Untamed

by Sharon Ihle

  Long Belly's head snapped up as if he'd been slapped—something Daniel sorely wanted to do. "I do not know what you speak of."

  "Yes, you do." Daniel hobbled a step closer to him. "You think I don't know that Josie somehow put that lump on your bead? What did you do to make her so mad?"

  The big Cheyenne simply stood there, his outline a fading photograph in the swirling snow, "I did not beat Broken Dishes, nor shall I."

  Of that, Daniel had no doubt, Feeling both hot and cold, a madman in a suit of ice, he shouted, "How about this, you red-skinned son of a bitch? Did you try to sample her, maybe show her the proper way for a woman to bed a Cheyenne warrior?"

  Long Belly's mouth dropped open. "Why do you think this of me, brother?"

  "Because you know that Josie's the Deadwood Stage—any man can ride her." Out of control, Daniel raged on. "Maybe you ought to know something else about her before you go dipping where you're not wanted again—that gal has the clap. How'd you like to take that back to your friends on the reservation?"

  "The clap?" Long Belly puzzled over this a moment.

  "Disease," Daniel said, all too happy to clarify the situation for him. "You go poking around in that one and you'll get a disease guaranteed to rot your pecker right off your body. Now how much do you want her?"

  Long Belly shuddered. "My Brother, I do not want your woman now, and I did not—"

  "What you did," Daniel said, interrupting, "was bring those two here in the first place. It was the worst, the stupidest thing you've ever done, you hear? You owe me for this—and one hell of a lot more than your miserable hide is worth."

  After that damning statement, the rest of the morning went by in an angry blur. Long Belly didn't say another word. Not to the charges Daniel had leveled at him. And not to the women, who fed and fussed over the big Cheyenne as if he were the one with the broken leg. Sick to death with the entire group—himself in particular—Daniel dragged his aching body back to bed after breakfast. To his surprise, he fell asleep almost immediately.

  When he awoke some time later, it was to a much brighter room. And a disturbing quiet. Sitting up in bed and gathering his wits, Daniel glanced out the window to see that the sun was peeking through the clouds, if not quite shining. A brief respite, he wondered, or the end of the early storm? A quick look around confirmed that the cabin was deserted except for him and his useless body. Assuming at first that his housemates had gone out for some air, Daniel climbed out of bed and made his way to the door.

  He paused there, noticing the fresh supply of firewood, then turned to see a new clod of ham on the counter along with a bowl of eggs and a full pail of milk. Provisions that Long Belly usually left behind each time he went on one of his insane buffalo hunts. Daniel checked the corner and saw that the Cheyenne's parfleche was gone, along with Josie's dress, shoes, and satin robe.

  He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, knowing somehow what he would find. He didn't even need to make the trip to the barn to understand that a couple of the horses and the mule were gone. Their tracks stood out in the snow like signposts.

  And each of them pointed the way to Miles City.

  Chapter 8

  The ride up into these hills a few days before had taken place at night with Josie aboard the miserably uncomfortable back of a sure-footed mule. She'd been terrified then, most of her fears centered on the savage and his unknown plans for her, but also because she couldn't see the path ahead or judge its dangers.

  Josie was terrified all over again, and not because of Long Belly, who'd been downright agreeable ever since she'd clobbered him with the milk pail. In fact, everything seemed to have reversed itself. Now that she could actually see where she was going, gazing down on snow-covered valleys and ahead to impossibly high mountaintops, Josie longed for the ignorance of darkness, the cloak that had shielded her from the dangers ahead. These slopes were not only thick with snow, but icy beneath that fluffy white layer, treacherous in spots for even the sure-footed mule.

  Unfortunately, Josie had refused to mount the bony-backed creature that morning. She'd insisted instead on riding the big, beautiful horse that Daniel simply called The Black, sure that her hours spent on the back of the family's plow horse made her an experienced rider. Long Belly had explained that The Black was the young breeding stallion Daniel planned to use in improving the small herd of horses he planned to raise. He also tried to convince her that he was an unsuitable mount for her, but Josie couldn't be dissuaded.

