The taller of the warriors halted and made a motion as if he wanted to continue on to their camp. Responding in the Ute tongue, the second man kept coming.
Nate stopped within a yard from the last of the cottonwoods. He held the stallion still except for the twitching of its tail, and rubbed its neck to keep it calm.
The inquisitive Ute reined up near the trees and peered into the stand, leaning forward, his dark eyes narrowed. He scanned from right to left and back again.
This was the moment of truth, Nate realized. The stand was approximately thirty yards in diameter, and many of the cottonwoods were quite large. Plenty of underbrush further served to conceal him and his mount. The odds of escaping detection were excellent provided the stallion cooperated.
Evidently satisfied there was nothing to see, the Ute turned his steed.
Suddenly the big horse acted up, trying to pull from Nate’s grasp. Its buttocks bumped a trunk.
Nate held on with all of his might. He saw the Ute twist and look back, and he was certain the warrior would ride into the stand to check things out. Instead, after a minute, the Ute rejoined his fellow tribesman and together they made to the southeast.
Relief washed over Nate and he expelled a long breath. He stayed where he was until the warriors were far away, then let go of the stallion. That had been too close! He’d have to be much more careful in the future or Evening Star and Laughing Eyes would never be rescued.
Deciding to remain in the stand until evening, Nate moved to the center, tied the stallion so it wouldn’t get any ideas about wandering off, and sat down with his back to the trunk. He devoted himself to formulating a strategy for dealing with the war party. When the time came to snatch the mother and daughter, a diversion might enable him to pull it off without a hitch. What kind of diversion, though? He formulated and discarded various ideas, absently listening to the sounds of insects and the songs of the birds. After a while his eyelids began to droop, and before he knew it he was asleep.
~*~
A sharp noise brought Nate rudely awake, and he glanced up in consternation when he realized darkness had descended. How long had he slept? He stood, amazed to see faint stars through the branches, and looked westward where hues of red, orange, and pink rimmed the horizon. The sun had set within the past half hour, he guessed.
The stallion shifted, one of its hooves cracking a twig with a pronounced snap.
Now Nate knew what had wakened him. He undid the reins, climbed on board, and rode out of the cottonwoods, bearing in the direction of the Ute encampment. A flickering ghost of light marked the exact location. He shook his head to clear his mind of lingering sluggishness, and surveyed the plain in case there were warriors ahead.
The war party, as it turned out, had made camp at the base of a densely wooded slope on the east side of the narrow stream. There was plenty of water, plenty of game, and the forest gave them a convenient avenue of retreat should they be attacked by a superior force.
Nate perceived there were actually two fires, not one, spaced ten yards apart, and he distinguished figures moving around the camp. He slanted to the right, riding toward the woods bordering the plain. The same forest that the Utes would use as an avenue of escape was also their weak spot. Moving slowly as not to create enough noise to give himself away, he gained the cover of the woods without mishap. The steadily gathering gloom compelled him to cautiously pick his way among the trees until he reached the slope to the rear of the band. After tying the stallion yet again at a sufficient distance from the enemy to ensure they couldn’t hear it should the horse neigh, he crept through the vegetation toward the fires.
Laughter and boisterous conversation arose, contrasting with the deathly stillness of the forest. Nate bent over at the waist as he covered the final twenty yards, advancing from trunk to trunk and thicket to thicket. Less than eight feet from the end of the woods he flattened and crawled to a cluster of high weeds at the very limit. Inching his right hand forward, he gingerly parted the stalks and leaves.
Both fires were only twenty-five feet off. To the right were the tethered horses, including the mare and the pack animal. Five Utes were seated around the fire on the left. Four warriors were sitting near the one opposite. Laughing Eyes sat on the ground close to them, watching her mother serve food to the band.
Nate congratulated himself on his cleverness. Perhaps a diversion wouldn’t be needed, after all. If he waited long enough, the Utes were bound to go to sleep. He learned from Shakespeare that Indians rarely posted guards at night unless they were certain of being attacked.
