But later in the day her hopes were dashed; dark clouds gathered on the horizon and a sudden thun-dershower pelted them. Cheyenne hunched in her saddle until it stopped raining and the clouds dissipated.
By late afternoon the wind whipped up, racing down the hills, spreading its icy fingers against her cheeks.
Now that they were traveling in a higher elevation, the leaves had turned colors, and it was growing colder.
Since they were traveling through clay hills, they often had to dismount and scrape mud off the horses’ hooves before they could continue.
Cheyenne dismounted on Wolf Runner’s command and went to her knees before Satanta, and patted his rough coat. “It is hard to think of him as a danger to anyone.” The animal was affectionate, and she was growing attached to him. She glanced up at Wolf Runner, who was watching the way Satanta curled up beside her. She laughed. “He is more gentle than the dogs on the streets of Santa Fe.”
Wolf Runner smiled with irony. “That is because you have charmed him. Believe me when I tell you, Satanta can be dangerous if he feels threatened, or if he thinks I am threatened.”
When she smiled up at him, Wolf Runner caught his breath. Her eyes seemed to have picked up the gold of the sun, and her skin was glowing with health and vitality. He was suddenly caught by her beauty, and wondered why he had not felt the full effect of her charms until now. He had never seen her laugh, and it transformed her whole demeanor.
“I’m not afraid of him.” Cheyenne’s smile turned to laughter. “Although I will admit I was at first.”
Wolf Runner knew he had deliberately pushed her hard in the beginning in an attempt to find her breaking point, but she had not broken. He admired that about her.
“How did you get Satanta?” she asked, rubbing the wolf’s ear.
“He is one of a pack that belongs to my family. Satanta is the alpha male.”
She stood, her eyes wide with surprise. “You have a pack of wolves?”
“It would be more correct to say they belong to my mother. All of them are descendants from a she-wolf my father gave her before I was born—in fact, before they were husband and wife.”
“You are fortunate to have such animals. This one is devoted to you.”
“He was devoted to me before you came along.” Wolf Runner ruffled Satanta’s fur. “I believe he has deserted me for you.”
Laughter bubbled out of her mouth. “I don’t think that could happen. He tolerates me because you do.” She met his gaze. “You do tolerate me, don’t you?”
“It seems the fates have thrown us together, Miss Gatlin,” Wolf Runner answered evasively, reverting to her formal title. “And that same fate will part us when you are safe with your family.”
Cheyenne turned her back to him, suddenly struck with a pain she could not understand. For now, Wolf Runner was the only person she had in her life who was familiar to her. The thought of being parted from him was almost unbearable. He was the rock she depended on, and at the same time, her tormentor.
“How much farther until we make camp?” she asked, forcing her mind in a different direction.
Glancing skyward, he judged the time. “We have another two hours of daylight left. Tomorrow we come to the most dangerous part of our journey. We will walk most of the day.”
Although she was no longer sore from riding, walking sounded like a good change to her.
“Are you a good walker, Miss Gatlin?” he asked, uncapping his canteen and handing it to her.
There had been a bite to his tone and she resented his testing her at every turn. Certainly the softness she had felt for him moments ago had all but disappeared. “Gram said I learned to walk before I was nine months old.” She raised her gaze to his. “I have been walking ever since.”
Wolf Runner threw back his head and laughed. The way she could suddenly disarm him took him by surprise.
That night they found a narrow cave halfway up a cliff. Outside the wind howled and pitched, and rain drove into the front of the cave. But for the first time since leaving Colorado, they were safe from the elements, if only for this one night.
By now Cheyenne was becoming adept at lighting the campfire and she had a fire going when Wolf Runner entered with a rabbit he had already skinned and gutted. He handed it to her and she slipped it onto a spit, her mouth already watering for the taste of fresh roasted meat.
Dusting her hands, she stood. “Am I not becoming a Cheyenne maiden?” she asked, smiling.
