As if hearing Coldiron’s request, the woman raised her head when she heard the warrior approaching. The light from the huge fire gave Coldiron a clear look at her face.
“She’s white, all right,” he confirmed. “She’s just settin’ there ’cause she’s tied to a stake in the ground.” He handed the glass back to Bret, who was anxious to see for himself.
He got just a quick look before she dropped her chin to her chest when the warrior reached her, but it was enough for Bret to agree that she was white. The warrior threw something on the ground before her, looked to be saying something to her, then returned to the dance. When he had gone, she reached down with both hands tied together and picked it up. When she attempted to brush the dirt from the object, Bret realized that it was a piece of meat. And as she eagerly bit into it, he couldn’t help thinking, Like you would feed a camp dog.
“That’s one of the women, all right,” he said. “I’d have to guess that it’s the older lady, Myra Buckley. Now we’ve got to find the other one.”
“Well, damned if I can see her, so far,” Coldiron said. “At least she don’t seem to be staked outside a tipi like that one. She might be tied up inside one of ’em. Ain’t no way to find out except askin’ the one we see. Might be a good idea to wait and watch a little longer. Maybe the other’n will show up. It sure would be a whole lot easier if she was in one of the other tipis on the back row, like that one, ’cause I don’t see no real trouble to sneakin’ up there and snatchin’ her.”
He looked at Bret, who nodded his agreement. “Besides, the longer we wait, the more these bucks will get into the spirit of their dancin’, and nobody’s liable to pay attention to us.”
“That makes sense to me,” Bret said, so they continued to search out the village for some sign of the other woman.
They remained where they were for at least an hour, before deciding that wherever Lucy Gentry was being held, she was not going to be seen from where they sat. There was also the possibility that the woman they were watching was not one of the two they were looking for, but she was obviously there against her will. As they had anticipated, however, the entire village seemed to be captured by the dance, as the young warriors became more and more lost in the ritual.
“We might as well make our move,” Bret decided. “The young one’s not gonna show up.”
They left the cover of the bushes then and made their way across a wide area of open meadow to a position only a few yards from the woman tied beside the tipi. There they paused to make sure there was no sound of alarm from anyone who might have seen them. When there was none, they decided on the best plan for abducting the unsuspecting woman. Since they couldn’t count on the tipi being empty, they decided that Bret should snatch the woman while Coldiron entered the tipi in case the younger woman was inside. And if she wasn’t, he was prepared to silence anyone else who was.
• • •
After finishing the piece of dried antelope, Myra Buckley wiped her hands on her skirt and dropped her head down again. Although still grieving the death of her husband at the hands of the savages who now held her captive, she was more angry than mournful at the moment. She didn’t understand why she was taken and not killed with the rest of her family. What did they intend to do with her? She knew why Lucy was abducted. She was young and pretty, and the warrior who claimed her had definite plans for her. The thought of it sickened Myra.
As for herself, she felt slightly guilty for not dying with her husband and her sons, and if she ever had an opportunity to strike back in vengeance, she would not hesitate. Her thoughts were interrupted then by a slight sound behind her, which distracted her for no more than a moment. A second later, her head jerked back suddenly when a firm hand was clamped over her mouth and a strong arm surrounded her shoulders, holding her helpless.
“Steady,” a low voice spoke softly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve come to rescue you. My name is Bret Hollister, and I’ve come to take you away from here. I’m gonna take my hand away now, so don’t make a sound. All right?” She nodded, enthusiastically, hardly able to believe her ears.
He removed his hand from her mouth and went to work on her bonds with his knife. “Are you Myra Buckley?” She nodded again. “Where are they holding Lucy Gentry?”
“She’s not here,” Myra whispered.
“Not in the camp?” Bret asked.
“No, they took her away, some other group of Indians.” She looked distressed to have to tell him. “Poor Lucy, she’s scared out of her mind. I’m afraid they’re gonna do her terrible harm.”