A strapping warrior unexpectedly stood and walked directly toward him.
Chapter Thirteen
Nate froze, not knowing what to do, afraid to so much as blink. Panic seized him, and for a moment he believed the Ute must have spotted him. Only when he observed the warrior hitch at the leggings he wore did comprehension dawn. He relaxed slightly, his left hand holding the rifle firmly.
Whistling softly, the Ute glanced over his shoulder and made a comment that caused the others to laugh. He paused, studying the trees, and finally stepped to the right and disappeared behind a towering pine.
Straining his ears, Nate detected the splattering of urine on the ground. He dared not turn his head, and didn’t until the warrior emerged and moved back to the campfire.
Another Ute barked a command at Evening Star, who promptly went over to him.
Nate saw one of the warriors wearing a crude rawhide bandage, and realized it must be the Indian Strong Wolf had wounded. The man was in a bad way, doubled over and holding his left side, sitting almost on top of the flames. A chest wound, Nate guessed, and probably close to the heart.
Evening Star was busily cutting meat from a cooked haunch, her despondent features reflecting the misery in her soul.
From the aroma Nate’s nostrils detected, he knew the band was eating part of the buffalo he’d slain, and he wryly wished the meat would give them all indigestion. A lean Ute sporting four eagle feathers in his hair rose and went to the horses, returning moments later bearing a parfleche stolen from Sitting Bear’s lodge. Nate recognized it as the one in which Evening Star stored her herbs and medicines from the decorative beadwork on the pouch.
The lean warrior knelt alongside his wounded fellow, then snapped a sentence at the Crow woman.
Obediently, Evening Star ceased working on the meat and hurried off. The parfleche was shoved into her hands, and a curt gesture from the Ute signified she should tend to the one who had been shot.
Nate scowled in anger. The war party was using her to do every chore imaginable, reducing her to the status of a slave. He thought about the nine or ten hours of night remaining and his scowl deepened. Would they abuse her in that manner too?
Evening Star opened her bag and took out some herbs. Next she removed the injured warrior’s bandages, then proceeded to administer treatment.
A deep admiration for her courage caused Nate to think of his own wife, who had demonstrated her own resourcefulness more than once. He unconsciously compared them to Adeline Van Buren, imagining how the socialite would behave under the same circumstances, and almost laughed aloud. Adeline would have been in hysterics by now, pleading with her captors to let her go and offering them all the wealth her father owned.
Nate rested his chin on his forearms and bided his time. The Utes talked and talked. After nursing the wounded warrior and feeding the others, Evening Star was permitted to take her daughter in her arms and sit off a ways. Four of the Utes retired relatively early, curling up in their robes and falling asleep.
A northwesterly breeze kicked up, fanning the flames and carrying glowing red sparks aloft.
The hours dragged by. Nate was impatient for the remainder to doze off, and finally all did but two. This pair was engaged in an earnest dialogue and gave no indication of stopping soon. Evening Star had been given a blanket, and she was lying on her back with Laughing Eyes at her side.
To the west a wolf
howled.
Nate speculated the time must be after midnight, and he wondered if the talkative twosome intended to stay awake all night. He felt stiff from lying on the ground for so long, and he keenly desired to stretch his legs.
A minute later the last of the war party lay down to sleep.
Nervous expectation revitalized Nate. He waited a reasonable length of time to guarantee the Utes were all slumbering, then eased backwards, twisted, and crawled to the right, keeping to the edge of the woods until he was directly to the rear of the horses. Now came the perilous part. His gaze riveted on the Utes, he inched from the vegetation and slid to the animals, expecting at any second that one of the war party would awaken, spot him, and shriek a warning to the others.
A few of the horses heard him and glanced back, but none snorted or reared.
