To the River's End

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  She nodded vigorously at that. “Bloody Hand,” she said, “Blackfoot war chief.”

  Luke and Jug were both surprised by her outburst. “So you do understand white man talk,” Jug said. “Bloody Hand, huh? Where was you took from?”

  “Let’s get the poor woman inside where it’s warm and get her something to eat while we’re questionin’ her,” Luke said.

  “Good idea,” Jug said and led the way to the tipi. Once they were inside, the woman watched in wonder as the two men hustled about to roast some elk meat and pour her a cup of coffee. Caught by surprise, she flinched when Luke draped a blanket across her shoulders. Embarrassed by her reaction then, she smiled and nodded her thanks. Once they had seen to her comfort, they were ready to get back to questioning her. Of great importance to them both was how she happened upon their camp and how careful she had been in hiding her trail. “Where was you took from?” Jug repeated.

  “My village camp on Yellowstone River,” the woman answered, her English basic but clearly spoken. “Bloody Hand come with many warriors, kill many Crow warriors, take women, steal horses. I hide in bushes, but Bloody Hand find me. Say I his woman.”

  “What is your name?” Luke asked.

  “Willow Blowing in the Wind,” she answered.

  He nodded politely. “My name’s Luke. His is Jug. Both our names are short for longer names. All right if we just call you Willow?” She nodded. “So, Willow, how did you get way up here in the Little Belt Mountains? This is a long way from the Yellowstone.”

  “Bloody Hand lead his warriors back north to big Blackfoot village,” Willow told them. I walk many miles till we come to river. Then we follow river to another river and we get close to mountains. When I see mountains, I slip out of camp at night and run up the river until I find a place to cross over to this side. Then I run to mountains to hide.”

  Luke and Jug listened to her simple explanation and when she was finished, Jug thought he had a pretty good picture of the Blackfoot war party’s path. “Willow’s people was most likely camped on the Yellowstone right where it turns south when the Blackfoot struck ’em. I expect they were in a hurry to get home after the raid, it bein’ as late in the season as it is. So they set out to the northwest, till they struck the Musselshell. Then they musta followed it west till they got close to the Judith. I reckon they followed the Judith north. But, anyway, they was right beside these mountains then, and that’s the best chance she had of findin’ someplace to hide.”

  “The question now is whether or not there’s a big Blackfoot war party searchin’ these mountains lookin’ for her, or if they just said, ‘It’s already hard winter and we’d best get to hell on home.” He looked at Willow and asked, “How long ago was it that you ran off from that war party?”

  “Two nights before this night,” she said.

  “You’ve been out in this cold for three days with no more clothes than that?” This was Luke’s first reaction.

  “I had to leave my blanket rolled up, so they would think I was sleeping,” she replied.

  He shook his head in sympathy for her ordeal. “How did you find this valley and this camp?” He and Jug were both confident that their camp would be extremely difficult to find.

  “I not know,” Willow answered. “I afraid they follow me, so I just go where it look like nobody goes. I surprised when I find you.”

  Jug interrupted Luke’s questioning then with one of his own. “That, there, biscuit you snatched, that’s the best biscuit you ever et, weren’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said, smiled, and nodded vigorously.

  “Right,” Jug turned toward Luke and gloated. “I told you, ain’t nobody bakes a better biscuit than me.”

  “Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” Luke japed. “Now, we can worry about some of the less-important things, like whether or not we’ve got the mountains crawling with Blackfoot warriors lookin’ for Willow.”

  “I am sorry to bring this trouble to you,” Willow said at once. “I could not see any sign of a camp when I climb up the hill, not until I came to your horses in the trees. Then I see the waterfall and the tipi. I not know camp friend or not, but I took one biscuit. I meant to keep going, but you came out, and I had to hide.”

