Silken Savage

by Catherine Hart

  “Halt!” a fat sergeant ordered.

  “Oh, pipe down!” Middleton said gruffly. “And don’t get all riled. This man is still my prisoner, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t wander off just yet.”

  “What’s he doing out here?” the sergeant demanded.

  “What’s it look like?” the sheriff retorted. “Even you should know you can’t take a picture indoors, and these folks want their wedding picture taken with their best man and their matron of honor.” He led Adam to stand next to Justin. “Now, smile pretty and don’t make a move in the wrong direction,” he admonished Adam, “cause I’ve got you covered, and so do these guards of the lieutenant’s.” For emphasis, he drew his gun and pointed it at Adam.

  The photographer lined everyone up and prepared to snap the picture, fussing constantly about the waning daylight. “Will you gentlemen kindly step out of the way?” he directed the guards. “I’m sure the wedding party will object to having you in the finished photograph.”

  The guards frowned and tightened their grips on their weapons, but obliged reluctantly. Their eyes never left Adam for a moment, alert in case he would try to make a break for freedom. They didn’t take a relaxed breath until Adam had been herded back into the jail and was safely behind bars once more.

  The wedding party continued in the jail, and a small but noisy celebration ensued. After a while, the guards were content that the prisoner, having made no attempt to escape when the photographs were taken, had lost his only opportunity to do so. They quickly reverted to their casual watchfulness, careful only in noting anyone who approached the jail.

  The celebration seemed destined to go on forever. It was fully dark by the time the bride and groom dashed out of the jailhouse door, surrounded by laughing relatives and pelted with rice.

  The tired guards came momentarily alert again as they stood next to the rest of the wedding party, watching the newlyweds make their way hurriedly in the direction of the Judge’s residence. Their sharp eyes took note of the creamy yellow gown and lacy veil the bride had worn, and the brown and tan suit of the groom. One quick glance inside the jail confirmed that the prisoner was still there.

  Adam’s back was to them as he hoisted a drink in toast to his friends. He was joined again by the others, his tall form in white shirt and dark trousers soon hidden as they crowded into the small room. The guards caught a flash of peach-colored skirts somewhere in the center of the confusion, and were content to know that Tanya was still there, as well as her two dark-haired sons.

  It was another two hours before Lieutenant Young came striding up, accompanied by a major. “This is Major Wynkoop,” he said. “I have the authorization for arrest here, signed by General Custer. Now let’s see the sheriff put me off.” He turned to his sergeant. “Is everything all right? I see the party is still going on. Has anyone left?”

  “Just the bride and groom,” the sergeant answered. “The rest are still in there.”

  Jeffrey entered the jail with a flourish, a devious gleam in his blue eyes. He strode up to Sheriff Middleton and slapped the papers into his hands. “I have orders here from General Custer to arrest Adam Savage in the name of the United States Army. I have also brought Major Wynkoop to confirm his identity as that of the Cheyenne chief, A-Panther-Stalks.”

  The sheriff smiled slyly back at him. “Well now, Lieutenant, that might have held some weight if you’d have arrived sooner. As it stands, there is no one here for you to arrest, and until you arrest him, no formal charges can be administered. Ain’t that right, Judge?”

  “Quite correct, Sheriff,” the Judge intoned.

  Jeffrey nearly had a stroke on the spot. “What do you mean!” he roared, pushing his way past the others to the jail cell. His eyes swept the small crowd, failing to find either Adam or Tanya; instead he saw a serenely smiling Melissa attired in Tanya’s peach gown.

  “Where is he? Where is Tanya?” he screamed.

  “Gone.”

  His feverish gaze searched out the two small boys. “Gone?”he echoed. “Well, they can’t have gone far without their sons.” He strode toward the boys. “They’ll be back to get these two, and when they do, I’llhave them.”

  Roberto stepped into his path. “Look again, Lieutenant. These children are not Tanya’s sons. They are two boys my aunt is looking after for their parents.”

  Jeffrey’s face registered yet another shock as he realized the truth of Roberto’s statement. He let out a roar of frustrated rage and turned on the sheriff. “I’ll have your badge for this! You’ve let my prisoner escape!”

  Tom Middleton’s hand rested on his holstered gun. “He wasn’t yourprisoner, Young. He was mine,” he reminded him.

  “What about the charges you had against him?” Jeffrey tried to collect his thoughts.

  “I dropped them.”

  “What were they?” Major Wynkoop spoke quietly for the first time.

  “Assaulting an officer of the law,” Middleton responded, “but the attack was provoked, so I decided to drop charges and release him.”

  “How convenient! And just as I was about to take him into custody!” Jeffrey ranted.

  “I don’t have to catch your prisoners for you, nor hold them neither,” Middleton said shortly. “Do your own dirty work! You want him? Go catch him! But don’t expect any help from me. Everyone knows you’re as crazy as a loon and out to get your grubby hands on Adam’s bride. If it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t bother making up such ridiculous charges and farfetched tales about someone we’ve known and respected for more than twenty years.”

  Wynkoop’s eyebrows went up at this. “You say Adam Savage has lived here all these years?”

