Zach brought the horses around. Each of them swiftly threw on their blankets and saddles and climbed up, Nate taking the time to help Winona slip the cradleboard onto her back first. None of the Shoshones paid them much mind, and no one tried to stop them as they applied their heels and made off through the maze of lodges. Not, that is, until they had gone about a hundred yards. Then a harsh shout rang out.
Nate shifted. Standing Bull and a pair of braves were racing in pursuit, the strapping warrior angrily waving a tomahawk. “Keep going,” he told his loved ones. “No matter what, don’t stop.”
Standing Bull continued to bellow. “Grizzly Killer! Hold on! Mighty Thunder in Sky wants to speak with you! Do you hear me?”
Nearby Shoshones were halting to look. Heads were popping out of lodges.
Facing southward, Nate brought the black stallion to a trot. He fervently prayed none of the villagers would take it upon themselves to try to keep him from leaving because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt a fellow tribesman. But he wouldn’t let anyone stand in his way. He had a plan, a crazy plan, yet a plan nonetheless to remove the pall of suspicion threatening those who meant the most to him. He would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d had nothing to do with the death of Dog with Horns, or he would die trying to clear his name.
The last of the lodges was in sight when a lone warrior, having heard Standing Bull’s cries, loped at an angle to intercept the fleeing family.
Nate could see the man was unarmed, and he tried a bluff, motioning aggressively with the Hawken, which didn’t work; the warrior only ran harder. So Nate waited until the onrushing brave was only a few yards away, then with a jerk of the reins, he rode the black stallion right into the man. The collision hardly fazed the stallion, but the warrior was catapulted backwards to crash down in a daze.
Shortly Nate came to a hill blanketed with trees. He deliberately plunged into the pines to prevent those in the village from seeing his next move, which was to cut to the west for a quarter of a mile. On reaching a creek that fed off the Snake River, he resumed his southward bearing, riding in the middle of the water. The trick wouldn’t deceive a skilled tracker like Little Raven unless the sediment had time to settle, but it might slow down a chase party since they would have to proceed slowly in order to find the spot where his family took to solid ground again.
At any moment Nate anticipated hearing the drum of hoofbeats. When half an hour elapsed and there was no hint at all of anyone on their trail, he concluded the Shoshones had wasted five or ten minutes getting a group of pursuers together. Which meant he enjoyed a slim lead, at best. Somehow he must think of a means of losing them.
This was ruggedly mountainous country, with many ridges, ravines, and gorges. The forest in places was so thick that getting a horse through was next to impossible. Boulders of varying sizes were everywhere, posing constant obstacles to speedy progress.
Through it all, the creek wound unhindered by the lay of the land, enabling Nate to cover over five miles swiftly before he called for a halt. Leaving the water, he rode to the top of a spine that jutted from an adjacent peak. From his lofty perch he spotted a bunch of riders three miles behind, nine or ten in all, coming on rapidly.
Nate raced to the bottom. “They’re sure enough after our hides,” he announced. “From here on we ride like the wind.”
“Why is this happening, Pa?” Zach asked. “What the dickens did we do?”
“They think we had a hand in killing Dog with Horns,” Nate responded.
“That’s plain silly. We never did no such thing.”
“You know that. And your mother and I know it. But the ones who are on our trail think otherwise. Should they catch us, they might not give us the chance to explain ourselves.” Nate went up the bank in a flurry of hoofs. At the top he changed course once more, heading to the southeast now.
The morning sun climbed steadily. Other than a few fluffy clouds, the sky was crystal clear and ocean blue. Any other time, Nate would have savored the primeval landscape. Not this day. His whole attention was devoted to the preservation of his loved ones.
Occasionally doubt gnawed at Nate. By running off as he had, his actions tended to confirm whatever suspicions Mighty Thunder in Sky and the rest harbored. The longer he pondered, the more he felt he should have stayed and made a clean breast of the misunderstanding. If they had let him.
There was the stumbling block. Nate had no idea how unreasonable the high chief could be. Mighty Thunder in Sky seemed like a rational man, but the death of a family member had been known to derange the most stable of minds.
A flat stretch between two hills gave Winona the opportunity to ride alongside, and she promptly did so, saying in English, “I hope you have a plan, husband. We cannot spend the rest of our lives as outcasts.”
“I do,” Nate confided.
“Do you intend to share it before too many winters have gone by?”
“There’s only one way of getting to the bottom of this mess, and that’s to find the ones who did kill Dog with Horns.”
“The search parties lost their trail,” Winona noted. “Hopefully we’ll fare better.”
“And what will you do if we succeed? I heard there are ten or more, which is far too many for you to handle all by yourself.”
Nate gave her his best boyish grin. “I can’t help it if the odds are in my favor.”
“You are avoiding the question,” Winona chided. “Do not make light of such a serious matter. What can we hope to do against so many?”
“I’ll admit I don’t have every detail worked out yet,” Nate said. “As for that ‘we’ part, once we track the polecats down, Zach and you will hide out somewhere while I deal with them alone.”
“We are a family, in case you have forgotten. And aren’t you the one who is constantly saying a family should always do things together?”
