She pursed her lips, pretending to pout. “I may tell my father that you are neglecting me,” she teased. Something about the rough-hewn scout made her want to tease him. He was so obviously uncomfortable with her playful attempts to embarrass him.
He grunted. “Huh, I reckon your daddy might want to spank your bottom for even talking to the likes of me.”
“Why, Mr. Coles”—she pretended to be offended—“what a thing to say to a lady.” Her face, a stern mask for a moment, quickly broke into a mischievous grin. “I think I’m going to insist that you take me on a picnic.”
Jason laughed. “I think you ain’t only gonna get your bottom spanked. I think you’re gonna get me fired to boot.” In spite of her flirtatious conversation, he knew better than to think the young lady had any interest in a man as unrefined as he. She was playing with his emotions, like most young girls, he figured. It was the second time he had been teased that day and the sun wasn’t even high in the sky yet. Although he had to admit that this time was not as gruesome as the episode with the eyebrow. He gulped down the last few swallows of his now-cold coffee and handed the cup to a private behind the table. “Much obliged,” he said. Nodding to Sarah, he said, “Enjoyed talking to you, Miss Holder. I hope you have a pleasant day.”
* * *
His common sense told him there was nothing between the young lady and himself. Still he could not put the flirtatious conversation out of his mind. Now, almost an hour later, he found himself riding past the little stand of willows where Sarah and John Welch had picnicked the day before. For no reason he could explain, he dismounted and walked over to the stream. The grass was still depressed where they had spread the cloth and sat to have their picnic. He could not help the sinking feeling in his heart when his trained eye told him the grass was flattened a little more than normal if two people were simply sitting and eating. He did not want to let his mind pursue the thought. He wasn’t sure why he was wasting his time there, or why his thoughts were of a melancholy nature. Maybe Sarah’s presence in camp, and more specifically her tendency to flirt just a bit, had triggered a need in him that he had managed to suppress until then.
His was a lonely life. There was no regret, however. He had chosen it. In fact, he realized he could live no other way. The freedom he possessed was more than a preference for him. It was essential, for he had found early in his life that he could not tolerate a crowd of people for very long. For that matter, he was almost certain he could not tolerate but one person for a long period of time. And that one person had been taken from him more than ten years ago when that coach had careened over the side of a mountain. For that reason, he had never even considered the possibility of marrying.
Now this young girl, fresh as a spring morning, comes into his life and awakens troublesome emotions within him, and with no more than a few harmless comments that he chose to interpret as flirting. He stood silently staring at the fading impressions in the grass. “Wake up!” he scolded, “standing here like a damn fool!” Why, he wondered, would a young thing like Sarah Holder even look at a rough-shod grizzly like himself? Shaking himself mentally, he discarded his foolish daydreaming and told himself he had let his imagination run away with him. He decided to put the girl out of his mind and get back to the business he was being paid for, to track down a murderer.
It was by pure accident he noticed it, one bent branch of a willow. Even then it would have escaped his sharp eye if he was not naturally alert for signs. He stopped to examine it and then he decided to take a look further down the bank. Barely twenty yards from the picnic site, he found a footprint. A more thorough search revealed several prints, enough to give him a vivid picture. The moccasin prints were about a day old. There was no doubt in his mind that they were Cheyenne and he was dead certain they belonged to one Cheyenne in particular, Stone Hand! Jason recreated the scene in his mind. The savage had watched the afternoon picnic of Sarah and Welch from no more than a few yards away. Once again the boldness of the renegade shocked Jason as he formed the picture of the girl and her escort, eating and talking, unaware of the rattlesnake leering at them. Sam Running Fox’s words echoed in his ears. Stone Hand goes where he wants.
