by Vivi Holt
It was cozy in the hollow, not as cold as it had been higher up on the trail. The juniper trees circled snugly about them, holding in the heat generated by the fire and protecting them from the brisk breeze.
Sarah wondered what the folks in Cutter’s Creek were doing now. What Bill was doing? Were Estelle and Sam worried about her, or had they just shrugged and gone on with their lives as though she didn’t exist? She shook her head. No, of course they were worried about her. But what could they do? What could anyone do?
Angus Colt had harassed and stalked her for days, and now he finally had her. It seemed as though nothing could stop him – he’d kidnapped her in front of a crowd of people without a second thought. Clearly, the man thought that he could get away with it, and so far it seemed as though he had.
No, Sarah couldn’t wait around to be rescued. And why would anyone in Cutter’s Creek stick out their necks to save her? They didn’t even know her. She was no one to them. No doubt she was the talk of the town, but that would be all – she would be a story they could tell to their children to scare them into behaving, nothing more.
And what about Bill Hanover? Did he wonder about her? He knew almost nothing about her, that was true, but she thought they’d shared a moment on the dance floor. A moment when his brown eyes had looked deep into hers and seen her soul – seen her true self. Perhaps when Colt arrived, Bill had thought Colt was an old husband, or brother, who’d come to take her home and he wouldn’t want to intervene in a domestic matter. Or perhaps he didn’t know her well enough yet to care too much what happened to her. Either way, she’d seen him standing there, open-mouthed in the chapel, staring after her as Colt whisked her away. The look on his face made her heart feel heavy even now. He stood immobile – doing nothing to help her.
Tears filled her eyes, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. She couldn’t let Colt see her cry, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She pushed all thoughts of Cutter’s Creek and Bill Hanover from her head. She had more important things to think about now, like how she was going to get away from Angus Colt.
***
Bill crept forward in the dark with the sheriff by his side. They’d spied the spiral of smoke weaving toward the clouds from a cluster of junipers alongside Yellow Creek - a tributary branching from the eastern side of the Yellow River. Leaving the horses tied to a low hanging pine branch beside the trail, they were on their way to check out the source of the fire.
“Do you hear anything?” whispered the sheriff.
“No,” Bill shook his head.
His view ahead was obscured by tree branches, hanging low about him in every direction. Pine needles crackled beneath their feet with every step they took. Bill glanced at the sheriff and saw he had his gun in his hand. Bill paused, scanning his surroundings, and picked up a fallen branch, testing its strength in his hands before continuing his trek through the woods. He didn’t have a gun, but at least he now had something to use as a weapon of sorts.
God, please help me to find her. I don’t even know if she’s still alive, but I trust her into your capable and loving hands. Guide me, Father. Give me wisdom and strength for whatever lies ahead.
Bill heard a noise in the woods before them. Someone was crashing through the trees toward them. Bill looked at the sheriff, one eyebrow raised in question. The two men quickly took cover behind nearby tree trunks, peering out to see who was approaching. They raised their weapons, readying themselves for battle.
***
Angus Colt’s head lolled to one side. He lay on his back with one hand behind his head and leaned up against a fallen log. The embers of the fire glowed in front of him, having burned down low. Sarah lay on her side, both hands folded together beneath her head, still tied tightly together. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing steady and shallow, but now they flicked open.
A quick inspection revealed Colt, apparently sleeping, with a scruffy woolen blanket spread across his unmoving form. Sarah lay still for a few moments, watching him. When he didn’t move, she sat up straight, scouring the area for a sharp rock. Perhaps she’d find something down by the creek. She stood to her feet, and tip-toed to the creek bank. She felt around in the darkness until she located a rock with a jagged edge. With a glance back at Colt, she sighed with relief to see he hadn’t moved.
Sarah grasped the sharp rock in one hand and moved it slowly back and forth across her bindings. Its jagged edge tore into the strands of the rope, pulling pieces away with each pass. The rope was thick, and she was quickly tiring. She grunted, and the rock fell to the ground. In the darkness, she felt around for it, knocking pebbles against one another and disturbing the night’s silence.
