Glory held her breath, feeling the heat of his hand on her thigh and his palm brushing across her nipple as if he owned her. How she hated him for that and for the unexpected reaction she experienced when he touched her!
With a sigh, he picked up the reins and nudged his horse forward. “A woman like you could make a man forget his duty,” he said, “and you are no more to be trusted than other whites. You will not tempt me again, Proud One, because as a hostage, you will have no value if you are violated.”
They rode away into the night, silent as shadows, heading north with the others. This warrior hungered for her as she had not known a man could want a woman. His throbbing manhood against her bound hands told her that. That was Two Arrows’s weakness beside liquor. If she could seduce him, he might set her free. It would be worth it to escape, and David need never know. She relaxed against him, her hands against his aroused manhood. The soldiers couldn’t find her to rescue her; she was going to have to save herself. Glory was a survivor; whatever it took, she would do it. The question was: would she ever get the chance again?
Around them rode or walked the others. Behind her was the army, but by the time they realized the Cheyenne had melted away into the hills, it would be hours too late. She had missed a chance to be rescued; she’d have to make her own opportunities now. She would do anything, anything, she promised herself.
The night winds blew chill as they rode farther north, and she shivered. When she did, he pulled her against him as if shielding her half-naked body from the cold and anything else that would harm her. He held her as if she belonged to him, like his horse or his rifle. Such arrogance! She was so very weary, that in spite of herself, she found herself nodding off to sleep, cradled against Two Arrows’s broad chest as the paint loped into the night. The last thing she remembered was the way he cradled her gently and possessively against his big body.
Ten
Michael Muldoon returned from guard duty in the cool darkness, walked toward Lieutenant Krueger. The young officer sat by the campfire, staring off at the endless hills to the north. Muldoon’s heart went out to him. David Krueger was more than his commanding officer; he was like the son the old Irishman had never had. He pitied him now. “You ought to get some sleep, lad.” He looked around at the quiet camp. “Most everyone else is.”
The younger man glanced up. “I can’t sleep. Those savages killed three good men today, and Glory’s still a prisoner. Who knows what’s happening to her now?”
Muldoon was a keen judge of people; it had stood him well in a rough life. Whatever the truth, the lieutenant needed comforting. He rubbed his aching, arthritic hands together. “Aye, by the Holy Mother, it’s a dirty shame about the troopers. Who would have thought the Indians would stand and fight against such terrible odds? As for the lady, I’ll lay you two to one that feisty miss will win.”
“That’s what I like about her, Muldoon.” The firelight gleamed on David’s light hair as he took his pipe out, filled it. “That damned scout called her the Proud One. She’s that, all right.” His hand shook as he lit his pipe from a burning branch, sending the sweet smell of tobacco drifting on the still air.
Muldoon reached for a tin cup, poured himself strong coffee from the big pot on the campfire. He regretted now that he had told the lieutenant about the encounter between the lady and the scout; it had led to dire consequences. “She’ll be fine, lad; she’s too valuable as a hostage to harm her.”
“That’s right, isn’t it?” David’s square face lit up with hope, and he tapped his pipe against his teeth.
Muldoon nodded, warming his aching hands around the steaming cup. He did not say that he had looked into Two Arrows’s eyes, recognized passion glowing there when the woman was mentioned. The Indian might want her badly enough to throw all reason, all caution aside. “My rheumatism is givin’ me fits again; I’ll wager we’re in for some cold weather soon.”
“You ought to retire and go someplace where it’s warm,” David scolded him affectionately as he smoked and stared toward the horizon again.
“Retire?” Muldoon snorted at the joke, masking his quiet desperation. “Unless I get me rank back and a sergeant’s pension, I’ll not have enough to live on, and who’d hire an old bloke like me?”
“You’re the best with horses I ever knew,” David reminded him.
