After they had skinned the first carcass, Lame Horse tossed a long knife at Callie’s feet, and stood watching her reaction closely, wary of her thoughts with a weapon in hand. He said nothing but motioned toward the skinned deer and waited for her response. She picked up the knife and immediately went to the carcass, where she began to carve chunks of meat from the haunch. She had never butchered any animal before, but she had sometimes watched her father when he had, and she was eager to show her usefulness in case they were deciding whether or not to kill her.
Lame Horse and Two Bears exchanged glances of astonishment before Lame Horse lapsed into a fit of anger again. “No!” he roared and pulled her away from the carcass when it was apparent that she did not know how to butcher properly. “You ruin the meat! You waste too much!” He picked up the pieces she had cut away from the haunch and thrust them in her lap. “Go roast this to eat tonight,” he said. “We will do this.”
Pausing to witness the incident, Gray Wolf and Two Bears grinned at each other, amused by their friend’s continued troubles with his captive. Seeing their impish smiles, he snarled, “Stupid white woman, she knows nothing.”
Unfortunately for Callie, her treatment at the hands of the Salish hunters was little better than that she had experienced while a captive of Starbeau, with one exception—for which she was grateful. Although she was occasionally beaten with Lame Horse’s bow whenever she displeased him, she was not sexually assaulted. It was ironic that she had Starbeau to thank for that. Lame Horse had been so repulsed by the injuries she had suffered that left her so scarred and bloody, he lost his lust for her.
There were no thoughts of hope for her survival, however, as she trudged along ancient game trails behind the Indians’ horses, her wrists rubbed bloody by the rawhide rope that bound her. There were times during the long walk when she felt she could go no farther. And only the promise from Lame Horse that he would kill her if she could not continue caused her to stagger along behind him. The end of each day found her reeling from exhaustion, her feet swollen and bleeding, but still she was ordered to find wood, make the fire, and cook their meat.
Finally, after the third full day, she reached the point where she no longer cared if she lived or died. When the three men had eaten their fill, she dropped wearily to the ground beside the fire to try to make a meal for herself out of what was left. Watching her, as he always did, Lame Horse waited until she had picked some morsels of meat from the bones and prepared to eat them, then commanded her, “Get up from there, you lazy bitch, and bring the parfleche from my horse.”
It was the final straw. Callie gritted her teeth, feeling the anger boiling up inside her. “Get it yourself, you goddamned dirty savage!”
All three men blinked in surprise, astonished to hear her make even the smallest sound. After the shock of her insolence faded, Lame Horse jumped to his feet in a fit of rage and stormed over to the fire, his bow in hand. Accustomed to his beatings now, Callie hugged her knees and rolled up in as small a ball as she could. Lame Horse set upon her with a will, raining blows upon her back with the flat of his bow. Callie took the beating, just as she had suffered those before, until her own long-suffering anger finally exploded and surged through her veins like fire. When Lame Horse paused to take a breath, she reached into the campfire and grasped a burning limb. Striking back with a vengeance fueled by the beatings and abuse of the past few days, she struck him across his knee, causing him to howl with the pain. Abandoning all hope of survival, she scrambled to her feet, swinging the flaming limb from right to left before her, her fatigue forgotten, pushed from her mind by a flood of energy throughout her body.
Taken completely off guard, and hobbled by the sharp pain in his kneecap, Lame Horse staggered backward to escape the fiery onslaught by the crazed woman, each swipe of the burning limb barely missing his face. He tried to catch the limb, but yelped again with pain when he felt the sting of the hot flame sizzle in the palm of his hand. Forced to release the timber, he backed away again, and this time he tripped over his bow, which had fallen behind him when he tried to catch the limb. Landing on his back, he was immediately set upon by the infuriated girl, who proceeded to administer a series of blows that eventually extinguished the flames, each blow leaving a smutty print on the unfortunate Salish warrior’s deerskin shirt. Lame Horse had no choice but to roll over and over to escape the enraged woman.