  Now as she clung to the reins and neck of the nervous, high-strung animal, she realized much too late that she was no match for a horse such as this. Duke, with all his high-stepping ways, was simply a candidate for the glue factory compared to the spirited half-ton of horseflesh between her thighs now. Why had she been so damned stubborn?

  At first Josie had no idea what Long Belly was up to this morning when he sent her and Sissy to the barn to tend the horses and brush them down. She enjoyed such activities immensely and didn't think too much about it until the big Cheyenne joined them with all his traveling gear, including hers and Sissy's clothing. She'd wanted to go back to Miles City all right, but this didn't seem right, riding off without so much as a word to Daniel. It hadn't been his idea to kidnap her, and he had tried to make her as comfortable as possible while she was a captive in his home. How could she take off without saying good-bye?

  Josie mentioned her desire to return to the cabin in order to bid Daniel a brief farewell, but Long Belly wouldn't allow it. They would leave with him now while there was a break in the weather, he'd said, or they wouldn't be leaving the reservation at all. With freedom so close at hand, Josie reluctantly agreed to his terms. Sissy, on the other hand, while uncomplaining and acquiescent, was a sullen and unenthusiastic traveling companion. Josie had an idea that she'd rather have wintered in the cabin than back at Lola's.

  On the trail, the winds were still calm, but a light snow had begun to fall. The sun ducked behind a cloud to become only a teasing glimpse of daylight, a distant memory of warmth. Yet Long Belly plodded onward astride his own paint, and began to lead them down the sheer side of another mountain. Sissy rode close behind the savage on a little brown mare.

  Since Josie had foolishly done such a good job of convincing him that she was at home in the saddle, not bothering to mention that she was used to a sidesaddle, she'd been left to bring up the rear.

  That mighty restless stern suddenly decided that he'd gone far enough. At the edge of the steep trail, The Black dug his hooves into the snow and refused to budge. Josie kicked the stallion's sides as hard as she dared, urging him on, but her efforts were wasted.

  "Long Belly," she called, terrified of being left behind. "The Black won't go down the hill,"

  Without stopping or even slowing the paint, the Cheyenne turned on his saddle blanket and shouted, "Whip his rump as hard as you can with the reins, He will move."

  Afraid of the big stallion, Josie feebly slapped the reins against his backside. He jumped in place, dancing side to side, but didn't move forward.

  "Come on, Black," she said, trying to wheedle him into complying. "How can you be such a loving, cuddly thing in your stall and so damned bullheaded on the trail?"

  The stallion snorted, then continued to toss his head and dance in place.

  When Josie glanced up to call out for help again, she saw to her horror that Long Belly had already disappeared into the forest and that Sissy's mount was a mere smudge against the deep green of the trees.

  "Stop," she shouted. "Don't leave me."

  Hearing her cries, Sissy pulled up the little brown mare just before they both disappeared into the forest and snow, then wheeled the animal around and started back up the hill. She'd almost reached the spot where Josie sat stranded on the back of the unruly stallion when the mare's footing suddenly gave way to a treacherous patch of ice. Then everything seemed to happen at once.

  Sissy's mount reared in panic, but her small back hooves were useless again
st the patch of ice. Her legs wrenched out from beneath her, the mare tumbled over backward with her rider still clinging to the saddle.

  Both Sissy and the mare screamed as they fell, their voices and bodies eerily entwined, and then they began a deadly slide down the side of the hill.

  This was way too much excitement for The Black.

  He got moving at last, but now he was in a panic of his own. The stallion uttered an ear-splitting scream, vibrating Josie in the saddle, and then leapt to the right, pawing the frosty air with his front hooves. In almost the same instant, he abruptly spun around on his back legs and took off at a dead run. Through it all, Josie somehow managed to hang onto the saddle horn and the horse's thick mane, although twice she felt her entire body slip sideways, mere inches from The Black's deadly hooves.

