by Stephen Bly
MacGregor rubbed his chin. “You mean, the Cheyenne will nab him?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, this is crazy,” MacGregor said. “I’m goin’ to go get my Ansley.”
Bobcat’s face flushed. He waved his hands as he spoke. “We’ll take your gun, coldcock you, and tie you to your saddle.”
“What?” the big man gulped.
Bouchet rode straight up to him. “MacGregor, we’re committed to bringing your daughter out of here alive, a fact that doesn’t seem to be in your mind.”
MacGregor closed his eyes. “Okay, I’ll come along peaceful.”
“Good. Now dismount. We’re hiking in,” Bouchet instructed.
“I’m leading the way,” MacGregor insisted.
Bouchet pulled off his hat and resat it on his head. “No, you’re the last in line, or you don’t go with us at all. Is that understood?”
MacGregor’s neck reddened. “If my daughter is harmed, I’ll kill him.”
“Not with that gun. Give it to me,” Bouchet demanded. “You’re going to get us all killed.”
“I don’t surrender my gun to any man.”
“Then give it to Missy or stay back here with the others. You’re not goin’ to carry a gun.”
“You’re all insane.” MacGregor huffed.
“If your daughter has been harmed, we’ll never find the Arapaho. If he wants to negotiate, that means the girls are safe, for now. Well, MacGregor? Are you goin’ to give Missy the gun?”
“Of all the wagon trains, I get the only one with a lunatic for a scout.” He shoved the gun at Retta.
“Two scouts.” Bobcat yanked off his dirty felt hat, folded the brim up in the front, and shoved it onto Two Bears’ head. “Now you look like a scout.”
Retta walked along with the long muzzle-loading rifle propped over her shoulder.
Lord, this is like a dream—a nightmare. I don’t know what I’m doing here. Help me not to do something dumb and get someone hurt. I didn’t know this dress would get me into so much trouble. If I hadn’t gotten the dress, I’d be sitting back at the wagon with Lerryn, taking care of a sickly mama. And Ansley wouldn't have wandered off seeking Two Bears.
Of course, Shy Bear would be safe with her papa, too.
Oh, Lord, maybe it is all my fault.
Two Bears crept forward into the brush along the river, followed by Bobcat Bouchet, then Retta, and finally a sulking Hugh MacGregor. The sun pierced the pale blue sky above them. Retta heard a hawk screech but couldn’t see any bird. The brush along the river thickened, and the grass under her feet still held morning dew. Her moccasins darkened from the moisture, but she didn’t feel the dampness.
When they reached the river, Two Bears motioned them to squat down.
Retta hid behind a bush, leaning on the rifle. She inched toward Bouchet. “Why did we stop?” she whispered.
“The horses are right up there.” He pointed upriver.
She peered over the brush. “I can’t see them.”
“Nope, but Two Bears can smell them.”
“What’re we waiting for?” MacGregor grumbled.
Bobcat picked his teeth with his grimy fingernail. “A sign that Tall Owl wants to negotiate.”
“You think he knows we’re here?”
“Yep, but if we’re lucky, he doesn’t know the Cheyenne are across the river.”
“I don’t think he knows we’re—” MacGregor’s mumbling was cut off by a gunshot that sprayed shallow water next to them. MacGregor lunged for the gun in Retta’s hand.
Bouchet’s rifle kept the big man at bay. “That was the signal to palaver.”
MacGregor glared at the others. “He tried to kill us.”
“No man alive on the prairie is that bad a shot,” Bouchet insisted. “He missed us on purpose.”
Two Bears spun around with a grin. “This is good.”
“Good?” MacGregor growled. “A savage killer has my daughter.”
“MacGregor, the point is,” Bouchet explained, “he just wasted one of two shots from your daughter’s gun. That means he doesn’t know the Cheyenne are on the other side of the river.”
“But they know where he is,” Retta said.
“And they know he has a gun,” Bobcat added.
Retta bit on her lip. “Who goes to negotiate?”
“There is one of him, and so only one can go,” Two Bears said.
