“I hope they do,” Grat’s voice grated. “I’d like to kill ’em all. I’d like to go with you though.” Something wistful touched the big man’s face, an unusual sight to Rocklin. “I like that little girl.”
“We all do, but you wouldn’t be much use huntin’ a Kiowa war party. You are good at your job, so take care of things.”
Kicking Bird was staring at Rocklin, his eyes inscrutable. “I think it is Santana,” he said, a warning in his obsidian eyes.
“What makes you think that?” Rocklin demanded.
“His camp, it is over there two or three days’ ride. He’ll go back there, I think.”
“I think so, too,” Four Bears spoke up. “It is bad to tackle Santana without a big war party beside us.”
“Well, we don’t have a big war party, Four Bears.” He waited for the Indians to say that they would not go. Indians had no shame about backing off from a fight when they saw they were outnumbered or in a bad situation. Rocklin agreed with them, for the most part. He knew that words would not convince them, and he said finally, “I’ve got to go after the women. I wish you’d go with me. I’ll make it worth your while. Buy you whatever you want.”
“Dead men can’t use much,” Kicking Bird suddenly grinned, “but I will go with you. I never liked Santana.”
“But Santana would like to get his hands on you,” Four Bears said. “You remember him.”
“I remember him. He won’t take me alive.”
“We need good horses,” Kicking Bird said.
“We’ll take three horses apiece, the best horses in the herd. Let’s go pick ’em out now.”
* * *
MARK WAS SO WEARY he was about to fall off his horse. His arm ached from holding the lines that held his extra two mounts along beside him. Sometimes they lagged and nearly jerked him out of the saddle.
The sun was going down now, and it was all he could do to keep up. He noticed that nobody had looked to see if he was coming, and he knew that if he fell behind, he would be on his own.
They had been traveling for six hours, and finally Four Bears, who was the best tracker, pulled his mount up and turned. “We camp here. Too dark.”
Relief washed through Mark. He sat in the saddle, aching and wondering if he had the strength to stand up. He forced himself out of the saddle, and his legs nearly collapsed. Glancing around quickly, he saw that nobody was paying him any attention. Kicking Bird took his horses. “I’ll take care of the horses,” he said.
“Mark, catch up some wood if you can find any.”
“All right, Chad.”
Mark began walking around. Wood was scarce, but he found a small tree that had died, apparently, of the heat. He broke it up, came back, and soon he had a fire going.
“How far ahead do you think they are, Chad?”
“Four Bears thinks maybe twelve hours, a day’s ride. It could be more.” Rocklin’s voice was hard as stone, and he sat before the small fire adding sticks to it.
When the fire was going well, the Indians came in. They sat down cross-legged, and Four Bears stared at Rocklin. “They’re headed straight for Santana’s camp. Many braves there.”
“How many?” Rocklin asked.
“Who knows. Maybe a hundred.”
Alarm ran through Mark. “Why, we can’t fight a hundred Indians!” They had half a dozen guns between them, but the Indians had guns, too. He waited for Rocklin to speak, to give some sort of indication of how things were going, but he did not. Mark said, “I guess we can eat this food that Kate put up.”
He got up, found the meat and the bread, and the four ate silently. There was no water available. It was a dry camp, so they had to drink out of their canteens.
As soon as they had eaten, the two Indians lay down and seemed to go to sleep instantly. Mark had no thought of sleep. He stared into the fire and, from time to time, lifted his eyes toward Rocklin. Finally he said, “I can’t help thinking what could be happening to Jori and Carleen. I’ve heard awful tales about how Indians treat captive women.”
Rocklin stared across the fire, the flickering shadows changing his face and obscuring his thoughts. “There’s no sense fooling yourself, Mark. They’ll be treated rough, but they’ll be alive, and that’s what counts.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“They capture women for a purpose. They want to make squaws out of them, but they’ll be alive.”
The crackling of the dry wood made popping sounds and sent sparks flying outward. They looked like miniature stars while overhead the real stars glittered. The two men sat there silently for a long time, and finally Mark said, “I hate to tell you, Chad, but I’m scared stiff.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“I want to pray, but I haven’t been a praying man. I’ve never given God much of a thought. How can I go to Him when I need something and cry like a baby?”
Rocklin picked up a small piece of the wood, laid it on the fire, and then another. Finally he said softly, “I reckon if we waited until we were good enough to go to God, none of us would ever go. I’m like you though. I wish I were a praying man.”
“How in the world are we ever going to deal with a hundred Indians?”
“Best chance is to catch ’em before they get there. I figure there’s nine of them. We can handle that many. Come daylight we’ll ride as hard as we can. We just have to wait and see how it goes.”
“Maybe we can catch ’em by surprise.”
Rocklin shook his head. “If it’s Santana, we won’t catch him by surprise.”
“You know about him?”
“He’s always been the enemy of the Comanches. When I was growing up, I heard tales about him, not nice ones. Nothing you’d want to hear. He’d like to take me alive though.”
“Why you especially?”
