Satisfied that he had acquitted himself admirably, Hawk rode back a few yards and paused. He saw several drivers bolt from the wagons and begin to run. By this time, the other warriors had formed a ragged circle around the wagons, leaving gaps in the ranks. The men burst through one of the gaps and scattered over the prairie. He saw at once that they were headed for the shelter of the timber around the flat-topped mountain.
Several warriors gave chase, and two of the drivers were shot down. One man was hit in the foot, but ignored it as he continued running.
While he watched, Hawk saw the five men make it to the safety of the trees and brush. The warriors gave up and returned to the wagon train. There could be more men inside the wagons, waiting with loaded guns to shoot the first man to approach, and the attackers milled just out of range.
Hawk hung back. He didn’t care about the rest of the booty. He had come to make a point, and he’d done so. Even Little Wolf would have to silence his accusations. For a man to ride into a volley of bullets and count coup was considered more courageous than hand-to-hand combat.
His horse pranced nervously beneath him. Gunfire slowed, then stopped completely. The sky had grown even darker. Hawk wheeled his mount back across the prairie, when he heard a final shot. Someone screamed, and he looked back to see one of the young Kiowa warriors pitch to the ground. A surviving man in one of the wagons had shot him in the face when he’d recklessly raced to the wagon to count coup.
After a moment of brief, stunned silence, the other warriors began whooping furiously. They dragged out the hapless driver and chained him face down on one of the wagon tongues, then roasted him over a slow fire.
His screams rose to a high-pitched squeal, then finally faded into silence.
Hawk watched silently. Some of the wagons were burning. The clouds had grown dark and ominous overhead, and the warriors began gathering their prizes from the wagons and scattering the rest over the prairie. To Hawk, the two claims he had made were worthless, but he knew the others would think it strange if he did not claim them.
He rode forward slowly, not looking at the dead driver still smoldering over the fire. The contents of the wagon were sparse, as the wagon train had been hauling corn. He took two rifles, some ammunition, and a pouch of tobacco from under the wagon seat, then leaped to the wagon bed. He caught a glimpse of something bright, and bent down to find a cloth sack filled with hard candy. Remembering his promise to Sunflower, he took it.
They rode away from the burning wagons, herding over forty mules ahead of them and carrying six scalps. As part of the rear guard, Hawk turned to look back at the wreckage of the raid.
A burst of rain fell from the black clouds overhead in a blinding sweep, rushing across the plains in dense sheets. Hawk blinked rain from his lashes, peering at the sputtering fires behind them. The rain would wash away any trail they might leave behind them. The raid had been successful.
Hawk turned his back and nudged his pony into a trot as the rain beat down on him. He would be glad to get back to his own tipi. And, he would be glad to see the woman who visited his dreams every night, her fiery hair framing a pale face.
Even the cold rain could not quench the fire she’d begun in him.
Chapter 10
Hawk stared down at his sister’s face. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she looked drawn. She could not meet his gaze, and his eyes narrowed.
“When did this happen?”
Sunflower hesitated, then said so softly he had to lean close to hear,
“Three suns ago.”
Stunned, Hawk tried to stem his rising fury. His hands balled into fists, and it was then he recalled the bag of candy he’d carried into his lodge. It hung heavy in his hand. Opening his fingers, he dropped it to the floor, then pivoted on his heel and ducked out the open flap.
Sunlight struck him sharply, and he squinted against it. Deborah and Judith had stolen two horses and left in the night, and no one seemed to have heard them. He didn’t believe it for a moment. Someone had to have heard them, yet had done nothing to stop them. They would have been glad to see the white woman go, especially after Spirit Talker’s warning.
Someone called out to him as he strode angrily across the camp, and Hawk paused. It was Yellow Bear, his young cousin.
“Your woman has gone,” he said when he caught up. Hawk nodded tersely. “I will go with you to get her.”