“I reckon I should go,” Bobcat offered, “and leave you two fathers back here. MacGregor is too volatile, and Two Bears faced him down once before. He might not want to see you again.”
“I’m goin’ after my own daughter,” MacGregor insisted.
“Not until we find out her situation,” Bobcat warned.
“I will stay here only if Red Bear goes with you,” Two Bears said. “She will not be a threat to Tall Owl.”
“I slugged him once, remember?” Retta reminded him.
“Yes, and he respects you for that. I believe he will listen to you,” Two Bears said.
“Leave the guns here,” Bouchet instructed. “With the Cheyenne on one side of the river and Barre, Weaver, and the others here, we have him pinned in. He can’t go anywhere.” He turned to Retta. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. What am I supposed to do?”
“Look like you’re scoutin’ for tracks ahead of me,” he told her.
“What?”
“You’re the Indian, remember? You’re supposed to know how to read tracks.”
Retta sauntered toward a clearing, her head down, staring at the dirt.
“Squat down and examine the mud,” Bobcat whispered.
She squatted as Bouchet hovered over her shoulder.
The brush stirred, and Shy Bear, wearing the pansy-plum dress, emerged with her hands tied behind her. She stared at the ground and didn’t look up.
“Don’t say a word,” Bobcat ordered.
Ansley was tethered behind Shy Bear, her hands tied behind her back also. “Retta,” she said, “tell him to cut me loose right now.”
“Tell her to put her head down and be quiet,” Bouchet instructed.
“Get me loose,” Ansley pleaded.
“Ansley, please be like Shy Bear,” Retta requested. “We have to talk to him first.”
She caught a glimpse of Ansley’s frightened green eyes before the girl’s head dropped.
Tall Owl strutted out behind the bound girls. He mumbled several words and pointed at Retta.
She shielded her mouth with her hand. “What did he say?”
“He said there are too many girls and not enough men.”
Bouchet spoke several words to the Indian.
“What did you tell him?”
“That we want the girls back and are willing to trade.”
Retta waited for them to finish another round of discussion. She couldn’t read anything in Tall Owl’s face. “What does he want?” she finally asked.
Bouchet scratched the back of his head. “Bullets, food, and you.”
“Me?”
“He said he would trade the two girls for black powder, lead balls, a sack of food, and the Indian girl with the strong fist.”
“He thinks I’m an Indian girl?”
“I reckon.”
“Why does he want me?”
“He says he has two horses. If you rode ahead of him, he could pass through the land more safely. You have strong arms and could put up his tent for him. Put your head back down and don’t show emotion.”
“What? I’m being bartered like a slave in Charleston, and I’m not supposed to show emotion? What did you tell him?”
“I told him we would have to go to the wagons for the food and bullets, but that was all he gets. You are a free person and cannot be traded.”
“What did he say?”
“He said to ask the free person if she wanted to come because he needs an Indian girl, or he will just keep the two girls he has. He said that if we will not trade, he would look for someone who will.�
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Ansley MacGregor sobbed.
Retta glanced over at her. Between gasps Ansley mouthed the words, “Help me. Please, Retta, help me!”
Lord, she’s terrified. I’ve never seen Ansley look so scared and pitiful.
Retta puffed out her cheeks for a long moment. Finally she whispered, “Tell him you’ll make the trade. I’ve decided to go with him.”
“Missy, this ain’t a game. I’m not about to trade you away,” Bouchet protested.
“You said we have him surrounded. So he can’t go anywhere. The girls will be free. Then in a few minutes so will I. Besides, he won’t finish the trade until someone comes back with food.”
Bouchet pulled off his hat to shield his face. “You mean this will stall him?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Bouchet spoke to Tall Owl.
Retta kept her face down and listened to the tone of the Arapaho’s voice. She thought she heard it soften.
“What did he say?” she whispered.
Bouchet interpreted for her. “He says to go get the food. He wanted you to stay, but I told him no.”
