David snapped him a salute. “Ready, Muldoon?”
“Sir, the telegraph line’s down; be a while before we can get word up ahead.”
“Two Arrows,” David sighed through gritted teeth. “The others might not think of it, but he’d be smart enough to know we’d wire ahead. Probably tied the break together with rawhide somewhere, where it’ll be hard to find and repair.”
“Aye, sir”—the ruddy Irishman nodded—“that means there’ll be no help from outside the fort for a while. ’Til then, laddie, if anyone’s going to stop the Cheyenne and rescue the lady it’ll have to be us.”
Mustachioed Captain Rendelbrock rode up just then, frowning at being sent on this duty.
David and Muldoon saluted, but the officer hardly seemed to see them. He nodded absently and David got a whiff of liquor. “Troops ready, sir.”
The captain cursed under his breath. “Damned Injuns. Why do I have to be the one sent on this miserable assignment? Mount the troops, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir. Mount the troops, Corporal Muldoon.” David squared his shoulders, his voice low with anger. “I’ll teach that damned Cheyenne scout a lesson he won’t forget!”
As they rode away from the fort, Captain Rendlebrock stroked his mustache. “Lieutenant Krueger, take a detail over to the Cheyenne camp to see if you can find out anything, then rejoin us on the trail.”
“Yes, sir.” David saluted, then rode back at a lope to choose his detail. He took Muldoon, of course. They had first ridden together during the Civil War, and he counted on the man. The old Irishman was both loyal and brave; his only weakness was that he gambled.
The patrol galloped out to the northern Cheyenne camp and dismounted, walked around. It was deserted, all right, but tipis and other valuable things were lying about, giving the look of being occupied. Damned clever of Two Arrows, David thought grudgingly. “Everyone look around, see if you find anything.”
Young Private Tanner scratched his head and his black brows knitted together again. “Where do you suppose they went?”
Muldoon pointed north. “Anyone want to bet it’s to the land of the big lobo wolf? That’s their country.”
“Muldoon, remember, no gambling,” David reminded him as they began to search through the tipis.
“Aw, now, laddie boy, it was just a figure of speech; I swear on me poor mother’s grave that I’ve not held a hand of cards or a pair of dice since they took my stripes.”
David didn’t believe it, but he didn’t say anything because his attention was suddenly taken by the sound of a soft moan.
The blond hair went up on the back of his neck and he wondered if he had imagined the sound?
David ducked and entered a nearby tipi. Inside, in the gloom, he abruptly realized he was staring down at a shriveled old Indian woman lying under a buffalo robe. She breathed shallowly, but the air was close, and the place smelled of impending death. He stuck his head outside and took a deep breath. “Muldoon, come here; they’ve left someone behind.”
The big Irishman came running, looked inquiringly at David, knelt quickly beside the pallet, asked something gently in Cheyenne.
Her eyes flickered open slowly. She looked from one to the other.
David frowned. “Good Lord, they really are savages, aren’t they? Imagine them going off and leaving a dying old woman!”
Muldoon reached out and patted the old woman’s wrinkled brown hand, said something gently in her language. It seemed to take all her strength to say a few words in return.
Muldoon swallowed hard. “This is Ancient One. Her daughter, Moccasin Woman, and the others left her behind at her insistence. She did not want to slow them down.”
“Ask her about Glory.” David leaned closer. “Ask her—”
The old woman’s eyes flickered open and she smiled ever so slightly, triumphantly, as she looked up at them. She said something in her language, her voice scarcely more than a sigh.
Muldoon blinked rapidly and swallowed hard. “She—she says we won’t catch them; the wolf sang them the Cheyenne song; he’s leading them to freedom.”
In spite of himself, David was moved by the defiant tone of the dying woman’s voice. “Get a canteen, Muldoon, and rig a litter so we can take her to the infirmary—”
“Too late, sir.” Muldoon let go of the frail hand and pulled the buffalo robe up over the wrinkled brown face slowly.