He could not look away. She drew him to her in a way that he could not explain, and he did not like it. She was almost childlike now as she waited for him to compliment her on her accomplishments. But something inside him kept him from praising her. “You still have much to learn. Living in the white world for so long robbed you of the instincts any Indian maiden is born with.”
Cheyenne ducked her head, feeling the sting of his words. “It is true, I do have much to learn.”
“Give it time.”
“What will it be like in the Cheyenne village?”
“Since the Cheyenne escaped from the reservation in Indian Territory some years back, they live much as they always have.”
“They escaped the reservation?”
“They did. And they stubbornly hung on to what was theirs. In the end, they were allowed to stay on their land in Montana, even though they are under government supervision.”
“That’s admirable.”
“You may well think so. But their life is hard, and their women and children are often malnourished when game is scarce. They are a proud people and decided not to live under the white man’s yoke, but they are often without hope.”
Cheyenne’s eyes widened with horror. “Do you think my grandfather lives without hope?”
“I cannot speak about him personally.” Wolf Runner had been thinking he needed to explain some things to her, and now was a good time. “Have you considered your grandfather might not be alive?”
Cheyenne nodded. “I have considered that. If he is dead, surely my mother’s people will welcome me to live with them.”
Wolf Runner thought of how her beauty would stir the heart of many young warriors, and she would be unprotected and innocent of their ways. He did not like the thought of her becoming the woman of one of the Cheyenne warriors. He bedded down near the entrance and watched her place her bedroll in the back of the cave. It was good that she was some distance from him tonight because she was beginning to trouble his mind.
Cheyenne had a lot to think about. The campfire had died down and turned to glowing embers before she finally slept.
Chapter Eighteen
For most of the morning they rode over steep hills, and the horses had to go slow as they picked their way through the razor-sharp rocks.
By midafternoon they left the hills behind and began their ascent into the high country. As they climbed, the horses slowed, and Wolf Runner instructed Cheyenne to dismount. They walked the horses across a narrow ledge where if they strayed but an inch either way they would tumble into a deep precipice.
Breathing with relief, she was glad when they left the steep cliffs behind, but that was before they came upon volcanic hills.
As they walked along, Cheyenne could feel every pebble and stone through the thin soles of her boots, which were falling apart. When one of her laces broke, she found it doubly hard to walk, but she dared not ask Wolf Runner to stop so she could mend her lace.
Cheyenne chided herself for not purchasing another pair of boots. She had been totally unprepared for this journey and could not have guessed the hardships they would endure, even though Wolf Runner had warned her what to expect.
However, he seemed to take the hardships all in stride, and she was sure he expected her to as well. Weariness tore at Cheyenne’s muscles. When she stumbled, she barely managed to keep her feet.
Glancing over at Wolf Runner, she would not have known him for the same man she’d met in Santa Fe. Gone was the veneer of civilization he had adopt
ed in town. He seemed as one with this harsh, rugged land. His dark hair flowed loosely about his shoulders. He walked with the grace of a predatory cat and Cheyenne could see by the tilt of his chin that it was his pride that gave him an edge of arrogance.
When they remounted their horses, a feeling of kinship swelled Cheyenne’s heart. Something inside reached that part of her that was Indian—her spirit cried out to Wolf Runner’s, but his did not answer.
He glanced back at her and nodded indifferently. “Keep up. You are lagging behind.”
She kicked her horse in the flanks and the spirited animal leaped forward.
When she rode even with Wolf Runner, he turned to her abruptly. “Let us hurry so we can be out of this canyon before dark. There is nowhere to camp among the lava rocks.”
Wolf Runner saw how pale she was, and said with concern, “I know you are tired, but we cannot stop to rest here. It is raining in the mountains and this valley will become a rushing torrent of water in a few hours.”
“I can manage,” she assured him, hoping she could.
Cheyenne thought they would never reach the end of the valley, but at last the land sloped upward again. As they climbed higher, Cheyenne could see wide stretches of prairie far into the distance.
