The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  Earlier, Winter Rain included Gaitor in what she said; now, probably because she was too tired to guard herself against the truth, all she talked about was Panther. Calida had watched and listened enough that she knew Winter Rain's feelings for Panther ran deep. Why shouldn't they? Panther and Winter Rain had known each other since Winter Rain was born, and their lives had run along the same course. Pulling herself away from painful thoughts of how little she had to offer Panther, she asked Winter Rain if the other women had begun to prepare dinner. Not yet but soon, she was told. There wasn't much corn left. Once it was gone, they would have to depend totally on what they could find in the wilderness. "We will have to move even slower then," Winter Rain said. "It will take much time every day to find food."

  If she hadn't been so tired, Calida wouldn't have minded. She enjoyed going out with the other women while they searched for plants and berries and roots. It was a simple thing to be doing and helping feed the clan's children gave her a sense of satisfaction that had been missing from her life since her days were spent making clothes for Mistress Liana.

  That too was a thought she didn't want. She'd begun to get to her feet when she heard soft, solid footsteps approaching. In the dying light, Panther's body slowly revealed itself, proud and strong. She sensed more than saw Gaitor, not that it mattered, because she couldn't take her eyes off the tastanagee.

  While many of the men now looked beaten down by the constant travel, Panther had become more hardened. More powerful. More remote. His deep and dark eyes spoke of his concern for his people. If he didn't look as if he could endlessly walk and hunt and search for the army, if his body didn't say it was capable of protecting them from harm, she might have felt despair. She didn't, because strength rode with Panther and she believed the message.

  Winter Rain sucked in an unsteady breath. "You are all right?" she asked. "You saw nothing?"

  Silent, the two men lowered themselves to their knees near the women. Gaitor held out his hand, and Calida squeezed it. He did that a lot these days. She always felt comforted by his touch, but she didn't think about him when he was gone, and she didn't feel toward him as she sensed he felt toward her.

  "He has many men with him."

  Calida didn't dare go on looking at Panther. Even with it nearly dark, she knew she couldn't hide her emotions from him, and Panther had enough to worry about without concerning himself with her. Maybe he didn't care; they'd said so little to each other for weeks now that the closeness they'd once shared had become mist in her mind. "Where is he?" she made herself ask.

  "North of us. Little more than a day away."

  Sweet Jesus. Weak from the effort of keeping everything locked inside, she could only wait for Panther to speak. Instead, taking her hand again, Gaitor told her that Reddin Croon's small army was camped near Grasshopper Slough. From what he and Panther had determined, the soldiers had been there for two days but were preparing to leave again. Panther and Gaitor had managed to get close enough to learn that Croon was acting on information he'd gotten from a newly captured slave from the Bear clan. Reddin was convinced the Egret clan was heading even farther south into Piahokee. Fortunately, that was all he knew.

  "We're safe then?" Winter Rain asked while all Calida could think about was that Panther had risked his life getting that close to Croon. "They don't—"

  "They have a dog with them. A hound."

  The dog that had tracked her when she fled Croon's plantation. Remembering its relentless pursuit of her, she couldn't suppress a shudder. Panther was watching her, saying nothing, learning too much. She wanted the night to swallow her. She also felt braver because of his presence. "Did Croon try to make the slave lead him to us?"

  "Yes," Gaitor said. When she opened her mouth to ask more, he shook his head, warning her not to press.

  "What is his army like?" she asked. For weeks now they'd known that the soldiers Croon had selected were trying to overtake them, but that news had come from other Seminoles. Now Panther and Gaitor had actually seen them.

  "Strong."

  She pulled free from Gaitor and turned so her attention was focused on Panther. He wasn't close enough to touch, which should have made her feel safe from his impact, but it didn't. "How strong?"

  She thought Gaitor might answer. Instead, Panther leaned forward and stared at her, his features immobile and unreadable. "He has nearly fifty men with him. They are healthy and well armed. They hate traveling in the heat. They hate him, but there is no talk of leaving him. They are well paid."

