The Frasers Clay

by Ana Leigh

  She regretted the bitter remark as soon as she said it; none of these misfortunes were Clay’s fault.

  But he remained undisturbed. “We shouldn’t lose any, using a windlass.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a simple mechanical device usually used for hoisting; we’re simply going to reverse the process. Garth studied engineering in college, so he’s figured out how to construct it. It will be crude, but sounds pretty safe.” He turned away. “Well, I’ll leave so you can go to sleep.”

  “Clay, it’s chilly at night. Why don’t you sleep inside the wagon?”

  “We’ve got to construct this windlass through the night. And they figure the best spot to try it is right near us, so unfortunately you’ll be hearing a lot of hammering.”

  He started to step out, then hesitated and turned his head to her. “And, Becky, don’t worry—there’ll be plenty of us right outside.”

  She’d forgotten all about the threat Eagle Claw still presented to her—but Clay hadn’t. He always had her welfare in mind. That thought cut through the numbness she’d felt for the last few days, and brought a warm glow to her heart. She lay back and closed her eyes.

  Soon the clang of hammers and screech of saws made sleep impossible, however, and Rebecca gave up trying, and went outside.

  Campfires blazed everywhere, illuminating the men laboring in their light. A score of trees had been felled, and a half dozen men were trimming off the branches and binding the trunks together to form what looked like a scaffold. A short distance away, several others were driving stakes into the ground.

  “Don’t try to eyeball it, boys,” Mike Scott ordered. “Use a level to make sure those stakes are even.”

  Others were occupied checking and linking lengths of chain together. She saw Clay and Garth working on two barrels. Thick pieces of wood had been hewn to form right angles, and they were attaching those through holes in the tops and bottoms of the barrels.

  Seeing Helena moving among the men with a coffeepot, Rebecca realized she should do so, too. After putting a pot to brew on the fire, she went over to help Helena. The rest of the night passed swiftly.

  By the time a rising sun streaked the sky with pink and gray, the mechanism had been completely assembled, and all that remained was to test it and string a guideline.

  The barrel was placed horizontally on the two lateral posts. A chain running over a hundred feet in length was connected to the crank at one end of the barrel, and the same length of chain connected to the other end of the barrel. The free ends were attached to each side of the wooden platform, ready to be lowered. To lower the platform, one turned the crank and the barrel would spin on the makeshift axle, unwinding the chain as it did. To raise it, one would just have to reverse the cranking direction.

  “So you think this will actually work,” Rebecca said, stepping back to observe the finished product.

  “Keep the faith, Little Sister. I know it will,” Garth said. “All I need is a volunteer.”

  She glanced at Clay. “Don’t even think it, Clay Fraser.”

  “Sounds like the little lady means it, Clay,” Scott said.

  “I’ll take it down,” Jim Peterson said.

  “Good man,” Garth said.

  They loaded two stakes, guidelines, and a sledgehammer on the platform.

  “Don’t try and stand up, Jim, until we get the guidelines anchored and the boys find their rhythm when they start cranking.”

  Jim stepped onto the platform.

  “You men on those cranks, take it slow until you get the hang of it,” Scott ordered. “And stay in rhythm. If you don’t, that platform will tilt and… Well, just stay in rhythm,” he said gruffly. He shook Jim’s hand. “Good luck, Jim. I’ll see you below.”

  Jim sat down in the middle of the platform and nodded to Garth. “Okay, let her go.”

  The men began to crank, and each turn of the barrel released some chain. Once the platform cleared the edge of the cliff, it began to sway. The pull on the chain became greater and it took two men on each crank to slow the descent.

  Rebecca was almost afraid to draw a breath. In a matter of minutes the scaffold touched bottom. Jim jumped out and waved to them, then unloaded the ropes and stakes. He drove the stakes into the ground, attached a guideline to each stake, then tossed the lines back on the scaffold and signaled them to hoist it back up. The men reversed the crank and hoisted the scaffold.

  As soon as it was up, they retrieved the guide ropes, pulled them taut, and tied them to the stakes. Now, everything was in place to start the move.