“Are you now able to tell me how far it is to the place my grandfather lives?” she asked, wishing the long trek were over.
He regarded her pensively. “It will take as long as it takes.”
Satanta came bounding out of the bushes and trotted alongside Cheyenne, staying even with her horse.
“Traitor,” Wolf Runner said, smiling.
Cheyenne gave Wolf Runner a mischievous grin. “He goes to the one who feeds him the most often.” She tried not to laugh at the condemning expression on Wolf Runner’s face, but the laugh came out in a choking sound. “I have been sneaking him food.”
“It is not food that buys his loyalty—give him the sight of a beautiful face and he forgets all about loyalty.”
Cheyenne looked at Wolf Runner quickly. Did that mean he thought she was beautiful?
Reaching behind him, Wolf Runner pulled his rifle out of the saddle holster and pointed it toward a misshaped pine tree that clung to the rock face of the mountainside. “Rest there for a while,” he said, dismounting. “I am going to hunt game. I fancy fresh meat tonight instead of the salted pork.”
Nodding, Cheyenne dismounted, so weary she could hardly make her legs move. When Wolf Runner and Satanta were out of sight, she sagged down on a flat boulder, and groaned in pain when her backside came in contact with the hard stone.
She glanced hopelessly at her boots, which were beyond help, with holes in the soles and a broken lace. Setting her jaw stubbornly, she retied the short lace in a double knot.
The sun had dropped behind the mountain and a cold wind now whipped down the gulley. Sliding down, Cheyenne huddled against the cliff, closing her eyes, almost drifting off to sleep.
Her eyes flew open when she heard a horse’s whinny from the bend in the trail behind her. Her newly budding instincts took over. Whoever it was wore heavy boots, so it was not an Indian. She had no time to hide before two men came into sight.
But it was too late—they were already upon her before she could react.
One was an older man, perhaps in his early fifties, with a shaggy beard and whiskers. He wore a battered hat and buckskin trousers. The second man was probably ten years younger—he was thin and his beard was scraggly. They both wore heavy buffalo coats, and she could see little of their faces in the gathering dusk.
“Well, lookee what we’ve got here,” the older man said, leading his horse forward. “A pretty little gal.”
The younger man grinned, showing brown-stained teeth. “What do you think we should do with her?”
Cheyenne knew she was in danger. Before she could get near enough to her saddlebag to get her gun, the younger man had grabbed her arm in a tight grip and brought her closer to him.
“What’cha doing out here alone?” he wanted to know. “Where’s your man got off to?”
“I’m not alone and he’ll be back soon,” she warned. “You had better leave before he returns. He doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”
“Well, now don’t you speak right good white man for an Injin? What do you think, Ezra?” the younger man asked. “Should we be scared of her man?”
“Willie, it’s best if we don’t wait ’round to find out. Tie her hands,” his companion ordered. “We’ll take her and the horses and her man won’t be a’catching up with us on foot.”
Cheyenne struggled, trying to free herself, but the man called Willie was too strong for her. She cried out when he tied her hands behind her with buckskin strips.
Willie gave her a shove and prodded her forward with his rifle. “Let’s get out’a here. I don’t cotton to taking on an Indian buck.” He gathered the reins of the horses and the packhorse.
“Let me go,” Cheyenne pleaded. “If you don’t, Wolf Runner will hunt you down!”
“Keep quiet,” Ezra ordered. “And get a’goin’.”
Willie looked over his shoulder worriedly. “She might be right.”
“Let’s ride,” Ezra said, mounting his horse and looking nervously over his shoulder.
Before Wolf Runner approached the place where he had left Cheyenne he sensed something was wrong.
It was too quiet.
When he emerged from the thicket Cheyenne was nowhere to be seen, and neither were the horses. Bending, he examined the hard-packed ground. There were tracks of two shod horses and two men wearing boots.