  "Croon won't stop, not until he has me back."

  "Not just you, Calida."

  That was true. Reddin Croon hated the entire Egret clan. He probably held the clan responsible for everything that had happened at the fort. Maybe he hated Panther most of all.

  "The rest of the army is content to stay where they are. They will wait until summer has lost its strength and then they will join Lieutenant Croon, and the troop's strength will swell like storm clouds," Panther said. "It will never end."

  She'd never heard him say that before, and it frightened her. He didn't sound defeated, simply resigned. Still, how could anyone imagine a lifetime spent running? "What are we going to do?" Winter Rain asked.

  Panther and Gaitor exchanged glances. "It's somethin' the whole tribe's got to know 'bout," Gaitor said. "They will soon. Arpeika's on his way here."

  Arpeika was the elderly shaman who wanted to take over leadership of the Seminoles because he said Osceola was too sick, and Micanopy, who'd once distrusted the army as much as anyone, now wanted to work out a new peace agreement. Arpeika would never let that happen, and with the force of his medicine and spiritual power behind him, he met no argument.

  "You have talked to him?" she asked. "What does he say?"

  "Wait," Panther cautioned, "until I tell everyone."

  "No!" The force behind her voice surprised her, but she didn't try to control it. "Panther, Croon wouldn't be after the Egret clan if I wasn't here. You and I both know that." When he didn't move or speak, she went on. "If I leave—"

  "No." Although quiet, Panther's voice carried more strength than hers. "We need you. You are strong and healthy."

  Need. She wanted to be needed.

  "And even if he had you, he would keep after us."

  "He wouldn't iffen he was dead."

  "What are you saying?" Winter Rain demanded of Gaitor.

  "That the Egret clan will never know peace as long as Reddin Croon lives," Panther said.

  Panther made it sound so simple, when it wasn't like that at all. She imagined him crouching in the dark just beyond the light cast by the fire from Croon's camp. His senses would be alert to everything that happened around him, but his eyes would never leave Croon. In his mind, he would be plunging a knife into Croon's chest. Relief surged through her at the thought of Croon's death, but it was short-lived. Panther might not escape before the others caught him. His own blood would seep into the ground next to Croon's.

  "What are we going to do?" Winter Rain asked. "Otter can hardly walk. I can't stand to look at his foot. And Little Pond is so big with child. Panther, we can't keep on like this. We have to rest."

  Something unseen and unspoken passed between Panther and Gaitor. "I know," Panther said. "I will leave in the morning."

  "Not alone, you won'ts. This ain't nuthin' yur gonna do on yur own," Gaitor insisted.

  "What are you talking about?" Calida asked. "You're not going back to where he is, are you?"

  Panther didn't answer. Given how little they'd spoken to each other since her mother's death, she should be used to his silence, but she hated it. "You can't. Panther, your people depend on you."

  "I will return when I am finished."

  "You aren't immortal. Your knife against his musket, against all those weapons! He'll kill you, and even if he doesn't, someone else will."

  "You have that little faith in me?"

  Why did he ask that? "I know what the army's like." She struggled to kee
p her voice under control. "What Reddin Croon is like. When I was with him, he told me things, things I wish I'd never heard. He was with those who found the bodies of the troops that were killed on their way to Fort King. He was part of the battle of Withlacoochee. Panther, he was one of those who survived the ambush."

  "And he hates."

  "He hates. He'll have surrounded himself with men who feel the same way."

  "I am not a frightened bird, Calida. I will not fly from my enemies."

  She knew that; she'd sensed his courage from that first day But courage wasn't enough; it had to be tempered with wisdom. Standing, she placed herself in front of him. She'd hoped he'd remain sitting so she might continue to feel strong, but he slipped silently and gracefully to his feet. He looked down at her, waiting, maybe unreachable. "You are tastanagee," she said. "I understand that. But a war chief who risks his life is a fool."