  “Clay, your wagon’s the closest so let’s start with that,” Scott said. “Mrs. Fraser, will you remove the chicken coop and take that down with you?”

  “What about Clementine?” she asked.

  “The cow,” Clay offered in explanation to Scott’s confused look.

  “We’ll send her down with your mules,” Scott said.

  “When will I be lowered?” she asked.

  “Let’s try your wagon first,” he said.

  Rebecca watched with trepidation as they pushed the wagon onto the scaffold and lashed it firmly in place. Then they lowered it, accompanied by a couple of men.

  Rebecca heaved a sigh of relief when she looked down and saw the wagon being rolled onto firm ground.

  “Well, Mrs. Fraser, are you ready to try it?” Scott asked.

  “I guess now’s as good a time as any,” she said.

  “I’ll go with her,” Clay said. “I’m sure Jim can use more men down there, too.”

  “All right, get on,” he said.

  “Can we take Clementine, too?” Rebecca asked.

  Scott sighed deeply. “Okay, take the damn cow.” He turned to Clay. “Shackle it so it doesn’t shift around.”

  The descent went very smoothly, but Rebecca sighed with relief when her feet were back on terra firma.

  Her wagon had been pushed out of the way, and it would be hours before all the wagons and stock were lowered. To keep her mind from straying to sad thoughts, she decided to bake some sugar cookies. Clay seemed to enjoy them.

  She got a fire started, then gathered fallen wood from the nearby trees. When she returned the men were all working furiously, unloading the platforms as quickly as it was lowered. Rebecca went back to the trees to gather more wood.

  As she bent down, she was suddenly seized from behind. A hand clamped over her mouth and shut off her scream as the smell of bear grease assailed her nostrils. She struggled to free herself, but her assailant was too strong and held her tightly as he gagged her, then tied her wrists behind her back with a strip of rawhide.

  He turned her around, and terrified, she stared into the black eyes of Eagle Claw, before he picked her up and flung her over his shoulder.

  22

  Clay glanced over to the wagon in time to see Becky dump an armload of wood into the sling, then he returned to helping to unload the next wagon. When he looked a few minutes later, Becky was gone. He wished she’d stay at the wagon, where he could keep an eye on her. It was a mistake to have brought her down so soon; she should have remained with the crowd above.

  To his relief, the next wagon coming down was the Garson’s, and the family was going to follow it. Knowing Becky, Helena, and Eleanor, they’d get a big meal started for everyone. That would keep her occupied for the next few hours.

  There was still no sign of Becky when they finished unloading the Garson wagon, and Clay was getting worried. While they waited for the Garsons to be lowered, he went to see if she was inside the wagon.

  There was no sign of her.

  Cupping his hands to his mouth, he called out her name. When there was no reply, he tried again.

  The hair prickled at the nape of his neck. Where was she?

  He headed into the trees, calling out for her at the top of his lungs, fearing the worst but not wanting to admit it. When he found a pile of wood that had been abandoned, apprehension knotted his innards.

 
“Becky!” he shouted. “Becky, can you hear me?”

  Consumed by a panic he’d never known before, he frantically searched the small wooded copse and was relieved when he didn’t find her body or any sign of fresh blood. They were encouraging signs that she was still alive.

  He caught the glint of sunlight on something lying on the ground a short distance from the treeline. Hurrying over to it, he picked up a ring and recognized it as Becky’s wedding ring. Now he had no doubt that Eagle Claw had grabbed her.

  Clay raced back to the clearing. “I need a horse!” he shouted up to Scott. “Becky’s gone, and I figure Eagle Claw’s got her.”

  “You can’t go after her alone, Clay!” Scott yelled back.

  “Tell Garth to get down here!”

  “He and Hawk just rode off. I’ll send a rider after them. Wait until they get back.”

  “There’s no time to wait. If she’s in the hands of that savage, Lord knows what he’ll do to her. Get that horse down here!”

  “I’ll send mine down!” Scott yelled. “It’s already saddled. You’re a fool to take on that Indian alone. He probably has others with him, too.”

