Lucy understood, and began rubbing her arms and torso with water. “There’s no soap,” she said, which resulted in a sharp tug on the rope, almost pulling her down. She had started to resume the motions when she was startled by a dark shadow on the bank behind the old woman. It rose out of the thick bushes until it loomed huge and ominous. Lucy froze, thinking it to be a demon rising out of the earth. Dark Moon was puzzled by the young woman’s apparent refusal to do as she was told and started to scold her.
But in the next instant, she was snatched up with one massive arm locking her arms to her sides and a giant hand clamped over her mouth, throttling her impulse to scream. While Lucy stood staring in shock, the helpless Piegan woman was lifted out of the water and the huge dark form carried her helpless body back into the willows. Terrified, Lucy was unable to move.
“Lucy Gentry?” She heard the whispered question.
Bret waded out and extended his hand to help her out of the water. He quickly grabbed her with both hands when her knees suddenly failed her and she started to collapse.
“We’ve come to save you,” Bret whispered. “You’re all right now. Myra is with us. She’s waiting to take care of you.” Still finding it hard to believe, she managed to regain her composure a little, even while unsure she was not dreaming. “We need to move quickly,” Bret encouraged as he helped her to the riverbank. Then he picked up the doeskin dress that Dark Moon had dropped on the ground. “Here, put this on. Let me take that rope off your neck. I need it for something else.” Then he held the dress up while she inserted her arms and let it fall over her shoulders. “Are you all right now?” he asked when she appeared to be stable.
She nodded rapidly, only then beginning to realize that it was no dream.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes,” she answered, and followed him into the willow trees, where they found Coldiron waiting, holding the squirming bundle that was Dark Moon.
“Like tryin’ to hold on to a coyote,” Coldiron said. “Pull that piece of cloth out of her belt and tie it around her mouth so I can use this hand.”
He paused then just long enough to say, “Howdy, Mrs. Gentry.” Then turning his attention back to the wildcat he was struggling to restrain, he waited while Bret firmly gagged her; then he asked, “You get the rope?” Bret said that he did. Holding her arms pinned to her side, Coldiron put her facedown on the ground so Bret could pull her hands behind her and tie them together.
When she was securely bound and gagged, Coldiron said, “Come on, darlin’,” picked her up, and backed her up against a willow tree. “Use all that rope you got left to tie her to the tree, and make sure you don’t leave the knot where she can get to it.”
When he was sure that the irate Indian woman could not free herself from the tree, Bret stood back and said, “Take a look. Does that satisfy you?”
“Yep,” Coldiron replied. “I reckon she’ll stay here a while.”
They paused to listen for any sound of alarm from the Piegan camp. There was nothing but the occasional lilt of the young maidens bathing a short distance downstream. He turned and started back the way they had come through the willows.
Standing dazed and dreamlike during the short time it took to truss Dark Moon to the willow tree, Lucy feared that Bloody Hand would somehow realize what was taking place, and would come down upon them before she was safely away. And she wasn’t sure she could survive if recaptured. She jumped, startled, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, but relaxed when she heard Bret’s gentle voice.
“Follow him, miss. I’ll be right behind you, and we’ll be away from here in just a few minutes.”
Myra rushed past Coldiron to embrace Lucy when they returned to the small clearing where she waited with the horses. Bret allowed only a few moments for the reunion of the two women, but it was long enough for both women to sob in relief.
“I don’t reckon I have to tell you that we’ve got to get the hell out of here,” he said. “You can have your time to talk after we put some distance between us and those Indians. Can you ride?” he asked Lucy.
Myra answered before Lucy had a chance to. “She can ride. Put her on that horse and let’s get going.”
Coldiron was ready to do her bidding. He lifted Lucy and placed her on the black Indian pony, and in a matter of seconds they were galloping off into the darkness.
• • •
Fully aware that their six horses were not going to be hard to track if they continued to follow the river, they reined them back after about three-quarters of a mile, knowing they would wear them out if they maintained that pace for very long. There was also the fear of breaking a leg in the dark over such rough ground.
Continuing at a fast walk, Coldiron led and watched for a likely place to cross the river. He was more interested in the other side of the river than the side they now rode on. The spot he settled on was a wide place where the water flowed around an island in the middle. He held up and waited for everyone to catch up to him.
“We’re gonna cross over right here. I want ever’body to follow me in single file, all right?” He waited until all three agreed, then looked at Myra, remembering her last river crossing. “The water ain’t deep enough to reach your knees this time of year. So ever’body follow me, right behind me, ’specially when we cross over that little island.” Assured that everyone understood, he guided his buckskin into the water. Bret held back to let Myra and Lucy go ahead of him, then followed.
Angling across to the island, Coldiron continued on the same course when he reached it, cutting across the little island at an angle also, generally leading in the same direction as when they were following the river. He looked back once to make sure everyone was on his line of travel. When Bret’s packhorse was in the water, having just left the island, Coldiron reined his horse back again, remaining in the water.
