Wilderness Double Edition 11

by David Robbins

  The clatter grew louder. Winona rose high enough to see Two Humps, Bull Standing With Cow, and Flying Hawk. They were sixty or seventy yards to the north and almost the same distance to the east. Well beyond them were He Dog, Runs Against, Yellow Owl and Bear Ears. The latter was bent over, clinging to his mount’s mane, apparently wounded.

  Even farther back were the Lakotas, fifteen all told, thirsting for Crow blood. Whooping and flourishing their weapons, they rode as if they and their animals were one.

  Winona exposed her head and shoulders, then waved. Two Humps and those with him were so intent on outracing their pursuers that they were looking neither to the right nor the left. She pumped both arms, hollering in Shoshone, “Two Humps! Bull Standing With Cow! Over here!”

  None of the three men looked in her direction, perhaps because Flying Hawk was lashing his horse with his quirt and yelling.

  “Here! Look this way!” Winona cried in English, jumping so they would see her.

  Against his better judgment, Zach did likewise, screeching at the top of his lungs. “Are the three of you hard of hearing? Stop!”

  The trio of Crows were abreast of the wash but fifty yards out. Bull Standing With Cow stiffened as if he heard them, yet then he looked off in the opposite direction and did not slow down.

  “No!” Winona railed. “Please! We’re over here!”

  “Here! Here!” Zach echoed.

  Unheeding, the warriors flew onward, their horses raising a thick cloud of dust.

  “They’ll never spot us now!” Winona declared, and took several strides. She was too late. The dust obscured the warriors, just as it would prevent them from seeing her.

  Zach felt sorry for their friends, but there was nothing else that could be done; He Dog and the others were rapidly approaching. It galvanized him into springing to his mother and clasping her wrist, “Come on, Ma! Those Lakotas will spot you if we stand out here much longer!”

  Her son was right. Winona could see the foremost Oglalas clearly. And while she was willing to risk her life and those of her offspring to help the first three Crows, she would not endanger her loved ones for the four whose own stubbornness had brought misfortune down on their heads.

  Winona and Zach dashed into the wash and crouched at the rim. They spread the grass stems to hide their passage. No sooner were they done than He Dog and those with him fled madly on by. An arrow jutted from the back of Bear Ears, who swayed precariously.

  In the time Zach could have counted to ten, the Lakotas were there. In a tight knot the fierce warriors flashed past, half of them no more than vague shadows in the dust. Zach had his rifle pressed to his shoulder, but the Lakotas had eyes only for the bitter enemies in front of them.

  Winona watched the Oglalas until they were out of sight. A twinge of guilt assailed her for not even trying to save He Dog’s group. After all, she mused, she’d be just as impetuous and reckless if it had been Grizzly Killer or Stalking Coyote or Blue Flower who had been taken captive.

  She shrugged off the self-recriminations. No one could hold it against her for doing what had to be done. Crying over spilt milk, as her man liked to say, was a waste of time and energy.

  Sitting, Winona removed the cradleboard to check on her daughter. Evelyn wore the patient angelic smile of the very innocent, and giggled when Winona held her tiny fingers and blew on them.

  “Well, we did it,” Zach commented in amazement. “We gave those buzzards the slip. But since we’re all alone in the middle of their territory, with Pa nowhere to be found, I have a question for you.”

  Winona looked at him.

  “What do we do now, Ma?”

  Eleven

  The Lakotas were known far and wide as formidable warriors. In later years they would be one of the last Plains tribes to submit to the U.S. government’s relentless campaign of Indian subjugation. Only when their way of life, embodied in the buffalo, had been almost exterminated, and their women and children were starving, did the last proud remnants submit to government control.

  But in the early decades of the 1800s, the Lakotas were still a proud and free people, lords of all they surveyed. In battle they held their own against the powerful Blackfoot Confederacy to their north and against the Crows and Snakes to the west.