“That does me no good,” Muldoon scoffed, and sipped his coffee. “None be offerin’ me a job. I used to be pretty good with the dice or cards, but with my hands so stiff—”
“Then I hope you’ve learned your lesson. If you’re reckless enough to play cards with a captain, you ought to be smart enough to let him win.”
Muldoon remembered the incident, grinned in spite of himself. “Aye, the captain was a poor loser. I meant to let him win some, but the gamblin’ fever got the best of me.”
David shrugged and smoked. “His complaint cost you your stripes. I guess maybe neither of us will ever get our rank back. My heart never was in the army, even though it’s been a family tradition for a hundred years.”
“That long, huh, lad?”
The other nodded. “Going way back to a Hessian officer who brought a troop of hired mercenaries over to fight in the Revolutionary War. Expert horsemen, all. The interest in horses is all I seem to have inherited, but Father would be in a fury if I quit the army.”
Muldoon sipped his coffee, saying nothing. He had served under Colonel Krueger before that stern officer’s old wounds had forced him into retirement at the beginning of the Civil War. Fritz was a hard man who thought David could do nothing right. More’s the pity, Muldoon thought, because David was the only son Fritz had left. “I always wanted a son; but it’s hard to afford a wife on enlisted man’s pay.”
The lieutenant’s face grew serious as he smoked. “I just realized how little I know about you, Muldoon.”
“Aw, nothin’ much to tell.” Muldoon shrugged. “Me, I’m a Mick immigrant, came as a boy during the potato famine.”
“Was it as bad as I’ve heard?”
“Worse.” Muldoon didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t sure David would believe tales of people dying of starvation. He and his father and younger sisters had scraped up the money to come steerage class. Then almost to America, the dreaded typhus had struck the ship. The authorities wouldn’t let the ship dock until the disease ran its course. By then, all Michael’s family was dead. “You know what a coffin ship is?”
“No.” The other shook his head.
“Floatin’ coffins, those quarantined ships were—unable to dock.”
But the sailors had taken a liking to the plucky lad, sneaked him off. A poor Irish lad, alone in the teeming tenements of New York without a single relative or friend, learned to survive by his wits and gambling. A certain Irish ward boss was a sore loser, and Michael Muldoon had joined the army to get away.
David turned to look toward the distant hills again. “We’re a pair, aren’t we, Muldoon, both needing a second chance?”
On the nearby picket line, the big chestnut stallion raised his magnificent head and snorted.
Muldoon chuckled. “The rascal heard you say his name.”
“He’s looking for a treat.” The lieutenant knocked the ashes from his pipe, pocketed it. He stood up. “I’ve got some sugar for you, Chance.” David walked over to the horse, stroked his velvet muzzle, fed him the sugar.
“Aye, that one got a second chance, all right.”
“Yes, that’s how he was named.” David frowned, stroking the stallion’s head. “The colonel had high hopes for this colt, but when Chance was foaled, his little hooves were so curved under because of flexor tendons, he couldn’t stand up to nurse. In spite of his fine bloodlines, the colonel ordered him destroyed.”
“Your father has no patience with weakness or mistakes,” Muldoon said.
“Don’t I know it!” The lieutenant sighed. “For only the second time in my life, I disobeyed Father. I hid Chance, and kept working with him until I corrected the w
eak tendons so he could stand.”
The stallion snorted and nuzzled through the man’s pockets.
“Everyone says he’s the finest horse on the plains,” Muldoon said.
David fed the horse another sugar lump. “Second Chance, you rascal! Someday, you and Gray Mist will be the beginning of my fine herd when Glory and I—”
He paused and frowned. “Oh God, I hope she’s all right.”
“Don’t think about it,” Muldoon said gently, and threw the dregs of his coffee into the fire, where it hissed. “You need some rest, lad.”
“How can I think of anything else?” he snapped, returning to the fire. “I’ve been praying for another chance, all right; just one chance to get that scout in my gunsights!”
Muldoon winced at the raw anger and hatred in the blue eyes. “Easy, lad.”
