The middle of a battle, however, had not been the time to think of such things. At best, he wished to see the pony soldiers all dead, and at the very least, he needed to survive. The war on the whites must not go on without him. He knew he had a role to play in the great victory that lay ahead when at last the hated invaders from the east beyond the Great River he had heard stories of his whole life, were driven back across this Mississippi. They would be forced to retreat all the way back to their lodges he had also heard of that had spoiled the lands that lay along the unending coast of another vast sea said to be far towards the morning sun. For their Indian brothers in that distant land, it was too late, their land ceded to the whites forever. As long as he lived, the West would remain theirs purged of the white scourge. But he had to live! Around him, he saw the tide of battle was going in favor of the troops and their superior numbers. Omegas were dying all around him.
Just as he buried his tomahawk between the shoulder blades of a man wearing what he knew were the stripes of a corporal he saw a man on horseback raise his gun in the air and shout to the men. He was no ordinary soldier, though. He was a man whose path he had crossed more than once, going all the way back years ago when the man had defeated him when they had faced off against each other. The humiliation he had endured at the hands of now Captain Dutch Wilde had been enough to make him leave his tribe and join Black Hawk and his crusade. Now once again, here he was both he and his sister in the same place!
Stalking Wolf was about to attempt a throw of his tomahawk to take out Wilde, but then he heard what the man was shouting. He was calling for some of his troops to follow him to the relief station. A dark cloud hovered over the Omega at this moment. He had brought most of his men on the stage road after the floating stage. The men he left behind were, of course, fierce warriors, but he doubted they could defeat the numbers against them. The mass slaughter of the prisoners would not happen now. He cursed himself for not having done it right away.
His eyes left the retreating figure of Dutch Wilde as he led several troops away from the battle and turned them down towards the river. The stage was out of sight, but he was aware that there lay a dangerous gorge ahead on this river. Cassandra Wilde would have to get to shore at some point, and he intended to be there to greet her and to kill her. Maybe he couldn't get both Dutch and Cassandra on this day, but he would settle for her.
Stalking Wolf had shouted out in his native tongue and raised his hand in the air and made an upside down "U" shape of the Omega symbol with his thumb and index finger. It was his signal for the men to live by their code, fight to the last man, and take out as many of the pony soldiers as he could. With that done, he had fled down the stream to find the stagecoach. He hadn't been aware that an enemy soldier had followed him, but that no longer mattered with the man now out of commission.
He tossed his gun away. It was empty, and he had no more ammunition. He wouldn't need it anyway; he intended to kill Cassandra with the weapons of the red man and not the white. Looking back across the river, he saw the man in the water had, at last, made it to shore but had collapsed in exhaustion next to another woman from the stage that had dropped to the ground as well. The third man appeared to be injured, but none of them mattered, only Cassandra.
His attention fell on her, and he saw that she was standing on the tree that was wedged across the mouth of the gorge, amidst the branches. She held a rifle in her hands, but that didn't deter him from starting to run again. Down the bank, he sped and out onto the rocky peninsula that jutted out into the river that was this side of the mouth of The Chute.
Long ago, he had seen a vision of his death. The details had faded immediately after he had seen it, his killer was unknown, and the only thing for sure he remembered was he had not died from a bullet from a rifle. Emboldened, he charged forward reaching where the tree was wedged across the mouth of the gorge collecting the bodies of the horses as well as the bobbing stagecoach that appeared to have come to rest wedged underneath some of the branches sticking out from beneath the water. Standing next to it on the tree trunk was Cassandra. She had not fired, and a malicious smile formed on his face.
The blond squaw must be out of ammunition. She would be defenseless against him. Warily, he stuck his foot out onto the tree trunk and pushed several times, but the log did not move. It was solidly impacted against the rock. He took a final glance at the opposite shore to see the trio of people there had not recovered yet. Satisfied they were no threat and vowing to kill them after Cassandra was taken care of, he moved out onto the trunk. On either side, he had his choice of weapons. His cherished war club was stuck in his belt to the left; in his right was the tomahawk. Selecting the ax, he yanked it free and fixed his gaze on Cassandra.
“Prepare to meet that God of yours, white eye!”
“I was just going to say the same thing to you! How did it go for you when you had to face Black Hawk and tell him you had the daughters of his most hated enemy in your hands and we got away! Not to mention wiping out all your braves in the process!”
The tomahawk flew from his hand, propelled from his rage at being taunted. The woman, however, suddenly flipped the rifle in her hands like it was a club and swung it. A cry of rage burst from deep within his chest as she managed to knock the tomahawk out of the air, sending it plunging into the water. Looking up from where he watched it vanish beneath the surface, he saw that one of the men had staggered to his feet and was making his way towards the side of the mouth of The Chute. Stalking Wolf knew he needed to dispense with Cassandra immediately before anyone could interfere. He snatched his war club free from his side and raised it in the air, guttural noises coming from his throat as he picked his way through the branches sticking up skyward from the trunk of the tree.
