The Blackfoot Trail

by Charles G. West

  Bright Basket’s patience lasted only long enough for Callie to make a few feeble efforts to clean herself before she was ordered out of the water. By employing sign language, the Salish woman made her instructions understood, and Callie meekly emerged from the river. Dripping wet, she was led to Bright Basket’s lodge, where she was bound hand and foot, then tied to a small tree with a short length of rope. There she lay, shivering in the afternoon sunshine, a curiosity for the children of the village and an object of open scorn by the women.

  As the afternoon waned and the shadows lengthened, gradually the visits of the curious became less frequent. Cramped and cold though she was, she mercifully fell asleep, her mind and body being too tired to remain awake. She was awakened by Bright Basket’s sister as she rudely poked her with her toe. Seeing that the captive was not dead, Bright Basket’s sister placed some meat on the ground near Callie’s face. Then, without bothering to untie her hands, the sister left her to grovel for her supper.

  As she struggled to inch her way close enough to take some of the food in her mouth, she realized that evening was descending upon the village. It was nothing more than an unconscious thought, for she was past the point of caring whether it was day or night. Her fate was certain and she was sure that her future extended no farther than the dawn of another day, for she made up her mind that she would not cling desperately to life any longer. She would take her own life if there was no other opportunity to escape. Such morbid thoughts were forgotten for the moment when one of the many dogs in the village picked up the scent of the meat on the ground and trotted over to share in her meal. Realizing then just how hungry she was, she struggled as best she could, with her hands and feet bound, to crowd the mongrel away from her food. He was not easily discouraged, however, and it soon became a contest between the two to see who could capture the biggest portion of the meager supper. Hampered by the pain in her jaw, she was forced to eat slowly and carefully, so it was no real competition for the hungry dog. Cursing the cur as he ran off with the last piece of meat, she heard the sound of laughter, and rolled over on her side to discover Bright Basket watching her.

  “You eat with your brother, coyote bitch,” Bright Basket scorned and laughed again.

  “You can go to hell,” Callie returned.

  Although neither woman understood the other’s words, the tone was unmistakable. Bright Basket drew near and aimed a kick in Callie’s stomach before leaving her slave to sleep as best she could. Finally the cooking fires died down and the camp settled in for the night, and Callie was at last alone with her thoughts of the fate that had been cast upon her. The night seemed to make her many pains more intense as she tried to accomplish some position that would be more comfortable. Finally convinced that sleep was impossible, she willed her mind to think of other things and people. She regretted the fact that she had quarreled with her father and mother over her visits with Joe. She wished that she could somehow tell them she was sorry. Then her thoughts centered on the mysterious man of the forest who had appeared out of the wilderness to guide her family and friends out of the mountains. She let her mind drift lazily for a few minutes as she pictured the sharply chiseled features, the dark, soft eyes that seemed to speak to her without a word being spoken. For a moment, her heart cried out to him, but only for a moment before her bruised body reminded her that she would never see him again. It made no difference, anyway, she told herself, for she was ruined as a woman. Her innocence torn from her body by a cruel demon of a man, she could no longer be desired by any man. Even the brute, Lame Horse, was sickened by the sight of her. The thought almost made her cry out in despair. She shook her head violently as if to shake meaningless thinking from her brain. She was certain now that she would never be able to sleep, but exhaustion finally came to claim her troubled mind. She drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened once again in the wee hours of the night.

  At first she thought she was dreaming, but the chill on her skin told her that she was awake. In the next instant, she felt a gentle tightening on the rope and realized that someone was behind her. Immediately alarmed, she tried to cry out, but a powerful hand clamped tightly over her mouth before she could make a sound. Terrified, her first thought was that Lame Horse had returned to extract from her that which he had first sought. She struggled against him, but he was too strong, and rolled her over to face him. Helpless to stop him, she stared up at him, but her eyes played tricks on her, for the face she thought she saw was not Lame Horse’s.