“I killed his son on a raid. He’s never forgotten it.” He suddenly said, “Go to sleep if you can, Mark. It’s liable to be a long day tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty
SANTANA SET A HARD pace, driving the horse at a dead run at times. After an hour the Indian carrying Carleen, at the command from the leader, removed the gag and untied her hands. Carleen at once began to fight, but the Indian merely doubled his fist up and struck her in the temple. She would have fallen if he had not caught her. He laughed and said something that made the other Indians laugh as well.
Jori was almost numb with fear. She was aware that they were climbing a ridge, and when they were near the top, she looked back but could see nothing but the emptiness of the plain. She was torn apart, could hardly breathe for the tears that she tried to withhold, and there was the knowledge that the future held nothing for her but pain and agony and misery. She had heard stories of how the Indians tortured people. They were noted for their cruelty, but everyone said they were so brave that you could strip the skin off of them and they would never make a sound. She had heard also that they admired anyone who could undergo torture without showing fear.
Finally Santana called a halt. A small water hole fed by a stream apparently filled in a slight indentation, and the Indians all stopped and took turns drinking. When all the Indians were finished, they stood around laughing and talking. Santana motioned to Jori and said, “Drink.” One of the Indians cut the rope from under her feet, and she dismounted. She started for Carleen, but one of the Indians, whom she later discovered was named Fox, grabbed her. His eyes were wide, and he grabbed her blouse and ripped it away. His intentions were plain, but Jori determined to fight to the best of her ability. She struck out at Fox and caught him in the throat. He grunted and struck her a blow in the temple. She staggered backward, and he yelled and made for her. At that moment Carleen ran and jumped on his back. It caught him off guard, and her arms came around him and her nails bit into his face as she raked at him. She was yelling, and Jori caught her balance and shook her head from the effects of the blow. She saw Fox reach for his knife and start for the girl, but Santana called out something in their l
anguage and he stopped. An argument ensued, and finally Fox snarled and backed off.
Santana advanced. He was not as large as most of the other Indians, looking almost slight, but there was something fierce about him. He came to stand before Carleen, and she glared at him. “I ain’t afraid of you!” she yelled.
Santana laughed and looked at Jori. “This one is brave. She will make a good squaw.”
“What do you want with us?” Jori asked, hardly able to form the words. “My people will pay you to get us back.”
“I am Santana. I will take you to the village and leave you. Then I will bring all my braves, and we will kill everyone at the wagons and we’ll take all. We will take everything. Now,” he said, “drink and we will go.”
At that moment a resolution formed in Jori. It was a simple one. Stay alive! She turned and said, “Carleen, drink.” She herself stooped down and drank. When they were finished, Santana motioned to the horses, and she went back, mounted up, and Santana said, “You ride with her,” speaking to Carleen. Carleen came at once and got on the horse behind Jori. Santana and the Indians mounted up, and they left the spring at a gallop.
* * *
AT SUNSET THE PARTY stopped. Several buffalo were grouped together, and the thickset Indian called Fox asked a question. Santana nodded, and all of the Indians whooped and took off after the buffalo.
Carleen slipped off to the ground, and Jori dismounted. They both looked at Santana, who was watching them curiously. “We will eat,” he said. “Do not try to run away.”
Indeed, there was no place to run. Jori saw that, and she stiffly stood there. She went over and put her arm around Carleen’s shoulders. “We’ll be all right, honey,” she said.
“Are they going to kill us, Jori?”
“No, but they may be mean.”
“I ain’t afraid of them,” Carleen said.
“Try not to make them mad.”
Carleen said, “If we could knock that old Santana on the head and the other one watching the horses, we could get away.”
“We can’t do that.”
Santana ignored them. He appeared to be thinking deeply about something. He moved twenty yards away and stood there with his back to them, studying the sunset.
There was nothing to do, and Carleen and Jori simply waited. It seemed like a long time, and darkness had completely fallen when the party came back. They had evidently killed a buffalo and cut it into chunks, for they quickly made up a fire. Some of them could not wait but began eating the liver and the tongue raw. Santana accepted a chunk of the meat, thrust it onto the point of a stick, and held it over the fire that the young men had made. He said something, and one of the warriors hacked off a chunk of meat and threw it in the general direction of the two captives. It fell in the dirt, and Santana gave another command. The same Indian that had thrown the meat hacked off a sapling, sharpened the point and tossed it to them.
“Eat,” Santana said, his face impassive, his eyes fixed on the meat that was sizzling in the fire.
“I don’t want their old meat,” Carleen said, but Jori shook her head. “We have to be strong,” she said and thrust the point of the stick into the meat. She cooked it, at least seared the outside of it, and then ate what she could. Carleen did the same. The Indians ate until they were gorged. Two of them disappeared out into the darkness and the rest simply lay down and went to sleep.
Santana had said nothing during the meal. Now he looked across the fire where the two sat, Jori with her arm around Carleen.
Carleen said, “When can we go home?”
Santana shook his head. “You never go home. You will be Kiowa woman. I will give you to one of my warriors.”
Carleen shook her head violently, her eyes fixed on the savage. “God won’t let that happen.”
The youngster’s words caught the attention of Santana, and he grinned faintly. He was a good-looking Indian with regular features beginning to show a little age now but still strong, and his eyes were alive. “Your God is weak,” he remarked.