With no thought toward coming to the aid of their comrade, Two Bears and Gray Wolf found the episode highly entertaining, in fact, so much so that both were stricken with fits of laughter. Lame Horse, however, could find no humor in the humiliating incident. At a safe distance from the crouching demon now, she with her smoking club ready to defend herself, his eyes fairly sparked with indignation. “You are a dead woman,” he spat. “I will carve your liver from your body and feed it to the dogs.”
“You can go to hell,” she spat back at him, sustained by the anger within her soul, and knowing at last that there were worse things than death.
Her defiant reply to her tormentor caused only more laughter from the two witnesses, much to Lame Horse’s embarrassment, which, in turn, served to add fuel to his anger. He drew his long skinning knife from his belt, and limping slightly from the pain in his knee, he started toward her again. She backed away, but only a couple of yards to the fire, where she quickly exchanged her smoking timber for another in full flame, clearly prepared to fight to the death.
No longer laughing, Gray Wolf watched until it appeared that Lame Horse was truly intent upon killing the woman. “Wait,” he said, “the woman has shown great courage. It would be wrong to kill her for fighting for her life.”
The comment caused Lame Horse to hesitate. Gray Wolf was older than he and Two Bears, and his word was respected in their village. Lame Horse was still not ready to forgive what had amounted to an insult to his pride as a warrior, however. “What you say may be true,” he replied, “but she clearly is too dumb to train, so why waste food and water on her?” His temper cooling down a little, he said, “She is my property, and I no longer want her, so I will kill her.”
Gray Wolf shrugged. He was truly impressed by Callie’s will to stand and fight against a warrior such as Lame Horse. “Let me say this,” he began. “My wife could make use of this worthless woman. I will give you my white pony for her.”
This caused Lame Horse to pause again. The white mare was a favorite of Gray Wolf’s, and it would certainly compensate him for his loss of the woman. He replaced his knife in the sheath. “It is agreed,” he said, “but I think you have been cheated.”
“Perhaps so,” Gray Wolf replied, smiling.
Unable to understand the words between the two men, Callie stood, poised to expend her last breath in defense of her life. Though the language was unfamiliar, she sensed that they were discussing her future. She was glad when it appeared that the older one, called Gray Wolf, had been persuasive in his argument. Still wary, however, she took another step backward and held her weapon before her when he started to approach her.
“Put the limb back in the fire,” he said, his tone almost fatherly. “No one is going to hurt you. You may rest now.”
Whether she chose to believe him or not, she wasn’t certain. But suddenly the passionate rage that had sustained her left her body, and with it, the strength to resist. Exhausted, she dropped to her knees, her strength spent, and her mind a dizzy eddy in her brain. She was afraid she was finished. If they chose to kill her, she could no longer resist.
Gray Wolf took the burning limb from her hand and threw it in the fire. “We will reach our village tomorrow before the sun is straight over our heads. Tonight you can rest.” He led her over beside a small tree and she obediently lay down. They continued to keep an eye on her until she was asleep.
“I think there will be no more trouble from her this night,” Two Bears said, with a slight smile for Lame Horse.
“Maybe so,” Gray Wolf replied, “but I’m going to bind her hands and feet t
ightly in case she wakes up like a mountain lion again.”
Chapter 10
Joe Fox jogged along a well-defined game trail, leading his horse behind him. On foot, he could study the ground more closely while still holding to a pace sufficient to rapidly close the distance between him and Starbeau. It was a pace that he could maintain for hours and served to rest his horse at the same time. It was also necessary on this morning because the trail he followed crossed and recrossed a stream several times, as if Starbeau was undecided in which direction he should travel. Joe speculated that it could also mean that it had been late in the day when Starbeau and his captive made these tracks, and he was searching for a good place to make camp. This hunch proved to be accurate.
