“Good. Tie it around you both, I’ll pull you out.”
He was going to save them. Somehow, she had confidence that he could do it. She passed the loop around them both and watched as he put his mighty strength into dragging them toward him. Behind him, two men had gotten the raft into the water and maneuvered through the current to aid him.
In minutes, Glory and the child lay spent and wet across the makeshift raft as the men paddled toward the riverbank.
“Are you all right, Proud One?” Two Arrows knelt next to Glory as they touched shore, and Moccasin Woman reached for her granddaughter with a glad cry.
“I—I think so.” Glory didn’t have the strength to move. He swung her up in his strong arms and carried her gently to set her under a tree. She realized with sudden embarrassment that he was all but naked, although he didn’t seem to notice as he pushed her hair from her face.
“That was a brave thing to do.” His voice held grudging admiration. He was staring down at her.
Glory glanced down. Her wet dress seemed almost transparent. Her nipples clearly showed through the fabric. She crossed her arms and began to shiver.
“Here,” he said, and wrapped a blanket around her. Water glistened on his wet and almost naked body. Glory tried not to look, but he was more man than she had ever seen; tall, sinewy, a few old battle scars on his muscular brown body. That skimpy loincloth didn’t hide much; his prominent manhood was clearly outlined under the bit of wet leather. Howard had been built small, not at all like this Indian stallion. What on earth was she thinking? Her face burned with guilt and embarrassment.
“You could just leave me here for the soldiers to find,” Glory suggested.
He shook his head. “You’re our insurance that the soldiers won’t attack us. They’ll be afraid of hurting you.”
“Why don’t you all surrender and go back before some of these women and children die out here?”
He looked at her a long moment. “They’re dying back at the reservation, that’s why they’re willing to take the risk. If they’re going to die anyway, it might as well be trying to reach freedom.”
She looked down at her feet. “I don’t think I can get my boots on, and I don’t know if I can walk.”
Old Moccasin Woman came running just then, holding little Grasshopper’s hand. The child was all smiles. “Hahoo,” the woman said, “thank you, white woman, thank you.”
Glory nodded, and smiled at the child. “I always wanted a child of my own,” she said, then felt foolish, realizing the woman probably could not understand.
The grandmother said something in Cheyenne to Two Arrows.
He turned to Glory. “She wants to give you a gift.”
Glory shook her head. “I didn’t do it for a reward.”
“You must not insult her,” Two Arrows ordered. He said something to Moccasin Woman, and she smiled and nodded. She and the child hurried away.
In a moment, she returned with a pair of small moccasins in soft doeskin with intricate beadwork, held them out to Glory.
“Why, they’re beautiful,” Glory said, “oh, I can’t—”
“Take them,” Two Arrows ordered, “and say ‘hahoo,’ it’s a word all the tribes use for thank you.”
Glory accepted the delicate footwear with a smile and a nod. “Hahoo,” she said to Moccasin Woman.
Little Grasshopper hugged Glory’s neck. Two Arrows’s expression softened, and he looked away, clearing his throat. “We have to get started. We need to get the river and as much distance as possible between us and the soldiers. There’s a shallow place we can ford a ways down.”
He said something to the old woman, and she and the child smiled again and went off to gather their things. Around them, the people were packing travois and mounting their ponies. Those who had no horses walked toward the river.
Glory put the moccasins on, pleased with the workmanship and their softness. They felt good on her sore feet.
“Come on, Proud One,” he gestured, “we’ve got a lot of miles to cover.”
Was he waiting for her to beg him not to make her walk? She put her chin up and took a deep breath. He could go to hell first.
Two Arrows strode over to his saddled paint, mounted up. “Well, are you coming?”
She looked for the leash. Instead, he held out his hand. “Come on, you’re delaying us. The others are already crossing.”
