Wrath of the Savage (21 page)

“No, of course not,” Lucy replied. “I'm just going over in the willows there.”

She was ashamed to say that it would have made her more comfortable had Myra chosen to go with her. However, she had challenged her urge to go for so long that now the possibility of wetting her underwear became a bigger concern than who might be lurking in the willows.

Stepping as quickly as she could while straining to hold on until she could reach the cover of the trees, she barely made it in time to pull her underpants down and squat. She had held on for so long that she now wondered if she was ever going to finish. When at last she did, she relaxed for a moment to enjoy the relief. A moment later she was sprawled on the ground, having bolted sideways when she was startled by the touch of a hand on her shoulder.

Her worst fears seemed confirmed, as she stared up at the dark shadow standing above her. He had found her, and she was too paralyzed with terror to scream.

“You and the other woman must get away from here,” the voice told her.

Still terrified, Lucy could only lie there on the ground, confused by the strange voice. It was not the harsh guttural tone so familiar to her when Bloody Hand had cursed her.

“You are not safe here.” The warning was repeated. “You and the other one must get away from here as quick as you can.”

Cowering in fear, Lucy realized that it had to be Jake Smart's wife.

“Bloody Hand comes for you,” Ruby said. “You not have much time. Go into the woods and hide.” When Lucy was slow in responding, she finally scolded, “Get up!” The harsh command was enough to shake Lucy out of her fearful paralysis.

Satisfied that the frightened girl was at last responding, Ruby said, “I must go now.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the dark shadows of the willows.

Intent upon slipping back into the house before she was seen, Ruby made her way quickly through the trees. Lame Dog had told her that Bloody Hand was waiting for him with their horses. She had not told Jake what the two warriors were planning, and she wanted to get back before he knew she had gone.

Myra's opinion of Ruby Red Bonnet was nearly accurate. The Blackfoot woman had no use for whites in general, and she encouraged her son's adoption of the Blackfoot ways. But there was a modicum of conscience in the otherwise savage woman, and this obsession Bloody Hand had for this white woman was not a good thing. The conflict between white man and red man should be a war between warriors and soldiers, and not involve women. Consequently, she felt no sense of betrayal to her son and the Piegan brute he rode with. She had warned the woman. It was now up to Lucy to save herself.

Behind her, the frightened young woman, having scrambled to her feet, stumbled through the willow branches, oblivious of the thrashing her arms and legs suffered.

“Myra!” she screamed in a half whisper as she ran to the fire. “We've got to run!” she implored as Myra watched her approach, baffled by her bizarre behavior. While pulling a reluctant Myra away from the fire, Lucy told her what had just happened.

When Myra realized that Lucy wasn't having fearful hallucinations, she quickly responded. Snatching up her revolver, she put a handful of extra cartridges in her pocket and took command.

“Come on,” Myra said, “across the creek, over by those big trees!”

The two women crossed over the shallow creek as quickly and as quietly as they could manage in their panic to find safety.

With Myra leading, they followed the creek upstream, moving as fast as they possibly could on the dark bank. It was imperative that they should warn Bret and Coldiron before they rode into an ambush. She only hoped the men would return on the same trail on which they had departed, and that she and Lucy would intercept them before they got too close to the camp.

•   •   •

On foot, leading his horse, Bret stopped dead still when he caught a slight movement in the bushes on the left side of the creek bank ahead. Thinking it likely caused by a deer, he signaled Coldiron behind him. Both men dropped their horses's reins and pulled their rifles out of their saddle slings and cocked them. Walking silently, they watched the bank, following the movement in the foliage as it tracked along a line that would bring it to a gap about five yards wide. It appeared that the gap was the only chance they had for an open shot, so they both knelt, aimed, and waited. The bushes parted.

“What the hell . . . . ?” Bret exclaimed, and reacted quickly enough to shove Coldiron's rifle barrel sideways, causing his big friend to send a .44 slug ripping through the treetops. The rifle shot forced a scream of fright from both women.

