Cheyenne Captive

by Georgina Gentry - Iron Knife's Family 01 - Cheyenne Captive

  Iron Knife sighed as the pipe began its rounds again. The Comanche and Kiowa were wasting their time here, he thought. The Cheyenne who wanted to fight had gone off to join the renegade Dog Soldiers and he knew the rest of the clan felt the same way as old Bull Hump. They wanted no more trouble with the white soldiers who were itching to attack Indians. The Cheyenne only wanted to be left in peace.

  His mind had wandered and now came back to the discussions. Aperian Crow had stood and was speaking. “. . . because we have always fought the Texans and Mexicans,” he said, “and probably always will, since they hunger to own all of the land west and even our Sacred Mountains near the river they call the Red. Now, the Texans have made peace with the Great White Father whose tepee is in that place called Washington. I do not understand exactly what has happened, but somehow the Texans are no longer a separate people but part of the tribes of the United States.”

  He sat down and the hot-blooded Comanche leader, Little Buffalo, said: “We hear rumbles of news sometimes from the Comancheros and the traders. They say, soon the whites may fight among themselves over whether any of them will be allowed to own the black people. If this should happen, it would be a good time for the Indians to start their own war against all whites. If the soldiers are busy in the east fighting each other, there will be few of them on the plains to keep us from reclaiming our land.”

  Old Bull Hump stood as the younger man sat down. For a long moment, there was no sound save the crackle of the Council fire as all waited respectfully for that great old chief to speak. “All here know my reputation. I have fought the whites for many years. When they write their history, my name will be mentioned many times.” He paused and looked around into each face. “Each man here knows my many coups and scalp counts. But I say, even if the whites do fight each other over the black people, we still cannot win. My clan is tired; many have died. I have come along to hear the talks, but I tell you now I will not lead my people on any more war parties.”

  He hesitated so long that no one was quite sure if he was finished.

  “What are the Great Chief Bull Hump’s intentions?” Clouds Above asked politely.

  “My clan has been invited to meet with the soldier chief for a peace parlay here in the Indian Territory at the springs near the stream the whites call Rush Creek. Even now, my band awaits me there while visiting and trading with the Wichita village nearby. I say ‘no’ to war. I will go back to my band and await the coming of the soldier chief.” He spoke with tired finality as he sat down.

  Aperian Crow rose to speak again, goading the Cheyenne and Arapaho to join him on the war path, but Iron Knife knew before the discussion was over that the Kiowa was wasting his time and the Comanchero would make no weapons sales here. Those two leaders might continue to fight the whites, but Iron Knife’s people only wanted to keep their peace treaty and be left alone to hunt and live in dignity.

  His mind strayed as the discussion neared its ending. It was sweltering in the Council tepee and his mind went again to Summer and he smiled slightly, thinking of her laughing and splashing in the cool river, thinking of joining her in the secluded nook to swim and make love....

  As Summer had turned and walked away from Iron Knife, she had not really minded that she could not attend the Council. The day was warm for late September and she would really rather play in the water. Walking down to see if Pony Woman wanted to accompany her to the river, she felt so lighthearted, she actually skipped a few steps. The freedom of the Indian encampment was unbelievable to her.

  If Summer had been in Boston on a lazy afternoon like this, she thought, she would have been wearing a whalebone corset cinching her waist so tightly she could hardly breathe. In addition, there would have been long pantaloons, a corset cover, numerous petticoats, and tight shoes. Her afternoon would have been spent doing needlework, playing the harp, or returning a social call on other young ladies as bored and idle as she was herself. The most exciting happening would be class at Miss Priddy’s stuffy school or riding in an open carriage around Boston, carefully escorted, of course. She had done a lot of shopping because it was something for a rich girl to do, although she cared little for clothes and possessions. There were no sports available to a debutante that were acceptable except walking, riding sidesaddle, or the occasional society ball.