A rustle from the clearing made her freeze in place, holding her breath. Colt was stirring. She watched as he rolled over and tucked the blanket further up beneath his chin. She slowly breathed out, and in again, her eyes wide with fright. He hadn’t woken, but she had to be more careful. As quietly as she could, she searched the ground for a sharp stone, and used it to continue working on the ties binding her wrists. Before long she had worked her way through the rope, and was free.
She wondered whether she should take Colt’s horse. There was no way she could make it back to town without the horse. Sarah pursed her lips and looked at the tall, black beast grazing nearby. She hurried toward him, then slowed her pace as she approached. He lifted his head and pricked his ears, watching her with curiosity. She reached a hand to stroke his neck and he snorted suddenly, his ears flying back and his lips curling.
Sarah had grown up with horses, and was as familiar with them as she was the waving grasses of the prairie lands and the fir trees that lined the foothills around the Apsáalooke camp.
“Shhh,” she admonished the horse, grabbing hold of the halter just beneath the animal’s jaw. Colt had fashioned it from the same piece of rope he’d used to truss Sarah’s limbs together. The horse’s dark head jerked backward, and he bared his teeth, but Sarah held firm, and lifted her hand to stroke his soft, velvety nose. Black all over, he blended seamlessly with his surroundings now that his saddle and rug had been removed. His dark eyes followed her movements with suspicion, and he snorted again, catching Sarah in the face with his outburst.
“I mean, really. Must you do that?” Sarah wiped her face dry with the hem of her skirt and glared at the horse in disgust. She glanced back at the campfire, and saw Colt lying asleep, seemingly undisturbed by the noise they were making.
She retrieved the bridle from nearby, slipped it over his head and pushed the bit between his teeth. Then, whispering words of reassurance to the horse, she slid quickly onto his bare back, her voluminous petticoats and skirts bunched up around her thighs on each side exposing her woolen stockings and boots. She leaned down over his neck and patted it with a gentle hand. “Good boy, good boy,” she said.
She urged the horse forward, walking him slowly past the campsite. She grimaced as his hooves rustled the pine needles blanketing the ground. The chill of the air bit against her exposed skin, and Sarah’s teeth chattered.
When they reached the edge of the clearing, Sarah drew the horse to a halt. She knew that once they passed into the woods, they wouldn’t be able to mask the noise of their escape from Colt any longer. The ground was littered with brittle pine straw, fallen oak leaves, and dry sticks and twigs. The trees were packed closely together and would slow the animal’s pace with their branches barring the way forward. If she proceeded by foot, she might be able to sneak away quietly, but on horseback there was nothing she could do about the noise. Still, it couldn’t be helped – by horseback was really the only way she could make it back to town.
She took one last look at Colt, only the top of his head was visible to her now, and the tips of his boots lay crossed over each other beyond that. The fire was nothing more than a low ebb of red and orange embers. The clearing lay black, only the outline of objects now visible in the darkness.
Sarah’s eyes had grown accustomed to t
he lack of light, and she could see clearly where to go. There was a thin trail leading through the woods and back to the road. Lowering her torso to rest on the horse’s thick neck, she clicked her tongue and he moved on, into the woods. As the first hoof hit the dry underbrush, Sarah scowled at the noise. She glanced behind them and didn’t see any movement.
They edged forward, with Sarah bent over, as tree branches swatted at her, scratching and rubbing her back, arms and legs. Colt had dismounted when he brought them in here, and she really should have done that too, only she didn’t want to be caught flat-footed if he came after them. So, she pushed the branches aside and swallowed her cries of pain when a branch ripped across her cheek, leaving a thick scratch.
Just then, she felt something grab hold of her left foot. She squinted through the darkness, and saw a hand, clasped firmly around her heel. It was Colt. His eyes leered up at her, with his mouth pulled into a tight grin.
“Where’re you off to then, princess?”