After the last change in direction, the trail led back to the stream again as it ran through a small clearing dotted with rocks of all sizes. Near a large boulder with a pine tree growing out of its center, he found the remains of a campfire. Joe dropped the paint’s reins and let the horse graze in the grass between the rocks while he scouted the campsite. Suddenly he stopped, took a step backward, and knelt to examine a track he had almost missed. It was an unshod print and it was as fresh as the tracks he had followed into the clearing. Moving more slowly now, he scouted farther, finding more of the unshod tracks. Starbeau had had visitors—Indians! Scouting the clearing in a wider circle, he could find no indication of a fight, which caused him to seriously ponder the meeting. It appeared they had peacefully parted company, for he found the same two sets of tracks he had followed from Missoula Mills on the far side of the stream. And they continued to lead southeast toward the mining camps.
Taking time to satisfy his curiosity, he scouted back along the stream in an effort to find the trail left by the Indians. In a few minutes’ time, he found what he was looking for, a clear trail left by two horses, maybe three. They led off toward the northwest. Satisfied, he turned to continue trailing Starbeau when he was stopped cold by the sight of a clear footprint in the soft dead leaves by the water’s edge. Too small to be that of a man, it had a clear shape of a heel, unlike a print a moccasin would leave. His thoughts now spinning in his head like a whirlpool, he followed the trail left by the horses, picking up the tiny print of the girl’s shoe wherever the ground was soft enough. The Indians now have Callie! The thought caused anew his sense of urgency. The deeper indentation of the toe of her print told him that she was being pulled by a rope.
He got to his feet again and looked long and hard in the direction indicated by the tracks. They led to the northwest, toward the mountains beyond the Missoula Valley. Who were her captors now? Flathead, Kutenai, Pend d’Oreille? It was hard to say. In theory, many of these tribes were friendly with the white man, but theory perished when out of sight of the treaty tents. From the footprints he had found, it was obvious to him that Callie was being led like a prisoner.
He took a moment then to turn and look in the direction Starbeau had gone. He knew in his heart that he could not rest until the score was settled with the cruel murderer and rapist. The knowledge that Callie would still be safely with her family had he simply pulled the trigger when he had Starbeau under his rifle still haunted his conscience. There was no decision to be made at this point, however. Starbeau would have to wait. He turned his thoughts and his concentration on the trail before him, praying that she could survive until he found her.
One day’s travel from the rocky glen, he came upon a smaller clearing beside a creek and the remains of another campsite. Almost reluctant to go farther, afraid of what he might find, he walked his horse slowly into the clearing, glancing sharply from side to side. Pulling the paint up beside the burnt-out campfire, he dismounted and began to examine the ground around the coals.
There was not a great deal of sign to tell him what had happened to Callie that night. A few discarded bones told him that the Indians, a party of three he now decided, had eaten deer meat for their supper. And while there were signs that a scuffle had taken place near the fire, there was no fresh blood anywhere on the grass or sand, giving him hope that Callie was not involved. A few yards away from the ashes, he found a large piece of cloth that caused him immediate concern. It appeared to be part of a woman’s undergarment, and it was covered with blood, but the blood was old and crusted, again giving him hope that it was evidence of an earlier wound and she had not been harmed by her Indian captors. Not permitting himself to dwell upon what might be happening to Callie, he immediately set out to follow the trail again, planning to push on until darkness forced him to stop.
If Callie thought her lot had improved when she was traded to Gray Wolf for a horse, she was to be disappointed once more. Gray Wolf himself was not the source of her continued hardship. Credit for that belonged to Bright Basket. As Gray Wolf’s first wife, she was his sits-beside-him wife, sitting at his right side in the tipi. His other two wives were Bright Basket’s younger sisters and their positions in the tipi were closer to the door.
Bright Basket was not pleased to see the young white girl led into the village by the hunters, and she was quick to express her displeasure to her husband when she found that the girl was his property. “Why have you brought this coyote pup into my lodge?” she demanded. “Are you still so young that you think you need another wife?”
“Maybe I am so old that I don’t need to hear your sharp tongue,” he retorted, glaring his annoyance with her insubordination. “I have no need for another wife. I bought her for you—to help with your chores.”
“Humph,” she snorted, somewhat relieved to hear Callie was not to be a wife, but still opposed to her presence in her lodge. “Are you complaining that the three women in your tipi do not take care of you properly?”