  “No, don’t you go thinkin’ that way a-tall,” Luke replied, just as fast. “We’re glad you stumbled on our camp, and mighty sorry for the ordeal you’ve gone through before you found us. No sense in you leavin’ here now and goin’ out in that snow. We got plenty of room here in our tipi and plenty of food and won’t nobody bother you.” He glanced at Jug. “Will they, Jug?”

  Looking as if he had been insulted, Jug answered, “I reckon not, but I’m just speakin’ for myself.”

  Luke laughed. “You just make yourself at home. We’ve got some antelope hides and some needles and rawhide strings. You can start making yourself some extra clothes to wear. Me and Jug will leave you alone for a while, so you can eat in peace. All right?”

  “You are both so kind. I thank you for helping me. I will leave you as soon as you tell me to go.”

  “Fair enough,” Jug said with a chuckle. “I spent half my life lookin’ for a woman that would tell me that.”

  Willow maintained her strong resolve while she ate the food they provided. But when her stomach was full and she warmed up for the first time in three days, she began a losing battle trying to keep her eyes open. A few minutes later, like a small child, she was leaning sideways, fast asleep while still sitting upright. Luke and Jug picked her up very carefully and laid her gently on a blanket, then covered her with half of it.

  They moved to the far side of the tipi, and Luke whispered to Jug. “I don’t expect any more visitors tonight, but I think as soon as it’s light enough to see in the mornin’, I’m gonna backtrack her trail into here and maybe see if she’s left a clear path right up to our door.” Jug thought that was a good idea, and before very long, they both were ready to join Willow in slumber.

  * * *

  She awakened gradually, stirred from a sound sleep by an urgency to answer nature’s call, aware that she was warm and had been sleeping a long time. But upon finding herself in the darkened tipi, lit only by the glowing coals left in the fire pit, it took a moment for her to remember where she was. Then she remembered the two white trappers who had taken her into the tipi. She looked toward the other side of the tipi to see both of them asleep. Receiving signals again from her bladder, she started to get out of the blanket she had been sleeping in. She was alarmed at once when she found her ankle was held firmly. They have tied me to the bed! With all their friendly talk, they lured me in to eat and sleep only to hold me prisoner. Afraid to think what plans they might have in mind for her, her first thought was to escape. Almost in a panic now, she reached for her bound ankle but found no rope around it. She realized then that she had somehow managed to tangle the corner of the blanket around her ankle while she slept and was not tied at all. She looked across the tipi to find the young one, the one called Luke, turning toward her. “Are you all right?” Luke asked softly.

  “Yes,” she answered quickly, feeling rather foolish. “I have to pee.”

  “You have to go outside,” he said, then turned over and went back to sleep.

  She got to her feet, and with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she went outside to relieve her bladder. When she returned, she found both her benefactors in the same position as before, sound asleep with their backs turned toward the fire pit in the center of the lodge. These are good men, she decided, again feeling regret at having suspected them of evil intent earlier. I truly hope I have not led Bloody Hand to their camp. This was one of many thoughts racing through her mind at the present. Thoughts of her dead husband returned to haunt her now that the panic of escape did not dominate all her thinking. Struck down by Bloody Hand’s tomahawk, right before her eyes, Long Runner was slain when he tried to protect her. He was no match for the powerful Blackfoot war chief. She felt a tear run down her cheek
as she thought about her husband now. They had only a few months as man and wife, not nearly enough time to know each other’s hearts. The image of Bloody Hand’s evil smile came to her mind then, and she immediately feared she had led the cruel warrior to these decent men. Helpless to change what could not be undone, she spread her blanket down on the deer skin as before and wrapped it around her. With all the activity going on in her brain, she found it difficult to go back to sleep, and managed to drift off only a short time before Luke awoke with the first light of day.