  As soon as they started to lower the horse, Clay ran to the wagon. From habit during the war, he always kept a change of clothing and a few useful items in his saddlebags. He added some cartridges, coffee, and several pieces of jerky. Then he grabbed his rifle, a jacket, and a rolled blanket.

  By the time he raced back to the clearing, the horse was ready. Clay adjusted the stirrups and mounted.

  “God be with you, Clay,” Jim Peterson said, reaching up to shake his hand.

  “Thanks, Jim. Tell Garth I’ll try and leave him some kind of sign.” He wheeled the horse and rode away.

  Returning to the spot where he found the ring, Clay took a calming breath and analyzed the situation. Eagle Claw could hardly scale the mountainside, nor could he go in the opposite direction without being seen by them, so there were only two directions he could take: south or east. Logically, he’d head east to remain in Sioux territory. Dismounting, Clay checked the ground until he found what he hoped for—an unshod hoofprint. Indians didn’t shoe their horses. Knowing Garth would follow, with or without Hawk, he made an arrow with pebbles, and then mounted and headed east.

  Several miles later he found a muddy hoofprint by a water hole, where Eagle Claw must have stopped to rest the horse. When he found several more muddy prints leading away from the spot, he knew he was still on the right trail. There appeared to be only one horse, so if luck was with him, Eagle Claw had come alone.

  A short time later Clay came across some horse spoor. He didn’t know enough to be able to determine how fresh it was, but since it wasn’t entirely dry he knew he wasn’t that far behind them. The only thing that gave him food for thought was why Eagle Claw wasn’t cutting off the trail. He seemed to be holding a steady course. Surely he knew he’d be followed, so why didn’t he try to throw his pursuers off course?

  The only explanation Clay could think of was that Eagle Claw, knowing he’d be pursued, was covering as much ground as possible while there was still daylight. That way, when he stopped for the night, he’d be deeper into his own territory, where there would be a better chance of meeting up with some of his own tribesmen.

  Two hours later Clay passed a deserted cabin that clearly hadn’t been used for years. He hadn’t seen any sign for several miles, and he began to fear he had lost the trail. Cresting a rise, he had a good overview of what lay ahead and could see for miles. Clay pulled out the spyglass he had carried throughout the war and focused it on the meadow ahead. His heart leaped to his throat when he saw the faint figures in the distance, one of them a woman with blond hair. He spurred his horse forward.

  Having to carry a double load, the Indian’s horse would tire much more quickly than his own, but at sunset Clay pulled up for the night. He had to hold on to common sense. He had closed the gap between them, and would overtake them tomorrow for sure. He dare not go on in the dark, because he could easily lose the trail completely. Then Becky could be lost to him forever.

  He put on his coat, covered himself with a blanket, and hunched down for the night. Despite the heat of the day, it turned cold once the sun went down. But a campfire would be a beacon to anyone in the area, and he didn’t want to be spotted by other Indians.

  Was Becky warm enough? She wasn’t wearing a coat the last time he saw her. A damn blanket wouldn’t be enough to stay warm if Eagle Claw didn’t build a fire, either.

  Would the bastard rape her? It was unlikely, since Eagle Claw knew he’d be pursued. But God forbid if he did—it would sink her deeper into the troubled frame of mind she was suffering, and she might never recover.

  He’d kill the son of a bitch when he caught up with them. The thought of what she was going through right now was tearing him apart.

  Hold in there, Becky. Do what you have to do to stay alive. No matter what, stay alive. I’ll find you wherever you are, no matter how long it takes.

  Eagle Claw dismounted, then he lifted her off the horse. Rebecca limped over to a tree and sat down. She was stiff and aching. When they had stopped to water the horse, he had removed the gag, but had kept her wrists bound. Her arms and hands were numb, and she wanted to scream.

  “Will you please untie my wrists?” she asked.

  For a long moment his obsidian gaze fixed on her. If he intended to kill her, he certainly would have done so by now, but she still drew back in alarm when he approached her with knife in hand.

  Eagle Claw slashed the rawhide, and as her arms dropped down, thousands of needle pricks raced up them. Rebecca shook them vigorously to get the circulation flowing.