“Kee. She may have been taken by the Indé. It will be a long ride to find her.” “I tried to follow their trail. It should have been easy after the rain, but a buffalo herd had gone over their tracks.” Hawk’s head lifted. So many things could have happened to her. A buffalo stampede was always dangerous, and if the Apache hadn’t gotten her, then another band may have. Or the Comanchero. He felt a strong aversion to the men who traded with white and Comanche, and didn’t trust them.
“Two women should not be hard to find,” Yellow Bear said quietly, and Hawk looked down at him.
“Haa, but these two women know nothing about where to go. They could be anywhere.”
“And we will find them.” A faint smile curled Hawk’s mouth, and he nodded. “It will not be easy.”
“But you will not give up.”
“Kee, I will not stop until she is back in my lodge. And I will make her sorry she dared so much.”
“If she is still alive.” Hawk couldn’t help the twist in his gut and hoped it did not show. “And if she has not made it to a fort.” His father was more to the point.
“If she alerts the blue coats, our entire village is in danger.” Hawk looked up from his gear. He had cleaned it, and was readying it to follow Deborah. “Do you think she will do so?”
“Perhaps not willingly.” White Eagle sucked on his pipe and regarded his son gravely. “It seems that Spirit Talker’s prophecy may come true.”
“I wouldn’t put it past the old buzzard to have helped her escape just to make sure of that,” Hawk said with a grunt.
“There are ways of helping without acting,” White Eagle said after a moment of silence.
Hawk knew what he meant. Just turning one’s head and not seeing was as effective as putting Deborah on a horse.
“My cousin rides with me.” Hawk said. “And there are ten others who have said they wish to go.”
“If she has been taken by the Indé, there will be a chance for glory.” White Eagle shifted slightly on the balls of his feet and looked directly into his son’s eyes. “If she has been taken by blue coats, there will be a chance for death.”
“She must be found before that happens. The risk is great, and no man wishes to see our camp destroyed.” Hawk looked away from his father’s eyes.
He knew what lay beneath the words, the unspoken warning. When and if the soldiers found out that Deborah had been taken by Comanche to this camp, they would come to find them. Their village would no longer be safe. They would have to move to protect the women and children, and leave this spot that offered plenty of forage for the horses and water and game for the people. Spirit Talker was right. He had brought trouble on the camp with his hunger for the white woman.
The wind sang through the trees. The sun was warm and bright. Hawk felt the weight of his decision lean heavily on him and knew that he would have to leave his father’s camp. It was inevitable. He could not risk them all for his own desires. Sadly, he waited for his father to speak. He could see the words he wanted to say, see that events rested heavily on White Eagle.
“Long ago, as you know,” White Eagle began softly, “I had the same need for a woman that you feel now. She was your mother. I thought well of her and let my heart lead me to risk my people. You are doing the same.
Think on it long and hard, my son. What a man does when he follows his heart can have consequences that effect many people.”
“I’m not following my heart,” Hawk said roughly. “The woman is mine.
And she has dared escape. It is my shame that she has done so. I will bring her back t
o my lodge, and she will not leave me again.” White Eagle looked at him without speaking. Then he nodded. “It is as you say. Perhaps I speak only of what happened to me. My heart lay on the ground for many moons after your mother returned to her people. I did not feel that the Great Spirit smiled upon me again until you came into my camp as a young man. Then I knew that there was a reason for all that had happened. You are that reason, my son. You have learned to walk in both worlds, but have not yet found your way. Perhaps when you do, our people will also find the way to remain free.” Both men looked at one another, awareness shadowing their eyes.
Neither had any illusions about the future of the Comanche people, and the truth was hard to bear.
A shrill yip punctuated the hot wind, carrying to where Deborah and Judith rested their horses. They looked up, then exchanged worried glances.
“A coyote,” Deborah said after a tense moment passed. “It was only a coyote.”
“I hope so.” Judith pushed a damp strand of limp blond hair off her forehead. “We’ve had enough problems without being attacked by wolves.
