He was worried, though, about the Banners and the Websters. Left long on their own, they might get into trouble. A fire built too big or random shooting was all it would take to attract any Indians within miles of their camp. And being as close to the stream as they were was also a danger since hostiles might decide to swing by for some water. To put his mind at ease he had to free Libbie and her friends that very night and try to be back at the wagons by early the next day.
The Piegans had ascended a rise and were now going down the far side.
Nate waited a few minutes to be on the safe side, then rode to near the top and slid down. Letting the reins drag, he moved to the top and slowly raised his head high enough to see the land below. What he saw about gave him a fit.
The party he was trailing had stopped in a meadow one hundred yards away. All of the Piegans were waving their arms and whooping and laughing at twelve more Piegans approaching from the south. This new group was likewise excited by the meeting, and soon the newcomers reached the meadow, where much hugging and smiling took place. The newcomers then turned their attention to the captives, some stroking Libbie’s golden hair while others prodded and pushed Brian and Pudge. Brian flew into a rage and kicked one of those baiting him, at which point he was rendered unconscious by a war club to the back of his head.
Sinking down on his haunches, Nate rested his chin on his knees and felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. Saving Libbie and the greenhorns from four Piegans would have been difficult enough; saving them from sixteen would be next to impossible. But he wasn’t about to give up. As his mentor, Shakespeare, was so fond of repeating, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Only in this case, the way eluded him. Sneaking into the Piegan camp after dark, after most of the warriors dozed off, was certain suicide. The Piegans would be doubly alert since they were in the wild where an enemy might discover them at any time, and a single light sleeper would prove his downfall. He must come up with a better plan.
Crawling back up, he watched the Piegans tie Brian’s arms and legs to a long pole, which two of the stoutest warriors then carried between them as the combined bands hiked in the direction of their own country. Pudge was ringed by men with lances who delighted in jabbing him every so often. Libbie, placed back on her horse, was momentarily spared further indignities.
Nate went to Pegasus. There was nothing he could do for the time being except stay close and pray for a miracle. Instead of going over the top of the rise, where he was bound to be spotted, he rode to the left down the slope, entered the trees at the bottom, then adopted a course parallel with that taken by the Piegans. Bolstered by their combined numbers and elated at the spoils they were bringing back to their people, they were making enough noise to scare off every animal within half a mile. Laughter and singing carried on the wind.
The shadows lengthened as the sun banked toward the western horizon. Occasionally Nate caught glimpses of the war party, but for the most part he relied on his ears to mark their progress. The proximity of so many humans had silenced the wildlife; for over an hour he didn’t hear so much as the peep of a bird.
A mountain crowned with two peaks jutting skyward like the twin horns of a bull turned out to be the Piegans’ destination for the day. A sparkling creek bordered its base, and on the near bank the Piegans pitched their camp. The majority erected five conical log and brush forts, a customary practice of their tribe and their allies when on the trail, while several went off after game.
From under the sheltering branches of an overhanging pine, shielded by limbs that drooped to within a foot of the ground, Nate observed everything the Piegans did. The hunters had marched to the south, so he need not fear discovery by them. He saw Libbie, Brian, and Pudge shoved into a fort close to the creek, which gave birth to a daring idea.
Twilight claimed the mountains when the hunters returned bearing a large black-tailed buck. The deer was butchered by a skilled Piegan who took five minutes to do what would take the average trapper half an hour to accomplish. Presently they were all gathered around the fire to take part in the feast, except for a lone warrior who stayed in front of the conical fort containing the captives.
Nate crawled to where he had hidden Pegasus in thick undergrowth. He wedged the Hawken into his bedroll for safekeeping, then drew his tomahawk and his butcher knife and returned to his vantage point. The darkness deepened. The sun sank beyond the far mountains. In the rosy glow of the fire the faces of the Piegans gleamed dully.
He imagined they were doing as the Shoshones would be doing under similar circumstances, swapping tales of their exploits since leaving their village. The four who had survived the battle with the emigrants had a lot to tell, so he wasn’t at all surprised when their conversation dragged on until almost midnight.