David said nothing, staring at the Cheyenne campfires in the distance. He had failed Susan and his younger brother, Joe, by leaving the inexperienced pair to run the ranch while David was away at war. He never should have left them with the Comanche so restless, but his father wanted David to follow the family tradition as an officer. David hadn’t been much of a soldier, but to please the colonel, he had stayed in the military after the war. Almost two years ago, against the northern Cheyenne, he had given a mistaken command that had cost men their lives. His father had been so disappointed and let David know how his middle son had failed him again. Now David had failed Glory.
“Let’s get some sleep.” Muldoon yawned, standing up. “We’ll have a long day tomorrow.”
The fire had burned out, but David was still sitting staring toward the north as daylight broke over the plains and the bugler sounded reveille. Soldiers scrambled to grab hardtack and strong coffee, roll up blankets, and saddle their horses. David fed Second Chance and reached for a bridle.
Muldoon joined him, riding his buckskin gelding. “Aye, I’m gettin’ too old for this.” He rubbed his stiff hands together.
David looked toward the hills. “Muldoon, there’s something wrong; I can feel it. We haven’t heard any drums from that camp or even an occasional rifle shot.”
The Irishman turned to look toward the hills. “Hmm, now that you mention it—”
There weren’t any Cheyenne in the camp to attack. Just as David had feared, when he led a patrol to investigate, the Cheyenne were gone, their fires now only smoldering ruins. He dismounted and looked around in frustration. “Damn it to hell! They pulled the same trick again, slipped through our fingers and took Glory with them.”
Muldoon. dismounted, examining the ashes of a campfire. “Stone cold. They’ve been gone a long time.”
David kicked at the ashes in frustration, cursing the lost opportunity. “It’s that damned, arrogant scout teaching them clever tricks! First, he refuses to salute me, now he steals my woman and thumbs his nose at me. I won’t rest easy ’til I put a bullet in his brain!”
Captain Rendelbrock rode up just then with the rest of the column.
David saluted. “They’re gone, sir.”
The officer looked relieved and pulled at his mustache. “Well, maybe the Kansas troopers will intercept them. Those savages will be raiding all over Kansas now, and if the newspapers get ahold of this before we round them up and put them back on the reservation, I’ll be the laughingstock—”
They heard the drumming of hooves and looked around. A cavalry patrol galloped in a cloud of dust and with them was a natty dude in a suit and derby hat.
The dude dismounted, tipped back his derby, grinned as he pulled out pad and pencil. “I’m Pollard, with the—”
“I know who you are,” Captain Rendlebrock snapped, “how’d your newspaper hear—?”
“Never mind,” Pollard grinned, his pencil poised. “Is it true what the telegraph’s saying? Blood-thirsty Cheyenne are marching unchecked across the prairie?”
Sweat gleamed on Rendlebrock’s pale face. “It’s not worth a single line in your scurrilous papers, Pollard.”
“Ah, so it is true!” Pollard grinned and began to write. “My nose smells a great story; anyone care to make a statement?”
“No”—David glared at the man—“the less publicity the better until we rescue Mrs. Halstead—”
“A kidnapped woman?” Pollard scribbled. “This gets better and better!”
The other three exchanged glances. David knew he’d made a terrible blunder by mentioning Glory.
The captain wiped sweat from his face. “Give me a break. We’re trying to recapture them before Washington hears they’ve broken out and are headed for the Dakotas.”
Pollard kept writing. “I can see the headline now; ‘Blood thirsty Savages Ravage Countryside!’ ” He looked up from his pad, eyes wide with delight. “Oh, that should sell lots of papers across the country. Who’s the woman?”
“Don’t bring her into this,” David warned, thinking how this publicity would finish destroying Glory’s reputation.
The newsman gestured with his pencil. “Hey, I’m not to blame if the public hungers for details. I can guarantee that in a couple of days, newspapermen will be coming from all over to follow this outbreak.”
Rendlebrock’s face turned paler. “This isn’t the army’s fault. Besides, we’ll have them back on the reservation before the newspapers pick it up.”