But why did he not act? Jason asked himself. The man lived only to kill as often and as many as he could. Why did he spare these two? The thought of Sarah chatting gayly, mesmerizing the young doctor with her lilting laughter while no more than a stone’s throw away a dark and menacing killer silently watched, sent a shiver down his spine. Stone Hand could have easily slipped in and cut both their throats. But he didn’t. Why? The more he thought about it, the more he was struck by the complexity of the man he hunted. The man’s ego was enormous. He was playing another game. And Jason was convinced that he was Stone Hand’s chosen opponent in that game. Looking over the tracks again, he began to see more than the obvious evidence that a man had stood watching the young couple. It was too obvious, certainly for a man who could make a trail of seven horses disappear. Stone Hand intended for Jason to find his tracks. He was telling Jason once again that he could go anywhere he chose, when he chose. It still didn’t explain why he had not killed them, unless it was just another mind game he was playing with Jason. Stone Hand most likely knew Sarah was the colonel’s daughter. If he wanted to cause as much injury to his white enemies as possible, stealing the colonel’s daughter was the way to do it. This was the way an Indian would think, to bring personal distress to an enemy was better than killing any number of nameless troopers. Jason was sure now that the savage meant to kidnap Sarah Holder. But first, to satisfy his sadistic ego he felt the need to flaunt his intentions in Jason’s face, daring him to stop him. At once there was an urgency to act. Jason knew Stone Hand would strike soon. He had to warn Colonel Holder.
CHAPTER 6
Colonel Holder was clearly alarmed although he didn’t say anything at first. He was a man accustomed to facing unexpected situations but Jason’s warning hit squarely in his own family. In spite of his immediate concern, there was never a moment of panic. When he spoke, it was with great resolve. “That devil is as brazen as they said he was. We’ve got to act fast, Jason. If what you suspect is true, Sarah’s in danger right now.”
The colonel moved quickly, summoning the sergeant major and ordering him to mount a patrol immediately. While in the process, he explained to Jason that Sarah was not in camp. Captain Welch had invited her to accompany his medical team on a visit to the agency clinic. Sarah, anxious to get a closer look at the women and children of the reservation Cheyennes, accepted with enthusiasm.
“Damn!” Jason exhaled. “When did they leave?”
“Just after breakfast.”
She must have left right after he had talked to her at the mess tent. He found it irritating that, moments after teasing him with her playful chatter she had ridden off with Captain Welch. He immediately reprimanded himself silently for thoughts of such a petty nature in the face of the serious business at hand. “I’m going on ahead,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried to his horse. He didn’t express his entire feelings to the colonel, no need to add to the man’s distress. But he knew in his gut that Stone Hand had given him a warning at the scene of the picnic. And now Sarah could not have cooperated more with the savage in his deadly game.
* * *
Sarah Holder was both fascinated and appalled at the conditions she found at the agency. She had heard many exciting stories of the proud and fierce Cheyenne people. She was not prepared for the pitiful appearance of a people in captivity. There seemed to be no purposeful activity in the Indian camp. The men stood in groups, talking. The women sat silently before their tipis, some mending clothes, some making corn cakes from government-issued meal. They stared with empty eyes as she walked among them. John seemed impervious to their plight as he walked along beside her, carrying on a constant chatter about his clinic and how the Indians were like children with no practical knowledge of modern medicine. It was clear to Sarah that the doctor saw himself as so
me sort of medical savior to these people. She couldn’t help but feel troubled that he gave no consideration to the obvious fact that they had somehow survived for centuries before he arrived with his white man’s medicine.
“Will you be all right for a little while?” He stood with her while his men erected a tent to be used for a field clinic. “If you like, I can have a blanket spread for you in the front of the clinic.”
“No thanks, but I think I’d rather look around out here. You go on and tend to your patients. I’ll entertain myself.”
“As you wish. But, Sarah, don’t stray far from the clinic.”
She answered with a smile and the doctor excused himself to see to the needs of the small gathering of people awaiting him. Sarah occupied herself by watching a group of children playing a game behind the tent. It was a spirited game and it captured her interest immediately.