  Last year, she had tried to go to work in Father’s business and the scene that ensued almost put him in the hospital. Respectable women did not work, he informed her icily, and he would be laughed out of Boston society if Summer came to that male enclave of his office and attempted to work in his business. Unfortunate widows and unmarried ladies generally took the charity of a brother or married sister to survive. If they were educated, they might be lucky enough to land a spot as a governess. Loftily, Summer informed him that all would change when women got the vote. His outraged shouting could be heard all the way out to the front sidewalk, or so the family coachman told her later.

  Yes, it was a relief to have the freedom of the Indian encampment, Summer thought as she went to find Iron Knife’s aunt. She found her but that chubby lady made it plain by gestures that she was curious to sit beside the Council tepee and watch the proceedings. Pretty Flower Woman, Two Arrows’ new wife was scraping a hide to make a new dress and shook her head about going to the river. Not knowing who else to ask, Summer went down to the river alone and watched several women and children playing in the shallows. Her ankle still hurt a little and she favored it when she walked. Summer found the private little nook she thought Iron Knife had mentioned. It was secluded with no one else close by. She took off her buckskin shift, hung it over a limb, and waded naked out into the blue water. Its surface was placid and reflected her image like a mirror.

  Summer played like a child in the shallows, enjoying the feel of the cool water on her hot skin, the scent of towering pines and wildflowers. Bright butterflies rose up as the breeze stirred the flowers and bird calls echoed through the rocky hills. It was a bright day, a day all gold and green and blue.

  She played in the water a long time, lost in the naughty thrill of being naked, splashing about in the shallows like a small, sleek otter. She must get Iron Knife to teach her to swim, she thought regretfully. None of the women she knew in Boston could swim. The cumbersome costumes they wore to protect their modesty precluded such activity.

  A long time passed before she noticed the sun was high in the heavens and all the women and children had gradually left the area.

  Yawning, Summer stood up near the bank. it was only knee-deep there and she splashed with her toes, oblivious to her own nakedness since there was no one to see her.

  Summer decided that she would go lay on the warm sand until that tiresome Council meeting was over and Iron Knife joined her. She had done all her work until tomorrow when she was supposed to help Pony Woman and Pretty Flower Woman make pemmican.

  She paused, apprehension stealing over her. She felt a strange feeling of being watched. It had been foolish of her to stay at the river when there was no one else nearby. Iron Knife had cautioned her and she had ignored his warning. She would fetch her shift, she decided, and get herself back to the village until Iron Knife could accompany her.

  But as she started up out of the water, a man stepped out of the woods, the Comanchero of this morning. He leered at her as he stepped over, grabbed her dress, and held it up triumphantly.

  “Bueno dias, señorita.” His pointed teeth smiled in a wolfish grin as he walked toward her. “No habla español? Do you speak English or Comanche?” He spoke a curious mixture of border Spanish and pidgin English. Summer didn’t answer as she tried to cover herself with her hands and backed slowly to the edge of the water.

  “Please, señor,” she pleaded. “My dress—”

  He wadded the dress, tossed it to one side as he advanced toward the water. “Come here, puta. Whore,” he hissed. “You can’t be much if you’re livin’ with the Injuns, letting every red hombre top you.”

  “Get aw
ay from me,” she warned, backing deeper into the water.

  “You want money?” He held up coins. “I have ribbons, trinkets in my saddlebags.”

  “My man will come if I scream—”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Señorita, I know Injuns well. I’ve spent my life among them, comprende? If I offer your man a little whiskey, some ammunition, maybe a rifle in exchange for an hour with you, he’ll be eager to share you.” The man moved even closer and Summer backed waist-deep into the water. She looked frantically behind her, afraid to go any deeper.

  The man was up to his boot tops in the water now, motioning invitingly to her. “Sí, come out. Make your own deal with me. Why should you not get the gifts for your favors instead of me giving them to your man? Comprende?”

  He scowled, pulling at his chewed ear. “If I have to get wet to get you, you’ll regret it!”

