Broken Blade coughed and staggered to his feet. “I—I caught this man stealing the whiskey I had kept for medicine. When I tried to stop him, he attacked me and broke the bottle. I only tried to defend myself.”
The two chiefs and the others turned stony, disapproving glares on Two Arrows.
Tangle Hair spit at Two Arrows’s feet. “And to think you were once a dog soldier!”
Two Arrows could not believe Broken Blade would dare speak to the chiefs with a forked tongue; to do so was to bring down all sorts of bad medicine to the tribe and to the liar. Yet he had too much dignity to call the other a liar. Besides, the way the people were glaring at Two Arrows told him they were remembering only that he was a white man’s Injun, a drunk who would do anything for a bottle of whiskey.
Two Arrows hesitated. He had a right to demand the ceremony of the buffalo skulls, where each would touch the skulls and speak and no one would dare anger the power of the ceremony by lying. Yet in the crisis surrounding the tribe, he dare not ask for the time it would take for the ceremony.
All the Cheyenne knew how many of the tribe had been killed up on the Crazy Woman fork of the Powder River when Broken Blade’s brothers had demanded that instead of fleeing Three Fingers Mackenzie’s soldiers, the whole camp stop to dance over some fresh Shoshoni scalps. Mackenzie had caught these very Cheyenne and defeated them—and Two Arrows had been one of the scouts who found the camp for him. “If Broken Blade can live with the words he speaks, I wish him good fortune.”
Dull Knife looked toward Glory. “I suspect there is something more here; trouble over this captive. Perhaps her worth as a hostage is not worth the trouble she can create.”
Two Arrows clenched his fists at his sides, knowing he could not bring himself to follow his chief’s orders if he were told to kill her. “I will see that she causes no trouble, Great Leader. I will be responsible for her.”
A disapproving murmur ran through the crowd. Obviously many agreed with the chief that they would regret having the captive in their midst.
Dull Knife looked at Little Wolf. “What say you?”
The other shrugged. “I say we have a long day tomorrow, and we are not yet out of Indian Territory. Anyone who wants to fight will have plenty of chances when the army comes!”
Two Arrows heaved a sigh of relief as the group began to break up and return to their blankets. Only Broken Blade gave him a malicious grin that promised he was not ready to forget this incident.
Glory had held her breath, watching the fight. As the chief spoke in his language, the others turned to look at her, and she felt a shiver of apprehension. Obviously some of the discussion was about her. If she was too much trouble, they might think it better to kill her than keep her as a hostage.
Whatever was happening, she could tell from the way that the others glared at Two Arrows that they thought the trouble was all his fault. She wanted to scream at them, tell them he was only protecting her, but of course, she didn’t speak the language.
Now everyone was returning to their blankets, and Broken Blade looked at her and grinned with his sharp, crooked teeth. He wasn’t finished with her; his cruel eyes betrayed that.
Two Arrows returned and flopped down on the blanket next to hers, not looking at her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Forget it. I only did it because you make a valuable hostage; wasted some good whiskey.” He ran his tongue across his lips again and she knew his soul cried out for a drink.
Was that disappointment she felt at his retort? Of course that was the only reason he had done it. This afternoon, he had made her walk until she had blisters on her feet, why would she feel that tiniest bit of protective tenderness in the man? He was just a primitive savage. Tomorrow, David would arrive with the troops to save her and probably kill her kidnapper. Being caught in the middle of that battle would be dangerous. If she could possibly escape before the soldiers got here, she would.
Damn Two Arrows. She looked at her tied hands and lay back down on her blanket. The night was turning cool as it deepened. Gradually, the camp grew quiet, except that a baby wailed somewhere.
Were these people insane? They couldn’t walk more than a thousand miles before the first snows fell, not even if the army wasn’t chasing them. The Nez Perce had tried the same thing last year with tragic results, Glory remembered, except they were attempting to escape across the Northwest to the freedom of Canada. Only a handful of Chief Joseph’s people had made it; the rest had been killed or captured. She had read about it in the newspapers.