After a short while, she glanced over as an old man appeared on the opposite side of the circle where the children played. He was bent and gray, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Sarah gave him no more than a fleeting thought. He seemed to be watching the children at their play with some interest.
The children had a ball of sorts, fashioned from hide, and they were indulged in a spirited effort to knock it about with sticks. It appeared to Sarah that the children themselves were knocked about more often than the ball. There was a great deal of laughter and excited cries and while she was unsure of the object of the game she became fascinated with the intensity of the players. When she glanced up at the old man again, she noticed that he had moved around the circle, closer to her. He seemed to be as intense a spectator as she. She was distracted for a moment when she heard her name called and turned to see John standing outside the tent.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” he called out. “I hope you’re not too bored. I’ll be a while yet. Then we’ll have lunch. I had Sergeant Ortiz prepare a picnic basket for us.”
“I’m fine,” she called back. “See to your patients. I’ll amuse myself.”
“All right then, just stay close to the clinic.” He disappeared around the corner of the tent.
The events that took place during the next few seconds happened so fast and with such suddenness that Sarah had no time to react. A powerful hand was clamped tightly over her mouth and she was lifted off her feet by an arm that crushed the breath from her lungs. Everything went black and she lost consciousness without ever having made a sound.
* * *
When Jason galloped up before the agency building, he was met by a scene of confusion bordering on chaos. He didn’t like the look of it, knowing at once that his worst fears had been realized. He was too late. Captain Welch was pacing back and forth, ranting before a stoic group of young Cheyenne men. His orderlies were searching frantically from lodge to lodge. The Cheyenne women and children stood passively by, watching the confusion. Jason did not need an explanation. He knew what had happened and his only concern at that moment was a dread that he might find Sarah’s body. He had to count on a feeling that Stone Hand’s inclination would run more toward abduction than murder, for no other reason than to extend the anguish of his enemy. When a thorough search of the entire village turned up nothing, he assumed his hunch was correct and there was a small measure of hope that the girl was still alive.
“Goddamn, Coles, I swear I don’t know how it could have happened! She was right behind the tent here, watching some children playing. I just checked on her to make sure she was all right, just a few minutes before she disappeared.” Welch was grief-stricken and more than a little bit concerned about his responsibility for the safety of the colonel’s daughter. “Find her, Coles! For God’s sake, find her!”
Jason wasted little time in hearing out the doctor’s justification for his lack of protecting Sarah. He knew he was already losing precious time. A quick scout of the area painted a vivid picture of what had occurred. Stone Hand, it could be no other, had snatched Sarah from behind and carried her inside a nearby lodge. There he undoubtedly had tied her up and then carried her out behind the lodge where his horses were tethered. The trail led off to the west.
Welch mentioned that there had been no one around Sarah except the children and an old man who was also watching the game. Something jogged Jason’s memory and he recalled that when he had watched Lame Dog’s camp he had seen an old man, bent and gray, ride out alone. Coincidence? Maybe, but he remembered Colonel Holder remarking that Stone Hand often wore disguises. As he stood, gazing out in the direction the tracks led, he glanced over to discover Sam Running Fox standing nearby. When Sam caught his eye, he walked over to Jason.
“Like I told you.” Sam stated the obvious, “Stone Hand goes where he pleases.”
Jason didn’t answer right away, staring at the half-breed for a full minute before he spoke. “Sam, can you give me any help on this?” Sam simply shrugged. “Where will he likely take her? Any idea?”
“No. Who can say what is in Stone Hand’s mind?” He watched Jason’s reaction and he could see that the girl was important to the tall Indian scout. “Stone Hand is big medicine. He has no friends. He talks to no one. It is best you leave this one be, Jason, or you’ll be next in line to decorate his scalp stick.”