Cassandra, still clutching the improvised club, was backing up. Stalking Wolf was on her now, and he didn't hesitate; she was dangerous, and he knew it. With a swing of the war club, he attempted to crush her skull, but she was too quick. Using the rifle, she blocked the blow, but it cost her as it flew from her hands into the void on the other side of the tree. He watched as she leaped onto the roof of the stage in the area not covered by a branch from the tree that was draped over the roof. Laughing at her choice to seek safety on the instrument that had been her escape previously, he prepared to jump onto the stage. It may have saved her before, but it wouldn't this time. Once he was on the roof with her, he would not use the club but his bare hands to choke the life right from her and watch in satisfaction as the light faded from those deep, deep green eyes of hers.
With a bellow of triumph that quickly morphed into a scream of surprise, he leaped onto the roof of the stage from the tree trunk, but his feet did not land on the flat roof that he was expecting to lay underneath the thick branch. Instead, a sickening cracking sound of snapping wood filled the air, and his body was battered as it passed through an opening that he realized too late the crafty woman had concealed under the tree branch.
His muscular body weighing in at over two hundred pounds thudded against the water laden floor between where the two leather bench seats once resided within the coach. He rolled to one side with such force the sudden rocking of the coach caused its submerged wheels to smack one of the horses with enough force to dislodge it from its web of dead brethren, pushing it through the tangle of underwater branches plunging the carcass into the gorge. With a sudden gap having formed the horse next to the hole was sucked through and then another. Under the force of the water, the limbs of the tree also began breaking off as the dam of the dead started disintegrating, “The Big Deep” determined to once more flow naturally through its gorge.
Atop the stage, Cassandra knew this was it. Snatching the rope, she had untied earlier, just after she had flipped open the hatch and hidden the opening and the hatch cover under the branch she had dragged out of the water while the Omega had been distracted with his gunfight, she tied it around her waist and inspected the loop she had made with the other end. As more and more
of the horses beneath the water were shooting out through the ever-widening hole, the stage lurched over on its side. As she was ejected towards the water, Cassandra heard Stalking Wolf thrashing about inside shouting something that she had little doubt were curse words that would make a longshoreman mortified. Summoning her strength, she began to stroke away from the side of the stage. A second later, the coach was sucked underwater in a whirlpool and vanished, just as the current seized her and began to pull her down as well.
Cassandra raised her hands in the air clutching the rope as she was drawn towards the trunk. Just before her head was pulled under the water, she hooked the loop of the rope over the stubby end of where a branch had broken off, probably when the tree had been swept into the river by the flash flood that had sent it to its destination of being stuck crossways against the mouth of the gorge.
Beneath the water, she was being sucked towards the gorge when suddenly a loud noise boomed in her ears, leaving her certain that was the last thing she would ever hear before she died.
CHAPTER 22
FORT BESSETTE
Arizona Territory
“Drink this.”
Cassandra happily accepted the teacup and saucer that was being handed to her by her brother, Dutch. He was standing over her as she reclined in a plush chair in one of the corners of the room. Slowly, she took a sip of the tea and enjoyed the warm feeling as it trickled down her throat.
"That's an excellent blend, seems appropriate seeing as how I'm drinking it in the finest quarters in the fort." She smiled as she looked around at the tidy room with its walls of knotty pine, a large bed, and a writing desk. "How is it I rate the commander's living space?"
He pulled up a chair next to his sister, who sat swaddled in a blanket as she enjoyed her tea. Her hair had long since dried, so she pulled the towel off that she had wrapped around it as Dutch looked on expectantly.
"We'll get to that in a minute. I just want to hear the end of your story!"
She shrugged modestly, "Not much left to tell, Dutch. I heard this really loud noise in my ears, which turned out to be the stage bursting through all the horses, branches, and debris, striking the sides of The Chute as it went over. As soon as it did, the jam disintegrated and began flowing down The Chute. One minute I was underwater, and the next I'm dangling in mid-air from that tree watching a cataract below me. I climbed back up and got off that tree just in time as it, too, became dislodged and went down into the gorge. You know the rest. Eventually, some of your men showed up and tied several ropes together and were able to get one across and pull us back over, and here we are hours later."
“I swear to God, Cassie, you must have more lives than a cat.”
“I’m not complaining.” Her smile turned downward as she looked him in the eye. “Did you find Stalking Wolf?”
He shook his head in disappointment, his blue eyes losing some of their twinkle. "I had men searching until dark, but all we found were bits and pieces. The biggest thing to survive intact was one of the wheels. We found a couple of the bodies of his men who were shot and killed and who fell in the river, but no sign of that Chiricahua bastard."
“Do you think he’s dead?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t see how he could have survived.”
The siblings grew quiet, each of them sharing to themselves that the lack of a body and knowing Stalking Wolf as they did, he could very well be out there somewhere, injured for sure, but alive to fight another day. Trying to bring cheer back into the room, she arched one of her eyebrows and cocked her head.
“Your turn! It’s high time you told me how you happened to show up when you did. Your arrival gave us a fighting chance to live.”
