With a powerful heave, the man flung her onto her back and straddled her, pinning her arms and shoulders. Lou bucked upward, but he was too heavy. Bitter tears formed as she sought to throw him off any way she could.
That was when hooves thundered, and Lou figured the other Indians had arrived. But flying toward her was the one person she cherished above all others! “Zach!” she cried.
Zach King was beside himself, boiling like a cauldron, overcome by a burning need to rip, to rend, to slay the warrior who had dared threaten his woman. He snapped up his rifle, but the angle was wrong; he might hit Louisa. Reversing his grip, he held it poised to club and smash.
The weight on Louisa lifted. The Indian had risen and faced Zach, his arms at his sides, making no effort to defend himself. Its significance was lost on her. “You’re about to meet your Maker!” she gloated.
A dark hand was raised, but not to employ a weapon. The warrior held it palm out, the universal sign of friendly greeting.
Louisa rose onto her elbows, bewildered. What was the Indian trying to pull? He was smiling at Zach even though the Hawken was still upraised to bash his brains out. It had to be a trick, she told herself. Then, behind Zach, Nate King appeared, riding as if his life depended on it. Nate was focused on his son, not on the Indian. Lou’s intuition flared. Pushing onto her knees, she saw that the rest of the warriors had stopped to observe the outcome. Her name was yelled by Nate, the rest of what he said drowned out by the hammering din. Nate pointed at the stocky warrior, then at her.
Lou could never say what made her do what she did next. A hunch? Instinct? She sprang to her feet and leaped in front of the warrior heartbeats before Zach reached them. Elevating her arms, she screamed, “No! No! I’m not hurt! Don’t do it!” But he didn’t hear her.
Sunlight bathed the smooth stock of the Hawken as it arced toward her skull.
Four
Raw, pure emotion is like a tornado. No force on earth can stand against it. Zachary King found that out when he fell hopelessly in love with Louisa May Clark. Until she came along, Zach had prided himself on his self-control. Like the seasoned Shoshone warriors he admired, he’d kept a tight rein on his emotions at all times. Rarely did he let sentiment overrule his judgment.
In the heat of combat a man couldn’t let sentiment overwhelm reason. Hatred, anger, unchecked fury, they all made warriors careless, and careless warriors were soon dead ones. Older Shoshones were constantly admonishing younger ones to always stay calm, especially in warfare. As Drags the Rope once said, “He who keeps his head keeps his life.”
Zach had liked to think of himself as having a will of steel, as being the master of his own destiny. Nothing could ever affect him, because he wouldn’t let it. His emotions were under his complete control.
Then Lou walked into his life. His heart—that great betrayer—melted like so much wax, and before he knew it he was like a puppy with a new master. He adored her. Craved her. Couldn’t think of living without her. Dwelled on her every minute of every day. Being with her made him float on air. He had never known anything to compare with his feelings for her. He’d never suspected the tremendous power love had over those held in its sway.
Zach had resisted at first. He’d balked at opening his heart fully and tried to tell himself that he wasn’t really in love, that there must be another explanation, that the feeling would pass in time. Instead, though, it grew stronger. And as it did, he’d noticed other strange things happening to him. All he had to do was think about Louisa being in danger and his blood would race, his mind whirl. It triggered a bewildering reaction deep down inside of him, a reaction he didn’t quite understand and could in no way control.
Like now.
The sight of his beloved being threatened filled Zach with boiling rage. Rage so potent, so strong, he lost all conscious control of his being. A ferocious roaring filled his ears. The world around him was shrouded by a haze, except for Lou and the warrior. A reddish haze it was, like a mist made of fine particles of blood. There was a strange constriction in his throat. And he couldn’t hear anything. All sounds were drowned out by the roaring.
Zach bore down on the pair in a state of total bloodlust. He did not think about what he was doing, he simply did it. He was going to kill the warrior manhandling Lou, and nothing on God’s green earth would stop him. To that end, he swept the Hawken overhead to crush the man’s skull. In his haze he saw only the warrior’s head, only the spot where he was going to strike.