Sarah’s heart raced, and adrenalin coursed through her veins. She squeezed the horse’s sides with her feet, but Colt was holding tightly to her left one. The horse leapt forward into a trot, but still Colt didn’t release his grip. He ran along beside them while branches ripped at his face, pushing him into the horse’s side.
His other hand came up, straining to grasp her leg. Sarah lifted her foot as high as she could, given his steely grip on it, then brought it down with all the force she could muster. The heel of her kidskin boot hit him directly between the eyes, and he let go of her with a shout.
Sarah kicked the horse into a canter, and they hurtled through the woods, the sounds of their escape echoing throughout the valley. She couldn’t tell if Colt was pursuing them now, she heard only the noise of hooves crashing through the undergrowth. They moved so fast, she could no longer see where they were headed.
All of a sudden the horse stopped still. He raised his head and let out a whinny, then stepped backward. Someone had taken hold of the reins. Sarah was thrown forward, over the horse’s shoulder, and caught in the strong arms of a man. Sarah struggled against the man, who held her arms in a vice-like grip. Colt. How had he overtaken them? Were they going in circles?
“Sarah?”
She stopped fighting, and focused her eyes through the darkness. Two brown eyes, lit by a stray shaft of moonlight that peeked through the clouds at just that moment, stared into her own and recognition dawned.
“Is that you, Bill?”
“Sure is.”
He was whispering, so Sarah whispered along with him.
“What are you doing here?”
She couldn’t tell, but it looked as though he rolled his eyes. “Takin’ a stroll. What do you think?”
“You came for me?”
“Yes, I came for you.” He lifted her high and deposited her onto her feet, keeping his arms around her shoulders to steady her. He tipped his head to one side and smiled a half-smile. Even through the darkness she could see the twinkle in his eye.
“Colt’s after me, he’s coming,” she hissed, jerking her head back in the direction from which she’d come. Just then, she noticed another man standing in the darkness. One hand held the bridle of Colt’s horse, the other held a cocked gun. He watched them with a smile.
“Oh, this is Sheriff Brentwood.”
The sheriff dipped his head toward her, touching the tip of his hat with his fingers. “Is Colt armed?”
“Yes, he has a revolver, a rifle and a knife.”
“Good to know.”
Bill pulled Sarah to him, and they hid behind the trunk of a large spruce tree. He wrapped his arms around her shivering form, and Sarah could hear the thump of his heart racing in his chest. She nestled into the safety of his embrace, and drank in his masculine scent. For the first time the loneliness hovering over her soul lifted.
The Sheriff dragged Colt’s horse to another tree, and tied it securely to a low branch. Then, he returned to the trail down which Sarah had ridden and stood waiting for Colt to appear.
Within minutes, Colt was there. His head, almost entirely obscured from view by a black hat in the gloominess of the woods, was the first part of him to emerge. He was running and cursing under his breath. He looked up just as Sheriff Brentwood struck him on the side of the head with the butt of his revolver. Colt fell to the ground like a cedar log. The sheriff leaned over him and removed the gun from his hands, before securing them both behind his back. He smiled up at Bill and Sarah.
“Now we have to get him back to town.”
“Let’s pitch him over the horse’s back,” said Bill, stepping forward to help.
Sarah breathed a deep sigh of relief and leaned back against the tree trunk supporting her. She closed her eyes and stifled a sob. She was going back to Cutter’s Creek.
Chapter 13
Bill and the sheriff retrieved Colt’s saddle and other belongings from the clearing. They saddled his horse, and tossed him over it like a sack of feed for the ride back, letting his hands hang down one side of the horse and his feet down the other. He was still unconscious, but the sheriff said he didn’t think it’d be long until the rascal awoke, so they kept his hands cuffed while they rode.
Sheriff Brentwood rode up front, on his still-alert grey mare. She lifted her legs high and proud as she walked, tossing her head gaily into the frigid wind. Tethered to the horn of his saddle and following along behind came the black horse with Colt draped across it. Trailing in the rear were Bill and Sarah on Purdy.