Retta clasped her hands and held them under her chin. Sharp pains throbbed at her temples. Lord Jesus ... this is not... I don’t... “Ask him if I stay, will he let the girls go to their mamas now?” she blurted out.
“I won’t let you stay,” Bouchet insisted.
She looked over to see Ansley lean her head on Shy Bear’s shoulder. Both girls were crying.
“Ask him,” Retta demanded.
Bobcat’s words were halting. Tall Owl became excited. “He said he would let one girl go if you stay.”
Retta never lifted her head. “No. Both girls must go. What if we give him some black powder and lead balls. Will he let them loose then?”
Bobcat pressed his callused hand on her arm. “Missy, you don’t know what you’re sayin’.”
Retta watched Ansley as her body shook. She squeezed the scout’s fingers. “Please ask him.”
There were several more moments of conversation. “He says he will trade. He’s tired of listening to the red-haired one cry. But I’m not goin’ to let you do that. That’s not why we came in here.”
“But we have him surrounded, and the lead balls you carry are for a .45 caliber, not a small caliber. He can’t use them in Ansley’s gun until he melts them down. Besides, it’s sort of my fault they were captured.”
“Missy, I couldn’t look your papa in the eyes if I let you go with the Arapaho,” Bouchet insisted.
“Give me your powder horn and your bullet bag. He only has one bullet that will work in Ansley’s gun. Isn’t that right?”
“That might be. I don’t see the gun,” Bouchet replied. “But it only takes one bullet to kill someone.”
“I won’t try running away. Why would he shoot me? Then he wouldn’t have an alibi or someone to set up his tepee. The Lord will protect me,” she assured him.
“No, I won’t do that—”
Bouchet was interrupted by a shout from the Arapaho.
“What did he say?” Retta asked.
“He said to hurry. He wants to be far from here by sundown.”
Retta could hear dry heaves coming from Ansley.
“Give me your powder horn.” Retta thrust her arm toward Bobcat.
Bouchet handed her the powder horn and pulled the bullet pouch off his belt. “You’re as brave as ol’ Jim Bridger himself.”
“Mr. Bouchet, that’s a very nice compliment. I’m not brave, but I don’t think I could live with myself if either of these girls got hurt.”
“What will I tell your daddy?”
“Who knows whether I have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” she replied.
The scout rubbed his beard. “What?”
“Just say that. Papa will understand. Tell him I’m not afraid.”
Retta walked with her head down, carrying the powder and lead balls in front of her. As she approached the bound girls, Ansley wiped her eyes on her sleeve and whispered, “What’s going on?”
“Ansley and Shy Bear, walk straight over to Mr. Bouchet.”
“But what about my horse?” Ansley whimpered.
“Ansley MacGregor, get out of here before I get too scared to go through with this.” Retta glanced at Tall Owl’s big gun. “Where did he get that revolver? I thought he had your two-shot .32.”
“I took Daddy’s spare .45,” Ansley replied as she and Shy Bear scurried past Retta.
Tall Owl yanked the powder horn and bullet pouch from Retta’s hands and growled something at her.
Retta stood still and stared down at her feet.
Lord, I don’t know what I’m doing here. A minute ago this seemed like a reasonable action. Now it seems like a nightmare. I would like to go back to the wagon and crawl under the quilt and stay there until we get to Oregon.
Tall Owl grunted at her and pointed to the ground. She sat down cross-legged on the dirt. Retta figured they’d get along much better if he tried to be pleasant. But she couldn’t tell him that because she didn’t speak Arapaho, and he didn’t speak English.
Why does he want food from the wagon train? He’s an Indian. He’s used to finding his own food. And why does he think they will come back? They have the girls. Why should they come back if they are trading me anyway?
I mean they will come back.
And Papa and William are out there in the brush with the others and will come busting through any second now.
But why would Tall Owl think they will return? This is the dumbest plan I ever had in my life, except maybe that time I made a cat raft out of balloons.
Retta watched Tall Owl load powder into the revolver and set the lead balls.