  As quietly as he could, so as not to awaken Willow, Luke pulled on his moccasins and donned his heavy coat and cap. He was less concerned for Jug, knowing it would take a prodding with his rifle to awaken the little man. He picked up his bow and quiver of arrows as he started to leave. It had been his habit of late. Glancing at the woman, he was happy to see her sleeping, for she surely needed the rest. Outside, he took a quick look around before heading into the trees to check on the horses. Satisfied that they were all right, at least as well as could be expected under the circumstances, he made them a promise that he would cut down another cottonwood for them. Taking another look up at the clouds, he decided that there was a good possibility another snow was headed their way. There was no doubt that the makeshift barn he had labored to build for them had helped the situation some. He left them huddled together for warmth and returned his attention to the question of Willow’s trail.

  Her trail was readily discovered in the foot-deep snow, even in the early morning light. The placement of the small holes her feet left in the snow told of her near exhaustion as she climbed up through the trees. In the open spaces where the snow was a little deeper, he could see a faint trace left by her skirt when she dragged it as she walked. Won’t take an expert tracker to follow that trail, he couldn’t help thinking. But why are they so far behind her? He had to assume that she was successful in disguising her trail when she first escaped. He recalled then that she had said they were camped beside the river, and she had first run up the river to find a place where she could cross it. And if that was the case, he might reasonably assume the Blackfoot war party had given up on finding her and had gone on. We could use another snowstorm about now, he thought, and that would take care of the last part of her trail leading to our camp. He continued on, thinking to follow her tracks on down to the bottom of the slope, even though he was pretty much of the notion that the Blackfoot war party had long since departed these mountains.

  The desperation of her flight was ever apparent in the confused path of her escape, first one direction, then another, ever changing as she had gradually ascended the hill. To save time, he followed the general direction of the zigzagging trail until he reached the bottom of the hill and the tiny stream that circled it. They were both startled when they met face to face across the little stream, maybe fifteen feet apart. Neither man expected the sudden confrontation, so neither man was ready to react. With no time to load a rifle, the Blackfoot warrior pulled his knife and charged across the stream with the intent to reach Luke before he had time to ready his rifle to fire. Relying on total instinct, Luke drew his knife. Taking dead aim, he waited for the charging Blackfoot to get close enough for him to hit the small target he intended to aim for. When his assailant was about seven feet away from him, Luke hurled his knife with an underhanded throw that struck the surprised Blackfoot at the base of his neck, severing his windpipe.

  Luke stepped deftly aside as the stunned warrior plunged headlong into the snow, clutching frantically at the knife lodged deep in his throat. When he was sure the Blackfoot was helpless to react, Luke knelt beside him and scanned the trees around him, not sure if there were others with him. When he was certain of that, he turned his attention back to the dying Indian who was struggling desperately to breathe with his windpipe cut almost in two. He had no desire to prolong the man’s suffering, but he preferred not to have a shot from his pistol heard. So he picked the Blackfoot’s knife up from where he had dropped it. Then he rolled him over on his back and opened his heavy buffalo robe to expose his stomach. He thrust the knife into his belly, and when the Indian reached for it, Luke grabbed his knife and finished the job on his throat.

  When the Blackfoot finally lay still in death, Luke apologized. “Sorry it had to be so rough. But with you wearin’ that heavy buffalo hide, the only sure target I could go for was your throat. Anywhere else and that robe mighta kept my knife from causin’ enough damage to stop you. Besides, I expect you might notta been any easier on me, if it hadda been the other way around.”

  Now there was something else to think about. The war party was still here. They had not gone on without searching for Willow, unless . . . He looked at the body lying there in the snow and wondered if it was Bloody Hand, the war chief who seemed to be obsessed with her, according to Willow. He decided he’d best continue following Willow’s back trail, which was now the dead warrior’s trail, as well. He picked up the warrior’s weapons and hid them in a clump of bushes, then he resumed his backtracking. Getting farther and farther from his camp, he saw right away that Willow was accurate in telling them that she had simply run where it didn’t look like a definite path to anywhere but the side of a mountain. He figured he was about three miles from his camp when he found the point where the Blackfoot warrior had struck Willow’s trail. He had evidently walked up the frozen stream until he came to a point where she had crossed over it. Luke saw Willow’s tracks leading up to the stream on the other side but not the Blackfoot’s. Evidently, the warrior was alone in tracking her. There were no other tracks but his. Luke decided to follow the stream back toward the river to see if the war party was camped there and had not left this one warrior behind. Willow said Bloody Hand was a war chief, so it didn’t make sense to him that he might have stayed behind while he sent the rest of the party home.