  Now it was Josie who screamed, begging the animal to stop, to whoa, to free her from his panicked flight. When that didn't have any effect on the stallion, she heard herself hurling oaths at him, screaming the vilest curses she could think of and then some. The Black ignored her and continued o race on, galloping through a blur of trees that slapped Josie's face and arms, and through drifts of snow that 'kicked up shards of stinging ice.

  Incredulously enough, the horse continued to gain speed, making it all the more impossible to convince him to stop. He wouldn't stop... no matter what she did, he would not stop. Couldn't stop.

  * * *

  Sissy's first sense of awareness came when she tried to roll over and found that she couldn't move. She'd thought herself asleep, dreaming of an endless sea of brilliant white clouds, thinking perhaps that she'd joined her mother and baby daughter there, lounging in all that puffy softness and grooming their angel wings. She wondered if babies butchered from their mother's wombs before they were even half-formed got to go to heaven. Lola, who'd done the abortion and made sure that Sissy would never conceive again, had scoffed at the idea, insisting that all she'd done was scrape out a mass of formless, insignificant tissue.

  Sissy wasn't so sure.

  Her mother had told her about heaven and angels, convincing her they were real in the weeks before syphilis had claimed her in both body and mind. Sissy wanted to go there now, to the place where broken spirits were miraculously healed and everyone was equal. A place where she might reunite with her mother and find her daughter at last.

  Determined to take her place in the untroubled world her mother had promised, Sissy tried to slip back into the dream, to drift forever among the clouds.

  The voice of God suddenly came to her, shouting words she'd have expected to hear from His lips as a golden whisper.

  "Wake up, woman," He demanded of her. "You must wake up now or you will die."

  Wasn't that the point? she thought, and laughed. That tiny movement brought an explosion of pain that ran the length of Sissy's body, centering its cruel claws somewhere in the area of her chest. She moaned, disheartened to think that she might still be alive, and again tried to roll to her side. As before, her body refused to move. No longer in the clouds, she was caught in a bog filled with pins and needles, a mountain of barbed clay that made it next to impossible to breathe. Had she tripped and somehow fallen into hell?

  "You must fight hard, Buffalo Hair," said God, leaning over to kiss her forehead, and Sissy's first thought was to correct Him.

  "I'm... Sissy," she said, surprised to find speaking so difficult. "I'm—"

  "Yes, Sissy, I know. You must rest. Do not talk. Can you open your eyes for me?"

  A simple thing to open one's eyes, but when Sissy tried, her lids seemed stuck, as if held shut by a whole pot of glue. She tried harder, frantically rolling her eyes behind lids that wouldn't obey, until finally they cracked, then hung there at half-mast. God, she noticed right off, was a blur of buffalo fur and cinnamon skin.

  "Focus," He said. "Look at me and focus."

  Sissy blinked her eyes and glanced up at Him again. Although she'd never seen an image of God, she hadn't expected Him to look so much like Long Belly. Or to find a single tear running down his cheek.

  Memories flooded her then, thoughts of the cabin, of Josie and Daniel, of the big Cheyenne who took her to his bed and used her body each night. She was alive. Hurt, but alive. In pain, but comforted by the man who'd dragged her to these hills in the first place. A man, she thought with wonder, who had tears in his eyes.

  Never, as long as Sissy could remember, had anyone, not even her mother, shed a tear on her behalf. As much as the sight touched her, it disturbed her even more, enough to make her want to jump up and run away. If only she could.

  "What happened?" Sissy asked, trying to get her bearings.

  "You fell down the side of the mountain. Your horse fell with you and landed upon your body."

  There was no horse lying across her now. "I can't move. Why can't I move?"

  Long Belly looked away, staring intently at the blanket of snow beside her. "You have been injured," he said at last. "Badly bruised. Do not try to move again. I will make a travois to take you home."

  As he got to his feet, Sissy said, "Did you kiss me a while back?"

  Long Belly lowered his head as if embarrassed, then slowly nodded.

  She remembered then the reason for his grief, the thing that must have prompted both the tears and the first kiss he'd ever given to her—Long Belly actually believed that she'd been touched by the spirit of a buffalo, and that if she died, the spirit would die with her. Sissy had no way of knowing if that were true. The one thing she did know was that she couldn't allow this man to touch her heart.