“Myra!” Bret exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing, trying to get yourself killed?”

“Jesus' whiskers!” Coldiron gasped. “I damn near shot you!” He was visibly shaken by the close call, and extremely grateful for Bret's younger and sharper eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Bret repeated as Myra and Lucy scurried out of the berry bushes and ran to meet them.

“Bloody Hand,” Myra exclaimed. “The son of a bitch followed us here!”

“You saw them?” Bret demanded, assuming it was a war party from the Piegan camp. “How many?”

“I don't know,” Myra said. “We didn't see them. Ruby told Lucy to run, that Bloody Hand was coming to get her.”

“Ruby?” Coldiron asked, finding it hard to believe the hostile Blackfoot woman would bother to warn them.

“Yes,” Lucy exclaimed. “It was her. She sneaked up on me when I was in the bushes and told me I had to run and hide, because Bloody Hand had come to take me back.”

“We didn't see any Indians,” Myra repeated. “But I didn't see any sense in taking any chances that the woman was just up to some mischief—out to frighten two white women.”

“You did the right thing,” Bret said. “She doesn't strike me as the kind to do much joking, so I expect we'd best take her word for it and get ready to have some visitors. We've got to figure they heard that shot, so they'll be coming this way pretty quick.” He turned to Coldiron. “What do you think, Nate? Better to pick us a spot to sit and wait awhile, instead of taking a chance on bumping into a war party in the dark. Whaddaya think?”

“I think you're right,” Coldiron agreed. “It's best we sit tight till we find out what we've got to deal with.” He had to pause to comment then. “I swear, though, I wouldn'ta believed they'd come after us, after we got to Fort Benton.”

“It's Bloody Hand,” Lucy cried. “He said I'd never get away from him, and now he's here, just like he said. I think he's the devil and he's determined to take me back to his hell.”

“Well, it's gonna cost him more than he might wanna pay,” Bret assured her. “Let's quit wasting time and find a place to make a stand.”

Myra put her arm around the near-hysterical girl and tried to calm her. “There's three of us that son of a bitch has to go through to get to you.”

•   •   •

Bloody Hand looked up when he heard the rifle shot echoing through the darkness. He dropped the strip of smoked venison he had found on a metal plate beside the fire. Lame Dog came from the creek, where he had been looking at the horses left to graze there.

“That was not far away,” he said. They both paused, waiting to see if there were other shots fired. When there were none, Lame Dog said, “Maybe they shot a deer.”

“Why would they take the women with them?” Bloody Hand wondered aloud. He could not understand why it happened that the women were not in the camp. When he and Lame Dog were scouting the campsite, it appeared that the party had left in a hurry, because of the plates by the fire and a coffeepot still sitting in the coals.

In a fit of anger, he kicked the coffeepot, sending it bouncing over the ground, splashing coffee. What he had expected to be a simple capture of the two women had resulted in adding to his wrath and frustration. Simple logic told him that the two white men had not taken the women hunting with them.

“Somehow they found out that we were coming, and they have run into the woods to hide.” He cast an accusing gaze at Lame Dog. “The white trader, Smart, must have warned them.”

His nostrils flared in anger at the thought.

“No,” Lame Dog responded immediately. “I didn't tell Jake Smart that you were here to take your woman back.” He was still reluctant to refer to his father in any context other than the third person. “He doesn't know you're with me.”

“Your mother, then,” Bloody Hand said.

Again Lame Dog was quick to refute. “No, my mother is pure Blackfoot. She has no use for any white man except Jack Smart, and she doesn't tell him anything about me, or what I'm doing. He is only good for providing a house and food for my mother, and with his trade goods, he is useful to the Blackfeet. If that were not so, he would be dead already, by her knife or mine.”

Bloody Hand was still not convinced. “If they ran to hide because they saw us approaching this camp, then they cannot be far away. They didn't have time to take their horses, so they must be hiding somewhere near the creek banks like frightened fawns.” Convinced that was the case, he said, “Come, we'll search both sides of the creek and flush them from their hiding places.”