  “Callie,” the soft voice whispered, “don’t be afraid. It’s me. I’ve come to take you away from here.” Certain that she was dreaming now, she started to cry, devastated by the cruelty of such a dream. “Callie,” he said again, “do you understand what I’m sayin’? It’s me, Joe.”

  Swept under by a wave of emotion, she realized that it was real. With eyes wide open now, she nodded rapidly, and he slowly removed his hand from her mouth. “Be real quiet,” he whispered. “I’m gonna cut you loose. Then we gotta get outta here. Can you walk?” She nodded. “Good.” He finished sawing the rawhide ropes that held her, then looked around him at the sleeping Salish village. When he was satisfied that all was still quiet, he lifted her to her feet. “Come,” he said, “the horses are in that stand of trees near the riverbank.”

  Too frightened to do anything but obey his instructions, she started to follow him, but collapsed to the ground after taking a couple of steps. Her legs, numb from being trussed up for so long, refused to support her. Pausing less than a second, he reached down and picked her up as gently as he could manage. Holding her in his arms, he moved silently between the tipis, placing his feet carefully to avoid making a sound. Once past the outermost lodge in the circle of tipis, he quickened his pace to a trot, unhampered by the girl in his arms.

  When he gained the cover of the trees, he slowed to a walk, and continued until he came to a tangle of young willows. On the other side of the willows, two horses stood tied to some branches—one, his paint pony, the other a white mare. He started to put her down, but before he could, she tightened her arms around his neck and hugged him, holding him for a long moment. She said nothing, but he felt her tears on his neck and knew what she wanted to tell him. She released him then and he set her feet gently on the ground. “Can you stand now?” he asked while still supporting her.

  “I think so,” she said. “I don’t know what was wrong before.”

  “Most likely had the blood cut off from your legs too long,” he said. “Don’t matter anyway. Can you ride?” She said that she could. “I think this horse will do fine for you. I stole her from their horses on the other side of the river. I’d rather not have a white one, but this one came over to meet me and acted like she was just waitin’ for me to come get her.” He held out his hand to help her. “Come on, up you go. We’d best get movin’.” He had fashioned a bridle and reins from one piece of rope with a couple of half hitches, Indian style. “Sorry I didn’t have time to find a saddle for you.”

  “I don’t need a saddle,” she said, looking back over her shoulder, afraid she might see someone coming after them. “Let’s just get away from here.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and climbed on the paint. “We’re gonna go for a little swim. Hang on real tight.” He guided his horse down through the willows to the river. Once they reached the other side, he led them straight up the valley, making the best time possible in the dark of night. There were not many hours left before daybreak, so he wanted to put a lot of ground between them and the Salish village.

  With the coming of the morning sun, it was apparent to him that Callie needed rest and food. It would have been his preference to continue riding until it was necessary to rest the horses, but upon looking back at Callie, he could see that she might not make it that far.

  Looking around for the best place to stop for a while to let her rest, he slowed the horses to a walk until they came to a small stream winding its way down from a mountain pass high above them. “This’
ll do,” he said and turned the horses upstream. “We’ll climb up this stream a ways till we get outta sight and high enough to see anybody that might be thinkin’ about followin’ us.” She nodded gamely, but he could see that she was fighting to stay on the mare’s back. So he decided not to climb as high as he was originally thinking, and picked the first suitable spot, a small glen where the stream widened to flow over a rocky ledge. It wasn’t high enough to give him a view of the valley floor, but it likewise could not be easily seen from below.

  Dismounting, he moved quickly to her side and caught her as she leaned toward him, almost falling from the mare’s back. “Easy does it, Callie,” he said as he helped her walk to a flat rock by the stream.

  “Thank you,” she said, grateful far beyond those two simple words. “I must look a sight.”

