“Maybe they’re looking for us,” Tibbet speculated.
“Or that girl and her friends,” Calvert said.
“Or that freight train,” Ryson threw in.
Venom had a different notion. “I bet they’re holding a powwow. Maybe they’re fixing to go on the war path against the Shoshones or some other enemy and the bands are gathering. Just our luck we happen to be passing through.”
Potter was glancing every which way. “We’ll have to be extra careful from here on out.”
Venom blistered the air with oaths. This would slow them. At the rate things were going, they wouldn’t catch up to Rubicon until sometime tomorrow.
“Yes, sir,” Potter said. “We’ll be turned into pincushions if we don’t keep our eyes peeled.”
Venom swore some more. He needed this like he needed a bullet hole in the head. “We’ll wait until this bunch is out of sight before we move on.” He leaned on his saddle horn.
“It’s too bad you had to shoot Logan,” Potter said. “We could use his gun if it comes to a fight.”
“Good riddance,” Venom growled.
The sun was about to set.
Logan had hiked for miles and his Texas boots weren’t fashioned for a lot of walking. His feat ached something awful. His head still ached, too. He would dearly love a chug of whiskey, but his flask had been in his saddlebags.
Logan thought of the white girl and what he would do to her. It had been too long since the last one. To make up for it he would take his time with her and draw it out as long as he could.
Logan was so lost in his daydream that he almost missed spotting an orange glow to the northwest. “A campfire,” he blurted, and stopped. He doubted it was Venom and the company. They were well to the west by now. Nor could it be the freighters. Their wagons were canvas-topped turtles and couldn’t have come this far. That left an army patrol, another party of whites—or Indians.
Logan debated. He looked down at his sore feet. He gnawed his lower lip. Finally he bent his steps toward the glow. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. But where there were men there were horses and he could dearly use a horse.
The glow turned out to be farther away than it appeared. Full dark had fallen when Logan came close enough to distinguish figures and to hear voices that warned him it wasn’t a patrol or other whites.
Dropping onto his belly, Logan crawled.
The fire was small, typical of Indians. The dozen or so warriors hunkered around it had paint on their faces. Some of the horses had paint on them, too. Bows and lances were the favored weapons. Only one had a rifle, which looked to be an old Hudson’s Bay trade gun.
Logan lay in the dark and bided his time.
The warriors talked in low tones. They had brought down a buck earlier and were roasting a haunch.
The tantalizing aroma set Logan’s mouth to watering. Crossing his arms in front of him, he rested his chin on his wrist. He made slits of his eyes so the fire shine didn’t give him away. Now all he could do was wait.
Usually Indians turned in early. Early compared to whites, anyhow. Logan listened to the drone of their voices and felt his blood grow sluggish in his veins. He started to drift off but snapped his eyes open and shook himself. Too late he saw a warrior coming toward him, maybe to heed nature’s call. Whatever the reason, the warrior spotted him at the same instant and let out a yip of alarm.
Pushing upright, Logan spun and raced off. The warrior ran after him. Others leaped to their feet and swarmed in pursuit.
Logan ran with all his speed, but he had never been especially fleet of foot. He heard the smack of the warrior’s moccasins close on his heels. They were flying through the dark, no more than inky silhouettes. It was nearly impossible to see much, and that gave Logan an idea. Abruptly stopping, he sidestepped and unleashed an uppercut. It caught the onrushing warrior full on the jaw and flattened him like a flapjack.
Pain exploded up Logan’s arm, but he ignored it and groped at the warrior’s waist. Nearly every warrior carried a knife. A smooth hilt molded to his palm, and drawing the blade, he slashed the warrior’s throat. Then he turned and ran.
The other warriors weren’t far behind. They had lost sight of him and spread out.
Logan heard horses coming. He glanced back and counted three riders. They were spreading out, too.
Howls of outrage told him they had found their slain friend.
Logan ran another dozen feet and threw himself flat. Twisting around, he held the bloody knife close to his cheek. A warrior ran past on his left. Another pounded by on the right. The grass was high enough that neither spotted him.