  Summer felt the current pulling at her naked body. She was deep as she could go without being able to swim and the short, powerful man was wading out to her.

  “Come here, puta, you whore,” he swore. “You’re ruining my good disposition that I should have to get wet to reach you, but perhaps hard to reach fruit is the sweetest, sí?”

  Summer wished now with all her heart that she had listened to Iron Knife. But she had expected this Comanchero to sit through the council meeting, too. If she did scream, would anyone hear her over the usual noise of the camp?

  Summer couldn’t get to shore without getting past him and he seemed to sense this.

  “Come, sweet one,” he coaxed. “Maybe I will trade your man out of you and take you with me. I have a hideout with a hundred men at my command up in the hills of New Mexico. You could be my woman.”

  “No.” She shook her head and the blond hair trailed in the water. “No, I will stay with the man I have.”

  “Stubborn bitch,” he swore and let loose a string of oaths in Spanish as he spat in the river. He glided even closer through the water and she thought suddenly of a deadly water moccasin snake slipping through the current.

  She couldn’t move any farther back. The sluggish river current was already tugging at her bare body. But if she stayed where she was, he would reach her in seconds. Clumsily, she struck out, trying to swim around him in a wide circle.

  But he laughed easily as he reached, caught her wrist, and started back toward shore. She struggled and fought him as he dragged her toward land and he turned and forced her head under water.

  She came up choking and coughing and he laughed, showing gleaming, sharp teeth. “You got too much spirit, puta whore! El Lobo likes his women docile as sheep. You need the fight taken out of you and I’m just the hombre to do it!”

  Summer strangled on the water, without enough air to scream as he dragged her into the shallows, twisted her hands behind her back.

  He grinned down at her, water dripping from his clothes. “I told you you’d be sorry if I had to get wet, gringo bitch. Now, I’ll show you how to make a woman docile. When I get through with you, you’ll be glad to lay on that beach and take my weight without a whimper just so I won’t hold you under again.”

  Realizing what he intended to do, she struggled, tried to cry out for help. It was a long way to the village, she thought with sudden clarity, and she might not be heard over all the noise of barking dogs and playing children.

  Even as he stood dripping in the ankle-deep water, he suddenly hooked his foot behind her slim legs, tripped her so that she fell backward. As she went down on her back, he moved her imprisoned wrists above her head and fell heavily atop her.

  By lifting her head, she could keep her face above water, but otherwise she was helpless. His weight prevented her from moving and his strong grip held her wrists pinned above her head against the sand of the river bottom.

  His face loomed close to hers and she could smell the stench of garlic and rotten teeth as he bent to kiss her. She struggled and tried to bite him, wincing from the sharp conchos and metal of his belt on her bare skin.

  He smiled. “You’ve got more spirit than I thought, señorita. This is gonna be mucho fun.” He reached with one big hand to touch her forehead and applied pressure. With horror, she felt him gradually submerging her face.

  Her straining neck was no match for his brute strength as he forced her head backward. He was going to drown her in ankle-deep water! In panic, she fought to get out from under him, lift her face out of the river. She felt the cold water splashing against her cheeks, her nose. Then, he had the back of her head against the river bottom and she felt the water covering her face completely.

  In cold horror, she fought to get back up to the life-giving air, but through the cold water she could see his evil face laughing with delight. Summer gasped and choked in panic, straining all her muscles to get out from under him.

  After a long moment, he took his hand off her face and she managed to raise her head up out of the water although it lapped around her cheekbones. Summer gasped for air, choking and coughing while he laughed.

  “See, white whore, when you struggle or try to scream, your head gets submerged again. You think I won’t drown you? Si, I would.” He nodded. “I wouldn’t even mind taking you dead. A dead female is mucho docile. I know, I’ve done it before.”

  He was crazy, Summer thought in desperation. Why hadn’t she listened to Iron Knife about coming to the river alone?