Or worse.”
She didn’t have to elaborate. The fear of being found by hostiles was a constant nudge in the backs of both their minds. It had been three days, and Deborah worried that they were lost. She’d done her best to guide them by the landmark of the sun, keeping its position fixed firmly in her mind.
They seemed no closer to civilization than they had three days before, though they should have been. It had taken the Comanche raiders only three days to take them from the Velazquez hacienda, so by now, they should have stumbled across at least a remote homestead.
“Are you certain we’re not going in circles?” Judith asked after a moment. She dipped her feet into the shallow water of a stream, wincing at the sting of cuts and bruises. “I could have sworn I’ve seen that hill before.” Deborah gazed glumly at the flat-topped hill thrusting up from a flat expanse. “Me, too. Lord help us, Judith, I’m not certain of anything. Our food is almost gone, and we’ve not seen anything resembling civilization, and now I’m beginning to wonder if we will. We could be headed in the opposite direction. For all I know, Hawk’s village is just over the next hill.”
“Wonderful.” Judith lifted her dripping feet from the stream and began to shove them back into her tattered shoes. “That should be a heartwarming homecoming. I can just see his delight when you show up again.”
“Somehow, I don’t think delight is the proper word.” A spasm of apprehension shot through Deborah. What if he did find them? From the little she’d gleaned while in their camp, she realized that Comanche men did not gladly suffer a woman’s rebellion. Sharp words were exchanged, usually ending with the woman’s surrender. Resistance, from what she’d observed, was tendered in other, more subtle forms. Flagrant defiance would be dealt with harshly. It was a male-dominated society, largely dependent upon the man’s ability to hunt and bring home food. And make war.
Deborah’s throat tightened. “Time to ride,” she said to banish the frightening thoughts. “We won’t get anywhere by sitting here.”
“We’re not getting anywhere anyway,” Judith said in a weary voice, but she rose to her feet. “If I eat one more dried prairie turnip, I think I’ll heave it back up.”
“It’s better than nothing.”
“Admitted.” Judith smiled suddenly, some of her old spirit flaring. “But not by much. I had to dig so many of those things while slaving for that vicious hag, I can find them blindfolded. If we run out of them, just give me a few minutes to dig some more.” Deborah laughed, her spirits lifted by her cousin’s wry humor. “Let’s hope that we find rescue soon. I would prefer eating something more familiar.”
“Or seeing something familiar.” Judith caught her horse by its trailing rope, and led it to a flat rock to mount.
They moved slowly away from the stream, then urged their mounts into a brisk lope. It was quiet. Wind rustled the tall grasses, and an occasional bird called out. There was only the sound of hooves striking the ground, and the swish of their passage through the grass.
Deborah found it more difficult than she’d considered to stay on her horse’s broad back without a saddle. Her thighs were raw from rubbing against the bare hide, and her cotton skirt, up around her knees, gave no protection. Judith was in the same shape. The first day had been the worst. By now, she had grown more accustomed to the motion and constant rubbing.
A cry drifted from overhead, and shading her eyes with one hand, Deborah looked up. A hawk wheeled in the sky in lazy circles, regal and dangerous. It was hunting. It drifted on the wind currents for a moment, then with another cry, it swooped earthward like an arrow. There was a thin squeak as some prey met its doom, then nothing. Deborah shivered.
Hawk. Like the bird, he was as predatory, and as determined. And when he found her gone, he would come after her. She knew it. And she knew that he would be furious if he found her. She had to make it to safety, or she would be like that poor doomed creature.
Another yip, shrill and sharp, sounded. It cut through the air like a knife, and Deborah’s head snapped around. It was close. Much too close. Her heart began to pound hard and furiously.
“Deborah,” Judith began in a trembling voice, but could not finish.
