard to them if army or militia patrols came searching for her. Several more warriors spoke, encouraged by Walks Silently's statement. They were all in favor of letting the white woman go.

“By morning, when we can see to track them,” White Hawk asked, “what if we still don't see their trail? We cannot look for them if we don't know who they are.”

“I know who they are,” Lame Dog said. “It is the army scout Coldiron and another man. I saw them at the trading post where my mother, Red Bonnet, lives. She told me that they have come here to find the white woman.”

“Coldiron!” Bloody Hand exclaimed in disgust. “See! The hated fighter of my people has dared to come into a Piegan camp and steal a woman. I will find this man and kill him, and take back what is mine! Who will ride with me?”

“I will!” Lame Dog cried out at once. “I will ride with Bloody Hand.” He stepped forward and stood beside him.

No one else stepped forward. After a few tense moments of silence with Bloody Hand's grotesque features twisted in an angry grimace, White Hawk spoke again. “It is the feeling of your brothers that this is not a wise thing for you to do. Why not let the woman go back to her people? We are not at war with the soldiers now. It would not be a good thing for us to give them cause to fight us.”

Bloody Hand was furious, feeling betrayed by his own people. “I, Bloody Hand, do not fear the white soldiers. You can sit around your campfires, stuffing your bellies. I will find these white men who stole from me, and I will kill them.” He turned and stalked angrily to his horse.

“I go with Bloody Hand,” Lame Dog stated, and followed the irate Piegan.

•   •   •

Although disgusted with her son's infatuation with the white woman, Dark Moon would not shirk her responsibility as the woman in his lodge. She prepared a sack of venison jerky and pemmican cakes for his sustenance, even including enough for Lame Dog, since the half-breed had no woman of his own. She tried to persuade him to wait until morning to set out after the woman, but he refused to remain in the camp with those who had betrayed him.

When their arms and provisions were ready, Bloody Hand and Lame Dog went to the stand of willows by the river, hoping to pick up a trail in the darkness. It was easy to follow the rescuers through the willow thicket, because of the broken branches. Once they left the willows, however, it became a more challenging task. Finding only an occasional track here and there, they could guess that the white men had followed the river north. They continued until they could not find a single track, and were forced to conclude that their prey had crossed the river at some point, and they had missed it. With great reluctance, Bloody Hand finally succumbed to the dark, and decided he had no choice other than to wait for daylight. They made their camp right where they were.

“At first light, we will find their tracks,” Bloody Hand vowed. “I will not stop until I have both of their scalps, and the woman is mine again.”

Lame Dog, seeing this as a golden opportunity to curry favor with the fierce warrior, and possibly win his friendship as well, was quick to encourage him.

“These two white dogs have six horses. I saw them in Jake Smart's corral—and guns, they have guns that shoot many times, like my rifle. When we get your woman back, we will also get their guns and horses.”

“That is a good thing,” Bloody Hand agreed, thinking of his triumphant return to his village with the white woman and the spoils, including the scalps. Although he had never seen him, he had heard of Coldiron, and the warrior who took his scalp would be highly respected.

Roughly twenty miles from the spot where Bloody Hand and Lame Dog had made their camp, the four people they were chasing sat around a small campfire. Alert to the night sounds, Bret and Coldiron remained in a state of cautious readiness while Myra and Lucy talked of the young woman's drawn-out ordeal at the hands of her captors.

“Who are these two men who risked their lives to save us?” Lucy asked. Myra told her about the unlikely happenings that caused Bret and Coldiron to decide to rescue them on their own, when the army apparently didn't care enough to pursue the issue.

“Who are they?” Myra echoed. “They're two by-God angels. That's who they are.”

“What are we going to do?” Lucy asked. It was something she was wondering about, now that there was a chance there was a future in store for her, and her life might not end in an Indian camp. “Where are they taking us? I don't know what to do without Carlton.” Thinking of her late husband, she started to cry softly.

Myra put her arm around her and pulled her close. “I think they'll take us wherever we want to go.”

Lucy struggled to keep from sobbing. “I don't know where I want to go. I don't have a place to go. The only family I have left are my aunt and some cousins back in Missouri, and Carlton's folks. I can't go back there after what's happened to me.”

Myra understood her young friend's despair. Lucy had not spoken of it, and Myra would not ask her, but she could imagine the abuse and violation that Lucy had suffered at the hands of the savage Bloody Hand. Lucy's mind might never heal, but if it did, it would surely take a long, long time. There were healing scars on her face and arms that spoke of the abuse she had endured. They would heal rapidly. It was the serious scarring, deep inside the girl's mind and body, that would take its toll.

“Honey,” Myra told her, “you've got your ol' aunt Myra. You're not alone. Hell, I don't have any family to go back to, either. We'll just start over, you and me.”

“What would we do to support ourselves?” Lucy asked. “Carlton was a farmer. I don't know much about raising crops. I don't own a thing to my name, but this ol' animal skin dress—not even a brush or comb.”