Sarah sat in front of Bill, her legs dangling down one side, and her hips wedged between the pommel and Bill. Her skirts fell over her legs, and her back leaned into Bill’s solid chest. He held the reins in his hands, his arms encircling Sarah, his chin resting softly on top of her head.
When they’d returned to Colt’s campsite, Sarah found the dirty blanket he’d been sheltering under, and wrapped it around her shoulders before climbing onto Purdy. Now as they moved through the night, she pulled the blanket more tightly around herself and nestled into the crook of Bill’s neck, listening to the steady beat of his heart against her ear.
The sun rose over the mountain range to the east, casting long, thin shadows over the valley. Meadowlarks and cuckoos called, resounding in the hollows and the skies overhead.
How quickly things had changed. Only an hour earlier, Sarah had been certain that she would either die of starvation and exposure trying to make her way back to town, or be subjected to a life of torture and degradation at the hands of a scoundrel. Yet here she was, huddled in Bill’s strong arms, on her way back to a warm bed and undoubtedly a hot meal at the Todds’ house. Tears pricked her eyes, and she buried her head in her palms.
“What is it?” asked Bill.
Sarah sniffled, attempting to suppress the sobs that threatened to break free.
“Nothing. Just that, I thought it was over. I thought I’d never see you, or the Todds, or Cutter’s Creek ever again. And even though I’ve only been there a short time, it already feels like home to me. When I think about it, it just makes me so grateful, that’s all.”
She sobbed loudly, and covered her mouth to muffle the noise.
“I’m grateful too,” said Bill. “Grateful for the sheriff. Grateful to God for delivering you from Colt, for keeping you safe, and for showing us how to find you.” He chuckled, “I asked him to help me find you, and a few minutes later you literally fell right into my arms.”
“You spoke to God about me?” Sarah turned to face him, her eyes wide with wonder.
He nodded, “Sure did.” He winked at her.
“But you don’t even know me.” Sarah’s shoulders slumped and she stared ahead to the horizon.
“I know enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know that you’re strong and thoughtful. I know that you’re a fighter, a survivor. I know that you have a good heart. I know that you’re scared, and alone, and you need people in your life who you can trust. I know that
you’re beautiful, and – well, the rest I can wait to get to know. Although, maybe you could tell me your family name and where you’re from, as a start.”
Sarah squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. There was no way to truthfully tell anyone her last name without letting them know her heritage; and in her experience, that never led to anything good. Usually she would lie, and make up a name, since she knew she wouldn’t be staying in one place long enough for anyone to discover the truth. But this time, she didn’t want to lie. She wanted to be honest with Bill, and with the Todds. Only, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to share that part of herself with them just yet.
“What’s the problem, Sarah? Are you wanted in five states or something?” Bill laughed, “I promise I won’t turn you in, although I can’t speak for the sheriff.”
“No, nothing like that… my last name is Songan.”
Bill went quiet. The clip-clopping of hooves against a grassy trail and the call of the morning birds were all that could be heard.
“So, that means you’re -”
“Apsáalooke.”
“ -Crow.”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Sarah continued staring straight ahead, her heart hammering and anger rising inside her. How dare he ask her a question like that? And now that he knew the truth about her, no doubt he’d turn her over to the authorities to return to the camp. Or worse still, to the groom, waiting impatiently at Fort Smith. Bill pushed both reins into one hand, and used the other to tilt her chin until she gazed into his eyes.
“Is that all you were worried about? Because if it is, believe me I’m relieved. I thought you’d murdered someone, or something.” His eyes sparkled, and the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin.
Sarah scowled at him, and he dropped his hand back to the reins, a puzzled look on his face.
“So, why’d you leave home?”
“Why do you want to know? Do you think there might be a reward for my return or something?” she snapped. “Well, there’s not. So, you can just forget about it. I’ll stay with the Todds for a while, and then I’ll move on. You don’t have to worry about it. Or about me for that matter.”