She was not going to beg. She marched over to him. He hardly seemed to notice her defiant air as he reached to grasp her hand. His seemed to completely enclose her small one. She hadn’t realized how strong he was until he lifted her easily to sit behind him on the big paint horse. Straddling the horse pushed her wet dress up past her knees.
She was up against his hips. She could feel the heat of him through her wet clothes, and he wore nothing but that rawhide thong.
He glanced over his shoulder, and their eyes caught and locked. He seemed as aware as she was of her body up against his. She saw the sudden desire in his dark eyes. She didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“You’d better hang on in case the horse steps in a sinkhole out there in the water,” he suggested. “Tonight, maybe we can dry your clothes over a campfire or maybe later, Moccasin Woman can find you a deerskin dress.”
She didn’t intend to be here tonight, Glory thought. Surely David would rescue her today.
“Hang on!” he ordered as his horse went into the water, “I don’t want to fish you out of the river again.”
She seemed to have no choice except to put her arms around his waist. His belly was hard and flat and warm. Her hand brushed over that big knife he wore in his belt.
“You can forget about that,” he warned as he nudged the horse forward. “You won’t get a chance to use it.”
She didn’t intend to forget it. Sooner or later, she might need a weapon, yet to get that knife, she was going to have to cause Two Arrows to let down his guard. How to do that? Glory thought about it as the horse splashed through the shallow water toward the other side. She’d seen the desire in the warrior’s eyes. Suddenly, she knew how she was going to get her hands on a weapon. There was one thing his stormy eyes told her he wanted worse than whiskey.
That one need might distract him enough so that Glory could escape. The question was: Would she be willing to make the sacrifice of letting him mate with her?
Eight
The straggly small group crossed the Cimarron and moved north in the autumn afternoon. The sun dried Glory’s wet dress as she rode behind Two Arrows on his paint horse. She kept her hands on his waist, plotting how she could get that big knife from his belt and how she might escape.
In the early afternoon, they finally paused under the shade of a lone cottonwood, its leaves already turning golden yellow. Two Arrows sighed and rubbed his hand across his mouth.
He needs a drink, Glory thought, watching him. There might come a time when the temptation would be too great. Someone along this trail or in this band would have whiskey. If he succumbed to temptation and got roaring drunk, there was no telling what her fate would be—or maybe it would be an opportunity for her to escape.
He dismounted and reached to lift Glory down. His powerful hands almost encircled her narrow waist, and he slid her down the length of his almost naked body very slowly as he stood her on her feet. She was tempted to grab the knife from his belt, but decided this was not the best time to make a break for freedom, not in broad daylight and surrounded by Indians.
The others reined in, too, to rest and eat the little bit of food they had left. Above them, a flight of geese headed south, making a long, wavering vee against the pale blue sky.
Two Arrows looked up. “Soon the cold winds and the snow will come,” he said softly. “If we are not in our own country by then—”
“You won’t make it. This is madness,” Glory snapped, “a couple of hundred children and old people against the whole U.S. Army?”
“All they can do is try,” Two Arrows said,
shrugging wide shoulders. “So far, we’ve eluded and outwitted the bluecoats; maybe we’ve got a chance.”
“I don’t know whether you’re brave or just simple fools,” Glory said as she turned and looked toward the south. “You know soldiers must be on our trail this very minute. They won’t stop until they rescue me.”
Little Wolf rode up and grunted agreement. “The woman is right. Better we should have killed her.”
She felt a chill of apprehension and looked appealingly at her captor.
Two Arrows said, “They must know we’ve got her. As long as she’s alive and unharmed, they’ll hesitate to attack. The lieutenant sets much value by her.”
He frowned at Glory, and she knew he was recalling how he’d been beaten like a dog for accosting her. He took a small piece of smoked meat from his paint’s saddlebags and handed it to Glory. She grabbed it eagerly.
Dull Knife rode up then on a thin bay pony that looked exhausted, its head hanging. “We need horses,” he said. “We’ll have to raid ranches and passing settlers for food and mounts.”