Finally, Logan had what he’d been waiting for; a mounted Sioux approached. The warrior yelled something. A warrior on foot answered and the mounted Sioux reined toward him. The horse passed within a few feet of where Logan lay. Coiling his legs, Logan tensed.
The warrior was searching right and left, looking everywhere except down.
Logan catapulted upward, his arm stiff and straight. The blade sank deep into the warrior’s belly. Warm blood gushed over Logan’s hand as the Sioux grunted and stiffened and opened his mouth to cry out.
Logan wrenched on the blade, hard. Out spilled intestines and whatever else a man had inside him. Logan grabbed a wrist and yanked. Thankfully, the horse didn’t spook. Another moment, and he was on it and galloping away, doubled over so the warriors he passed wouldn’t realize he was white.
It almost worked. Logan was about to be swallowed by the night when whoops and a commotion warned him he had been spotted.
He got out of there.
Arrows whizzed past. A lance arced out of the stars and thudded into the earth.
What Logan wouldn’t give for a gun! He had a horse, though, and a knife, and once he shook the Sioux, he could get on with tracking Venom and the girl and her friends and treat himself to hours of pure pleasure.
He tingled at the prospect.
Evelyn swung her rifle toward Rubicon, but he grabbed the barrel and swung the Hawken and her both, with no more effort than she would swing a stick. She tripped and stumbled and almost fell. Digging in her heels, she sought to wrest the rifle free, but he was much too strong. She was vaguely aware of some of the others yelling, and of Plenty Elk on the ground, spraying scarlet.
Rubicon backhanded her. He had dropped the boy in green and the Dog Eater, but there was still the father, somewhere behind him. He needed the rifle and he needed it now. With a powerful shove, he sent the girl sprawling. Grinning, he spun, thinking he had them beat. He was halfway around when a sharp pang jarred him and a prickly sensation shot through his innards. He glanced down at the knife hilt jutting from his body and then at the man who had killed him. “Son of a bitch,” he blurted as a veil of ink fell.
Waku pulled his blade free and stepped back. His wife and daughters were safe to one side, Tihi with her arms protectively around the girls. He stepped to his son, who was attempting to stand. “Lie still.”
“Evelyn…” Dega said, blood trickling from a gash in his temple.
“I’m here.” Evelyn was bruised but otherwise unhurt. She snatched up her Hawken and knelt next to Waku. “How is he?”
Probing gingerly, Waku said in relief, “He is not hurt bad. He will live.”
Forgetting herself, Evelyn clasped Dega’s hand. “Thank God. My heart about stopped when I saw him hit you.”
Dega’s own heart beat faster. She rarely touched him. The warm feel of her fingers was like a tonic. New vigor pumped through him, and he smiled in delight. “I happy you like me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Evelyn said. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” She immediately turned to Plenty Elk, who was on his back, deathly still and deathly pale. His buckskins and the grass around him were drenched. The wound was hideous, inches deep and jagged. She touched his cheek and his eyes opened.
Plenty Elk weakly raised his hands. ‘I die now.’
‘I much sad,’ Evelyn signed. She had only known him a
short while, but she had liked him a lot. She yearned to help, but there was nothing she could do. He had lost too much blood.
‘You good friend.’
‘Thank you help us,’ Evelyn responded, and winced inside. He was dying because he had stuck with them instead of striking off for his village and his people. ‘You good friend same.’
Plenty Elk tried to sign more, but his arms fell to his sides and he twitched a few times. His eyes sought hers.
Evelyn held his hand and swallowed a lump in her throat. She did not know what else to do, what else to sign. She rubbed his hand and smiled.
Plenty Elk smiled back. A tender look came over him. Then a soft gasp escaped him. His eyes shifted to the sky and widened, and with his next exhale, life fled.
“I’m so sorry.” Evelyn gently closed his glazing eyes. She turned back to Dega. He had sat up and was holding his head in his hands. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she said softly, “I still have you.”