  He smiled. Although she attempted to smile back at him, he could tell it was painful due to a serious-looking split on her lower lip. He tried to hide his initial reaction to her frightful condition he could now plainly see in the morning sunlight. But he was not wholly successful, for she lowered her gaze to fall upon her hands, which were folded in her lap. His heart ached for her and the torment she had obviously suffered. Her arms and legs bore the scars, and blood-stains on her tattered clothes were testimony to the many beatings she had survived. But the more serious injuries he had read in her eyes before she had averted them. These were injuries burned deep into her soul, and might never be healed. It required no imagination to speculate on the hell she had endured while a captive of the murdering monster Starbeau. He knew of nothing he could say or do to alleviate that pain. The best he could do was to attempt to get her mind on other mundane things.

  Noticing that she was shivering in the morning chill, he said, “I’m gonna get a fire started to warm you up a little. Then I’ll find you somethin’ to eat. I’ve got coffee in my saddlebag. You’ll feel a sight better once you get a decent meal in you.”

  She started to protest that she could help him, but he quickly rejected her offer, telling her that she could tend the fire once he got it started. She gratefully conceded, leaning back against the rock to rest. Her battle with Bright Basket had drained her energy, and the small portion of meat she fought the dog for had not been enough to rebuild any strength. Deer jerky was all he could offer her at the moment. She accepted it even though she still found it painful to chew. “I oughta be able to find you a little somethin’ more than jerky to eat,” he said, taking his bow from his saddle. “The woods are full of food.” Noticing an immediate look of alarm in her face, he said, “I won’t be gone long,” and placed his rifle beside her. “Besides, I need me a cup of that coffee when it gets through boilin’.” He walked off into the woods then.

  True to his word, he was not gone long. The coffee had finished boiling only ten or fifteen minutes before she heard him call out to her that he was back. She guessed that he spoke to prevent her being startled by his sudden appearance, knowing his habit of materializing where there was nothing before. “It ain’t much,” he said, holding up a squirrel, “but it’s fresh meat.” He immediately started skinning the squirrel while she poured coffee in the cup he had placed before her. She watched as he skinned and gutted the squirrel in a matter of minutes, and placed it over the fire to roast.

  “I thought you said you wanted some of this coffee,” she said when he settled himself on the other side of the fire.

  “I’ll have some a little later on,” he replied, and busied himself with tending the squirrel.

  She sipped from the cup, wincing when the hot liquid touched the partially healed split on her lip. Then it occurred to her. “You don’t have but one cup, do you?”

  “Never needed more’n one,” he said. “It don’t matter. I’ll wait till you’re done.”

  “We’ll share,” she insisted, filled the cup to the top, and passed it over to him.

  “Much obliged,” he said and drank down over half of the cup. Then he took his sleeve and carefully wiped the rim before refilling the cup and passing it back to her. “That’ll hold me for a while.” He turned his attention to the squirrel on his makeshift spit. “This little feller is about done.”

  “That’s not a lot of breakfast for a man your size, is it?”

  “This is all for you,” he said. “I ain’t really hungry. I just wanted some coffee. Guess I ate too much of that jerky.”

  She knew he was lying, but also knew he would never admit it. In a few minutes he took the squirrel off the fire and handed it to her, still on the spit. As she took it from him, a thought entered her mind. I wonder if angels sometimes wear buckskins. Then a more ominous question occurred and she asked, “Will they come after us?”

  “Can’t say for sure,” he answered. “Sometimes it’s hard to say what an Indian will do, especially a Flathead. But I don’t reckon they’ll be any too happy when they figure out that somebody walked right into their camp and took you.” Seeing the smile fade from her face, he tried to reassure her. “We’ll be movin’ on from this spot as soon as you’re feelin’ up to it, just to be safe. I’ve got to get you back to your folks.”

  “Maybe they’ve already started for Oregon,” she said.

  “They’re not gonna start without you,” he insisted. “Besides, there’s still some snow in the high passes.”

  She said nothing, but she could not rid her mind of the thought that she was forever damaged. No man would ever want her now, and maybe even her parents wouldn’t. She somehow felt that they would blame her for the black stain upon the family.