“Here’s where I hope we can slow ’em down a little,” he explained. “We’ll keep the horses in the water and head back downstream a ways before we come out onto the bank.”
Bret understood why his big friend was so particular about following him exactly. By crossing the island at an angle, he hoped to give the impression that they were still running in the same direction as they were before entering the water. With everyone now in the water, they reversed their course and went back downstream for almost a quarter of a mile before reaching the place that Coldiron had spotted before. It was an expanse of chalky rock and gravel that the river swirled around. He nudged his horse and the big buckskin climbed out onto the rock. Then he waited while the rest of the party left the water.
“It might take ’em a while to find where we went into the water,” he said. “I’m hopin’ they waste some time lookin’ north to find where we came out, before they give up and figure we doubled back on ’em.” He pointed to the south. “We’re headin’ thataway, and there’s grass once we get offa this rock, so spread out, ’cause ridin’ single file will leave too heavy a track through that grass.”
After Myra checked to make sure Lucy was all right, they left the banks of the Marias and set out for Fort Benton, which Coldiron estimated to be no more that thirty-five or forty miles. He didn’t figure that a Piegan war party would risk following them there. They rode what he figured to be about half that distance when it became obvious that the horses were getting too tired to go much farther without rest and water.
“We’re not gonna stand much of a chance if they figure out which way we went and we’re trying to ride dead horses,” Bret said. “So like it or not, we’ve got to rest these horses.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Coldiron said. “Let’s push ’em a little bit farther to see if there ain’t some kind of water ahead. How you women holdin’ up?”
“We’re all right,” Myra said after checking with Lucy. “Let’s see if we can’t find some water.”
“All right,” Bret said. “We’ll push
’em a couple more miles, but after that, we’d better dismount and walk ourselves.” He wasn’t sure if they were being trailed or not. Maybe they weren’t good enough trackers to pick up their trail at night. But if they were, he didn’t want to risk having horses too tired to run. So they pushed on for a mile or two farther before coming to a stream, barely more than a trickle, but enough to let the horses drink. They made their camp there.
• • •
Having waited for what he considered much too long for Lucy to have a bath, a thoroughly irritated Bloody Hand left his campfire and went in search of the two women. At the edge of the river, he met a group of younger women and girls on their way back to the camp. As usual, when he approached, they ceased their lighthearted chattering and became stony silent.
“Have you seen Dark Moon?” he asked.
“She went upstream, beyond where we were bathing,” one of the girls answered.
“We did not see her again,” another said.
Angry now, Bloody Hand walked past the girls without another word, intent upon scolding his mother when he found her. She knew he awaited his captive bride, and it made him furious when she tried to keep him away from her.
It was too dark along the river now to see very far ahead of him, but he kept walking, nearing a thick growth of willows. She must have gone back to the camp a different way, he thought, and that brought even more anger. He had turned around to go back when he heard a muffled sound he could not identify. It seemed to be coming from the willows. An owl? Some other night bird? He could not say, but his curiosity was piqued enough to try to find out.
When he reached the edge of the willow thicket, he discovered many broken branches as if a large animal had pushed through. Without consciously thinking about it, he dropped his hand down on the handle of his knife, and he became more alert. Making his way cautiously through the trees, he followed the trail of broken branches. Suddenly he heard the muffled sounds he had heard before, this time right in front of him. He took a cautious step back while he stared at the struggling figure only a few feet before him. In another few seconds, his eyes adjusted to the heavier darkness in the thicket, and he was astounded to discover Dark Moon tied to a tree.
As fast as he could, he untied the cloth in his moth- er’s mouth to release her screeching protests upon his ears. She was almost insane with anger, screaming that she was attacked and no one would come to her aid.
“Where is the woman?” he demanded, ignoring her protests.
“Gone!” she screamed as she flung the ends of the rope from her as he untied them.
Impatient with her hysteria, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently. “What do you mean, gone?” he demanded. “Gone where? How did she tie you up like this?”
Calmed enough to answer his questions now, she railed at him. “They took her! They tied me up and took that bitch!”
“Who?” he asked in anger, and shook her again.
“Two white men,” she finally told him, “one as big as a grizzly. They crept in while I was washing her and grabbed me from behind. There was nothing I could do to stop them.”
Bloody Hand was stunned for a few moments, unable to believe what he was hearing. Then he was overcome with anger.
“Two white men walked right into our camp and stole her?” Suspicious then, for he knew his mother would go to any lengths to get rid of the white woman she hated. “That is not possible,” he charged. “Someone would have seen them.”
“I saw them,” Dark Moon exclaimed. “I told you.”
“Maybe you let her run away.”
“Can you not see?” she screamed at him. “They tied me to a tree!”
Still harboring suspicion, he countered, “Maybe you let her go and told her to tie you to the tree.”
Now it was she who could not believe her ears. “Your desire for that white bitch has made you crazy. Two white men took her,” she stated emphatically.