Nate reached the mare and slowly rose, his knees bent, stooped over, and stepped to her neck. He rubbed her behind the ears and whispered softly, letting her know there was no reason to be skittish. The Utes had tied all of the animals to a pair of logs, evidently hauled from the forest for that very purpose, to guarantee the horses wouldn’t stray away during the night. He moved to the log and quickly untied the mare, then did the same with his pack animal. Gripping the reins of both, he led them into the trees at a snail’s pace, and when he had put a good fifteen yards behind them he went faster, taking the two horses to where he’d left the stallion. He secured both and hastened back.
The Utes were still sleeping soundly.
Exercising the same care as before, Nate crawled to the horses again. Earlier he’d seen a rope lying next to one of the logs, and he now used it to prepare a little surprise for the Indians. Going from horse to horse, he looped the rope around the front legs of each animal, then securely knotted the end to the log. That done, he crept to the Crows.
Mother and daughter were sound asleep. In the flickering light from the fading fire tear streaks were visible on Evening Star’s cheeks. She had her left arm draped protectively over Laughing Eyes.
Nate crouched, then hesitated. All around were sleeping Utes, and any loud noise would bring them to their feet in a rush. He gently placed his right hand on the mother’s shoulder and squeezed.
Evening Star’s eyes snapped open and she looked up. Astonishment caused her to gape until she had recovered sufficiently to smile broadly.
Nate pressed a finger to his lips, and was gratified when she nodded to indicate her understanding. He held the Hawken in both hands and covered the band while Evening Star lifted her daughter.
A nearby Ute tossed in his sleep and mumbled for a bit.
Motioning for the mother to precede him, Nate gestured at the trees and waited until she went ten feet before he followed. The rescue had turned out to be much easier than he’d anticipated, and he wondered if the Utes didn’t have an unjustified reputation as fierce fighters.
At that instant, with Evening Star just reaching the shelter of the woods, a muscular warrior lying close to the nearest fire abruptly sat up and gazed about him in drowsy curiosity, as if he wasn’t quite sure why he had woken up. His gaze alighted on Nate and he blinked in disbelief.
Backpedaling, Nate trained the rifle on the Ute and cocked the hammer. He still had a few feet to go to the forest when the Indian leapt erect, whipped out a knife, and vented a strident whoop. Nate shot him.
The rest of the war party awakened immediately, the warriors scrambling to their feet and voicing bewildered exclamations.
Spinning, Nate took a bound and plunged into the woods. Evening Star was waiting for him, and he grasped her elbow and propelled her in the direction of the horses.
Shouts and bellows of rage arose in the encampment.
Nate repeatedly looked back as he ran, searching for the telltale silhouettes of pursuers, certain the band would be after them any second.
In confirmation, four warriors materialized at the edge of the woods, their forms backlit by the firelight. They peered into the murky woods, and one of them called out and pointed. All four leaped forward.
Nate prodded Evening Star. She understood and pumped her legs harder, clasping Laughing Eyes to her bosom, tearing loose from occasional limbs that snatched at her buckskin dress.
The Utes voiced shrill shrieks, a veritable pack of frenzied wolves closing in for the kill.
Keeping pace with the Crow woman, Nate marveled at her fleetness. She ran like a terrified doe, leaping logs and adroitly skirting trunks and dense bushes. He glimpsed Laughing Eyes awake and staring at him, her eyes wide. Incredibly, the girl didn’t cry or scream.
A minute went by.
The vague shapes of the horses appeared in the darkness.
Nate glanced back, thinking they would get away without further incident, and discovered that one of the Utes had outstripped his companions and was now less than fifteen feet off, The warrior held a tomahawk in his right hand.
Nate had a choice to make. Either he confronted the Ute now and gave the Crows time to reach the horses, or he waited until they were at the animals and exposed mother and daughter to the wrath of the warrior. There really wasn’t a choice at all. He halted and whirled, drawing the right flintlock.
Roaring in triumph, the Ute raised the tomahawk overhead and came straight at him.
In a flash Nate extended his arm and squeezed off a shot. The ball hit the Indian squarely in the center of his chest, and he flipped backwards and sprawled in the weeds. Not bothering to verify the kill, Nate turned, and was surprised to find Evening Star had stopped to wait for him. “Go!” he urged, well aware she couldn’t understand him.