She rubbed her wrists vigorously when her hands were free and watched nervously while he cut the rawhide cord around her neck, looking back at the campfire in fear they might be seen. Turning her attention back to him, she jumped, startled, when Coldiron came around to join them.
“It’s all right,” Bret assured her. “He’s with me.”
“Thank goodness for that,” she gasped, awed by the size of the man.
“Ma’am,” Coldiron acknowledged, then asked Bret, “You ’bout through there, partner? We’d best not push our luck too far. What about the other woman?”
“She’s not in the village,” Bret answered. “So let’s get the hell outta here and get back to the horses.” He took one more quick look back toward the fire to make sure no one was running to stop them, then started toward the horses at a trot. There was no need to encourage Myra to keep up. She kept pace with the two men. When they reached the ravine where they had left the horses, Bret told her that they had an extra horse, but no saddle for her. “Can you ride a horse?” he asked.
“Indeed I can,” she replied. “Which one?”
“Here you go,” Coldiron said as he led the sorrel from the ravine.
She didn’t answer right away, distracted as she peered beyond him to the ravine behind him. “Where are the rest of the soldiers?” she asked, assuming he was in the army, and expecting to see an entire detachment of cavalry waiting for them.
“I’m afraid this is it,” Bret said.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Coldiron said. “A whole bunch of soldiers woulda made too much noise.”
She still found it hard to believe. “You mean the army just sent the two of you to overtake a whole band of Indians?”
“Well,” Bret answered, “not exactly. There were more of us the first time we started out looking for you, but they were killed by a band of Blackfeet.”
Coldiron stifled a chuckle. “That don’t make you feel much better, does it?” He picked her up then and hefted her up to set her on the sorrel’s back, as easily as if lifting a child. “Since there ain’t no more of us, I expect it’d be a good idea to put a little distance between us and this village.” When she was settled, he remarked, “Sorry we ain’t got no saddle for you, but you can hang on to that packsaddle pretty good.”
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I’m not gonna fall off.”
The sound of the drums and the singsong chanting of the warriors faded away behind them, with no sounds of alarm as they rode deeper into the hills, continuing to ride until deeming it a safe distance to stop and decide what to do next. Guiding the horses up a low hill where they could see the moonlit prairie behind them, they pulled up and dismounted. “We’ll catch our breath here for a minute,” Bret told Myra as he helped her dismount, “and you can tell me what happened to the other lady, Lucy Gentry. You said some other group of Indians took her somewhere. Who were they? Do you know where they took her?”
“First thing,” she replied, “I wanna thank you two for coming after us. God love you. I never thought we’d see the light of day after they grabbed Lucy and me. I reckon at my age I was better able to handle it than poor Lucy. I wish you coulda got here sooner. I kinda helped her hold on to her wits, and I’m fearful for her all by herself with those savages that took her from here. I don’t really know who they were.
They were just Indians like the ones who stole us. They were here in that village when we got here, and they were more like visitors. Well, one of them, one of the scariest-looking savages I’ve ever seen—didn’t have but one ear—took a fierce craving for Lucy as soon as he saw her, and he wouldn’t rest till he convinced the one who grabbed her to trade her to him for a whole bunch of horses.”
“That don’t sound too good for her,” Coldiron said.
“It worries me no end,” Myra said. “I’ve grown kinda fond of that little girl since we came from Missouri in the same train, and built our homes right across the river from each other. She’s like one of my own children. Since I just had two sons, she was the daughter I never had. Just like me, those savages killed her husband.”
“Do you have any idea where these other Indians were going?” Bret asked.
“I don’t,” Myra said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any notion where they took her. I don’t even know where I am. Even if they talked about it, I couldn’t understand any of that Indian gibberish they talk.”
“I reckon not,” Bret said. “Did you see them when they left the village, which direction they went?”
“They rode off up the river, pretty much the same way we just rode out.”