Then another head appeared, the loveliest face ever sculpted by the hand of man or Maker. Zach recognized Lou, but it was as if the part of him that did was separate from the rest of him and had no control over what his body did. For although he knew she had bounded in front of him, he couldn’t stop himself from swinging the Hawken. His roiling rage would not be denied. It controlled him, not the other way around.
As the heavy stock arced toward the upturned face of the girl he cherished, Zach screamed. Not out loud. Deep inside. A cry torn from the depths of his soul. A cry of fear, of desperation, of torment. A cry so piercing, it did what he could not do by willpower alone. It dissolved the red haze in a shattering swell of clamorous sound, and suddenly he was able to think and feel and hear.
With the Hawken less than a foot from its unintended target, Zach wrenched to the right. He couldn’t stop the swing, but he could expend its force in midair by throwing himself from the saddle as the rifle descended so that when the stock was at its lowest point, it cleaved air instead of smashing into Lou. He fell off the far side of the dun, which slowed as soon as he was no longer on it. Regaining his feet with the alacrity of a bobcat, Zach sought to level the rifle, but Lou leaped into his arms.
“You’re here! For a second there I thought I was a goner!”
The warrior hadn’t moved. His hand aloft, he smiled.
Nate King arrived, reining up and declaring in relief, “Thank God! If you’d killed him, son, there would be hell to pay.” The other warriors were calmly advancing. None employed their weapons.
Zach finally got a good look at the man he had been about to kill. The warrior’s buckskins, the style of his braided hair, the kind of moccasins he wore, all identified him as an Ute. The full import of what Zach had almost done made him wince. For years the Utes had tried to drive his family off, and it was only after his father rendered the tribe a valuable service that they were allowed to go on living in the valley in peace. Had Zach slain that warrior, the Utes would no longer be obligated to hold up their end of the truce. His family would be worse off than ever, because the Utes would be out for revenge this time and wouldn’t stop until they got it.
Nate was also keenly aware of how close they had come to reaping disaster. Placing his Hawken across his thighs, he waited until the rest of the Utes had come to a stop. Then, facing the tall leader, he extended the first and second fingers on his right hand, touched them to his lips, and brought them straight out from his mouth. Pausing, he stuck his index finger straight up. It was sign language for “brother.”
The leader smiled and responded, his hands flowing smoothly, “My heart happy see you, Grizzly Killer.”
Nate was quite fluent in sign, the system of hand symbols used by nearly all the plains tribes and many of those in the mountains. He relied on it in most of his dealings with them. And as was his usual practice, he mentally filled in words sign talk didn’t include, such as the common articles ‘and,’ ‘it,’ and ‘the’—among others. “I am happy to you see also, Two Owls.”
Graying at the temples, the tall Ute had kindly features. Nate had known him for sixteen years, ever since the time they paired up to drive marauding Blackfeet off. Much later, as a result of the friendship they had forged, Two Owls had come to Nate for help in another matter.
In a distant part of the Rockies was a special valley that had the distinction of being one of the few spots where ash trees grew in great number. Both the Utes and the Shoshones preferred ash above all other wood for fashi
oning bows, so for many winters they had shared the valley, each going there at different times to gather what they needed.
One day, thanks to hotheads on both sides, blood was spilled, which led to an all-out war between the two tribes. Saddened by the loss of lives, Two Owls had come to Nate to arrange a lasting peace. Out of gratitude, Two Owls pledged that for as long as the Kings lived in the mountains, the Utes wouldn’t molest them.
Now here was Two Owls once again, as kindly as ever but painted for war and bearing the rifle Nate had given him as a token of the high esteem in which Nate held him. “What brings my friend here?” Nate asked.
The Ute leader was studying Louisa. “Who is this new one? Your daughter could not have grown this big since last we met.”
“She is my son’s woman,” Nate explained.