"I can't take all the credit. I had help."
“Help?”
“Why Bright Feather and the girls, of course!”
Cassandra hung on every word as he related his version of the events. Late in the night, the officers at the fort had finally broken one of their two captives, the other having committed suicide. How they had done that, Dutch didn't elaborate, and Cassandra didn't care to know. What he had to say, however, they could not interpret. When he had spoken, it was in a language they did not understand. Nor did the Indian interpreter they hastily brought in, though Federline didn't like it. Such a development was not a huge surprise, given that the Omegas were made up of Indians from far and wide belonging to many different tribes, united in their goal to purge Arizona of what they called The Invaders. Before he fell silent, the prisoner grimly smiled and managed to croak out the only words in English he knew … death for many white eyes comes.
Dutch knew they urgently had to learn what he said and knew of the one person who would have no trouble interpreting—a woman who had spent seven years of her life traveling the Southwest in her quest to learn as many of the various native languages as she could. She was the woman he loved more than life itself, Bright Feather. Her love of the spoken word had been what fueled her travels, but when she had returned to the Alamieda area, the two had ignited what had once been just a friendship into the love affair that they shared now.
He had copied down the words spoken by the captive Omega and presented his plan to the commander of the fort. During the time he had been temporarily stationed at the fort, he had become acquainted with the telegraph operator in Cabot, as he routinely sent messages back to Bright Feather and his family. It so happened during one of his conversations the operator had revealed late into the night after the station closed, he would engage in playing chess over the telegraph with the operator in far-off Godspell.
Dutch told the commander that though Alamieda was closest to Fort McCallister, no one would be at the station at that hour, but they could get the Cabot operator to send the message to the man he was playing chess with in Godspell. In turn, that operator could get the local sheriff to ride to McCallister with the message to have Bright Feather translate it. The commander had hesitated, but Dutch had reminded him of the only English words the Omega had been able to form … death for many white eyes comes. Reluctantly the man approved the plan, so it was put into motion, and the request for help as well as the strange Indian words, letter by letter was transmitted to the chess player.
Cassandra's eyes widened as he relayed to her that when he had at last gotten a response from Bright Feather, she said over the telegram that once she had interpreted it with the help of Catalina, Honor, and Lijuan, she had been able to transmit back what the brave had revealed.
"It seems he had information he wasn't supposed to have. He was sharing a squaw with one of Stalking Wolf's chosen warriors on the secret mission, and the other brave had bragged about it to the woman, and she had told her lover, the prisoner. It detailed that on the fifth sunrise after the Omega's retreat when we would be lulled into complacency, Stalking Wolf’s hidden forces would emerge and take hostages along the stage route known as the "Heidelberg Run” named after the escarpment. Then they would be all slaughtered at the station, striking a great victory against the white man. Bright Feather was with our sisters when she got the message, and they sent the translation back to me from the Crabwell Junction telegraph office,” he finished.
Her heart fluttered inside her to know that her sisters had also had a hand in her surviving the day. How she loved them and couldn’t wait to see them again. Looking back up at Dutch, she asked, “So, you rallied the troops and set out?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, there had been a delay in the message the girls sent back to us. In the time between me sending my message and getting the response from the girls, a line had gone down for repairs. By the time it was up and running again, our frantic telegrams to both ends of the Heidelberg run were too late, and several stages had already left. So, we set out to the relief station. I grieve that in addition to some of our troops, several people lost their lives before we got there, but at least we were able to save almost everyone. As a bonus, we got all Stalking Wolf's braves, no survivors, no captives this time."
&
nbsp; For a moment, she remained silent as she remembered Renaud and the other bodies she had caught a brief glimpse of in front of the relief station before the current had carried them away. The tally the Omegas had to answer for continued to grow … and no end seemed to be in sight.
Dutch reached over and clutched her hand. "So, to answer what you asked before. I had the commander give you his room as a personal favor to me while you and the other rescued hostages are being debriefed. He owed me. To his credit, he admitted if he'd let Bright Feather come here, we would have found out about the attack before it even began. I earned his gratitude because my telegram plan resulted in us at least being able to save as many as we did, and stamp out some of Black Hawk's prized men, possibly even his right hand, Stalking Wolf. You can bet that son of a bitch Black Hawk is going to be out there somewhere stewing when he learns of this latest defeat."
She was agreeing with him when there came a knock at the door. Excusing himself, he left her to her tea as he opened the door. Cassandra heard a man's voice, and she saw a pair of hands pass Dutch something that was wrapped up in some canvas. Her brother thanked the unseen person, closed the door, and walked over to her. He held out the bundle to her, and she looked at it curiously. Putting the cup and saucer down, she took it from him, glancing up to see him smiling as he unwrapped it.
Her heart caught in her throat for a moment as she stared at the object. The glass was of course gone, and the gilded frame scuffed, but there it was—her valued picture of the four Daughters of Half Breed Haven.
River 0f Death: Cassandra Wilde Adult Western (Half Breed Haven Book 13) Page 17