“I don't know,” Myra said. “We'll get somewhere safe and then think about it. We'll find something. You just rest now. You look like you need to build up your strength, so I'm taking it as my responsibility to fatten you up a little. Why, when we get back to civilization, there ain't nothing that can stop two determined women like you and me.”

She was not a great deal more confident about her abilities than her younger friend, but she would never admit it. Her greatest attribute was the belief that, like a cat, she would always land on her feet, no matter how far she was thrown. And this time, she was determined to put Lucy back on her feet as well.

And so it came to be that four souls set out the following morning, after a night that brought no attack by Piegan warriors, with no clear destination beyond Fort Benton, and no notion what they would do once they arrived. Still, they rode with a confident air, for they were within short miles of Fort Benton and the military stationed there. The abduction of the two women, which was the flashpoint that had started this ill-conceived adventure, had been successfully crushed, and the women rescued. This was as far into the future as Bret had planned. His years of education and military training had all gone for naught with his dismissal from the army. As he rode his paint Indian pony toward the Missouri River once again, he tried to turn his options over in his mind. The only occupation that continued to come up as the most likely was to re-enlist in the army as a private, and he was determined not to do that.

Perhaps the only member of the rescue party with a firm idea of where he was heading was the big scout, Nate Coldiron, for he had seen the writing on the wall. He had always been a free and independent man. His skills in the wild were such that he needed no one to rely on for food or clothing. Things beyond those basics, like guns and ammunition, he could always trade animal hides for. Frequent agreements to scout for the army brought him the money he needed for his amusement.

But now Coldiron saw the end of his existence as a free soul getting closer every day. He had accumulated too many years. His life path was supposed to have ended a decade ago, before his eyesight began to deteriorate, and his hearing began to fade—and the onset of the trembling of his finger on the trigger.

Well, I might have one foot in the grave,
he thought,
but it's gonna take a hell of a lot more to pull the other one in
.

•   •   •

Morning brought the light that Bloody Hand needed to follow the trail left by the six horses, and he was on it as soon as the predawn light found its way into the Marias River Valley. Retracing their steps of the night before, they confirmed their findings of that search in the dark. After careful study of the tracks, they found the spot where the white men had crossed the river, still heading north according to the tracks across the small island in the middle of the river.

“Yi!” Bloody Hand yelped in anger when there were no tracks leading out of the water on the other side. “They stayed in the water, hoping to lose us. A trick a child might use. Come!”

He kicked his horse firmly and the spotted gray war pony charged up out of the water to the bank.

“They had to come out somewhere.”

Lame Dog followed him and they studied the riverbank carefully as they continued in a northerly direction.

After riding over half a mile, Lame Dog complained, “They must not have stayed in the water this long. I think they tried to trick us. I think they crossed back over the river again.”

This seemed a possibility to Bloody Hand, so they crossed back to the other side, but they found no tracks on that side, either.

Almost at the same time, both men realized how easily they had been fooled. They crossed over for a third time and raced back to the spot where the little island showed the last tracks. From that point on, they traced the riverbank in the opposite direction until coming to the rocky outcropping, a likely place to leave the river if trying to conceal their tracks. Careful examination of the chalky rock revealed faint scarring by the iron shoes of the two packhorses. The trail through the grass beyond the rock was faint, but it was there, so they knew now that their prey was heading for Fort Benton. And it was likely that, with the head start the party had, the two hunters would not catch them before reaching that settlement. That fact seemed to be no deterrent to Bloody Hand. His obsession pushed him on in spite of the small chance of overtaking them before they reached the fort.

“I think maybe they are too far ahead of us,” Lame Dog suggested to his fearsome companion.

“They will never be too far,” Bloody Hand replied heatedly. “I will follow these two white men until I have them under my knife. Then I will kill the woman, too, for she is no longer worthy to be the wife of Bloody Hand. And as long as she lives, she brings shame to my tipi.”

•   •   •

As the vengeance-crazed savage held doggedly to the trail across a rolling prairie, broken by ragged ridges and barren mesas, the four people he stalked were even then no more than a mile or two from Fort Benton. Making their way through a line of rocky hills, they had come down to the Teton River, which paralleled the mighty Missouri just north of the fort.

With no sense of alarm now, they paused to water the horses. They were grateful to find a few trees along the banks, after having traveled through a long stretch that had none. Since nothing had been discussed about what their plans were when they reached Fort Benton, Myra suggested that this might be a good time to do so.

“I don't know about the rest of you,” she said, “but I could use a little coffee while we're spelling the horses.”

Coldiron couldn't resist japing her, now that they were out of danger of being overtaken by a war party. “You mean, right now, before we cross this river?”

Accustomed by now to his tendency to tease when the situation was not dire, she responded in kind. “I can walk across this one and help an old man like you while I'm about it.”