Jason considered this sober advice for no more than an instant. Then he climbed into the saddle and turned Henry’s head to the west. “Well, I aim to give the son of a bitch a chance at this scalp and I’ll tell you this…he damn sure better be a spirit…because, if he’s a mortal man, I’m gonna hang that devil.” Henry sensed the urgency of his master and Jason had to hold him back a moment, long enough to call out to Captain Welch. “I’m going after them. Tell the colonel I’ve gone on ahead.” He started to leave when Sam grabbed Henry’s bridle and held him.
“Wait. I’m going with you.”
Jason was startled. “What? I thought you said it was no use going after him. Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill you?”
“I’m already a dead man,” Sam replied stoically. “He knows I talked to you the other day.” He turned to get his horse and weapons, pausing to give one more comment. “I’d rather hunt than be hunted. Maybe we might get lucky.”
* * *
The trail led to the west for what Jason figured to be about ten or twelve miles where it turned to the north, following a small stream. Stone Hand was traveling fast. Jason had sought to gain ground on the renegade but they were unable to shorten the distance between them. He had hoped that having Sarah with him would slow the Cheyenne down. At least he could be reasonably certain that the girl was still unhurt at this point because Stone Hand was traveling hard. She was no doubt bound hand and foot. He and Sam remained hard on the trail until daylight began to fade. Darkness found them close to a low butte, dotted with an occasional tree. There was nothing they could do at this point but wait until first light to pick up the trail again. Theirs was a cold camp that night.
Sleep was not easy. Thoughts of the girl weighed heavily on his mind and he found it impossible to avoid envisioning possible scenes of Sarah’s fate. Her survival depended solely upon Stone Hand’s moods and what he planned to accomplish with the kidnapping of the colonel’s daughter. Although he and Sam were the pursuers, he was mindful to keep a cautious eye for attack from the Cheyenne. He felt that Stone Hand knew he would be coming after him…wanted him to, in fact. And he just might double back on them. Sleep finally came in spite of the many thoughts racing through his brain and he awoke to the sound of Henry’s noisy grazing on the sparse grass around his head.
They didn’t waste any time in getting under way again. After a couple of hours’ ride, they came across Stone Hand’s campsite. In spite of the urgency to keep going, Jason stopped briefly to scout the campsite. There was not a great deal of sign to tell them what took place during Sarah’s first night of captivity but there was enough to form a picture in his mind.
“The girl put up a fight here.” Sam’s fingers brushed over some crushed blades of gras
s. “She got beat or mounted, or both. Can’t tell.”
Jason’s face was tense. “I hope she just got beat,” was all he said.
Sam detected a deeper message in Jason’s tone and realized that the girl might mean more to the scout than the simple fact she was the colonel’s daughter. He tried to ease Jason’s mind somewhat. “Probably just a couple of smacks to let her know not to give him any trouble. Stone Hand don’t usually mount white women. He don’t think they’re good enough to breed with a Cheyenne.”
Sam’s comments did little to ease Jason’s mind. He decided he had better not dwell on thoughts of that nature and climbed back in the saddle. Nudging Henry with his heels, he took up the trail again.
Toward midday they determined that the signs were fresher and they knew they were gaining on Stone Hand. He urged Henry on. As he rode, his eyes constantly searching, it dawned on him that the trail was too easy to follow. Possibly Stone Hand felt he was safely out of danger by then. Something cautioned him that the man they followed was smarter than that and he realized there was another possibility to consider, one that was more likely. Stone Hand had traveled fast the first day, maybe to distance himself from the cavalry patrol he knew would follow. But he made no effort to disguise his trail. Now he slowed his pace, possibly to allow Jason and Sam to catch up. Sam agreed that that was more likely what he was thinking. It fit the devious mind of the renegade. The game was on again. Stone Hand was inviting them to catch him if they could.
Late afternoon found Sam and Jason approaching a low line of hills that stretched out across the horizon for miles, disappearing into a brown haze in the western sky. This could mean trouble, Jason thought. It would be no more difficult to trail Stone Hand through the hills as long as there was not too much rock. But there would be many more opportune places for ambush. He looked back to signal Sam to pick up the pace.
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