  He didn’t recall ever having followed this stream to the river before, so when he thought he was close, he became even more cautious, and in a short time, he was disappointed to spot smoke drifting up through the trees, probably on the riverbank. “Damn,” he swore, for he knew he had a war party of Blackfoot to deal with. In order to scout it out completely, he left the stream and took a wide circle around the spot from which he had seen the smoke. To avoid being spotted from the camp, he made his circle deep into the forest, so that his dark form wouldn’t be seen crossing over the white snow. Moving in closer from the other side then, he worked his way through the trees until he was close enough to see into the camp. It was on this side of the river. Willow had said the camp was on the far side of the river, and that could be more bad news. For it meant that Bloody Hand was determined to stay here until he found her and moved his camp across the river at the foot of the mountains.

  He counted twelve warriors gathered around a big fire and wondered how many more were out scouting for Willow, or if the one he left behind him was the only scout the war chief sent out to find her. As he studied the ring of warriors around the fire, he felt sure he knew which one was Bloody Hand. He was a fierce looking man, even at that distance and under heavy gray skies, and the other warriors seemed to treat him with respect. Luke was not sure how best to handle the entire war party, if it came to that. His only option at the moment was to stay close to them to see what they intended to do when it became clear to them that their scout was not coming back. I wish to hell I had brought some jerky with me, he thought as he selected a better spot to observe their actions. He thought about Jug and Willow back in their hidden valley camp. Against a dozen Blackfoot warriors, the three of them were badly outmatched, especially when he couldn’t count on Willow to contribute much to their defense. He feared their only chance was if their camp was too hard to find, and he could only count on that for so long, depending on Bloody Hand’s determination to have the woman. He looked up again at the heavy clouds overhead, thinking how much it would help if they would go ahead and release their snow and cover his and Willow’s tracks to his camp.

  Chapter 12<
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  “I think the woman may be dead,” Crazy Wolf said. “She has been gone three days now and the nights are colder than when she ran away. Crooked Foot has been gone for a long time this morning. If the woman had come this way from the river, Crooked Foot would have found her trail by now. I think maybe she never made it across the river and her body is caught under the ice somewhere. Maybe we should send someone after Crooked Foot, and we should forget the woman. If more snow falls, it will make our journey home much more difficult.”

  Bloody Hand listened patiently to Crazy Wolf’s plea to forget the woman out of respect for the older man’s wisdom. But he had been struck by Willow’s beauty, and his passion for her was fueled further by the fact that he had killed her husband, making her rightfully his. If she had died in her attempt to escape, then so be it. But he wanted to know for sure she was dead, for if she was alive, she belonged to him. “Your words are spoken with wisdom, and what you say is true,” he said to Crazy Wolf. “We should be on our way back to our village. The snow will surely come before very long. I have need of this Crow woman, or I would not have delayed our journey. I will send Wounded Horse to follow Crooked Foot up this stream to see if he has found sign.”

  As Luke watched from his position behind a fallen tree, some fifty yards from the campfire, one lone Indian left the camp on foot and started following the frozen stream back toward the mountains. “He’s goin’ lookin’ for the other fellow,” Luke muttered to himself, knowing he’d be easy to find. With all the tracks lyin around, he’ll see where Willow fled as well. Might be a good idea to get on this fellow’s tail, he thought, deciding that any means available for trimming down the number of Blackfoot he had to fight better be taken advantage of. So he left his cover behind the fallen tree and circled back the way he had come, hurrying to set his pace with that of the lone Indian already trotting along beside the stream.