  “Listen,” she gasped. “Let’s get up on shore and make love. It would be better than this.”

  He didn’t move, leering down at her as he lay on her. She was struggling to breathe with his dead weight on her naked body.

  The dirty Spaniard was enjoying tormenting her, she realized suddenly as his hand moved slowly toward her forehead again. The thought came to her that he was becoming sexually aroused from scaring and torturing her. She stared up in horror at the hand coming down toward her face.

  “No!” she protested, trying to free her hands from above her head, arching against him in protest. “Let me up! My man will kill you for this!”

  “You said the wrong thing, white bitch. Comprende?” and his expression was mean and ugly. “I know Injuns. I’ll give him a few trinkets from my trade goods and he’ll let me use you any way I want. Now, submit!”

  But Summer struggled again, trying to escape his crushing weight on her small body and looked up to see his hand descending relentlessly. She did her best to keep her face above water but his fingers were on her forehead again and he was forcing her head back, under the water so that her nostrils were barely covered. Desperately, Summer tried to hold her breath, but the pressure of his hand never let up. Finally, she had to take a breath and her nose and mouth filled with water. Never had she known such panic! He was drowning her and she was helpless to save herself.

  Finally, he moved his hand and she managed to get her face to the surface again, gulping air in great gasps.

  She could see the evil delight gleaming in his eyes and remembered suddenly catching her young sister pulling the wings off flies at the music-room window. Her sister had worn just such an expression.

  The Comanchero’s swarthy face was very close to hers now and he whispered, “I think I might want to take you from behind, bitch. Do you realize I could drown you in only an inch of water as I mount you with both my hands on the back of your head?”

  He would do it, too. She knew that now, looking into the crazed face only inches from her own. Her neck ached with the strain of holding her head up out of the water and she could hardly breathe from the heavy weight of him across her. She tried to wiggle her fingers pinned in the mud above her head and realized her arms were going to sleep with the circulation cut off as it was.

  “Please!” she managed to gasp. “I’ll let you do anything you want if we get up on the riverbank.”

  “Anything?” She could see the cruel ideas lurking behind the wolfish eyes. Lord help the poor Texas ranch women who had fallen into his hands on raids!

  “Anything,” she wh
impered, trying hard to hide her anger and appear as docile as he wanted.

  He laughed and stood up, jerking her to her feet. “I didn’t think you wanted to die! Maybe I might give you enough pleasure that you will want to accompany El Lobo back to the Sangre de Cristo mountains, sí?”

  “Maybe,” she managed to say as he dragged her toward the shore. He was going to have to kill her first before she let him rape her, she thought with stubborn determination. Summer was buying time for herself, hoping against hope that someone might come down to the water and go for help. She wanted it so desperately, she imagined she saw Pretty Flower Woman watching from behind a tree. Terror does strange things to the mind, she thought desperately, because when she looked again she saw nothing.

  El Lobo dragged her dripping and coughing up on the beach and took her in his arms, running his big, dirty hands up and down her naked back. She could feel the heat of his hard manhood against her bare belly as he reached to unbutton his pants.

  “I’m gonna take a quick sample, señorita, without ever taking my clothes off. If you’re as good as you look, I’ll trade you away from your Injun. I might not even make you service my men at the stronghold; just me alone.”

  His wet, slimy mouth was on hers, forcing her lips apart as she still gasped for air and one of his callused hands cupped her breast, squeezing cruelly.

  Summer relaxed in his arms a moment, trying not to retch on the taste of his filthy mouth exploring hers, his hands running freely over her soft skin.

  If he would just let down his guard . . .

  It was now or never! She pretended to respond to his lust, molded her body against his dripping wet clothes. His body relaxed its guard a little as he enjoyed the kiss. This was her one chance and she took it. In a quick, desperate move, Summer brought her knee up, caught him in the groin. As he moaned and turned loose of her to grasp himself, she broke away and started to run. She didn’t quite make it.