She didn’t want to feel sympathy for her captors, yet it was difficult not to when one saw how ragged, starved, and desperate most of them were. Why didn’t the stupid government in Washington let these people live in their own country? David had told her he was only an officer, carrying out orders, and the Indians must do as they were told.
She wasn’t too good at that herself; she liked to make her own decisions. What was tomorrow going to bring? Mercy! Whatever it was, she was too weary to think about it now. She curled up into a little ball on her thin blanket and closed her eyes. Every muscle in her body hurt, and now she was cold. If she could just get to sleep, she would forget about her discomforts. At least, the scout wasn’t going to let anyone rape her . . . yet.
Two Arrows awakened in the middle of the night, turned his head to see the source of the warmth against his big body. The woman was asleep, but in that sleep, her small body had sought the warmth of his. She lay shivering up against him.
Two Arrows hesitated. If he touched her, she would probably come awake screaming. No, he shook his head; she wasn’t the type to scream or whimper; in some ways she was like an Indian girl, strong and enduring. He didn’t want to admire her, but the way she had defied him and walked until her feet were sore made him ashamed he had treated her so.
He studied her; the soft curve of her dusty, ragged dress over her full breasts and rounded hips. He felt a stirring in him that he had not felt in a long time; not since his woman, Pretty Flower, had been killed at the Washita.
Two Arrows frowned and reminded himself that the Proud One was the woman of Lieutenant Krueger and, as such, Two Arrows hated her and all she stood for.
She shivered and burrowed even closer, seeking warmth. Very gently, he slipped his arm under her head and turned on his side to pull her closer, giving her the heat and protection of his powerful, muscular frame against the dangers of the cold dark night.
Her body was soft and just fitted the curve of his shoulder as if she belonged there. While he had taken a few whores or loose Indian women in drunken lust, it had been ten years since he had lain next to a woman and merely held her, liking the scent of her warm skin, listening to her breathing. She mumbled something, and he froze in place, afraid she was about to wake up and cry out, but she only lay her face against his bare chest and settled against his warmth. He could feel her gentle breath against his flesh and had to fight the urge to stroke that tangle of black curls. She was dark enough to have Indian blood herself and with her skin tan from the sun and different clothing, no one would recognize her as a white woman.
He needed a drink; his very soul cried out for a drink. He hadn’t always sought peace in the bottom of a bottle; it was the Nez Perce capture that haunted him and drove him over the edge. Those hapless people had been less than forty miles from the border and freedom when he had spotted them as he scouted for the soldiers. He had even picked off one of their leaders with his rifle. The soldiers had rewarded Two Arrows for his find, but the sad eyes of the captured Nez Perce accused him of being no better than the bluecoats who had killed Pretty Flower.
Whiskey. Two Arrows ran his tongue over his dry lips. He’d give anything for a big bottle of whiskey, anything except the woman. He both hated and desired her, nor did he know what he was going to do with her. Perhaps the soldiers would parley and let the Cheyenne go their way in peace in exchange for this hostage. Maybe she would go back to Fort Reno and marry the blond lieutenan
t. Krueger would be the man to put a son in her belly. With a sigh, Two Arrows thought of his own small sons, dead with their mother on that cold November day; dead in the bloody snow; dead at the hands of soldiers.
And now he had the white officer’s woman at his mercy. It would be tempting to pleasure himself with her ripe body except that it made her less valuable as a hostage.
She shivered again, and Two Arrows held her close, his hand on the curve of her hip, feeling her warm breath against his bare chest. Her breast pressed against him, and he imagined how it would feel to mate with her. He had seen the muted passion in her dark eyes; perhaps she didn’t even sense she was capable of it.
His manhood came up hard and throbbing with urgency. It had been a long time since Two Arrows had had a woman, and then it had been a quick, drunken tumble with an Indian whore. His muscles tensed as his flesh became ever so aware of her flesh, and he needed the release her ripe body could give him almost as much as he needed a drink.