David pushed his hat to the back of his blond hair. “God, what kind of barbarians are these people, to leave her like that?”
Muldoon cleared his throat. “They’re desperate people, pushed to their limits, like my people against the damned English. We never should have brought them down here in this heat, and I’ll wager they’ll die before they’ll let us force them to return.”
David was a little more than annoyed with Muldoon as they went outside. “Get a detail of men to bury her and look around some more. So far, there’s no evidence Glory’s with them. Perhaps she did get thrown far from the fort and is walking back right now.” The thought encouraged him.
“Yes, laddie.” The corporal strode away to deal with the order while David walked about the camp, kicking the smoldering embers of fires, wondering just how long the Cheyenne had been gone? The camp looked more ragged and poor than David had thought it would be. He’d never been out here; but then, neither had most of the soldiers.
He turned and looked toward the north, wondering if the Cheyenne were crazy enough—or desperate enough—to think they would actually be able to make it all the way up to the Dakotas? With no more horses and supplies than they had, it would be almost impossible, even if the army weren’t going after them. A day or two, and they’d have those savages back on this reservation where they belonged. And in the meantime, did they know anything about Glory’s disappearance?
“Lieutenant,” Muldoon called from the far side of the camp.
“Yes?” David whirled, started toward the returning burial detail.
“We—we found something.” The old Irishman hesitated, then held out something, a small scrap of cloth.
“What on earth?” Numbly, David took it, staring in disbelief. Flowered blue calico. In his mind, he sat at the piano while Glory leaned on it, smiling at him in the lamplight, her beautiful profile softly lit.... in the gloaming. Oh, my darling, when the lights are dim and low. . . .
He grabbed the scrap of cloth, his fingers crumpling it as his hand clenched, remembering his beloved wearing this flowered dress last night as he sang to her. Oh, God, if there had been any uncertainty in his mind before, there was none now.
The Cheyenne had Glory.
Six
When they rejoined the waiting Indians, Two Arrows dismounted, reached up to pull Glory from her horse.
What was he going to do to her? “What—?”
“Be silent!” His face was a cold mask as he grabbed a long piece of rawhide to tie her hands in front of her, threw the other end up to loop over his saddle. “By the end of the day, I promise, Proud One, you will be too weary to attempt escape!”
As Glory watched with disbelief, he handed the reins of the bay horse back to its owner. Then Two Arrows remounted his paint. She stood there a long moment, realizing she was tied like a dog on a leash. The other Indians had already started moving north again. Two Arrows smiled grimly back at her, then nudged his horse into a walk.
“You can’t do this!” she shrieked at him.
“Watch me.”
The rawhide leash tightened and she dug in her heels, but her strength was no match for the big paint horse. The rope tightened, but only for a moment, then she was jerked forward. Damn him! Glory stumbled, then regained her balance as she was pulled along behind the horse.
“Stay on your feet, lying white girl,” he yelled over his shoulder, “or I’ll be forced to drag you!”
She was afraid to defy him. Fuming, she took one slow step, but the rope tightened again, and she had to quicken her step to keep from falling.
“You need to walk faster,” he ordered. “We’re already falling behind.”
“Lieutenant Krueger will execute you for this! ” she screamed at him as she stumbled along the dusty prairie.
He glanced back and favored her with an insolent grin. “He’ll have to catch me first, Proud One.”
She was breathless and hot already. “How dare you punish and humiliate me like this.”
“You make a fool of me,” he snapped, “other warriors laugh behind their hands. Now I make sure you’re so tired, you won’t try again.”
She wouldn’t beg if he dragged her to death. She had never in her entire life begged for anything, not even when Howard beat her. Her pride meant more to her than even her life. At the worst of times, her pride was all she had.