“What about Coldiron and the other man?” Lame Dog asked. “They might show up here, if they killed a deer.”

“Then we will kill them,” Bloody Hand stated frankly. “I came to kill them. It will save me the trouble of having to find them.”

He pulled a limb from the fire and, using it for a torch, crossed over the creek, searching for likely hiding places. Lame Dog set out combing the darkened bank on the near side.

While he searched, under every bush and vine, he thought about Bloody Hand's suspicions earlier, and he wondered if his mother
had
told his father. How else would he know to warn the women? If that was what really happened, then Jake Smart had betrayed him in favor of the white men. That made Jake Smart his enemy, and he wished death to his enemies. He decided then to kill Jake and rid his conscience of his shameful ties to the white man. His mother would no longer need the miserable little man for her food and lodge. He, Lame Dog, would take her back to the Piegan village with him and she would be free to live as she was born to live, with her people.

“Here!” Bloody Hand called and held up a scrap of material that had been torn from Lucy's sleeve by a broken laurel limb. “They ran this way!” He pushed through the laurel, coming to a clear patch of sand near the water. He stopped there and held his torch close to the ground, and discovered a clear footprint. It was a woman's print.

“They're running to the sound of the gunshot,” he said, “trying to find the hunters.” He started up the creek at a trot, hoping to overtake them.

“What about our horses?” Lame Dog called after him. He didn't think it wise to become separated from their ponies.

Bloody Hand paused for only a second, too intent upon catching two frightened women running for their lives.

“Go back and get our horses, and then bring them along behind me.”

He was off again, at a trot, confident he could run the women down before they reached safety.

On he went, stopping occasionally to search a sandy spot for footprints, becoming more and more anxious as he found them, knowing that the feeble light from the burning limb was nearing exhaustion. A dozen yards farther found him nearing a sharp bend in the creek where it changed course to flow around a twelve-foot bluff. He paused to try to get a better look at the ground ahead a moment too late. For in the next instance, he felt the blow of a .44 slug, knocking the smoking limb from his hand. Too startled to keep from emitting a yelp of pain, he was quick enough to drop to the ground and roll over the edge of the creek bank.

“Damn it, I shoulda waited,” Coldiron swore. “I think I hit him, though—don't know how bad he's hurt.”

The target he had was just a tiny flicker of flame, but he was afraid he wouldn't get a much better one, so he took the shot. There were no answering shots, so they were not sure of what might be coming at them.

After several minutes had passed with still no return fire, Coldiron asked, “You think maybe I got him?”

“Maybe,” Bret answered, his eyes scanning the dark creek bank below them, searching for movement of any kind, something that would tell him if there was a war party even now working around their position on the bluff. He looked behind him then where Myra and Lucy were huddled up against the steep face of a low hill with his and Coldiron's horses beside them. A few more minutes ticked slowly by with nothing to break the deep silence of the creek but an occasional ripple from a muskrat.

Finally Bret declared, “I don't think there's a war party down there. I think the man you shot at was alone, and the only way we're gonna find out if I'm right is for me to go down there to see.”

“Well, that don't make a helluva lotta sense,” Coldiron said. “That might be just what they're hopin' you'll do.”

“Maybe,” Bret said. “But I don't intend to sit up here all night, waiting for somebody to come after us. I'll go back and cross the creek upstream and see if I can work around behind them.”

He didn't wait to get Coldiron's opinion, and was scrambling down from the bluffs in a matter of seconds. He knew it was risky, but he was tired of running from a vengeful Indian, who seemed to have set his mind on dogging Lucy until he caught her and dragged her back to his tipi. Of additional concern to him was the thought of the horses and packs with all their possessions back at the camp.

As he made his way in a wide circle around the section of the creek bank where they had seen the flame, he became more and more convinced that it had been only one man stalking the women. There was no sign of horses or a large party of warriors combing the creek banks.