“I was talking about ordinary things, like chores around the house and going on picnics and fishing and such, not tangling with an enemy war party.”
“We are a family,” Winona reiterated. “When the time comes, Zach and I will do what we can to help.”
“What about Blue Flower? Are you fixing to give her a butcher knife and have her tackle the rascals too?” Nate had played his ace, counting on motherly instinct to keep both Winona and the child out of jeopardy.
“I will hang her cradleboard from a tree where no wild beast can get at it, and she will be perfectly safe and content until we have done that which needs doing.”
“Contrary female,” Nate muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t go talking all civilized on me,” Nate said. “You’re just trying to get my goat.”
“Why husband dearest,” Winona said sweetly, her eyes sparkling, “we do not own one.”
Seeking in vain for a witty retort, Nate was almost grateful when Zach called his name. Almost, but not quite, for galloping like a demon toward them from the rear was none other than Long Holy, his lance upraised, the point glittering in the sunlight.
Chapter Ten
Nate King’s first impulse was to raise his Hawken and take a bead on the warrior’s chest. He held the rifle steady, his finger curling on the hammer. Then, with a start, he realized what he was about to do and he jerked the Hawken down to his lap. He couldn’t bring himself to fire.
Since Nate was an adopted Shoshone, Long Holy was a fellow tribesman, a member of his wife’s people, a man who had shown his family courtesy and hospitality, and Nate wasn’t about to put a lead ball into the brave without extreme provocation. So he sat there until the warrior was close enough and raised his hand, calling out, “That’s far enough! Why have you chased us?”
Long Holy drew rein. Instead of answering, he rested the lance across his thighs and said, “You were about to shoot. Why did you change your mind?”
“Part of me is Shoshone,” Nate said, and let it go at that.
The warrior studied the trapper. “You confuse m
e, Grizzly Killer. I do not believe you had anything to do with the death of Dog with Horns, yet you fled when we learned that the horse found near where the ambush took place was yours. Why?”
“I am going to find the ones responsible.”
“All by yourself?”
“My family will help,” Nate said, ignoring the look that spread over Winona’s features.
“Just the four of you against a band that killed sixteen seasoned warriors?” Long Holy said incredulously. “Either your brain is in a whirl, or you have more courage than anyone I have ever met.”
“I have no choice. In order to show Mighty Thunder in Sky I had no hand in the death of his brother, I must catch those who did,” Nate said. “And not just for his sake. I must find the one who stole our horse and parfleche and then deliberately left them at the ambush so I would be blamed. Whoever did this is a devious enemy, a threat to all I hold dear.” He hefted the Hawken, his voice lowering. “And I do not take kindly to having those I care for put in danger.”
“Would you accept my aid?”
“This is my fight,” Nate said, then corrected himself. “Our fight.” His gaze drifted over the warrior’s shoulders. “Where is Mighty Thunder in Sky and those who are with him?”
“Let me ride with you awhile so we can talk,” Long Holy suggested. “Otherwise the others will soon be here, and some of them are so angry they might do you harm no matter what I say.”
“As you wish,” Nate said, conceding the wisdom of not staying there to be caught. The hill to the south offered plenty of cover, so he made for the spruce trees at its base.
Meanwhile Long Holy started speaking. “When I heard Standing Bull tell Mighty Thunder in Sky about your horse, and listened to some who wanted to have you skinned alive without first hearing your side, I became worried for your safety. I tried to reach my lodge ahead of Standing Bull to warn you, but you were riding off as I got there. So I ran to my fastest war-horse and set out ahead of the rest.”
“Why go to so much trouble on my behalf?”
“Because in the short time I have known you, I have grown to respect you, Grizzly Killer. You are not like many whites who think little of our ways and who always speak with two tongues. All the good words spoken of you have proven to be accurate.” Long Holy smiled. “I believe I am a good judge of character, so I trust my feelings when they tell me that your heart is true and strong. Your skin is white, but inside you are a brother warrior. And I would not desert my brother in his time of need.”
“I thank you,” Nate said. An opening in the trees drew him toward it. “And while I appreciate your concern, I urge you to turn around and go back. You risk angering many members of your tribe if you do not.”
“So be it,” Long Holy said. “You are not the only one who must be true to himself.”
Momentarily they reached the hill, and Nate was too occupied with skirting thickets and trunks to indulge in conversation. He did ponder the warrior’s offer, though, and admitted to himself that another pair of strong arms would be of definite benefit if and when he overtook the guilty parties. More importantly, there would be someone to escort Winona and the children to safety if something should happen to Nate himself.
Nate did not even consider the possibility Long Holy was lying about wanting to lend a hand. It had been his experience that Indians, more often than not, were ruled by their hearts and not their heads. When an Indian said he liked you, he sincerely did. At least this was true of the Shoshones. Nate had heard some other tribes were not quite so straightforward in their personal dealings; the Crows, in particular, were distrusted by practically all the free trappers. But he accepted Long Holy’s declarations at face value.