  “Yep, and the whole town knows he ain’t no Indian.”

  “Suellen Haverick says differently, and so do I,” Jeffrey insisted furiously.

  “Suellen Haverick is as crazy as you are,” Melissa put in.

  “I’m going after them! I’m going to catch them and prove that you are wrong; and you, Major Wynkoop, are coming with me!” Jeffrey bellowed.

  Dawn filtered like a grey mist through the trees as Wildcat and Panther wended their way deeper into the foothills. It was good to be in the mountains once more; good to breathe the pure, pine-scented air.

  Mark slept peacefully in his cradleboard, suspended from the pommel of Tanya’s saddle, while Hunter rode before his father.

  It had been a long ride, though they had traveled as swiftly as possible in the dark. Tanya swore Panther had the eyesight of his namesake as he brought them safely through the night, Kit loping happily alongside.

  They made a short stop for a cold breakfast and to change into more suitable clothing, and were quickly on their way again. Now Tanya wore her beloved doeskin dress, headband and moccasins. The boys and Panther wore only breechcloths and moccasins. Tanya’s hair had at last reached a proper length for decent braids, and although Panther now looked more familiar in his headband and feathers, she missed his long, dark braids. If it weren’t for the fact that Jeffrey and his band were surely somewhere on the backtrail, she would have been completely content at that moment.

  They traveled all day with barely a stop to water the horses, heading steadily into the mountains. Shortly after dark, they had to rest. The horses were ready to drop, Mark was wriggling in his restraining cradle- board, and Hunter was drooping wearily in Panther’s arms. Tanya, unused to such vigorous activity after many months in Pueblo, was a mass of aching muscles, especially those surrounding her weary posterior.

  Panther laughed as he watched her slide awkwardly from Wheat’s back. “You’ll be stiff and sore tomorrow,” he predicted.

  “I already am,” she answered with a grimace.

  The night’s sleep seemed much too short, and long before dawn, they were on their way again. “Why are we headed into the mountains, husband?” Tanya asked, already reverting comfortably to the Cheyenne language. “Is the tribe not already following the buffalo on the plains?”

  “Yes.”
His dark eyes roved over her appreciatively, delighted that she was his Little Wildcat once again. “But we dare not lead those who follow to our village. When we have lost them in the mountains, we will turn our feet toward the plains.” The Cheyenne words flowed easily from his tongue, and Tanya rejoiced to hear them intoned in his deep, rich voice.

  Tired as they were, Tanya hated having to camp the second evening. Some sixth sense told her that Jeffrey was closing in. She could practically feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. Panther must have sensed it too, for once again he ordered no fire be built for cooking. Had it been only Tanya and Panther, they could have easily outdistanced their pursuers, but with their sons along, traveling was slower. The pace was necessarily easier, and the numerous stops took precious time they could ill afford.

  They were preparing to depart their camp on the third morning. Tanya was loading the last of their belongings behind her saddle when her ears suddenly picked up the sounds of fast-moving horses closing in.

  Her frightened gaze swung swiftly to Panther.

  His eyes were searching the rocky terrain, seeking shelter for his family. Pointing to a collection of huge boulders near the edge of their camp, he instructed, “There! That is the best spot.”

  Before his words were finished, Tanya had Mark in her arms and her weapons collected, and was headed in the direction he had pointed out. Panther, too, made sure his weapons were at hand. Scooping Hunter off the ground, he slapped each horse on the rump, sending them trotting into the trees. Then he followed Tanya.

  Shots rang out, ricocheting sharply off the rocks as Panther made a final leap for cover. He drew his pistol and fired, letting his enemies know he was as well armed as they and prepared to defend his family. At least they would be wary of approaching too closely too soon.

  Jeffrey’s insanely triumphant laughter bounced up to them. “We have you trapped, Savage. Give up!”

  Panther disdained to answer this taunt. He barely glanced at Tanya as she informed him in a tight whisper, “Major Wynkoop is with them.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her nock an arrow into her bow. Peering around the edge of a boulder, he counted eight men, including Jeffrey and Wynkoop. They were all on the far side of the small clearing, concealing themselves behind rocks and trees.

  “Send Tanya to me, and we’ll let you and your sons go free,” Jeffrey called out.

  “Does he honestly think we’ll believe that?” Tanya muttered.

  “I’ll kill her myself before I turn her over to you,” Panther shouted back in English.

  He barely heard Jeffrey’s snort of disbelief and Wynkoop’s low warning. “If he truly is a Cheyenne, he will kill her first,” the major advised. “It is their way.”

  “Come to me, Tanya,” Jeffrey shouted. “I’ll protect you.”

  “Go to hell!” she yelled in reply.

  Panther shot her a humorous look completely at odds with the gravity of the situation. She returned his look with a grin and a saucy wink.

  Enraged and embarrassed that she would taunt him before his men, Jeffrey lost all control over his temper, and with it his better judgment. He galloped his gelding into the clearing, charging for the rocks where Tanya and Panther were hiding.