Dega wanted the pounding between his ears to stop so he could think again. “Always have me,” he assured her.
Waku looked at them and at his wife. Rising, he took a few steps to the east, blood dripping from his knife onto his moccasins. “We must ride fast, Evelyn King.”
Evelyn knew what he was thinking. The rest of the scalp hunters were still after them. Sooner or later they would catch up, and more people were bound to die.
A lot more.
Chapter Fourteen
“Who do you think is buried in the graves?” Tibbet wondered.
“How the hell do I know?” Venom snapped. “I can’t see through dirt.” He had a hunch, though, about one of them. “Dig them up.”
“Dig up dead bodies?” Potter said apprehensively.
“They wouldn’t be buried if they were alive.” Some days Venom had no patience with Potter’s stupidity and this was one of them.
“That’s not what I meant. They’ve been dead hours. They’ll smell and have started to swell.”
“So hold your nose.” Venom turned away before he shot him. He was in a foul temper. Thanks to the delays, the girl and her green-clad friends were now hours ahead. He went over to the Kyler twins, who were standing by their mounts.
“You two are the best trackers I’ve got after Rubicon. I want you to go on ahead. Track the girl and her party, but don’t let them see you. Leave marks for us. We’ll come along as fast as we can.”
Jeph nodded at the mounds of earth. “You reckon one of them is the black, don’t you?”
“Unless he killed a couple and went on after the rest, but he’d never have bothered to bury them.”
“The girl and her green Indians must have jumped him,” Seph said.
Venom scowled. “Rubicon always did what I told him, and I told him not to tangle with them. If he’s in one of those graves, then yes, somehow they caught on that he was tracking them and killed him.”
“They ain’t harmless then,” Jeph said.
“Whoever said they were?” Venom gestured. “On your way. Keep your eyes skinned. I don’t care to lose you two, too.”
“Don’t worry about us. The black only had two eyes and two ears. We have four.”
“Too much confidence can get you killed,” Venom cautioned.
“Better too much than too little,” was Seph’s rebuttal.
They climbed on and rode off. Venom watched until they were out of sight, then stepped to where Potter, Tibbet, Calvert and Ryson were scooping the fresh dirt away with their hands. Potter’s face was twisted in disgust.
“It’s only dirt, you idiot,” Ryson chided.
Potter wiped a sleeve across his sweat-speckled brow. “It’s what’s under the dirt. The dead spook me.”
“Why? What can they do to you?”
“It’s how they look. Pasty and bloated and all. I can’t stand to touch them. It gives me shivers.”
“If it wasn’t that you can shoot and cook, you’d be worthless,” Calvert put in.
Potter stopped scooping. “Here now. Why are you mad at me? What did I do?”
“You’re breathing.” Venom stabbed a finger at the mound. “Dig, damn you. I don’t intend to stand around here all day.” He scoured the plain, then sat down a few yards away with his rifle across his legs.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Tibbet said while scooping.
“What?”
“The girl took the time to bury them. She must know we’re after them, but she did it anyway.”
Venom leaned back. The sun was low in the west. They only had an hour or so of daylight left. “That’s the difference between people like her and people like us. It tells you a lot about her.”
“How so?”
“We wouldn’t have bothered. We’d have left these two to rot, even if one is Rubicon, and pushed on.” Venom paused. “This girl couldn’t bring herself to ride off and leave them lying there. That shows she’s got a good heart. She went to the trouble to plant them, knowing every minute she delayed was a minute closer we came. That shows she’s got grit.”
“A good heart and grit won’t stop her from being dead,” Ryson said.
“No one is to harm her unless I say,” Venom warned. “I might have another use for her before we kill her.”
Several of them laughed.
Potter mopped his brow again. “Say, how do we know she’s not in one of these graves?”
Venom gave a start. He hadn’t thought of that.
“Here!” Tibbet bawled. “I found a hand!”
“Get excited, why don’t you?” Venom said. “It’s the body the hand’s attached to that I want to see.”