  All white men had heard of their prowess as fighters and trackers. Nate King among them. So he knew that his chances of eluding the scores of riders who fanned out from the Platte River encampment in dozens of small groups were next to nil. Still, he had to try. Circumstance and experience had forged him into a man who never gave up no matter how great the odds against him.

  As Nate and Fetches Water looped to the south after having ridden for two miles due east, he mulled over the situation.

  The darkness worked in their favor in that it hid them from the Oglalas. But it also could work against them by concealing a band of warriors until Nate and the girl were right on them.

  The Sioux also had the advantage of knowing the region well, since they spent several moons there every summer and had been doing so for many years.

  Nate stopped often to listen. So far the sounds of pursuit had been faint; occasional hoofbeats to the west and north, a few shouts to the southwest.

  The big trapper held to a brisk walk for the next hour to reduce the noise they made. There was no moon but enough starlight to bathe the rippling grass in a pale glow. He ascertained direction by the North Star and other celestial constellations, a knack every seasoned mountaineer developed if he wanted to last long in the wilderness.

  Fetches Water did not let out a peep. She stopped when he did, listened when he listened. His smiles served to bolster her confidence, but she was still a nervous wreck. Distant sounds made her stiffen and gasp.

  Nate had an added worry in the form of his family. By this time, he reasoned, they were probably wondering what had happened to him. If they had followed his instructions, they should be about thirty to forty miles south of the Platte. But if they hadn’t, if the impatient Crows had pushed on, then they might be much closer. In which case there was a very real likelihood the Sioux might stumble on them while hunting for the girl and him.

  The prairie was alive with other sounds besides those made by the Lakotas. Coyotes yipped. Wolves howled their plaintive refrains. Grizzlies growled and painters screamed.

  Nighttime was “the killing time” as a trapper Nate knew had once put it. The hours of darkness brought countless savage predators out of their dens to roam in search of hapless prey. Meat eaters preferred the mantle of inky gloom to the blazing brightness of the sun. At night they could prowl undetected, and pounce when least expected.

  Nate tensed when a snort and a guttural cough pinpointed a bear less than a hundred feet to the northeast. He knew that it might be a harmless black bear, but he wasn’t about to take anything for granted.

  They angled to the southwest for a mile or so. The cough wasn’t repeated, so Nate figured they had given the beast the slip.

  Gradually the stars overhead changed position as the hours went by. It was the middle of the night when Nate felt safe in stopping briefly to rest the horses. Dismounting, he let the stallion graze while he walked off a few yards to survey the benighted prairie.

  The Crow girl joined him. She didn’t like to be left alone and it showed. Nervously rubbing her palms together, she stared bleakly toward the Platte.

  “Do not worry,” Nate signed. “They will not find us. Soon you will be back with your father.”

  The knowledge of sign language was not a skill restricted to men. So the girl was quick to respond, “Who are you, white man, that you help me this way? How do you know of my father?”

  Nate signed, “I am Grizzly Killer, a friend of Two Humps. I was once brought to your village as a prisoner of the Invincible One, but I later showed your people that he was not all he claimed to be.”

  “I remember you now,” the girl said. “My father always said that your medicine is more powerful than anyone he ever met
.”

  Over the next few minutes Nate explained how Bull Standing With Cow had asked for his help. He did not reveal Carter’s treachery, nor did he see fit to mention his scrape with He Dog, although he did tell her the names of the warriors who had accompanied her father.

  “So He Dog is with you,” Fetches Water said somberly. “I should have known he would come.”

  “You do not seem happy about it.”

  The girl frowned. “Soon I will be old enough to take a husband. He Dog wants me, and he has let it be known that anyone else who courts me will answer to him. I am afraid he will be my only suitor.”

  Nate sympathized. Coming of age was a special event in the life of an Indian girl. It was usually marked by an elaborate ceremony. Then, depending on her attractiveness and popularity, she would be courted by as many men who were interested.