She could deal with this. Her head came up and Glory squared her shoulders, began a long-legged march. So he thought she was some weak, whining woman who would be groveling and asking for mercy within a few hundred feet. Well, damned if she was going to give him that satisfaction! She hadn’t begged Howard not to beat her, and she wasn’t going to beg this savage not to make her walk. She was in better physical shape than most white women because she was athletic and rode often. Glory made her plans. She would march along with dignity until the army came to rescue her, while watching for another opportunity to escape.
As the minutes turned into hours, the autumn sun grew warmer. Perspiration ran down her breasts and thighs as she walked.
Several times, Two Arrows looked back at her, concern on his dark features. “Perhaps if you would say you are sorry, I might be persuaded to give you a horse or let you ride double with me again.”
Glory glared at him without answering. So this was going to be a battle of wills. She was not sorry, and she was not going to apologize if she had to walk clear up into Kansas.
He shrugged and turned to watch the trail. The welt marks on his broad, muscular back still gleamed along with his rippling muscles. “Step carefully,” he said, “there’s probably a few rattlers still out on this warm day.”
“Rattlesnakes?” Glory hesitated and glanced from the arrogant savage to the dusty ground around her. She pictured stepping on a huge diamondback. Folks around the fort said a big one could kill you in a couple of hours and there was no medical help out here. No matter, she would not beg; she would not bend to this man’s will.
He glanced back at her again, then reached for his canteen, shook it, opened it, took a drink and let some of the water run down the sides of his mouth and drip on his brawny bare chest. “If you asked nicely, I might give my slave a drink.”
“I’m not your slave,” she spit back, “and I wouldn’t put my mouth on that canteen after you’ve been drinking from it.”
“I forgot; I’m a savage, and you’re a lady.” His voice was grim and full of sarcasm. “All right, go thirsty then, Proud One.”
He nudged the paint to walk a little faster and the leash tightened on Glory’s wrists. The rawhide jerked her forward as she stumbled and struggled to walk faster to keep from falling and being dragged. Oh, it was so tempting to beg, be put on a horse again. How she wanted that water. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and thought about water, cold water. She yearned to swim naked in a creek so cold it would make her skin tingle. She wanted gallons of it to splash on her dusty face and drink and drink and drink, but by God, she wasn’t going to let this dominating male break her pride; she’d die of thirst and exhaustion first.
As the hours passed, the afternoon sun grew hotter, but she kept walking. Her little riding boots had rubbed blisters on her feet and her wrists were red from the rope, yet she set her mouth with determination and kept walking, glaring at his dark, muscular back. The other Indians were strung out along the horizon, most of them far ahead of Two Arrows and his captive. Her boots raised a cloud of dust, and the grass whispered against her blue-flowered skirt as she staggered across the rolling hills. The landscape looked much the same except for an occasional tree or bush.
Oh, would the Indians never stop moving? Probably not until they camped for the night, she thought with a sinking heart. David, where are you? Surely by now the army knew she was missing and would be coming to rescue her. She glared at Two Arrows riding ahead of her. She must not think of thirst and heat and dust. To keep her mind occupied as she walked, she thought of appropriate ways to punish this arrogant savage.
She would watch as the soldiers tied Two Arrows up as she was now tied, then she lashed the horse into a gallop and dragged the Indian across the prairie through ant beds and cockleburs. She smiled at the thought.
No, that wasn’t painful enough. She would help tie Two Arrows between two horses, then whip them up so that their running tore the scout limb from limb.
No, that still wasn’t enough. She would have him tied to a tree, helpless and thirsty, while she drank slowly from a canteen. While he begged for a sip, she’d pour the rest of the water out on the ground while he watched. Then she would tie him between two horses to be torn apart. She stumbled and came back to reality. Only trouble was, he seemed as stubborn and proud as she was; he wouldn’t beg for mercy, either.
Time and the sun marched across a sky the color of faded blue denim as the Indians kept moving north. Where was the army? She listened for the sound of galloping horses or a bugle charge. She listened in vain. Ahead of her, an Indian baby cried faintly from its cradleboard, a hawk made a lazy circle overhead, and somewhere in the prairie grass, a quail called bob white; bob bob white. How many hours until a merciful sundown, she wondered? Her skin seemed to be on fire. More and more often, Two Arrows glanced behind him as if giving her every opportunity to beg for mercy.