At last the Piegans began turning in. Only a few, at first, went into the forts. Then a few more. And so it went until all of them were inside save one who had taken the place of the man who had stood guard over the captives since sunset. Left unattended, the fire dwindled to low, sputtering flames.
Nate let more time pass before crawling from under the pine to the bank of the creek. Taking a breath, he eased into the shallow water, shuddering in the sudden cold, and turned toward the encampment. Just as he did, the Piegan on guard looked in his direction.
Chapter Nine
Nate froze in place, the gently flowing water soaking the front of his buckskins from his neck to his moccasins. Had the Piegan somehow heard him? He doubted it, since he had made no noise whatsoever. Holding the butcher knife and the tomahawk close to the water, he watched the Piegan scan the forest. The man didn’t act as if he suspected there was an enemy about. On the contrary, after a minute the Piegan stretched and yawned, then strolled to the stream and knelt to drink.
Thirty yards away, Nate fought off an impulse to shiver and waited for the guard to move back to the fort. The creek, fed by snow runoff from the high peaks above, was liquid ice. Staying in the water too long would render his arms and legs numb. He would have no chance of freeing the others.
Finished quenching his thirst, the Piegan stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and walked back to the conical fort. He took up a position in front of it, then sat down with his legs crossed, his back to the fort.
Nate snaked forward, keeping his weapons above the water, using his elbows and his knees to propel himself, moving first one limb, then the other. The fire was now so low that its feeble glow bathed only the nearest forts. The one containing the captives stood shrouded in shadows.
He dared not go too fast for fear of making a splash that would be heard by the guard, yet he dared not dally either, or the cold would take its toll on his circulation. Hugging the near bank where the darkness was heaviest, he drew within ten yards of his goal.
The Piegan had set down his lance and had rested his elbows on his knees. He appeared bored, and was having trouble staying awake. Now and then his head bobbed, but he drew himself up again each time.
Nate stopped directly behind the fort where the three whites were held. Like an enormous salamander crawling onto land, he inched onto dry ground and paused to let the water run off his clothing. Warily, silently, he moved to the rear of the fort, then rose into a crouch. Gingerly taking a step, he moved to the right until he could see the back of the guard.
The rest of the camp was deceptively still. Should the guard sound the alarm, the Piegans would pour from the structures armed to the teeth and ready to fight to the death. From within a fort to the right arose loud snoring.
He glided toward the guard, his right hand firmly gripping the tomahawk. A single blow should suffice if delivered to the proper point. He saw the Indian’s shoulders droop, took another step. The warrior was almost asleep. Raising the tomahawk overhead, he lifted a leg and carefully placed his foot down.
A twig snapped.
Muffled by Nate’s wet moccasin, the snap was barely audible. But it caused the Piegan to jerk his head
up and around, his right hand streaking for the lance by his side.
Nate was braced and ready. As the warrior turned, he swung, driving the tomahawk downward with all the power in his arm. The sharp blade bit into the Piegan’s forehead above the right eye and split his skull like an overripe melon, burying itself inches deep in his head. Blood spurted. The Piegan gasped, clutched at the tomahawk, then broke into violent convulsions.
Nate held onto the tomahawk handle with both hands. Afraid the thrashing would awaken some of the other warriors, he glanced at the closest forts. The guard’s arms went suddenly limp, then the man slumped forward, his eyes locked wide, his mouth contorted in a grimace.
Satisfied the guard was dead, Nate put a foot on the Piegan’s shoulder and wrenched the tomahawk loose. He wiped the blade on the Indian’s leggings, then padded to the fort and squatted in the opening. Inside lay three inky forms. Entering, he moved to Libbie, conspicuous by her long blond hair even in the gloom. From the way she was lying, he gathered her ankles and wrists were bound.
“I saw what you just did, mister,” she abruptly whispered. “You look vaguely familiar. You are a white man, aren’t you?”
“It’s Nate King. I’ve come to free you.”