“From what the lady is tellin’ us, it sounds like maybe some visitors from one of the other bands of Blackfeet was the ones she’s talkin’ about—the Piegans, or the Bloods,” Coldiron mused. “The Blackfeet ain’t friendly with too many other tribes, so it’d be a good bet that’s who traded for her. It’s been over three years since I’ve been up this way, but back then there were several bands of Bloods that liked to camp on the Smith River, near where Hound Creek runs into it. From where we are now, I’d say that’s about a two-and-a-half or three-day ride. But maybe this bunch are headin’ to a village up that way.”
Bret considered what Coldiron was saying, but he was now faced with a decision that was not easy to make. What should his first responsibility be—to the lady just rescued, or to the one still in captivity? Should they settle for the one woman rescued and take Myra back to safety, or should they proceed on to search for Lucy Gentry? It would not be fair to expose Myra to the danger they might face if they ventured farther into Blackfeet territory, and yet he found it difficult to abandon Lucy.
Coldiron watched him carefully. He guessed that his young friend was grappling with yet another tough decision. “Whaddaya think we oughta do?”
“Whatever we do,” Bret answered, “we’d better do it quick before those hostiles back there find out their captive is missing.” He turned to Myra then, thinking he owed her an explanation for his decision. “I don’t want to turn my back on Lucy Gentry without trying our best to find her, but I feel responsible to you to get you back to Fort Ellis and out of danger right away. I don’t feel like I’ve got the right to take you two or three days deeper into Indian country—country that’s not friendly to white people right now. But I promise you this, I will come back to try to find Mrs. Gentry as soon as I possibly can after I know that you are safe.”
“That might be too late,” Coldiron remarked.
“I know that,” Bret replied. “We might be too late already. We don’t know if we can find this new bunch.”
Myra didn’t hesitate to let him know in no uncertain terms where she stood on the matter. “We’ve got to find Lucy,” she said. “That’s the most important thing right now. That poor darlin’ is liable to go out of her mind if we don’t find her.” She looked at Bret, pleading. “It would be a sin not to try to save her. If you’re really worried about me, you can stop right now. I don’t have anything to go back to. Lucy’s the closest thing to family I’ve got now, so let’s go look for her.”
Bret looked at Coldiron’s serious face, then looked back at Myra’s concerned frown. He shrugged and said, “Well, if we’re gonna find that Blood village, I reckon we’d better get started.” His decision was met with determined smiles on both the lady’s and the huge scout’s faces.
“Those bucks back there mighta found out that Myra’s gone by now, but they’ll most likely think she ain’t got very far, so we oughta have a little head start. But I can’t do much trackin’ in the dark, ’specially when I don’t know what tracks I’m supposed to be followin’.” He left the obvious conclusion for Bret to express.
“There really isn’t any trail to follow,” Bret said. “So why don’t we just head up the river like Myra said they did, and see if we can find a village?”
“Suits me,” Coldiron said. “We need to go ahead and ride on up the river a ways tonight before we make camp, anyway, in case some of the boys back yonder decide to look for Myra up this way.”
“Makes sense,” Bret said, then looked at Myra. “You ready to ride?”
“I’m ready,” she replied confidently. She had been completely honest when she told them she was not afraid to go farther into Blackfeet country. There was nothing to fear anymore, as far as she was concerned. Her husband of almost twenty years was gone, along with her sons. So why worry about what might happen to herself now?
Chapter 6
They continued on for another two hours, following the south fork of the Musselshell before feeling it safe to make camp. The spot they chose was on a small creek that fed down from the Little Belt Mountains. As an added precaution, they followed the creek back for a couple hundred yards and settled on a spot surrounded by trees. The men took care of the horses while Myra built a fire. They decided to use a little of their precious coffee to wash down the salty bacon that Bret had bought in Bozeman, causing him to remark, “We’re already running short of some of our supplies. I wish we could find a trading post or some place to resupply.”