  The courtship was strictly chaperoned. Potential suitors would show up in front of the family’s lodge with a buffalo robe over their shoulders. If the girl was so inclined, she would take turns slipping under the robes of those lucky enough to catch her eye and spend time whispering and perhaps fondling one another. She could refuse to be embraced, and she was always free to slip out from under the robe whenever she so desired.

  In time one of her suitors might make bold to send a friend to her father’s lodge with however many horses the suitor could spare. If the girl accepted his marriage proposal, she took the horses to water or added them to her father’s herd. If she wasn’t interested, she sent the horses back or paid no attention to them.

  There were few hurt feelings. In most instances the young men knew if their sweethearts would accept or not. At other times, the unions were arranged in advance by the parents of both parties.

  For He Dog to assert that Fetches Water was going to be his, no matter what, was a serious breach of tribal etiquette. If he were allowed to carry through with his threat, it would ruin one of the grandest phases of the young girl’s life.

  “Any young man who truly cares for you will not let He Dog scare him off,” Nate consoled her. “I would guess that you end up having more suitors than you know what to do with.”

  “I hope so.”

  They listened but heard no riders. Nate was eager to go on, so they were under way within a short while. Their little talk, he observed, had served to ease some of the girl’s anxiety; she did not ride as stiffly as before.

  About four in the morning, just when Nate was beginning to think that they actually had a prayer of getting away, the wind wafted low voices to them from the west. Stopping, he put a finger to his lips to caution the girl not to speak.

  The sound faded, but Nate made no move to go on. Soon the wind picked up again, and with it came the indistinct words of whoever was out there. The language being used was hard to identify, but Nate suspected it was the tongue of the Oglalas.

  Slipping off the stallion, Nate gestured for the girl to stay where she was, then he drew his knife and stalked off to investigate. He could move rapidly thanks to the wind, which rustled the grass so loudly that his movements would go unnoticed.

  Unexpectedly Nate came on a shallow basin he estimated to be a hundred feet across. Huddled beside a tiny fire at the bottom were five Lakotas. Their horses were lined up behind them.

  It was one of the search parties. The men were tired and had elected to rest until daylight. A few were munching on pemmican, and at the sight of it Nate’s rumbling stomach nearly gave him away. He backed up a few feet so they wouldn’t hear and suddenly bumped into something that had not been there a minute ago.

  Thinking that the Oglalas had posted sentries and he had bumped into one, Nate whirled, bringing the knife up for a thrust. He checked his swing almost too late, then grabbed Fetches Water by the arm and drew her into the grass where he signed, “I told you to stay with the horse. Do you realize that I nearly stabbed you?”

  “I refuse to be by myself,” the girl responded, “so I tied them and followed you.”

  She was young but she was resolute. Nate knew he’d be wasting his breath if he tried to convince her to go back and wait for him. So, easing onto his elbows, he snaked to the basin with her at his side.

  Three of the warriors the trapper recognized. One was the man who had staked a claim to his fine beaver hat. Another had a flintlock and Nate’s powder horn and ammo bag. Still another was the Sioux so adept at roping.

  Nate would have given anything to get his effects back, especially the pistol. Without a gun he felt half naked. He might as well wish on a star, though, since it would be certain suicide for him to charge on down there and seek to overpower five armed warriors.

  Or would it?

  Grasping the girl’s hand, Nate led her to their mounts. By sign, he conveyed his intentions.

  Fetches Water regarded him as if he were insane. “Do not do this thing, Grizzly Killer. You will only get yourself slain. Some food and a gun are not worth your life.”

  “I also want my hat back,” Nate reminded her as he stepped to the stallion. Winking, he swung up. “If something happens, head due south. In less than two sleeps you will come to a creek. Your father and the Crow war party should be there.”

  “Please,” the girl signed.

  Bending, Nate patted her head as he went by. He clucked to the stallion and swung wide to the north to approach the basin from a different direction. That way, if he was rubbed out and the Lakotas backtracked him at first light, the girl would have ample time to get away.

  Holding the knife at his waist, Nate flattened on the big stallion’s broad back. At a plodding walk he neared the west rim. With the black sky in the background, he felt confident the warriors wouldn’t spot him.