“She rides well, but she is scrawny. A man should have a woman with big breasts to pillow his head at night.” Nate was glad Lou couldn’t understand what they were signing. “Did my brother come all this way to talk about the female body?”
Two Owls sobered. “We hunt killers of my people, Grizzly Killer.”
Jumping to conclusions, Nate said, “Are they white men? Have you come to ask my help in tracking them down?”
“They are Indians. But not any my people have ever seen. They come from far to the south, from far beyond where even the Corn Eaters live.”
The Corn Eaters? Nate had never heard of them, and plied Two Owls with questions. It turned out they were a poor tribe who dwelled on the banks of a stream the Utes called Corn Creek. A peaceful people who would rather flee than fight, the Corn Eaters were too weak to be considered worthy enemies. So the Utes left them in peace.
“It was the Corn Eaters who warned us of the invaders,” Two Owls revealed. “They sent a runner who told us a large war party had attacked them and driven everyone off, then ridden into our land.” Two Owls chuckled. “The Corn Eaters are wonderful liars. We found the tracks of these invaders, and there are but twelve.”
“Your people clashed with them?”
“The invaders came on a hunting party from my village and killed all seven men. We found the bodies. By then the invaders had moved on, to the northwest, in your direction.”
“You tracked them into my valley?”
“No. They are skillful, these savages. We lost their trail four sleeps to the south and have been searching for them since. I was worried they had paid you a visit and came to see if you and your family were well.”
“Your friendship makes my heart warm.”
“Have you seen any sign of these men, Grizzly Killer?”
“Not so much as a track. The only visitor we have had is a white brother. You know him.” Nate said the name aloud. “Scott Kendall.”
“The singer. He is a good man. When any of my people stop at his lodge, he always shares food. How is he?”
“He suffered a fall.”
“His family is well? His sweet wife and little girl?”
“So far as I know,” Nate said, and was jarred to his core by a rush of insight. An awful premonition seized him, a horrible insight into why Scott Kendall had been in such an all-fired hurry, into why Kendall had taken his life into his hands by trying to negotiate that ridge.
Two Owls was not deemed wise for nothing. “What is wrong, my brother?”
“You say that you lost the trail four days south of here?”
“Yes.”
That isn't far from the Kendall homestead, Nate reflected. His unease worsened, and he was more eager than ever to reach the Kendall cabin and verify that Lisa and Vail Marie were safe. He signed his concern to Two Owls.
“We believe the strangers have gone farther north. But we will stop at your friend’s lodge on our way back to our village.”
“I will reach it long before then,” Nate signed, then switched to the disaster that had been narrowly averted. “I apologize, for my son, for what just happened. In his fear for his woman his eyes were blinded.”
“We are as much to blame as he is,” Two Owls replied. “When she saw us, I could tell she was afraid. She was riding very recklessly. I thought she might hurt herself. So I had Otter Tail catch her. His horse is fastest.”
The stocky warrior had climbed back onto his pinto and was affectionately patting its neck.
Lou couldn’t make hide nor hair of what her future father-in-law and the tall Indian were signing. Recently, Zach had begun to teach her sign, but all she knew were a few basic gestures.
For his part, Zach couldn’t take his eyes off the girl of his dreams. The close shave had rekindled the smoldering inferno that forever burned in his breast. He had come so close to losing her! Worse, he was the one who had nearly done her in. He yearned to take her into his arms and never let go, but he couldn’t so much as touch her with his pa and the Utes there. It would be too embarrassing.
“Would you like to come to my lodge?” Nate asked. “We would be happy to have you.”
“Another day,” Two Owls responded. “We can cover much ground before the sun goes down. And I must learn whether these strangers mean to cause my people more harm or have left our territory.”
“Ride with care,” Nate signed.
The Utes did not waste another moment. At a motion by their leader they filed northward, spreading out so they were an arrow’s flight apart, heads bent to find sign. In no time the vegetation swallowed them.