He was tempted. She was small and weak in comparison to him. It would be nothing to roll over on top of her in the darkness, put one big hand over her mouth, tear open her dress so that he could stroke and suck those fine breasts and force her thighs apart. He could easily hold those small, bound hands in the dirt above her head until he could get between those warm, silken thighs.
Just the thought of it made him take a deep shuddering breath, imagining the feel of thrusting deep inside her, riding her hard. As badly as he needed a woman, he would be finished in half a dozen hard, deep thrusts. He would leave her belly full of his virile seed, give her a Cheyenne baby. He smiled at the thought of such a revenge on the lieutenant.
It wasn’t as if the Proud One was a virgin; she had had a husband. Besides, it was taken for granted captive Indian women were used for the pleasure of their captors. Why should this one be any different because she was white?
Because of the whites’ anger and vengeance against his people, Two Arrows thought with a resigned sigh. He would fight this terrible need like he was fighting the need for whiskey, and, hopefully, he would win. Tomorrow’s temptations would have to wait until tomorrow . . . and tomorrow the soldiers might kill them all. He had tonight. Tonight, he could hold the woman in his arms and enjoy the scent and the warm softness of her without her even being aware of it. Because of his duty to his people, that would have to be enough.
Glory awakened gradually. She’d been having the strangest dream about being kidnapped. A leaf dropped on her face, and she brushed it away, gradually opening her eyes.
Horror came over her as she realized she lay on a blanket under the protective arm of that Cheyenne scout. Mercy! It hadn’t been a dream after all. How had she ended up asleep in his grasp? Oh God, maybe the savage had ... no, she certainly would have remembered that!
Slowly, she began to crawl out from under his big arm. It was nearly dawn, and the camp didn’t seem awake yet. Maybe she still had time to steal a horse and—
“Going somewhere?” He lay there looking at her.
“You renegade. You were only pretending to sleep.” She was as angry as she was disappointed.
“After yesterday’s trickery, I’ll be on guard around you.” He sat up, yawned.
“Do you suppose you could untie me for a little while?”
“Why should I?”
She felt her face flush. “There’s—there’s some things too personal to discuss.”
“All right. There’s some bushes over there you can use.” He nodded toward some sand plums a little distance from the camp. “By the way, there’s a sentry watching the horse herd.”
“Just untie me. You can watch me walk to the bushes.”
He leaned on one elbow. “Perhaps I’d better come along and make sure you don’t try to sneak—”
“No! I’ll not have you spying on me while I—never mind.”
The camp was coming awake now as he untied her, and she went to the bushes to relieve herself. Her feet were so sore, she could barely walk; how on earth was she going to walk all day? She wasn’t even sure she could get her boots on.
When she came out of the bushes, women were starting small fires and cutting up dried meat. Toddlers ran about, and children like little Grasshopper looked after them. The men sat about, polishing weapons and talking. All stopped and stared at her as she passed. The look Broken Blade gave her sent shudders through Glory. It was only a matter of time until that one tried to molest her again. Surely David and the troops would arrive in a few hours, parley with the leaders, and free her.
Glory looked down at her blue-flowered dress; it was torn and dirty. Old Moccasin Woman handed her a gourd of cooked maize with a nod. “You kind to my granddaughter,” she grunted. “Most whites mean.”
“Little Grasshopper? She’s a lovely child,” Glory said, thinking Indian women were much like white ones after all.
“Sorry for your trouble,” the old woman said. “I not forget you give my granddaughter food.”
Glory swallowed hard, looking at her bracelet. “My trouble isn’t your fault.” She knew whose fault it was. Glaring in Two Arrows’s direction, Glory took the gourd of food and sat down on a log to eat.
The others watched her curiously. The men, including Two Arrows, gathered in a circle, drinking steaming coffee from tin cups and smoking. There seemed to be a lot of discussion between them, perhaps about what route to take, because they were drawing in the dirt with sticks, and Dull Knife pointed again toward the north.