The trees were too dense and the trail curved so he could not see anything up ahead. He was desperate, his heart beating in fear for Cheyenne. Climbing higher up the hill so he could see farther into the distance, his heart stopped when he located Cheyenne being taken away by two white men.
His lip curled in disgust.
Trappers. In their own way they were as bad as the buffalo hunters who had senselessly depleted the herds—trappers were after furs and cared nothing about the meat that sustained his people.
Feeling helpless when he watched Cheyenne struggling with one of the men, he could sense her fear like a knife in his heart. Her hands were tied behind her and she had no chance of escaping.
Sliding back down the hill, Wolf Runner knew he had to catch up with them, but they had horses, and he did not.
Satanta sensed something was wrong and circled Wolf Runner, his yellow eyes staring into Wolf Runner’s as if he was waiting for a command to spring into action.
Those men would easily outdistance Wolf Runner if they were in open country, but their progress would be slowed because of the mountains. He must reach them before they came upon the open prairie or he would never catch them. Desperation gripped him, and he shuddered to think of Cheyenne being in the hands of those men. Clasping his rifle, he started off at a run, Satanta at his side.
They had not gone far when Ezra’s horse stumbled on the steep incline and developed a limp, slowing them down considerably. With a string of loud curses, he removed his saddle and placed it on Wolf Runner’s horse. Since the animal had never felt a saddle on his back, he immediately reared and kicked, drawing more curses from Ezra.
“What’s wrong with this damned critter?” Ezra shouted.
Willie scratched his beard. “You’re forgetting he belonged to an Injin. I’d say he’s never been saddle broke. If you want to ride him, it’ll have to be bareback.”
“I ain’t never rode without no saddle. It ain’t civilized.”
“Well,” Willie speculated, “if’n you’re planning on riding that horse, you’d better learn right quick. Leave your saddle behind.”
“Are you crazy? I ain’t doing no such thing. That saddle cost me fifteen dollars.”
“It ain’t gonna do you no good. Both these Indian horses are better than these two of ours.” Willie’s gaze swept the steep incline they had just left, and he felt unease stir within him. “Y
ou’d better make up your mind quicklike. I don’t want to give her man a chance to catch up to us.”
Ezra mumbled as he tossed the saddle to the side of the trail and climbed onto Wolf Runner’s horse, abandoning his own mount. “I’m gonna be sorry I done that,” he gritted out, moving the horse on down the trail.
Cheyenne was having troubles of her own. Since her hands were tied behind her, she couldn’t grip the reins and kept sliding sideways when her horse took a step. It was only the strength in her legs that allowed her to stay in the saddle.
“Like I said, it ain’t civilized.”
“Quit your damned griping. We gotta get out of these mountains.” Willie glanced over at Cheyenne and took the reins of her horse, leading it forward. “Just think what we get to do to this little Injin gal when we camp tonight.”
The trapper’s words struck fear in Cheyenne. There was not a chance Wolf Runner would catch up with them on foot. If she were going to escape, she would have to watch for an opportunity.
Ezra was having a difficult time controlling Wolf Runner’s spirited horse, and that could work to her advantage since his attention was centered on managing the animal.
It was only a short time later when Cheyenne finally got her chance. At a wide curve in the trail, she jabbed her heels into her horse’s flanks and the animal tore the reins out of Willie’s hand and shot forward down the narrow path. She figured it would be hard for them to overtake her since there was a sheer drop-off on one side of the trail and the rock face of a cliff on the other.
Cheyenne had not gone far when she realized her mistake—with her hands tied behind her, she couldn’t control her horse, and she was having a difficult time remaining in the saddle. She stiffened her resolve, knowing what would happen to her if she did not escape. Her leg muscles ached from the pressure she was applying to her horse’s flanks, but somehow she held on. Her horse was galloping now, and she slipped sideways. There was no way to catch herself when she pitched forward and fell to the ground.
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