Lord, I think I made a big mistake. I was pretending to be something I’m not. I want to go home now. I’m not brave. I’m not strong. I’m just as scared as Ansley was. He’s not going to wait. He’s going to take me with him.
When Tall Owl finished loading his gun, he motioned to the bushes behind them and barked a command.
“I really have no idea what you just said. If you would slow down when you talk and try to smile more, perhaps I could find out what you want.”
Am I supposed to go into those bushes? Is be going to shoot me now? But why would he shoot me?
Retta held her breath and puffed out her cheeks.
Tall Owl leaned over her, took his two thumbs, and poked them sharply into her cheeks.
Retta’s mouth deflated.
He shouted at her again and pointed to the bushes. She marched to the brush, head down, hands hanging against the buckskin dress.
Why did I want this old dress? It was just a game. I wanted to have something no one else on the wagon train had. I was very, very foolish. Lord, I really think this would be a good time for Papa and William to come rescue me. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll stay next to the wagon at all times. I’ll help Mama through her sickness. I’ll never get mad at Lerryn again. Okay, well, maybe just a few times, but not nearly as often.
She plodded through the brush and glanced over her shoulder.
I wonder why he’s not following me? Maybe I can run away. But he knows that. Maybe he wants me to run away so he can shoot me. But why would he trade two girls for one and then shoot her?
She looked up. Four big brown eyes stared back at her.
The horses. That’s it. He wants me to bring the horses. We’re leaving, but we’re surrounded, aren’t we? And Papa and Mr. Bouchet and Two Bears will be here soon ... and the others ... and then ... and then...
Retta untied both horses. Ansley’s long-legged black horse pranced at the reins. Shy Bear’s horse nuzzled against Retta’s arm.
“How are you, boy?” she whispered. “Don’t worry, we are completely surrounded, and I’ll have you back to Shy Bear soon.”
When she returned to the clearing, Retta kept her head down. On his knees in the dirt, Tall Owl rolled his powder horn and bullets in a scrap of deer hide painted
with a crude crescent moon and some stars.
“Here are the horses. I don’t know which one you want to ride, but I suppose Ansley’s.”
He snatched the reins of the black horse from her hands.
Do I walk behind his horse? Do I ride? Is this my horse? Lord, I don’t know the rules. This would be a very good time for Papa to show up.
Retta stood and watched as Tall Owl tied his belongings on the back of Ansley’s tooled-leather saddle. He retied the cinch and then scooted around to the offside of the horse. With ease he swung himself up in the saddle.
The moment his buckskin breeches hit the saddle leather, the horse dropped his head, kicked out his hind feet, twisted to the right, crashed to the ground, and bucked back up in the air. Tall Owl mounted on the wrong side. Ansley’s horse didn’t like anyone climbing the offside.
Ben told me one time. Tall Owl must have thought he’s an Indian pony like Shy Bear’s horse.
The Indian stayed on board as the long-legged horse bucked along the river’s edge. He tried to steer the horse out into the river, but the black horse spun back, dropped his head, lost his footing, and then leaped straight up. When the horse came down, his feet slipped on the rocks, and his rider went flying.
Retta stood frozen at the sight.
I should run away. I need to run. He might shoot me.
Tall Owl landed on his back in six-inch-deep water along the river’s edge in a partly submerged rock field. He lay still for a moment.
Retta puffed out her cheeks and held her breath. Her voice was weak. “Are you hurt, Tall Owl?”
Finally the Indian pulled himself to his feet.
She glanced back down at hers.
He seemed more subdued. He motioned to her to mount the other horse.
Retta started for the left side of Shy Bear’s horse, then paused, and scooted over to the right side.
An Indian pony. Mount on the offside. I hope.
She grabbed the horse’s dark mane and leaped toward his back, landing on her stomach. She struggled to get both of her legs on the same side of the horse so she could keep the buckskin skirt pulled down past the top of her moccasins.
When she turned the horse around, Tall Owl led Ansley’s horse back to the clearing. He dried his wet hands on his long, thick, shiny black hair and took a deep breath.