“Which way?” he asked, reminding himself that he was wasting time. He must go after her at once. She pointed upstream. Not bothering to wait for his mother, he ran back to the camp and called out to everyone sitting around their campfires. “Hear me! Our camp has been attacked!” He had everyone’s attention immediately, and every warrior grabbed his weapons and prepared to defend the village.
“Who is attacking us?” White Hawk asked, since there were no shots or arrows flying.
Bloody Hand explained, “Two white men came into our camp, tied Dark Moon to a tree, and stole the white woman I have taken for my wife. We must go after them and bring her back.” He was not totally convinced that Dark Moon’s version of the kidnapping was true, but he decided to act upon it as if it were.
The warriors were gathered around their chief, White Hawk, now, but instead of the immediate outcry to take to their ponies and give chase, there was a rumbling of indecisive reactions. Seeing that, White Hawk spoke.
“I think it will be hard to track these two white men in the dark. Maybe we will have to wait until morning, when we can see.”
Another man, the highly respected warrior Walks Silently, spoke. “It seems to me that we have not been attacked by these white men. It appears that they came only to take the white woman back. And I would say to Bloody Hand that he and the village are well rid of her, for she clearly had no desire to remain here. I say let the woman go back to the people she belongs with.”
His statement was representative of the feeling that most of the village held for Bloody Hand and the white woman. As far as they could see, she was a constant hazard to them if army or militia patrols came searching for her. Several more warriors spoke, encouraged by Walks Silently’s statement. They were all in favor of letting the white woman go.
“By morning, when we can see to track them,” White Hawk asked, “what if we still don’t see their trail? We cannot look for them if we don’t know who they are.”
“I know who they are,” Lame Dog said. “It is the army scout Coldiron and another man. I saw them at the trading post where my mother, Red Bonnet, lives. She told me that they have come here to find the white woman.”
“Coldiron!” Bloody Hand exclaimed in disgust. “See! The hated fighter of my people has dared to come into a Piegan camp and steal a woman. I will find this man and kill him, and take back what is mine! Who will ride with me?”
“I will!” Lame Dog cried out at once. “I will ride with Bloody Hand.” He stepped forward and stood beside him.
No one else stepped forward. After a few tense moments of silence with Bloody Hand’s grotesque features twisted in an angry grimace, White Hawk spoke again. “It is the feeling of your brothers that this is not a wise thing for you to do. Why not let the woman go back to her people? We are not at war with the soldiers now. It would not be a good thing for us to give them cause to fight us.”
Bloody Hand was furious, feeling betrayed by his own people. “I, Bloody Hand, do not fear the white soldiers. You can sit around your campfires, stuffing your bellies. I will find these white men who stole from me, and I will kill them.” He turned and stalked angrily to his horse.
“I go with Bloody Hand,” Lame Dog stated, and followed the irate Piegan.
• • •
Although disgusted with her son’s infatuation with the white woman, Dark Moon would not shirk her responsibility as the woman in his lodge. She prepared a sack of venison jerky and pemmican cakes for his sustenance, even including enough for Lame Dog, since the half-breed had no woman of his own. She tried to persuade him to wait until morning to set out after the woman, but he refused to remain in the camp with those who had betrayed him.
When their arms and provisions were ready, Bloody Hand and Lame Dog went to the stand of willows by the river, hoping to pick up a trail in the darkness. It was easy to follow the rescuers through the willow thicket, because of the broken branches. Once they left the will
ows, however, it became a more challenging task. Finding only an occasional track here and there, they could guess that the white men had followed the river north. They continued until they could not find a single track, and were forced to conclude that their prey had crossed the river at some point, and they had missed it. With great reluctance, Bloody Hand finally succumbed to the dark, and decided he had no choice other than to wait for daylight. They made their camp right where they were.
“At first light, we will find their tracks,” Bloody Hand vowed. “I will not stop until I have both of their scalps, and the woman is mine again.”
Lame Dog, seeing this as a golden opportunity to curry favor with the fierce warrior, and possibly win his friendship as well, was quick to encourage him.
“These two white dogs have six horses. I saw them in Jake Smart’s corral—and guns, they have guns that shoot many times, like my rifle. When we get your woman back, we will also get their guns and horses.”
“That is a good thing,” Bloody Hand agreed, thinking of his triumphant return to his village with the white woman and the spoils, including the scalps. Although he had never seen him, he had heard of Coldiron, and the warrior who took his scalp would be highly respected.
Chapter 10
Roughly twenty miles from the spot where Bloody Hand and Lame Dog had made their camp, the four people they were chasing sat around a small campfire. Alert to the night sounds, Bret and Coldiron remained in a state of cautious readiness while Myra and Lucy talked of the young woman’s drawn-out ordeal at the hands of her captors.
“Who are these two men who risked their lives to save us?” Lucy asked. Myra told her about the unlikely happenings that caused Bret and Coldiron to decide to rescue them on their own, when the army apparently didn’t care enough to pursue the issue.
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