The yip altered to a whoop, and both women turned to see what they’d feared for three days—horsemen. They were riding hard, coming over a far hill at a dead run. Long black hair streamed behind them, and at the front of the line of riders, a familiar figure rode a gray stallion.
“Hawk.” Her voice came out hoarse and soft, and Deborah was suddenly seized with panic. She dug her heels into her horse’s sides, sending it bounding forward.
The wind whipped her hair loose from the confining braids, lashing it across her face in stinging ribbons. Deborah bent low over her horse’s head, urging it on with a desperation borne of terror. Hawk. The one, terrifying word reverberated in her head over and over.
Belly-high grass slashed at her bare legs as her mount ran, and stands of post oak and the taller fringe of spruce and cedar soon obscured the line of their pursuers from their vision. Deborah heard Judith beside her, her horse blowing loudly as it tried to keep up.
There was hope, if they’d managed to leave the men behind this quickly, Deborah thought frantically. She turned to glance at Judith, and saw her cousin’s frightened face.
“We can make it!” she shouted. “Don’t stop!” For Deborah, the world had narrowed to frantic flight and the thunder of hooves. Wind snagged her clothes, and she could feel the damp heat of the horse between her thighs. A distant sound, like a waterfall, penetrated her terror, and she realized it was the thunder of pursuit. Hawk would have no intention of giving up now, not when he had them in his sight.
The knowledge spurred her to greater effort, and praying she would stay on, she tangled her fingers in the horse’s mane and bent low over its neck, as she had seen men do in a race. It seemed to work. The animal’s long legs stretched out even farther, and she fairly flew over the uneven ground as if on wings.
As they topped a rise and started down the other side, Deborah glanced at Judith again. She was gamely trying to stay astride her laboring mount. The horse was as lathered as her own, winded and blowing.
Just ahead, the ground dipped to a shallow hollow, then rose again, steeply this time, the ridge high over their heads. Deborah doubted whether they could stay on their horses without saddles, not at that steep angle, but there was no other choice.
“Try it,” she urged her cousin over her shoulder, and pressed her mount up the slope. The mare stumbled, regained its balance before Deborah pitched from its back, and managed to gain the top of the ridge. She allowed it to pause a moment, trembling and snorting, and glanced back at Judith.
Her blood froze. Incredibly, the Comanche had gained enough distance so that they were almost upon them. It would be only a matter of moments.
Wild whoops and yells rode the air, and Judith’s mount
struggled up the slope at a slow pace. Deborah’s brief glance of their pursuers was imprinted on her mind as she wavered indecisively.
Hawk, his broad muscular frame that seemed a part of the animal he rode, was at the front. She shivered in spite of the hot sun beating down.
Wheeling her horse around in panic, Deborah fought it for a moment before it began the descent. Rocks skittered from beneath the hooves, bouncing. Judith was not far behind her now, and as she forced her horse forward, Deborah caught a glimpse of movement at the bottom of the hill.
There was a flash of blue and yellow, a runnel of sunlight reflected from a rifle barrel. Her heart skipped a beat, then accelerated rapidly as the flash of blue reappeared from behind a stunted grove of mesquite. Cavalry.
“Judith, hurry!” she screamed, pushing at the hair in her eyes and urging her mount to greater speed. “Hallooo!” she called out desperately when it seemed as if the soldiers did not see her. Oh, why couldn’t they see or hear her? She shouted again, and this time the soldiers looked up and saw her.
They seemed startled, then switched direction and started up the steep slope.
Deborah’s heart lurched. There were only three or four of them, not enough to fight the Comanche riding hard in their direction. Neither group of men had seen the other yet, and the two women were caught in between.
Judith’s mount struggled down the slope, and Deborah saw that it was almost completely blown. She exchanged a quick, agonized glance with her cousin.
“Go on,” Judith urged. “You can make it.”
“Not without you.” Deborah knew that two women on one horse would be as slow as pushing a winded mount. “Here. Take my horse.” She threw a leg over to dismount, but Judith shook her head.
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