Gray Wolf sighed patiently and shook his head. “Your rattling makes my head hurt. Lame Horse traded some deer meat to a white man for the woman. Then he decided he didn’t want her, so he was going to kill her. She is small, but she can fight like a mountain lion. It would have been a shame to kill her. So now she is yours to work for you.”
Bright Basket snorted confidently, but was wise enough not to badger her husband further on the matter. She marched over to Callie, who had been left to be gaped at by the crowd that had gathered around Gray Wolf’s horse. With hands on hips, Bright Basket walked around the frightened girl, looking her over intently. Noticing the many bruises and scars on the girl’s arms and legs, she commented, mostly for the crowd’s benefit, “You must be a lazy slave, or you wouldn’t have so many scars. Now that you are mine, you will not be lazy, or I will beat you to death.” With no idea what the Indian woman was saying, Callie could only stare back at her, which seemed to aggravate Bright Basket. She turned to speak to her sisters, who had come to stare at the white slave. “She can gather the wood for the fire. Watch her carefully.” Then, turning back to Callie, she ordered her to go and collect some wood for the fire. Callie did not move, having been subject to the obviously angry woman’s tirade for several minutes with no notion what she was being told. Her failure to respond to Bright Basket’s commands caused the Salish woman to scream at her for her insolence. She grabbed the quirt from Gray Wolf’s saddle and set upon the unsuspecting girl.
Caught by surprise, Callie could not move fast enough to avoid the stinging rawhide whip, and she cried out as the angry Indian woman delivered blow after blow, raising painful welts on her arms and face. She tried to run, but the crowd of laughing women caught her and shoved her back for more punishment. Desperate to save herself from the angry woman, Callie braced herself to fight back, even if it meant her death. She took the sting of the whip on her arms and managed to grab it before Bright Basket could pull it away. With a good firm grip on the rawhide quirt, she held on with all the strength she could muster. It soon became a tug-of-war between the battered girl and the larger woman, much to the delight of the spectators.
The circle of women expanded to give the two combatants room to maneuver as they tugged back and forth. No matter how hard Bright Basket jer
ked and fumed, Callie could not be shaken. Finally, when it became apparent that the white hostage was not going to give in, the women converged upon her, knocking her to the ground. Unable to defend herself against the angry mob, Callie was forced to submit to an onslaught of kicking and hitting.
“Enough!” Gray Wolf commanded, his voice heavy with anger. The women halted their attack at once and backed away, leaving the beaten girl lying still. “What good will the girl be if you beat her to death?” Bright Basket took a step backward when Gray Wolf walked over to stand over Callie. Disgusted with his wife’s jealous reaction to the hostage, he noted the welts and fresh cuts, as well as bleeding from some of her old wounds. I should not have interfered when Lame Horse wanted to kill her, he thought. She will probably die, anyway, and I have wasted a good horse. “Take her to the river’s edge and let her clean herself,” he ordered. “Then give her something to eat. If she is better tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do with her.”
“What if she is no better tomorrow?” Bright Basket asked.
Gray Wolf shrugged. “Then we will kill her. She may die before then, anyway.”
Satisfied with that answer, Bright Basket’s smirk returned to her face. “I’ll let her clean herself if she can, but I’ll not have the coyote bitch in my tipi. She can sleep outside with the dogs.” With help from one of her sisters, she dragged Callie to the river’s edge and unceremoniously dumped her into the water.
The cold water struck her senses with a shock as she sank in the shallow pool close to the bank. Moments away from unconsciousness when she was thrown into the rapidly moving current, she was revived enough to struggle to the surface and gasp for air. The thought of escape flashed through her confused brain, but only for a second. Her arms and legs were too weak to make a sudden attempt to swim to the other side. Letting her feet settle to the bottom, she found that she was in water up to her shoulders. Looking then to the other side, she recognized the sullen features of Lame Horse. He was sitting on a white pony, watching her, and she realized that an attempt to escape by swimming across the river would have accomplished nothing more than putting herself back in his clutches. There was nothing for her but to accept her captivity.
The Blackfoot Trail Page 13