  Filling her lungs with all the scant air they could hold, she said, "Well, don't do it again, you hear?"

  At the cabin, Daniel and his crutches had been pacing near the door for what seemed like hours. He was half-tempted to go on out to the barn, splinted leg and all, saddle up The Black, and ride after Long Belly and the women he'd kidnapped all over again.

  Not that he wanted to keep Josie here against her will any longer than necessary. And not that he enjoyed having her around. At least, that was what he told himself. And that was what Daniel thought about when he wasn't worrying about the weather and his cattle.

  Daniel's herd was small, around twenty head. Summer had come hot and dry in the spring and never looked back, which meant that feed grass was inferior. Between the poor feed, brush fires that took much of it, and the lack of rain, Daniel's cattle and those of other area ranchers were not in good enough condition to go to market. Opting, as most of his peers did, to hold the entire herd over with hopes of fattening it up next spring, he had laid in a good supply of hay to help the cattle through winter by the time the first snow hit in October. If what he'd seen of November so far was any indication, he hadn't bought near enough hay.

  Daniel stepped outside to get a better idea of the sky and stopped just beyond the porch. Instead of checking the weather right then, he found himself again fighting the urge to continue on to the barn and saddle up The Black. About then, and much to Daniel's astonishment, the stallion trotted into the yard. The horse was saddled and bridled, but riderless.

  Whistling for his prized stud, Daniel snapped his fingers, the signal to come. The Black, winded and weary, hung his head and plodded over to where his master stood. His flanks were heaving, his nostrils blowing, and his body was damp and foamy with exertion. Daniel couldn't make sense of it. Who would have ridden this particular horse to such extremes, and why? Surely not one of the women. Long Belly would never have allowed a female to ride what amounted to a green-broke stallion, and his paint would have had to come up lame before he'd have ridden The Black himself.

  Concerns about the animal nudging his curiosity aside, Daniel left one of his crutches behind and led the stallion to the barn. After drying him off and giving him a good rubdown, he fed and watered the horse, then went to check on the other animals. Only the mule was left behind, but oddly enough, it appeared to be sound. Why, he wondered again, had Long Belly taken The Black on his journey instead?r />
  Daniel got most of his answers within the hour. By then the wind had picked up, not enough to blow the snow from the trees, but enough warning that another blizzard was headed their way. Almost a foot of snow had fallen since morning, and it showed no signs of letting up. Daniel was staring out the window, judging the clouds, when Long Belly rode into his view.

  He was leading the brown mare, and his own paint was dragging a crude travois behind its heels. He seemed to be alone.

  Dreading the news, Daniel made his way outside and down the porch. "What the hell happened?"

  "Buffalo Hair has been injured in a great fall." Long Belly climbed off the paint and went to work on the bundle lying on the travois. "I must get her inside. Can you tend to the horses?"

  Daniel hobbled across the yard, reaching Long Belly as he gripped the poles of the litter between his hands and began dragging it toward the cabin. He glanced at Sissy to see that her eyes were closed. She was either unconscious or asleep.

  "Where's Josie?" Daniel wanted to know. "Didn't you take her with you?"

  Long Belly avoided his gaze and continued on his way to the house. "She rode The Black. He spooked and ran off with her."

  Daniel reached out and snagged the Cheyenne's arm. "You put a woman on that crazy stallion?"

  "She insisted that it be so."

  "Insisted? You would never have allowed her or anyone else to ride your own damned horse. How could you let her take mine?"

  He hung his head. "It seemed the quickest way to get her out of the barn. Do not worry," he said, although he sounded deeply concerned. "I am sure that your great horse will find his way back with her soon."

  Daniel gritted his teeth and squeezed Long Belly's arm so tightly that he yelped. "The Black came back to the ranch over an hour ago. Josie wasn't on him."

  Long Belly's skin paled in horror. "How can this be? I saw no signs of her on the trail."

  "She's got to be out there somewhere."