  When the Lakotas materialized, Nate stopped. Their five horses were directly below him. He smiled to himself as he slowly straightened, tossed back his head, and did his best imitation of the screeching cry of a mountain lion. Even as he uttered it, he attacked.

  The five Sioux war horses reacted predictably.

  Whinnying and plunging in fright, they lit out across the basin for the far side. In their headlong flight they were not about to stop for anything or anyone, including the startled warriors who leaped erect in their path.

  One of the warriors crumpled under flailing hooves. Another was struck head on by a gelding and sent sailing as if he were an ungainly bird. In their panic two of the horses ran through the fire, scattering burning brands every which way and raising a cloud of smoke.

  Nate was right on their tails. A stumbling Oglala appeared in front of him and he swung the knife overhand, slamming the hilt onto the top of the man’s head. The Lakota dropped like a rock.

  From out of the smoke popped the Sioux wearing Nate’s hat. Nate promptly hauled on the reins and rode him down. Then, vaulting to the ground, he sought his last foe.

  It was the roper. The Oglala hurtled out of nowhere with all the feral fury of a berserk bobcat, his own knife flashing in a blur.

  Pivoting, Nate countered a flurry of swings, their blades ringing together like chimes. The onslaught drove him backward, and he tripped over an unconscious Lakota. Unable to stop himself, he toppled.

  The roper yipped and swooped in for the kill.

  Flat on his back, Nate managed to get his right arm high enough to ward off the blow. Sparks seemed to fly from their knives. Again the Oglala came at him and he scrambled to the rear, barely staying out of reach as the warrior slashed down at him repeatedly. He couldn’t keep it up forever, though. Inevitably, the Sioux would connect.

  In order to buy time to regain his feet, Nate lashed out with both legs and caught the Lakota low on the shins. The man skipped to the left. Shoving into a crouch, Nate ducked under a wide strike, then leaped, the point of his knife aimed at the warrior’s throat.

  The roper was as agile as he was quick. Twisting and dodging, he evaded Nate and retaliated with a vicious stab below the belt.

  More by accident than design, Nate parried and circled. The Lakota ci
rcled too, while around them fluttered wisps of smoke. One of the prone Sioux groaned. Nate feinted, chopped, spun and blocked. He was skilled at knife fighting, but the Oglala was his equal if not his better.

  The fire had not gone out. Dancing flames cast their shadows on the surrounding slopes, resulting in a macabre shadow ballet.

  Grunting, the Oglala flicked at the trapper’s face, at his neck, at his midsection. Nate was hard pressed to stay one step ahead. Back-pedaling, he went on the defensive.

  Then the roper did a strange thing; he reached behind him with his left hand. Darting in close, he cut at Nate’s eyes. Instinctively, Nate brought his knife up to protect himself, and when he did, the Lakota’s left arm reappeared. In the warrior’s hand was the coiled rope, which darted out like the tongue of a serpent and looped around Nate’s ankles. Before Nate could wrench loose, the rope tightened and his legs were yanked out from under him.

  Instantly the Oglala pounced.

  ~*~

  Winona King was riding toward Red Willow Creek in the dead of night when a peculiar tingle ran down her spine. It was as if an icy finger had stroked her from her head to her hips. She arched her back and looked around in consternation.

  The air had not grown colder. The wind had not intensified. Winona had no explanation for the sensation.

  Her people were ardent believers in omens and signs. From childhood she had been taught to look for the hand of the Great Mystery in all things. Which led her to hope that her odd feeling hadn’t been a premonition of some sort.

  Zachary King, attentive to his mother’s every movement, immediately asked, “Are you all right, Ma?”

  “Yes,” Winona answered, hiding how disturbed she was.

  “We should be there about the middle of the morning, don’t you reckon?” Zach inquired. It had been her idea to head for Red Willow Creek, since that was where his father would expect to find them. He had wholeheartedly agreed in the hope it would see them reunited that much sooner.