Beyond the hill the country consisted of more rolling hills broken by intermittent mountains. Nate maintained a swift pace for the better part of an hour. From the crown of a bald hillock he scoured their back trail, and was delighted to see no sign of their pursuers. “We must have quite a lead,” he commented in Shoshone.
“Do not expect them to give up and go back,” Long Holy said. “Mighty Thunder in Sky will stay on your trail until he gets the answers he wants.”
“By the time he has caught up, I hope to have the answers for him,” Nate said.
“You mentioned that your horse and parfleche were stolen. Who did this?”
“If I have it figured right, some Utes.”
“I recall you saying they seek peace.”
“Some do. A few do not.” Nate sighed. “There are always those who hate for the sake of hating. Even among the Shoshones there are some who do not like whites. So it is not surprising a small bunch of Utes do not want peace with us.”
“There will be more than a few Shoshones who share their sentiments,” Long Holy said.
“Dog with Horns was one,” Nate said. “He did not want me to come see his brother. And in front of Broken Paw himself he called me his enemy for refusing to go along with him.”
“Is that another reason you left the village?” Long Holy asked. “You worried how Mighty Thunder in Sky would behave once he knew?”
“Yes.”
“I might have done the same if I were you,” Long Holy stated. “You are a wise man, Grizzly Killer, wise beyond the winters you have lived. How is this?”
“A good friend of mine by the name of Wolverine once gave me some of the best advice I have ever received,” Nate said, referring to Shakespeare McNair. “He said if I keep my eyes and ears open at all times I might learn enough about life to reach old age without making too big a fool of myself.”
“Husband,” Winona broke in, pointing behind them. “Look.”
A dust cloud framed a gap between two hills through which they had passed some time ago.
“You were right about the chief being persistent,” Nate told Long Holy. “How far to the flatland where Standing Bull and Little Raven lost the trail?”
“Two sleeps.”
“Damn.” Nate squinted up at the sun. “That’s more riding than I bargained on,” he commented in English, disappointed the sign would be so old when he got there. The older it was, the less chance he would be able to find a clue as to the direction the band had taken. Reverting to Shoshone, he said, “Mighty Thunder in Sky is not the only one who is persistent. We will push our horses until they drop if necessary. No matter what, I am going to catch those who killed Dog with Horns and wring the truth from them.”
With that, Nate goaded the stallion into a gallop.
~*~
“We should not have stopped,” Leaping Wolf protested. “In ten more sleeps we can be back in our own lodges if we keep on going.”
“Why are you always in such a hurry to do everything?” The Rattler’s temper flared. “There are times when I think you must have white blood in your veins.”
“There is no reason to be insulting,” Leaping Wolf said. “I only have our best interests at heart.”
The Rattler nodded at the small lake near which they stood. Nestled in a hollow flanked by two ridges and bordered by rich grass, the setting was ideal for grazing their stock and resting. “We have been on the move with little rest and even less food since we left our village. Would you have us ride back looking as if we had been dragged by our horses?”
“No,” Leaping Wolf said, his eyes on the northern horizon. “I just do not think we are safe here.”
“Are you still worried about the Shoshones finding us?” The Rattler asked. “If so, you should relax. There has been no sign of them. My trick worked. Had it not, they would have been here by now.”
“I still do not like it.”
Not even trying to conceal his disgust, The Rattler walked to the edge of the lake, stripped off his weapons and his buckskin shirt, and plunged in. The cold water closed over his head, tingling his nose and ears, invigorating him. Using clean, powerful strokes he surfaced and swam parallel with the shore. Several other members of his band were doing the same. One, his wife’s nephew and the youngest of them a
ll, was employing an awkward sidestroke that barely kept him afloat. The youth looked around as The Rattler drew near.
“Ho, Uncle! Are you excited about seeing our people again? I am. I cannot wait to hear them sing our praises for the deeds we have done on this raid.”
The Rattler slowed to tread water. “You are learning, Holds the Arrows. There is nothing more important in life, nothing at all, than the counting of coup and the glory that comes with it. Remember this and one day you will be as famous a warrior as I am.”
“I hope to follow in your footsteps,” Holds the Arrows said. “But after what I have seen on this journey, I do not know how any man could.”
The Rattler tried to strike a dignified pose, which was hard to do when up to his neck in water. “After word of this raid is spread, not even Two Owls will dare oppose my wishes.”
“There is something I would ask you,” Holds the Arrows said. “If it is permissible.”
“You need never be shy about approaching me. We are related, are we not?”
“Yes,” Holds the Arrows responded. He had to pause when he accidentally swallowed water. Sputtering, he said, “I have been most impressed by the way you have planned out every small detail. You think of everything.”
“I try to, but I make as many mistakes as anyone else. The secret is to be adaptable. Adjust your plans as circumstances change.” The Rattler began moving slowly toward shore. “Look at how I have done things. At first I wanted Two Owls dead, but when that failed I tried to kill Grizzly Killer. By sheer luck he escaped, and I still planned to kill him until I realized how I could put an end to him, the truce, and my old enemy Dog with Horns all at the same time. By adapting I overcame our enemies. You can do the same.”
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