“That will only bring us more trouble,” Little Wolf argued, “because then we’ll have armed cowboys hunting us down.”
Glory pretended not to listen while she ate the meat, relishing the smoky, salty taste, thinking she was beginning to understand a little of the Cheyenne language. For the first time, she noticed that Two Arrows wasn’t eating. “You didn’t give me your share, did you?”
He snorted and made a dismissive gesture. “Of course not, Proud One. I—I’m not hungry; that’s all.”
Little Wolf said, “There’s little enough food for our own people; captives can go hungry.”
Two Arrows appeared anxious as he looked at Glory. “The army will take vengeance if she is starved.”
“You are right, but they did not care that our own women were starving.” The old leader watched her with eyes dark and hard as obsidian.
She was ashamed for her people then; ashamed no one had done anything for the hungry Indians. Some of the officers had tried, but between the crooked Indian agent who cheated the Cheyenne and Washington politicians who either didn’t know or didn’t care what was happening to a handful of the Custer killers thousands of miles away, not much had been done.
“We will have to send out raiding parties once we are certain the bluecoats aren’t close on our trail,” Dull Knife said. “We must have more food and horses.”
He and Little Wolf now rode off to confer with other leaders.
Glory turned and looked south. Where were the soldiers? This pitiful little band had covered at least a hundred miles, and still the soldiers hadn’t caught up with them. She glanced up, realized Two Arrows knew what she was looking for.
“The prairie is a vast place,” he said. “With such a small group as this, the soldiers might ride within a few miles of us and never see us, especially in the hills up ahead.”
Glory looked north. The terrain was changing into a more hostile, desolate land of hills and gullies. True enough, this little group could hide there and the soldiers might ride past and never see them—unless Glory managed to alert them or ride out to meet them.
“Time to move on.” Two Arrows swung up on his horse easily. “My horse is about spent; wish I had that fine-blooded stallion of the lieutenant’s.”
“Mercy! You might as well wish for the moon!” Glory scoffed. “Second Chance is his future herd sire. He thinks more of that horse than almost anything.”
“Except you?” He held out his hand to her.
“That’s taken for granted.” She kept her voice frosty, hating to accept his helping hand, but she couldn’t mount without it. “You’ll see how much he cares for me when he hangs you for kidnapping.”
“He’ll have to catch me first.” Two Arrows grinned. She could not remember ever having seen him smile before. Why, he was almost handsome when he smiled, with those white, straight teeth in that dark, high-cheekboned face.
“I wish I had Misty; she’s the second finest horse on the plains.” Glory put her small hand in his big one and he lifted her easily up behind him. She was so very tired, but she didn’t complain. If she became a burden, they might kill her. Still, she couldn’t stop her weary body from relaxing against him as she slipped her arms around his lean waist again, sagged against his naked back. At least the whip marks were almost gone from his skin if not his soul.
Glory considered the sharp knife only inches from her hands, but she knew he was as quick as a striking snake. Sooner or later, he’d let his guard down, and the time had to be just right and in her favor. It was a matter of survival, and Glory was a survivor. Lord knew she’d been through enough with Howard. She’d never told David about the final incident involving Howard’s brother, Nat. That had been the final horror that had galvanized her into filing for a divorce with all the condemnation and social scorn that went with it.
Two Arrows nudged his tired paint forward. Near them, a bony gray horse fell and died. The old man who had ridden it stumbled to his feet, his features sad as he patted the dead horse.
“Oh, the poor thing!” Glory stared at the horse, pained because she loved animals. “Oh, the poor thing!”
Two Arrows shrugged without looking. “Save your pity for my people. The Indian agent cheats us out of grain along with flour and cloth.” His voice was bitter. “Our horses are not all that is thin and poor.”
Glory didn’t say anything, remembering now that the army’s horses were fat and sleek. Two women ran toward the dead pony with butcher knives. “What are they going to do?”
Two Arrows shrugged. “We’ve got to have meat; these people are starving.”