“Acquaintances of yours, I gather?” Lou said to Nate. “If I’d known they weren’t hostiles, I wouldn’t have panicked.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Nate replied, using the timeworn phrase. “How were you to know? If they’d been Blackfeet or Bloods, we might not have gotten to you in time.” He lifted his reins. “I’m heading back. Coming with me, son?”
The question broke Zach’s spell. “We’ll be along directly, Pa,” he answered. He wanted a few minutes alone with Lou.
Nate glanced at her. “Did you collect any of those flowers my wife wanted?”
“Enough, I hope.” Lou removed the parfleche from her mare and handed it up to him. “If she needs more, I’ll gladly pick them.”
Hefting the beaded pouch, Nate said, “This should do. Don’t dally too long, you two.”
Neither Zach nor Lou spoke until the elder King was lost amid the pines. Then Zach tenderly took her into his arms. “I was so scared I’d lost you.” The silken feel of her skin, of her strands of hair entwined with his fingers, the contours of her body against his own, all stirred him as nothing in his entire life ever had.
“For a bit there I thought I’d never see you again, either,” Lou said, then boldly kissed him on the neck. His mouth lowered. Time lost all meaning as Lou drifted in a sea of pleasurable sensations, a foretaste of the delights she’d experience once they were man and wife.
Zach had a lump in his throat when he broke for air. “I went crazy when I saw him grappling with you,” he acknowledged. “As berserk as a wolverine on a rampage. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before.”
“I’m flattered, my handsome prince,” Lou said, as much to lighten his mood as to take her mind off his potent kisses.
Zach didn’t mention that the thought of losing control like that again scared him silly. No true warrior ever succumbed to mindless rages. What if next time Sioux or Pawnees were involved instead of friendly Utes? In his crazed state he would be easy pickings. His blind fury would cost not only his own life but Lou’s also.
“We better cut out for the cabin. Your ma might need our help with Mr. Kendall.”
About to turn to the dun, Zach clasped her hand. “Louisa...”
“Yes?”
“It’s hard for me.”
“What is?”
“This love stuff.”
“It’s hard for both of us.”
“You too?”
“What did you expect, silly? How many times do you think I’ve fallen head over heels for a man?” Laughing, Lou tweaked his earlobe.
�
��I just hope I don’t bring you to any grief.”
“Goodness gracious. How could you? You’d never do me harm.”
No, Zach wouldn’t, not on purpose, but another mistake like the one he had just made could snuff out her wick. “I do care for you. You know that, don’t you?” he said.
Lou didn’t know what to make of his troubled look. He was acting as if he had done wrong by flying to her rescue. But just because he had gotten a little carried away wasn’t cause for him to be miserable. “Of course I do. My heart is yours and your heart is mine. Isn’t that what we agreed that night down by the lake?”
“Words can’t do justice to how I feel,” Zach said. He couldn’t find the right ones to make plain how upset he was for failing her when she needed him most.
Lou thought he was saying that his love was so deep, so splendid, mere words couldn’t do it justice. “You are so sweet,” she said, throwing her arms around him.
They kissed, each happy in the belief the other understood.
As much as Nate would rather race home at a gallop, he stuck to a brisk walk. In part this was because of the hard riding the bay had already done that day. Guilt was also a factor, guilt over the claw marks on its hindquarters, which were bleeding again. With all that had occurred since his return, he hadn’t washed and tended them as he should. For a frontiersman, for someone who relied on his horse as much as he did his own two legs, it was an unforgivable oversight.
He drew rein at the front door instead of the corral and was inside in a bound. Winona was wiping Scott’s brow. Evelyn was playing with the three Shoshone dolls she owned. Briefly, Nate related the run-in with the Utes while his wife busied herself preparing an herbal tea.
“My guess, husband, is that these strange Indians paid the Kendalls a visit.”
“That’s what I thought at first,” Nate remarked. “But I don’t know. For starters, Scott would never desert his wife and daughter. So long as they were alive he’d stay by their side. And if they had been dead, he would go after the men who did it.”
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