  He had reached the edge of the lower boulders, and Panther’s finger was tightening on the trigger, when Jeffrey’s horse suddenly shied. Its ears laid back, and its eyes rolling white with fright, the gelding reared up on its hind legs. Totally unprepared for this, Jeffrey made a mad grab for the pommel and missed. His feet failed to find the stirrups they’d slipped from. With a strangled cry, he tumbled to the ground.

  Tanya could hear the snap of bone from where she sat. Peeking between the boulders, she saw the twisted angle of one leg, firmly wedged in the rocks. Her mouth flew open in surprise as she heard almost simultaneously the angry hiss and ominous rattling of several rattlesnakes. Jeffrey’s horse had bolted with good reason, and in the process had thrown him into a nest of rattlers!

  Jeffrey’s screams of fright and agony had nothing to do with his broken leg. Between shrieks of pain came pleas for help. “Help me! Help me! Oh, God! Someone get them off me!”

  For anyone else, Tanya would have felt pity, but the thought pounding in her brain as she watched Jeffrey flail at the writhing snakes was that it was a fitting ending for him. He had the slithering disposition of a viper, and for months she had endured his particular brand of venom, one almost equal to that of the snakes. It seemed poetic justice that he would enter the portals of Hell with the lethal poison of the rattlesnakes mingling with his own tainted blood.

  Within seconds, Jeffrey had succumbed to unconsciousness. Even as Major Wynkoop, next highest in rank, stepped into the open, a white flag of truce tied to a stick, it was too late to save him.

  “Let us help him!” he called as he came forward.

  “He is beyond help, but you are welcome to his body,” Panther answered.

  Several others came forward when it was clear that Panther did not intend to shoot. One young cavalryman, obviously newly arrived from the East, took one look and promptly vomited. In order to retrieve Jeffrey’s body, it was necessary to first eliminate the snakes. A volley of shots rang out, reverberating off the hills and echoing back to double the deafening din.

  As they carried the body away, Panther positioned himself atop a large boulder, boldly displaying himself. Tanya climbed up to stand beside him. Together they stood, proudly facing the enemy.

  The soldiers stood staring at them, wondering at the arrogant warrior and his defiant tawny-haired wife with the strange golden eyes. Major Wynkoop broke the silence. “We’ll leave you in peace, to go on your way,” he said calmly, meeting Panther’s gaze squarely.

  Panther nodded wordlessly, and the major went on, “We will return to town and bear witness to the fact that Lieutenant Young was out of his mind and that you were in no way responsible for his death. I personally will testify that I have seen the man, Adam Savage, and that he cannot be A-Panther-Stalks.”

  “But, Major,” one young soldier interrupted, “how can you say that when the man stands before you dressed as an Indian?”

  Wynkoop’s searing gaze lanced through the speaker. “I have met A-Panther-Stalks,” he stated loudly. “I have sat in his tipi and eaten of his food. I have seen his wife and she has dark hair. I have held his son, and he is not white. Even if this man were A-Panther-Stalks, no charges have been filed, and we have no authority to arrest him. Lieutenant Young had no valid reason for chasing him, other than his insane lust for another man’s wife. He acted solely on the accusations of a vindictive woman, who obviously lied to cause another woman pain. I have it on good faith from the sheriff and Judge Kerr that Adam Savage is a respected citizen of Pueblo who has lived there all his life. Do we accept the word of one scorned woman and a demented man over that of an entire town?”

  “No, but …”the soldier began again.

  Wynkoop interjected angrily, pointing to Adam and Tanya, “It is not a crime to dress in buckskin, damn it! Neither is it a crime to prefer life as an Indian! I say this is notA-Panther-Stalks, and I am the one who should know! Now, I repeat, we will leave this family to go their way in peace.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do I hear any objections?” Wynkoop pressed.

  The men exchanged glances among themselves. “No, sir!” they all answered.

  Then one soldier ventured a further opinion. “We all know Lieutenant Young was crazy. We all saw how he hounded the young lady here. Some of us were even in his troop last February when he chased after her when she tried to go back to the Indians, and he tried to — er — attack her person.” He glanced shame-faced at Tanya. “I’m real sorry, ma’am, for all the trouble he put you through, and for being any part of it. All of us,” his gesture included his fellow soldiers, “were just following orders.” The others nodded in agreement.

  Tanya accepted the apology. As she went to round up their horses, Wynkoop and Pa
nther had a private word together.

  “Why do you say I cannot be A-Panther-Stalks?” Panther asked in Cheyenne.

  Wynkoop chuckled, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Why, everyone who’s met him knows that A-Panther-Stalks has long black braids. I can’t honestly say I’d recognize him without them.”

  Panther returned Wynkoop’s grin and offered his hand. “Farewell, friend.”

  “Farewell.”

  The soldiers rode off, taking Jeffrey’s body with them, and Panther and Tanya mounted their horses with their sons.

  Tanya, her face aglow with love, her golden eyes glistening with joyous tears, held her husband’s dark gaze. “Let us go home, Panther, my husband,” she said softly.

  “Yes.” His own dark features mirrored the emotion of hers, his heart speaking more clearly than his words. “Let us go home, to where the Wildcat runs free and A Panther Stalks the land.”