They dug with renewed vigor and in no time exposed a young Arapaho warrior, his hands folded across his chest, his face so pale he was whiter than a white.
“Cut in the neck,” Tibbet observed aloud.
Venom stood and went to the body. “The last of the four we jumped. We don’t have to worry about word getting back to the Araphaos. Uncover the other one.”
It took barely a minute. Rubicon’s features were waxen, his mouth curled in a grimace. His arms, too, had been folded across his chest, and his eyes were closed.
“He looks like he’s sleeping,” Potter said.
“He is. Forever,” Calvert remarked.
Tibbet squatted and indicated a red stain on Rubicon’s shirt. “He was stabbed. They jumped him, I bet. He’d never let them get close enough, otherwise.”
Venom turned to his mount. “Let’s go. We still have daylight left.”
“Don’t you want us to bury them again?” Potter asked.
“I’m not the girl. I don’t have a good heart. Let the coyotes and the buzzards fatten their bellies.” Venom’s saddle creaked as he forked leather and hooked his feet in the stirrups.
“Even Rubicon?”
Venom sighed. “Haven’t you gotten it through your head yet? You’re only of use to me while you’re breathing. Once you stop, I don’t give a damn what happens. Now get on your damn horse and quit asking damn stupid questions.” He took the lead. They wouldn’t be able to go far before darkness claimed the prairie, but that was all right. Morning would come soon enough.
“Tomorrow you’re mine, girl,” Venom vowed.
Evelyn rode until well after the sun went down. She would have pushed on until midnight, but little Mikikawaku could barely sit her saddle and the rest of the family showed signs of severe fatigue. Reluctantly, Evelyn stopped in the middle of a basin and announced, “We’ll spend the night here.”
Dega touched the gash in his temple. “It good we stop. I not feel well.”
Evelyn was worried he had a concussion. She swung down to help him dismount.
“I do it my own self.” Dega refused to be weak in front of her. He slowly alighted, then had to lean against his horse when dizziness threatened to buckle his legs.
“Are you all right?”
“I fine,” Dega lied.
Tihikanima put her arm around her son’s shoulders. “Sit,” sh
e directed. “Let me look at your head.”
“I just told Evelyn I am fine, Mother.”
“You try too hard to impress her.” Tihi examined the wound and touched a dry drop of blood. “You were fortunate he struck you with the flat side of the tomahawk.”
Dega sank onto his back and placed his forearm across his forehead. “I want sleep.”
Evelyn opened her parfleche. Inside was a bundle of pemmican and another that contained herbs her mother used to heal and cure. The Shoshones had treatments for all sorts of ailments and injuries. Everything from grinding sagebrush leaves into powder to use on the rash on a baby’s bottom to balsam root to ward off ticks to the fuzz from prickly pear cactus for removing warts.
At the moment Evelyn was looking for what the Shoshones called unda vich quana. They used it on wounds. She crushed a dry leaf in her palm, then went over and knelt next to Dega. “I have something here that will help you.”
“I drink or eat?”
“Neither. I have to rub it on. It’ll hurt some, but in a while the pain will go away.”
“What did she say?” Tihi asked.
Dega translated.
“Tell her I will take care of you. I have medicine in my pack.” Tihi went to rise but Dega gripped her wrist.
“I thank you, but I would like her to treat me.”
“You choose her over your mother?”
Dega didn’t say anything.
“I have nursed you since you were an infant. Every scrape, every bruise, the time you burned your fingers in the fire, the time you broke a finger when you fell from a tree, the time you sprained your ankle and it was so swollen you could hardly walk on it, and many more.”
“No son ever had a better mother.”
“Then why her over me?”
Evelyn had listened to the exchange in growing puzzlement. “Is something the matter?”
“All be fine,” Dega assured her.
“Why does Tihi look upset?”
“She not like me hurt.” To his mother Dega said, “It is not her over you. No one can ever take your place.”
“Yet you want her to dress your wound.” Tihi unfurled and sadly remarked, “Every mother knows this day will come. It is not a day we look forward to.”
The Scalp Hunters Page 10