  "You think me a fool?"

  How could she possibly answer when she could barely think? "Panther, you're so much like the big cat you were named after. You're brave; you know no fear." She didn't know whether that was true, but at the moment it didn't matter. "But a panther acts on instinct. He kills because he needs to in order to stay alive. When he's attacked, all he thinks about is killing because that's all he knows. He doesn't look at his enemy and understand there may be more of them than him. He doesn't think about what will happen to his cubs if he's dead. Panther, you're a man. That makes you different from a panther. You have to put your people ahead of your need for revenge."

  "I must rid my people of their enemies."

  If only he could; if only there weren't so many of them. Night had closed down around them. She was no longer aware of Gaitor and Winter Rain. "If Croon kills you, who will take your place? Arpeika? He's filled with hatred. It's a sickness inside him that stands between him and wisdom. That hasn't happened to you." I pray it hasn't. "I can't believe you'd put your wish for revenge before everything else."

  "She is right, Panther," Winter Rain said, startling her. "Gaitor walks by your side, but many of the Egret clan would not accept him as their leader if you were dead. Will we become part of those who follow Arpeika? If we do, I believe we are doomed."

  Calida sent Winter Rain a silent message of gratitude. Thinking to reinforce what the other woman had said, she grabbed blindly for Panther's hands. Instead, her fingers brushed his flanks. Startled, she nearly drew away but forced herself not to. He was alive. Warm and healthy. Whatever it took to keep him safe, and near her, that's what she would do.

  "Panther, please." Her fingers closed around his hands. She hated the panic in her voice. "Killing Reddin Croon won't change anything. The army will keep on coming. We'll go where they can't find us. Lead us. We'll follow you."

  "You do not want him dead?"

  I want you alive. The words echoed inside her, frightening her as maybe she'd never been frightened in her life. Losing her mother had nearly killed her. She still couldn't fall asleep without thinking about her, and sometimes the pain was more than she could bear.

  Calida didn't want to care this much about Panther. She wouldn't care!

  "I want to follow the tastanagee known as Panther. I don't want to be ruled by a hate-filled old shaman."

  Chapter 17

  Isiah Yongue probably wouldn't recognize him. Smiling for the first time in months, Reddin finished shaving and put his sweat-stained shirt back on. He'd lost so much weight that it now hung on him. Patting his flat belly, he admitted there were some benefits to having spent an entire damn summer trying to survive the Everglades. He'd lost every bit of fat, and his legs were now hard as tree trunks, although the rest of him felt weak. He was also heartily sick of being mosquito bit and trying to remind himself of why he'd started on this damnable disaster, to say nothing of listening to his men complain.

  After struggling with his boots, he combed his dirty, too-long hair. Feeling every inch the lieutenant, as much of one as was needed in this hellhole, he started toward General Jesup's tent. He barely glanced at his troop, which to a miserable man was laid out on the ground. Summer had done them in, damn it. Nearly done him in as well, not that he'd ever admit it. He'd chosen the strongest men he could find, but they'd been no match for the heat and drought. He'd tried to inspire them by reminding them that the Seminoles were in even worse shape because they had old people and children with them and couldn't rely on food reinforcements from both the army and the few plantations they'd come near. But in the last few weeks, they'd stopped listening to him. It had only gotten worse when his hound sickened and died, damn him.

  It didn't matter. It was September. Summer's back had been broken. Besides—he licked his dry lips—he had a new plan.

  General Jesup was sitting outside his tent. When Reddin showed up here last night, much to the relief of his men, who only wanted to rest and complain and see if there was any whisky they could buy, Jesup had bid him welcome but not much beyond that. It didn't matter. Before this meeting was over, General Jesup would be admitting that Lieutenant Croon had a solution for at least one of the problems bedeviling him.

  The general, who was smoking on his pipe, looked up but didn't stand. Reddin saluted and received a halfhearted salute in return. "I haven't seen you for what, three months," Jesup observed. "I'd hoped your campaign would be more successful than mine has been."