“Oh my God.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. The odds against these people were impossible and getting worse with each mile they covered.
Around them, the band moved slowly across the rough ground. Some of them looked so weary; the people were barely moving. Little Grasshopper rode in her grandmother’s travois, but that horse didn’t look too strong.
She must remember that these savages were breaking the law in fleeing, that they had kidnapped her and might kill her. Yet despite all that, Glory felt her heart go out to them. “Most of them won’t make it,” she said, almost to herself.
He nodded. “But some of them will, and they’re willing to take that chance.”
On a ridge far to the north, Glory noticed the silhouette of a giant timber wolf watching them. She gestured. “What do you suppose he wants?”
Two Arrows looked toward the distant animal, now turning to lope toward the north. “Good medicine,” he grunted. “He leads the way for us. The Lone One sings a song my people know well; a song of all wild things—of hope and freedom.”
She remembered the lonely howl floating on the wind in the darkness last night. Mercy! Only ignorant, stupid savages would think the wolf was singing to them or leading them. In reality, the beast was probably watching for a chance to raid the little band of ponies, take down a colt or steal a pouch of dried meat.
They must be in northern Indian Territory now, desolate and arid plains. Straggly gray clumps of buffalo grass and prickly pear cactus grew in the arid soil. Her legs ached from straddling the paint horse, and she was so tired. She daydreamed of a clean dress and a chance to comb her tangled black hair, put it up in curls on top of her head the way David liked it.
Behind them, a warrior appeared over the horizon, lashing his horse to move faster. He shouted in Cheyenne, gesturing behind him, then galloped on toward Dull Knife and Little Wolf.
Glory felt the sudden tension in Two Arrows’s big frame. “What is it?”
“Soldiers,” he grunted. “You may get rescued yet.”
Relief flooded her. Mercy! She had thought they would never arrive. She didn’t have to plot her escape now; all she had to do was wait for the soldiers to kill this damned scout and save her.
“Hang on!” Two Arrows urged his horse into a lope up a canyon.
Glory clutc
hed him tightly, burying her face against his bare back, afraid of falling under the running hooves. Around them, all was confusion as women gathered up children and old people, sent them scurrying into a deep gully.
Two Arrows followed them into the narrow wash, reined in, dismounted. “Get down!”
Maybe if she stalled; she could gallop away—
He reached up and jerked her off the horse, carrying her as he ran deeper into the gully. “I can’t risk the chance that you might escape in the confusion or alert the soldiers.”
Even as she protested, he reached in his belt for a strip of rawhide, tied her hands behind her and then tied her slim ankles together.
She had hoped she could slip away while his attention was diverted. He wiped his hand across his mouth again and licked his dry lips. Then he squared his shoulders proudly and stood up. “I am no longer a white man’s drunken Injun,” he whispered, as if reassuring himself. “I am a dog soldier, bravest of the brave!”
He turned to his horse, and, in spite of her hatred, she thought how magnificent he was, a man born to be a warrior. He opened his saddlebags almost reverently and took out a long leather band, intricately decorated with fine beadwork. A wooden stake, painted red, hung at its end.
He stared at it a long moment as if saying silent prayers, then draped it across his broad shoulder, around his muscular body.
She was mystified. It was obviously of some importance. “What is that?”
He paused, looking down into her eyes. “Do you know what dog soldiers are?”
She shook her head. “Only that even David admires them in spite of himself—”
“We’re also what whites would call a suicide force.” Two Arrows’s face was set, emotionless. “We bring up the rear when the tribe is on the move. If we are attacked, it is our duty to protect the retreat at all costs.” He touched the leather reverently. “An old custom, almost forgotten now. Only four honored warriors carry a hotamtsit.”
In truth, he had turned from a trembling scout battling a need for a drink into a magnificent man among men before her very eyes. “David doesn’t even know you own this, does he?”
Cheyenne Song Page 11