A startled exclamation burst from the figure on the left. “Thank God!” Pudge declared. “I thought we—”
Nate reached the greenhorn in a single stride and clamped a hand over Pudge’s mouth, gouging the hilt of his knife into the man’s lips in the process. “You damn fool!” he snapped. “Do you want to set the Piegans on us?”
Pudge, the whites of his eyes the size of walnuts, vigorously shook his head.
Nate listened intently but heard nothing to indicate any of the warriors had heard. “I want all of you to keep quiet,” he directed softly, releasing his hold on the greenhorn. “When I cut you loose, don’t make a sound.” Moving behind them, he quickly sliced through the ropes. They rose to their knees, all three rubbing their wrists and ankles to get their blood flowing again.
Outside, an owl hooted.
Edging to the opening, Nate surveyed the forts. Had that been a real owl or a signal? With Indians it was hard to tell. Some of them were so expert at imitating animals that it was impossible to know which was the real thing and which was not. He detected no movement. Twisting, he regarded Libbie and the two men. “We’re going to try and reach the trees without being discovered. When you go out the entrance, turn to the right until you’re at the creek. We’ll follow it north into the woods.”
For the first time Brian spoke. “What about our horses?”
“They’re on the south side of the camp. I’ll swing around and get them after all of you are safe.”
“I don’t like leaving them. Without our horses we wouldn’t last a day in these mountains.”
“Just do as I say and you’ll come out of this still wearing your scalps,” Nate said. He went out first, crouched until certain it was safe, then motioned for the others to emerge. Pudge was the last, and he grunted as he squeezed through.
His face reflecting his anger, Nate touched the keen point of his butcher knife to the heavyset man’s fleshy cheek. Pudge blinked, then nodded his head once in understanding. Frowning, Nate gestured for them to move around the fort. He trailed them, keeping watch on the other log structures. The fire, now mere fingers of flame, revealed very little.
Instead of wading into the creek, Nate stuck to the water’s edge. He was afraid one of them—most likely the clumsy Pudge—would inadvertently splash around or slip on a wet rock and arouse the war party. The soil bordering the creek was soft, cushioning their footfalls nicely, and soon they were in the sheltering forest where he halted.
“My horse isn’t far,” he disclosed. “I’ll take you to him, then go after your own animals.”
“How did you find us?” Libbie asked. “How did you know we’d been captured?” She paused. “Did my father send you?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Nate said, and rose to head for Pegasus. A hand fell on his shoulder.
“Our supplies, King,” Brian said. “I saw the savages remove our packs. We have to get them back.”
Nate had witnessed the same thing. “The Piegans put all of your equipment in one of their forts. We have no hope of sneaking in there and getting it out, so you’ll just have to make do.”
“Without food? Without weapons? What chance will we have to survive in this wilderness?”
“You should have thought of that before you left the settlements. These mountains are no place for greenhorns,” Nate responded, and shrugged to dislodge the man’s hand. He hurried through the underbrush until he came on the stallion, whispering to it as he approached so the horse wouldn’t spook or whinny.
“Can I talk now?” Pudge asked.
“Go ahead,” Nate said.
“I’m in your debt, King. I don’t know how I can ever repay you, but I will someday. I swear it. If not for you, we’d all be goners.”
“You have my thanks too,” Brian said, but without a trace of heartfelt warmth or conviction.
Puzzled by the man’s bitter attitude, Nate slid his knife into its sheath and tucked the tomahawk under his belt. If the situation was reversed, he’d be overjoyed at being saved from certain death. Brian, oddly enough, seemed to resent what had happened. Nate decided to get to the bottom of the matter later, after they had put enough miles behind them for them to be truly safe.
Removing the Hawken from the bedroll, Nate held the rifle in the crook of his left elbow and grasped the reins in his right hand. “Try not to make much noise if you can help it,” he advised, casting a meaningful look at Pudge, and hiked to the southwest.
“I thought you were going after our horses,” Brian said. “I will, once we’re due west of the Piegans.”
“What difference does that make?”