  "So did I. So did I." Jesup handed him a pinch of tobacco. Although he thought it a miserly amount, Reddin gratefully accepted the gift, not speaking until he'd filled and lit his pipe. "At least none of my men are sick; I'm grateful for that. I've also managed to keep a lot of Seminoles on the run."

  "You've done that all right. And you didn't come away from it empty-handed."

  Pleased that the conversation had already turned in this direction, Reddin glanced at the small group of Negroes huddled under his men's watchful eye—not that he feared the slaves would try to run, not after what they'd been through. The bastards were beyond caring about anything. "I understand you've had some success with runaways turning themselves over to you too," Reddin observed.

  "A few. Not as many as you have."

  "That's because my men and I have been able to stay closer to the savages." Careful not to antagonize Jesup who, he'd heard, had a short fuse these days, he offered that it was easier for exhausted and demoralized Negroes to surrender to a small group of soldiers than the large troop Jesup commanded. "Take a look at that bunch. They're played out. They'd rather go back to their masters than spend any more time with the savages."

  "Hm. They're in the minority, and we both know that."

  And none of the slaves had been from the Egret clan. That's what kept eating away at him. Still, he was determined to take victory from any source he could. "It'd be more if policy was changed," he said, carefully watching the general's reaction.

  To his relief, Jesup didn't argue. Smoking, speaking slowly, Jesup acknowledged his frustration with governmental decisions. At the time the Seminoles had been signing the treaty, all Negroes with them had been considered the Indians' property. Under pressure from slave owners, that had changed, a decision that was directly responsible for the disaster that had taken place at Fort Mellon.

  Now, in an attempt to facilitate an end to the cat-and-mouse game being played by the army and Seminoles, President Jackson had ordered the army to offer freedom to any runaways who gave themselves up. Unfortunately, many residents of Florida considered them war plunder and when possible seized them for the reward money being offered by their masters, or those who claimed to have been their masters. As a consequence, only Negroes more dead than alive left the relative safety afforded by the rebellious Seminoles. That kept the Seminoles strong, too damn strong.

  "I know you've kept the President apprised of how things are going," Reddin said. "Has he given any indication he's willing to once again reassess the situation?"

  "He'll do whatever it takes to end the hostilities. He's got enough on his mind without this so-called wa
r. It's an embarrassment to him to have to still be fighting Seminoles after all these years."

  That was the answer Reddin hoped he'd get. "What if the Negroes were put under the army's protection?"

  Jesup pulled the pipe out of his mouth and stared at it. "Our protection? We don't need to be looking after them."

  "Just for a little while until we can ship them off to the reservation."

  "Spell it out to me, Lieutenant. What are you talking about?"

  Patiently, carefully, Reddin outlined a plan that had been born out of frustration, embarrassment, endless and futile searching, mosquito bites, and boots worn down to nothing. And a need to win that was almost more important than life itself. In essence, what he'd come up with would call for a return to the original agreement with the Seminoles that had made them agree to be sent to the reservation. But why should the army wait until they had all Seminoles under their control before getting the Negroes out of their hair? They'd offer sanctuary to the runaways, promise they wouldn't be returned to their masters. All they had to do was turn themselves in. "It'll break the Seminoles' back. A lot of their strength, their damnable stubbornness, comes because they've got niggers among them and those niggers don't want to surrender because they know they'll be sent back to their masters. But if they think they're going to Oklahoma, well, if it was me, I'd jump at the chance."

  General Jesup stared at him for a long time, but Reddin didn't mind. This was, after all, a switch in army policy and as such a decision that couldn't be easily arrived at. He didn't care what happened to the niggers hiding out in the Everglades. If truth be known, he hoped they'd rot in there and be eaten by alligators. But the more niggers he came in contact with, the greater the chance he'd meet one who knew exactly where the Egret clan was. Where that devil Panther was hiding out with his nigger companion.