Now that he was safe, the woman resumed her flight and came to the horses. She paused and looked at Nate, apparently awaiting instructions.
Nate indicated the mare, awkwardly took Laughing Eyes into his arms, and waited for Evening Star to mount. He handed the girl up and stepped to the stallion.
Out of nowhere streaked an arrow to thud into a tree a couple of feet away.
Hastily wedging the flintlock under his belt, Nate seized the reins and swung into the saddle. He grabbed the lead for the pack animal, wheeled the big black, and made off to the northwest. Instead of sticking to the forest, he intended to cut directly across the plain. The level ground would be easier to traverse, and the Utes might not perceive the strategy until it was too late.
Yelling erupted to their rear.
Nate led the Crows rapidly through the trees to the grassland and galloped from cover without a second thought. He slanted toward the distant stand of cottonwoods and glanced to the right.
A raucous commotion was taking place in the Ute encampment. Evidently one of the warriors had tried to give chase on a horse and discovered the animals were tied together. Some of the band were staring into the forest and talking excitedly. Not one was paying attention to the plain.
Yet.
Nate kept the stallion next to the mare. He was uncomfortable having only one gun still loaded, and wished to reach the stand quickly so he could attend to the Hawken and the expended pistol. After that, his next priority would be to locate a safe hiding place where they could stay until morning.
Evening Star glanced at him and grinned. She said a single word in Crow.
Although Nate didn’t know the term, he intuitively knew she’d thanked him for saving the two of them. He concentrated on the ground ahead, alert for pale dirt mounds that betokened the presence of animals’ burrows. Many a horse had stumbled in an unseen badger or prairie dog hole and broken its leg, and for such an accident to occur at that moment would have the direst of consequences.
They made good time, and in due course the stand loomed out of the murky night, appearing as a single, gigantic black mass.
Nate slowed and entered the trees, proceeding until he came to a small clearing, where he climbed down.
The Crows were right on his tail. Evening Star reined up, then performed sign language, moving her hands slowly so he could read them without difficulty. “I
thank you for saving us from a life of misery.”
Nate stepped up to the mare. “We are not safe yet.”
“Why do we stop now?”
“I must reload.”
Evening Star gazed around at the cottonwoods. “Where is my husband? He should be with you.”
“Sitting Bear was wounded by other Utes. He would have come if he could.”
“Where is he now?”
“At your lodge. He begged me to leave him and try to save you.”
About to motion in response, Evening Star stiffened and cocked her head.
At the same moment Nate heard the sounds too.
The unmistakable drumming of hooves drawing swiftly nearer.
Chapter Fourteen
There was no time to reload. Nate remounted and led the way to the east. He couldn’t imagine how the Utes had found them so quickly, but he did know the band would expect him to take a northwesterly direction, the shortest route back. If he swung eastward for a few miles, he would elude them. Hopefully.
The approaching horses drew abreast of the stand, then went past.
Nate could see the Utes, four in all, riding hard toward the gap between the two hills. He realized the war party had no idea where to find them. The quartet were probably going to guard the gap as a preventative measure, nothing more. Stopping, he waited until the Indians were out of sight, then dropped to the ground and loaded first the Hawken, then the pistol.
Distant yells came from the encampment.
Once back in the saddle, Nate continued to the east. He was briefly worried when they emerged from the sanctuary of the trees onto the open plain, where they could easily be spotted, but their ride to the base of a wide mountain was uneventful. He turned to the north, hoping to locate a different gap or pass. In half a mile they found a gorge that cut sharply to the right, and acting on a hunch he entered it.
The walls of the gorge were forty feet apart, sheer precipices rearing on high. A few dwarf trees were scattered along the gravel bottom and large boulders were everywhere.
Wilderness: Savage Rendezvous/Blood Fury (A Wilderness Western Book 2) Page 24