  Chapter 11

  Although Joe had told Callie that Indians were unpredictable, he had chosen not to tell her that on this particular point they were almost certain to be predictable. He knew that the escape of the white captive may not have been that important to them, but the loss of the horse would surely call for retaliation. In fact, the war party was already tracking them while he and Callie were discussing it.

  The early-morning quiet had been split by Bright Basket’s piercing scream of anger when she found the ropes severed and her captive gone. She was still running through the camp alerting everyone about the missing girl when Lame Horse forded the river to report his newly acquired mare gone. Seething with anger, he stomped back and forth in the fire circle venting his rage. Feeling doubly cheated, first for trading the girl to Gray Wolf, and now having the white mare stolen before he even got to know the horse.

  The men gathered in the center of the camp to confer on the matter. There was little doubt that the girl had not managed this thing alone, which further inflamed Lame Horse as well as most of the other men. It was insulting to think that someone had walked right through the middle of their camp and freed the woman, then added the insult of stealing a horse to carry her.

  “I will find this person and kill him,” Lame Horse declared. “Who will ride with me?” All but the old men volunteered and Lame Horse selected a dozen of the younger warriors to ride with him. They went immediately to prepare themselves and their horses. Two Bears was one of those selected, but Gray Wolf was not, for Lame Horse felt that he had been too soft with the girl. While the rest of the war party were making ready to ride, Lame Horse and Two Bears scouted the opposite side of the river, looking for the raider’s trail. After about twenty minutes, a howl went up from Two Bears, signaling that he had found their tracks. Lame Horse rushed to join him.

  “Here!” Two Bears exclaimed as Lame Horse slid from his pony’s back. “Two horses, they go up the middle of the valley.”

  Lame Horse took but a second to confirm his friend’s opinion. He leaped upon his pony’s back and rode around and around in a circle, signaling for the war party while Two Bears went ahead to scout the trail. By the time the rest of the warriors caught up to Two Bears, he had a clear picture of the escape route, and they were soon in hot pursuit.

  Eager to put more distance between them and the Salish warriors he knew would be coming, Joe studied the young woman intensely as she clean
ed the bones of the squirrel. She doesn’t look too strong, he thought. She must be a whole lot worse off than she lets on. He decided that she needed more nourishment than one puny squirrel could give her, but he was afraid to take the time to hunt when still this close to the Salish village. He was sure she also needed time to rest and recover from the horrible ordeal she had undergone. The problem at the present time, however, was that they could ill afford to take the time.

  In spite of his concern, she insisted that she was ready to ride again after she had eaten. He still had doubts, but he also knew that it was too dangerous to stay where they were. In an effort to make it easier for her, he took his saddle off the paint and placed it on the mare. Although it was no more than an Indian saddle, one he had made, it still gave her more to hold on to. He pulled his rifle from the sling, jumped on the paint, and with a gentle nudge of his heels, started up toward the ridge above them.

  Intent upon at least gaining the far side of a line of ridges to the west before stopping again, Joe led Callie along the side of the closest ridge, weaving his way through thick growths of firs, gradually climbing toward the crest. Looking back frequently to see how she was doing, he was met with a determined smile. So far, so good, he thought. The forest abounded with deer sign, and at one point he spotted a buck and three does below them on a ledge. It would have been an easy shot, but he was reluctant to use his rifle. He was going to have to kill a deer for Callie’s sake, but it would have to be shot with his bow.

  With the afternoon sun gradually descending, they crossed over the top of the ridge, and with the sun looking directly in his eyes, he started a slow descent, following a stream that appeared to have popped out of a rocky defile. From above, he could see what appeared to be a clearing about halfway down the slope with the stream wending its way through the center. Looks like the place to camp, he thought, and turned to take another look at Callie. There were no longer traces of the determined smile. Instead, she appeared grim and haggard, and he hoped he had not pushed her too far. “Halfway down this slope,” he told her, “and we’ll make our camp and I’ll hunt somethin’ to eat.” She managed a grateful nod.