“There used to be one at the fork where Hound Creek joins the Smith River,” Coldiron said. “He might still be there, feller name of Jake Smart.”
“That would put him right in the middle of Blackfoot territory, wouldn’t it?” Bret asked, surprised that a white man would be allowed to stay there.
“Yep,” Coldiron replied. “He’s been there quite a spell—gets along with the Injuns, because he married a full-blooded Blackfoot woman, I reckon. Most of his trade is with the Blackfeet.”
“I’ve still got a fair amount of the money we started out with,” Bret said. “It should buy us some coffee and maybe some beans, so we could have something besides salt pork to eat.”
“If you have enough for a few ingredients, I might be able to make some pan bread,” Myra suggested.
“That would surely be to my taste,” Coldiron muttered, and rubbed his belly.
“We’ll see if Jake Smart is still in business,” Bret said. “I would enjoy some bread myself.”
“We’re gonna have to take some time to go huntin’, especially if Jake ain’t there no more,” Coldiron said. “We could use some fresh meat.”
Besides hunger, Myra had one additional need, and she expressed a desire to take care of it. “I really need to give myself a good bath,” she announced. “There hasn’t been an opportunity since those savages carried me off from my home, and I feel like I’m covered with grime from head to toe.” She pointed toward a sizable boulder that extended out into the creek. “I suppose the other side of that rock is as good a place as any for the ladies’ washroom.”
“I can understand how you feel,” Coldiron said. “I get the urge to wash up, myself, from time to time—when the bugs start to bite, or my socks get a little rank. But it’ll be a while yet before then. Too much washin’ will weaken a man. I think a little sweat and trail dust builds a protective coatin’ around your hide, keeps you from catchin’ pneumonia and stuff like that. So I’d better build the fire up a little, so you can warm up good when you’re done.”
“Thank you, sir, I would appreciate that,” she said with a contrived lilt in her voice. “I’m so fortunate to have been rescued by such gentlemen.”
&
nbsp; “You’re welcome, ma’am,” Coldiron replied, completely unaware that she was joking, or why she and Bret were both grinning at him.
“Sorry I don’t have any soap to offer,” Bret said, “but I guess you can at least rinse off. There may be something in one of those packs to dry off with when you’re done.”
“I declare, if she ain’t a proper lady,” Coldiron said after Myra had disappeared behind the boulder.
• • •
Alone for the first time since being captured, except for the brief time when she had been tied to a stake while her captors participated in their war dance, Myra suddenly allowed herself to feel the weight of her misery. A heavy weariness settled about her shoulders as she stepped out of sight of the two men who had rescued her, and her mind’s eye recalled the horror of witnessing the slaughter of her husband and her two sons. Cliff had been in the barn when the savages attacked. She had no idea of the evil descended upon her family until Boyd, her eldest, staggered inside the kitchen door and fell forward on the floor, three Blackfeet arrows in his back. When she had run to help him, she saw her youngest lying facedown in the front yard and a line of savages advancing toward the house. Her screams brought Cliff running from the barn, only to be felled by a Blackfoot hatchet as he came out the barn door. She must have collapsed then, because her only recollection of what happened after that was when she found herself with hands and feet bound, lying in the yard while her home was engulfed in flames.
Born with a fighting spirit and a natural determination to overcome adversity, she had refused to let her captors see her grief, no matter how they tried to provoke her. Then when Lucy Gentry was captured, Myra had to assume a posture of strength and comfort for the young woman’s sake. Poor devastated and frightened Lucy, she was so close to losing her mind, she had to have someone with strength to rely upon. So Myra was forced to take on that responsibility and lock her own grief away inside her in an effort to instill a sense of silent defiance in her for Lucy’s benefit. That facade of boldness was still displayed even after Bret and Coldiron freed her, but now, in the calm quiet of the night, when she was alone with her thoughts, she released the pretense and let her sorrow out.
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