  Impervious to her pain, he said, “You get wood, Yellow Hair Woman.”

  Too frightened to challenge him, she got up and began to gather pieces of fallen wood. Glancing back at Eagle Claw, she saw he had started to build a fire and seemed entirely oblivious to her. She watched him for a long moment, and he didn’t even glance in her direction. Dare she try to escape? The sun had set, and if she could elude him until it got pitch dark, she might be able to get away.

  But she had no idea where she was, or even which direction to head in if she did succeed in evading him. Once there was broad daylight, he’d probably have no problem in tracking her down. But why he felt she was worth it was beyond her comprehension.

  Rebecca started to inch farther away. She stole another quick glance behind her; there was no sign of him. She was about to dump the wood and run when he suddenly stepped out of the trees. When and how he got there so fast was a frightening mystery, and she glared at him defiantly. His expression remained inscrutable, but she knew he had guessed her intent. She spun on her heel, returned to the campsite, and dumped the wood. Then she sat down and tried to ignore him.

  The thought of a life away from civilization and subjected to the whims of this savage was unbearable to her. He was the enemy of her people, and a war chief who advocated violence as a solution. She would never be able to endure a life with him.

  Clearly he intended to use her physically. Would he kill her after he had his way with her? It would be a blessing if he did. She prayed that Clay and Garth wouldn’t try to find her, for that would only get them killed, too. And neither deserved to die to try and save her. Etta had taught her that lesson.

  Were it not for her scheming, they wouldn’t even know she existed. Were it not for her scheming, she would still be back in Independence.

  “What you sow, you reap, Rebecca.”

  “What?” Eagle Claw asked.

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the words aloud. “Nothing. I was talking to myself.”

  “Is that the way of Yellow Hair Woman?”

  “Yes. I talk to myself all the time. You’ll find that out for yourself, and it will serve you right for making me your prisoner.”

  If this Indian was going to harm her, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her sniveling and whinin
g. It may be time to pay the piper for all her misdeeds, but she’d go down fighting.

  He looked at her. “Eagle Claw does not understand the words of Yellow Hair Woman.”

  “Rebecca! My name’s Rebecca. Stop calling me by that ridiculous name. Do I call you Feather In The Hair, or some such nonsense?”

  His eyes darkened. “Silence, woman. You do not speak to a Sioux warrior with the bark of a jackal.”

  “Better than the way you bray like a jackass,” she shot back.

  “Eagle Claw does not know that word.”

  “That doesn’t make you less of one.”

  He eyed her suspiciously, then returned to building a fire. She could tell he wasn’t used to anyone talking back to him; he’d probably think anyone who did was crazy.

  Crazy! That was the answer! Someone on the wagon train had said the Indians never harmed anyone whom they thought was mentally ill. They believed that person was possessed by a spirit that would be released if the person was harmed.

  “Oh, now look what you’ve done. You woke the baby!” she cried out.

  Rebecca pretended she was holding an infant in her arms, and began to rock and coo to it. Maybe she could plant doubts in his mind that he’d made a huge mistake.

  She rocked and sang the “baby” to sleep, then carefully laid it aside and pretended to cover it up. She could feel his fixed stare on her.

  Rebecca smiled and put a finger to her lips in a motion to be quiet. “We must speak softly so we don’t wake him,” she said in a low voice.

  “Eagle Claw is a chief. He speaks with the roar of the mighty mato.”

  “What is the mighty mato?” she asked.

  “Your people call it a bear.”

  “How did you learn to speak my language, Eagle Claw?”

  At first he appeared to ignore the question. Then he said, “A holy man. He stayed many summers with my people.”

  “You let him remain, yet you kill others who come here?”

  “He came in peace. Others come to drive away the Sioux. They kill the buffalo and deer that feed us, they dirty our water holes with their animals, your soldiers rape our squaws and go unpunished. They tell us we must live by their laws, not the laws of the Sioux. This is our land; my people have lived here for moons too many to count. We do not go among your villages and tell you to live by the law of the Sioux. Why do you come to ours and say we must live by yours?”