The river was shallow with gravel along the banks and apparently no deep holes in the moderately running current. There was nothing to concern her.

“I'm gonna build a fire and make some coffee, so if you want some of it, you'd best watch your mouth.” Her sassy comment brought a chuckle from the big scout. She turned then to Bret. “If you don't mind, I think Lucy and I would like to talk over just what's gonna happen to us, now that we've reached Fort Benton and we're no longer in danger.”

“Maybe you're right,” Bret replied. “I guess it is time to make some plans for you and Lucy—hell, for all of us. And I suspect you're right about the Indians. You think so, Nate?”

“I reckon,” Coldiron answered. “We had a good head start on 'em, and they'd be crazy to come in this close to Fort Benton.”

Myra built her fire, and coffee was soon on to boil. However, the making of plans was not a simple matter, for in truth, no one knew what to do. There had really been no time to talk about it during their escape from the Piegan village.

“I reckon I could try to see you two ladies through to wherever you wanna go,” Bret finally offered. “From the start of this thing, I guess I figured I'd be taking you back to Fort Ellis, or Benson's Landing on the Yellowstone, since that was where they captured you. I have to confess that part of the reason I was gonna take you back to Fort Ellis was to prove they were wrong to court-martial me. But the more I think about it, the more I don't care whether they know or not. Somehow I've kinda lost my interest in being reinstated in the army. And you've both been saying there's nothing and nobody to go back there to, so it wouldn't be right to drop you off at Benson's Landing and leave you without anything. I guess you're gonna have to decide what you're gonna do and where you want to go.”

“What about you?” Coldiron asked him. “If you ain't wantin' to go back to bein' an officer in the army, what are you gonna do?”

Bret shook his head helplessly. “Damned if I know. After we take care of the ladies, I don't know where I'm heading.” He could readily see the signs of despair in Lucy's face, so he said, “I plan to take the little bit of money I've got with me and spend it on some clothes for you women. You can't go anywhere dressed like that.” Lucy looked relieved immediately, even though new clothes wouldn't solve her bigger dilemma.

Myra gave him a great big smile and said, “Damn, I'm gonna miss you.”

Coldiron sipped his coffee and studied the remarks of his fellow travelers. When there was a lull in the discussion, he asked a question. “Why don't we just stick together? We're almost like a family, the four of us. Why don't we set up on our own?”

“And do what?” Bret asked.

“I've always had a hankerin' to find me some good pasture land and raise cattle and horses,” Coldiron replied. “I never did anythin' about it, 'cause there weren't nobody but me, and I weren't sure I could cut it alone.”

“You know anything about cattle?” Bret asked.

“A little bit,” Coldiron answered.

The idea struck Bret as interesting, worthy of consideration. “Ranching, huh? I could help you with the horses, but I've never had much to do with cattle, except eating them. I reckon I'm not too old to learn. Of course, it's not as simple as that. You need some land to build your ranch on, and pasture land to raise livestock.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Coldiron said. “I've had the country picked out for a long time. We rode through it when we were trailing those Blackfeet, prettiest land there is anywhere. Above Big Timber, west of the Crazy Mountains, that's the place to raise stock—water, grass, everythin' you need—and most of it's free range.”

“I believe you have been thinking about it,” Bret said, really surprised. “I thought you wanted to be alone, preferred not to have anyone else around to bother you, holed up in that cabin of yours on the Gallatin River. Now you're telling me you want to be a family?”

Coldiron shrugged. “When you're young, maybe a man don't need nobody else. But when you get a little older, you get to feelin' that it wouldn't be bad to have somebody around.”

Myra found the discussion very interesting. While there was a temporary lull, she looked at Lucy, questioning. Getting a shrug of noncommittal from her young friend, she chose to interpret it as indifferent, so she made a suggestion.

“Why don't we vote on it? I say we oughta try it as a family, and stick together. Lucy and I are already used to hard work on a farm, so we'll do our part. What about the rest of you?”

“I vote we make a family,” Coldiron spoke up, a wide grin straining to shine through the whiskers.

Still insecure in her place among them, because of what she feared as a stigma as a result of the abuse she had suffered in the Piegan camp, Lucy nevertheless voted to join Myra, leaving Bret to make it unanimous.

“I guess we're gonna be a family,” he said.

Myra cheered and Lucy's face lost its worried frown for the first time since she had been rescued. Coldiron grinned, knowing that he had formed a partnership with a strong, young, dependable man, and his recent worries about advancing age seemed no longer of importance.

Bret was not sure it was what he wanted to do with his life, but he believed that this was the best option at the moment. The thought of being part of a family was a strange one to him, for he had never really experienced it. He was the son of a career military man who was a widower. His young life was spent moving from post to post, with no roots sunk in any one place. And it had always been the natural progression for him to follow his father's profession. Maybe having a family, even one of unrelated members, would be a good thing for him. The idea caused him to smile to himself when he thought of the unlikely combination of characters.