She was not going to give him that satisfaction if she died out here of heat and exhaustion. Besides, anytime now, the army would come galloping across the rolling plains behind her, shoot that savage out of his saddle, and save her.
“Don’t you want a drink?” Two Arrows reined in his horse and looked back at her.
She chose to ignore his question and keep marching forward. Her spirit had never been broken, and, God knew, Howard had tried.
“You are the damndest woman I ever met! Don’t you know when you’re licked?”
“Never!” She was so tired, she didn’t know how much longer she could keep moving, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of asking for mercy. No doubt he wouldn’t grant it anyway; he just wanted to watch her grovel so that he could laugh with amusement. Her feet were rubbed raw by her boots, and each step was painful as she approached him. Red dust clung to her perspiring body. Her disheveled black hair hung limp around her narrow shoulders.
It was almost sundown, surely the Indians would be camping soon. The Cimarron River ought to be somewhere up ahead. “You aren’t going to make it,” she snarled at Two Arrows. “The army’ll send a telegraph up to Kansas, you’ll be caught between two forces.”
Two Arrows looked down at her with a smile. “I took care of that. Your precious captain may spend hours trying to find where I cut that telegraph wire and tied it with rawhide back there at Turkey Springs.”
Damn him, his years with the army and his background as a tough dog soldier made him a formidable foe. She ignored his words, keeping her head high as she approached.
“All you’ve got to do is ask,” he said. “I might give you a horse and some water.”
Mercy! It was so tempting, but her proud spirit was all that had sustained Glory’s miserable life with a widowed, unloving father who had wanted a son instead, and a brutal, unloving husband.
“Go to hell,” Glory said, and kept walking.
“I thought white ladies didn’t swear?”
“I’m not a lady; ask anyone at the fort.” Her voice was icy as she stumbled forward.
He grimaced and rubbed his hand across his mouth. He needed some whiskey, Glory thought; this was probably the longest he’d been sober in months. Now he shrugged, turned, and began walking his horse again.
Oh,
would this day never end? She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take before she collapsed. It was almost dusk, and the Indians up ahead were yelling to each other. She understood just enough to know it was the river. Well, thank God for that. She might have enough strength to walk another few hundred yards ... or maybe not. At that point, she swayed and fell, closed her eyes. The paint dragged her a couple of feet through stiff buffalo grass before Two Arrows reined in sharply.
She heard him dismount and stride toward her. She didn’t move; not caring if he killed her as long as she didn’t have to walk anymore. On the other hand, maybe she could take him by surprise, sink her sharp little teeth in his ankle, grab his horse, and escape, leaving him afoot and yelling after her.
“Proud One?” He knelt and half lifted her in his arms. She could feel his warm breath dangerously close to her lips.
She kept her eyes closed. “I—I am not begging.”
“I know, I know.” She heard the sound of him opening his canteen and then the feel of cold water on her hot, sunburned face. She opened her eyes and looked into his. There was a grudging admiration there as he held the canteen to her lips.
“I—I’m not begging.”
“Shut up and drink it,” he snapped. “You are the most stubborn woman I ever met.”
She let him give her a drink and it tasted so good. She sighed.
“Are you all right?”
“Hah! You tie me up, drag me along behind a horse all day, make me do without water, and now you ask if I’m all right?”
“Stupid female. I told you, all you had to do was bend to me.” He cut the rawhide from her wrists and she saw him wince as he looked at the marks there before he poured a little water in his big hand, wiped her sunburned face very gently.
“I don’t bend to any man,” she managed to whisper, although her throat was parched. “I wouldn’t beg to save my own life.”
“You’re too much woman for Lieutenant Krueger, too spirited,” he said, and there was just the slightest hint of admiration in his tone as he swung her up in his arms.
Cheyenne Song Page 8