They were wasting their time, she thought; the army would surely catch up with the runaways today and herd them back south to Fort Reno. Walking north more than a thousand miles was an impossible dream; especially across barren plains with several railroads that could transport troops crossing their path. The Nez Perce hadn’t been successful attempting the same thing, and they’d had plenty of horses to ride and mountains and dense forests to hide them.
Glory looked about at all the weary old ones, the women and children, feeling a little sympathy for them in spite of her own plight. They looked thin and ragged, some were ill and coughing. No wonder they wanted to leave the reservation.
The women were busy with chores now, some packing up the camp, some nursing babies and putting out campfires, scattering the ashes.
Maybe she could at least soak her sore feet in the cold river water for a few minutes before Two Arrows put her back on her leash, Glory thought wearily. She sauntered down the bank, moving slow so that the stubborn scout wouldn’t think she was trying to escape and come running after her. Then she noticed little Grasshopper playing all by herself near the water. As she watched, the child tiptoed out on a log that floated halfway out in the swift-running stream, laughing with glee at the way it bounced.
“Grasshopper, no!”
The little girl looked up at Glory at the very moment she lost her balance. Glory saw the sudden fear in the child’s eyes as she fought to regain her feet, then the Indian child went off into the water with a splash.
“Help!” Glory screamed, and, jerking up her skirts, she ran as hard as she could toward the water. Her swollen feet hurt as they hit an occasional stone, but all Glory could see was the small head bobbing in the water as the current swept her downriver.
The water was cold as Glory splashed out into it, but she didn’t hesitate. Grasshopper’s frightened eyes and the dark head bobbing in the current lured her on. Then Glory was up to her breasts in the cold water herself, thrashing clumsily to reach the child as her sodden long calico dress began to pull her under. Behind her, she heard Moccasin Woman’s anguished shouts and the excited buzz of people yelling to each other. Glory was the only one close enough to reach her before the child drowned, she thought, and she wasn’t sure she was up to the task.
“Candy Lady, please!” The child held out chubby arms, little hands reaching frantically as Glory pushed farther out into the water, casting aside all caution. She had her now, holding Grasshopper close as the current carried them, Glory’s sod
den dress pulling them both under.
“Hang on, honey!” She wasn’t sure the child knew what she was saying, but the girl hung on to her tightly, coughing and choking on the water she’d swallowed. We aren’t going to make it, Glory thought as she went under, then came up, paddling frantically. She might save herself if she’d let go of the child, but that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t let a child die; not even an enemy child. And then her foot touched bottom. Oh thank God!
The sand seemed to turn to jelly beneath her feet and the water around them seemed to thicken. What the--? She was sinking in the muck of the river. Quicksand. Now her struggles were pulling them under.
“Proud One!”
She looked toward the bank, saw the scout’s tense face. “Hold still, stop struggling. I’m coming!”
As the others watched, he stripped off his clothes save for a skimpy loincloth, wrapped a length of rawhide around his lean waist, dived into the river and came up swimming strongly and smoothly toward them. Behind him, men were organizing, tying tree branches together in a makeshift raft.
Glory followed his orders, fighting her panic to stay calm, determined to keep the child’s head above the ooze until help came, even if she sank in the quicksand herself, never to be found. From here, she could see old Moccasin Woman’s strained face as she helped with the lashing of the tree limbs into a raft.
He was coming, but it was going to be too late, Glory thought as she went under, took a gulp of the thick ooze and struggled back to the surface. She wasn’t afraid to die, but she hoped Two Arrows at least managed to save the child.
He paused a few feet out. “Try to spread out flat,” he shouted, and threw her a length of rope from his waist.
Glory did the best she could, but her wet dress sucked at her. Grasshopper did better because she was small and light. Two Arrows threw the rope. Glory grabbed for the end, but it was too far out. She went under again as he retrieved the line, tossed it again. Relief spread through her as her fingers clutched it. “I’ve got it!”
Cheyenne Song Page 10