“Will you now?” Pollard grinned. “That’s not what soldier gossip tells me; I hear three soldiers were killed yesterday. Sounds like the Cheyenne are makin’ fools of the army; think I’ll ride along.”
“No, you won’t! Not unless we get other orders,” Rendlebrock snapped. “We won’t trail them much past the Kansas line; they’ll be out of our jurisdiction. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant Krueger?”
Before David could answer, Pollard gave him a shrewd, inquiring look. “Krueger? Any relation to the famous Colonel Krueger?”
“My father,” David answered reluctantly.
Pollard’s beady eyes lit up. “I remember now; you were busted a couple of years ago over a mistake you made at Powder River against these very same Cheyenne. Care to make a statement, Lieutenant?”
“You couldn’t print what I’d like to say to you.”
Pollard laughed. Nothing seemed to offend the man. He turned back to Captain Rendlebrock. “Where are these Indians headed?”
“They say they’re going home,” the officer answered, “but of course, with few horses and supplies, they don’t have a chance—”
“I can already see my next headline,” Pollard began to scribble again: “ ‘Cheyenne Ravaging Kansas! Settlers Beware!’ ”
“Don’t print that!” Captain Rendlebrock blurted. “You’ll have Washington investigating—”
“And the commanding officer more interested in saving his rank than in massacred settlers,” Pollard noted. “Oh, this is going to be great drama, newspapermen gathering like flies on a dead horse! If you’ll excuse me now, gentlemen”—he tipped his derby—“I’ve got to get a message to the nearest telegraph.”
The trio stared after him as he hurried away.
The captain took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweating face. “There goes my army career.”
“Join the crowd,” David said under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing, sir.” David saluted smartly. “May I suggest, sir, that we pick up the pace? I’m concerned about catching up to those Indians before they harm Mrs. Halstead.”
“Hmm? Oh yes, you’re right, Lieutenant. Dismissed.”
David and Muldoon saluted, turned to stride back to their horses.
“You know, lad, I think there’s yellow down Rendlebrock’s back; he don’t want any more fighting.”
David felt his heart sink. “I know. He’s hoping troops from Fort Dodge take up the chase so we can return to Fort Reno, but I intend to catch that damned scout! I hope to save the government the time and expense of hanging him!”
Muldoon swung up on his buckskin. “You think there’s any chance those Cheye
nne might make it all the way across Kansas and Nebraska?”
“Of course not!” David snorted as he swung up on the chestnut stallion. “Think, man! They’ve little ammunition or fighting men, and not nearly enough horses. There’s three railroads running across the prairie between here and the Dakotas, which means the army can have fresh troops on their trail within minutes anytime they’re spotted.”
“Aye, you’re right, lad. The poor devils don’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell!”
It had been a long day, Glory thought wearily, glancing up at the September sun. The Cheyenne reined in under a few straggly, pin oaks to rest the horses. She had pulled the torn, bloody dress together as best she could, but Two Arrows’s blood had dried dark and stiff over the torn bodice.
As they started to ride out again, Glory noticed a very pregnant Indian girl on a bony bay horse. The woman suddenly grabbed her belly, wincing, but she did not cry out. The girl slid from her horse, her features creased with pain.
“Redbird’s time may be here.” Sympathy showed in Two Arrows’s dark eyes.
Glory stared at the girl, who had sat down under a tree, her features grim. “So we’ll be camping here until she gives birth?”
The scout shook his head. “She’ll have to do the best she can; if we linger long, the army might catch up to us.”
Glory forgot she was a prisoner, with every reason to hate Indians. “You mean, it’s a choice of her trying to ride or being left behind?” She stared at the girl who now wrapped her arms around herself, evidently in labor.
“It doesn’t look like she can ride on,” Two Arrows said.
They would leave Redbird behind to do the best she could, Glory thought in horror. “The poor thing!”
Cheyenne Song Page 14