“No, he’s not!” Jori said strongly. “He’s a strong God.”
Santana turned to face her. “I have heard many who believed in Jesus God. I have seen them die under torture, but Jesus God never came to save them.”
“He’ll save us,” Carleen said stoutly. “He’ll send Rocklin to get us.”
Santana’s eyes glittered. “I saw Rocklin in your camp.”
“You know him?” Jori asked.
“Yes. He was a Comanche.” He fell silent for a time, and finally he said, “He raided my village with a war party and killed my son. I’ve always known that I would kill him.”
There was utter finality in the Indian’s words, and Jori realized that nothing on earth could change the mind of this man. Rocklin had told her how strong family ties were among the Indians, and now she knew even more fear.
“You believe in Jesus God?”
Jori was caught off guard. “Yes, I do.”
But even as Jori spoke, there was a knowledge in her that the words did not reflect what she was. She had always attended church, for that was the family tradition. Kate was a devout believer, and her father was at least a nominal Christian. Mark was not, but he went through the motions as did the rest of them. As she sat there in the stillness of the desert air at the complete and total mercy of this savage who would pull her apart, taking one finger after another if he so chose, she suddenly knew that she could not call on God. I don’t really know God, she thought. I thought I did, but now I see that I don’t know anything about Him.
Santana seemed to be able to read what was going on inside Jori’s mind, and his eyes were fixed on her. “Jesus God will not save you. You will see. No one can save you.” He gave a command, and one of the Indians apparently awakened. He listened as Santana spoke. He came and tied the hands of both the captives with rawhide behind their backs.
It was cold in the night air, and the two huddled together the best they could with their hands tied. “It’ll be all right. Chad will come for us,” Carleen whispered.
The words brought no comfort to Jori. She was struggling with the knowledge that calling on God was impossible for her. She had not known this, and now a greater fear than ever came. She had somehow imagined that she could always call on God and he would answer, but now when she tried to pray she heard nothing but the silence of the desert.
* * *
THE SECOND DAY FOUND Jori even more hopeless than she had felt the night before. Santana seemed quick to keep the two of them safe from the attentions of the other Indians, but her heart was sick with the knowledge that all of her life she had, more or less, used God. She decided that religion had been a convenience for her. Now as she rode with the band headed for Santana’s home village, the future was dark, not only because of the atrocities that she might encounter at the hands of the Kiowa but the knowledge that her whole life had been a lie as far as religion was concerned.
They stopped at noon, and two scouts went out while the rest were content to eat what was left of the meat of the buffalo. Santana had kept two men to watch the spare horses, and late that afternoon as the sun began dropping in the sky, he came to stand before the two of them. His eyes were fixed on Carleen. He seemed to find her fascinating. “You have courage,” he said. “You will make a fine Kiowa.”
“No, I won’t ever be an Indian,” Carleen said. She stood straight and faced him fearlessly, so much so that Jori wondered how one small child had such lack of fear.
“You must learn our ways,” Santana said, “or you will die.” He turned to Jori and said, “You will be the squaw of one of my band.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You have little choice, but it will be harder for you than for the child.” He thought for a moment and then added, “We captured a woman once when I was a young man. She felt as you felt, that she could never be Kiowa, but she was given to my uncle as his squaw. We kept her for years, but many years later we were trapped by soldiers.
They recaptured the woman. We heard what happened to her later.”
“What happened?”
“She had forgotten how to speak her tongue almost. She cried to be allowed to come back to her Kiowa husband and to her children. She had stopped being a white eyes and had become a Kiowa. She did not know any of the life. The girl will be like that. It will be harder for you.” He shook his head and said, “Do not hope. It’s useless. One day I will die. It will be as the gods ordain. Now, the gods have given you into the hands of the Kiowa. You will be a Kiowa woman. It would be happier if you’d accept this. It is not a bad life. It is different from anything you have known. You will find a way and a place.”
“I won’t ever be a Kiowa!” Carleen said, glaring at Santana. He merely laughed at her and turned away. Carleen went over and put her arm around Jori’s waist. “Don’t listen to him, Jori. We’ll get away. Chad will come for us. You’ll see he will.”
But Jori had lost hope. She did not respond but simply held onto the young girl and tried to keep the tears from falling.
* * *
“IT’LL BE UP TO you, Mr. Hayden.” Grat Herendeen was facing Leland, and the sunrise was throwing its bright light over the landscape. The two were looking back over the track that they had followed, and both were thinking of the two captives. The wagons were drawn up in a defensive position, and scouts had been out all night. The water was good, and there was enough graze for all of the animals. But Herendeen was worried. “We can stay here for awhile, but I’m worried about those Indians comin’ back. They saw how few of us there are, and if they find some more of their kind, they might attack.”
“I can’t just go off and leave my girls.” Leland Hayden seemed to have shrunk with the crisis. His shoulders were slumped, and dark circles were under his eyes.
“I’m right sorry about your girls, but Rocklin’s a good man. Him and them Indians, they got a chance of gettin’ ’em back. You want to stay here again today and see what happens?”
“Yes. I want to do that.”
Santa Fe Woman Page 22