“If something goes wrong, I don’t want to have to swing around the Piegan camp to make good our escape. I want to be able to cut right out. And west is the direction we have to go to take Libbie back to her folks.”
“Oh.”
They covered ten yards in silence. Then Brian commented starchily, “If you were a gentleman, King, you’d let Libbie ride your horse. Or don’t good manners count for much in these stinking mountains of yours?”
“Brian, what has gotten into you? How can you talk to Mr. King like that?” Libbie upbraided him.
“It’s all right,” Nate said to forestall an argument. “He has a point. But my stallion has become a contrary cuss and won’t hardly let anyone ride him but me. Not even my wife, who has a way with animals. If I tried to put Libbie on him, he might make a ruckus the Piegans would hear.”
“You’re married?” Brian asked.
“Of course. Why are you so surprised?”
“Is your wife a white woman or a squaw?”
Nate stopped abruptly and whirled. Unconsciously, he leveled the Hawken. “I would be extremely careful were I you,” he said coldly. “I won’t abide anyone insulting my wife. The last man who did is dead.”
The others resembled statues. Brian stared at the rifle barrel for a few seconds, then smiled wanly. “I meant no disrespect,” he said softly. “After all that’s happened, I guess I’m not my normal self.”
“Please, Mr. King,” Libbie chimed in. “I know Brian as well as I do myself. He doesn’t hate all Injuns like some men do. And he doesn’t make a habit of going around insulting people.”
“That’s nice to know,” Nate said dryly. He resumed walking, and speculated on what would happen when they rejoined Libbie’s parents. Simon wasn’t the type to forgive and forget. The girl and her friends might wind up wishing they had never been rescued.
Over a hundred yards from the Piegan encampment, Nate halted and tied the stallion’s reins to a low branch on a spruce tree. “This is where you wait,” he announced. “If you hear shooting, head west.”
“Which way is that?” Pudge asked, gazing in blatant confusion at the myria
d of stars sparkling in the firmament. “How can you tell which way is which once the sun sets?”
“You learn to read the heavens, just like the Indians do,” Nate said. He pointed at a group of seven familiar stars that every boy learned about at an early age. “Do you know what that is?”
“Sure. The Big Dipper,” Pudge answered.
“Good. Now pretend you draw a line straight out from the two stars that form the bottom of the dipper. Do you see that star all by itself?”
“The real bright one?”
Nate nodded. “That’s the North Star. Face it and hold your arms out from your sides. Your left arm will be pointing to the west.”
“Amazing,” Pudge said, grinning. “I’ll never get lost again knowing this.”
“Stay alert until I get back,” Nate said, and began to walk off.
“Hold it, King,” Brian said. “Surely you’re not planning to leave us defenseless? Can’t you leave at least one of your guns here?”
The request, while reasonable, bothered Nate. His every instinct warned him not to trust the man.
“For Libbie’s sake, if for no other reason,” Brian added. “What if you’re caught? How will we protect her? With our bare hands?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Nate admitted reluctantly, and stepped over to the blond beauty. “Here. Hold onto this for me,” he said, offering the Hawken.
“Are you certain you won’t need it?” she asked.
“No. It’s best if I have my hands free anyway,” Nate said. Hastening into the murky forest, he cautiously skirted the quiet camp until he was hidden in a dense thicket south of the conical forts. A tendril of white smoke wafted upward from the seemingly dead campfire. The slain guard still lay where he had fallen.
All four horses had been secured by lengths of rope to trees flanking the camp. There was abundant grass, and two of the horses were grazing contentedly. The third had lain down, while the fourth was drinking from the creek.
Would they neigh and give him away? Nate wondered, moving from concealment. He stepped lightly to one of the grazing animals, which looked up, chomping noisily, but betrayed no fear. Nor did the second horse he gathered up. The third, the one trying to sleep, snorted and shook its head in annoyance at being disturbed. He patted its neck and scratched behind its ears until it grew calm. Then he unfastened the rope to the fourth horse and led the animals into the trees.
Wilderness: Northwest Passage/Apache Blood (A Wilderness Double Western #6) Page 10