An inkling of the point the Digger was trying to make caused Nate to stiffen.
“Some white women have dark hair, like ours. But all white women have pale skin, which shows they do not have good health and explains why most are so weak and such poor walkers. They are bad medicine.” Coyote’s Brother paused. “It is worse medicine when they have pale skin and pale hair.”
“Pale hair?”
“Hair the color of the sun. The woman we want to trade has hair this color.”
“And her eyes?” Nate asked. “What color are they?”
“Like a lake. A deep lake.”
There was a sharp intake of breath behind Nate. He guessed it was McNair, and signed, “Has she told you her name? Can you say it?”
“We call her Good For Nothing, since all she does is sit and cry. We waste food feeding her. She is a burden to our tribe and we want to get rid of her.”
Nate pretended to ponder a bit. He knew he must not appear too eager to trade, or the Diggers would hold out for the full price being asked and complicate the trade immensely. “I must talk with my people. We will decide if we want this woman. If she is bad medicine for you, she might be bad medicine for us.”
“She is white,” the warrior reiterated. “One of your own. She must know how to please white men.”
“We will see,” Nate signed. Turning his back to the Shoshoko, he slid over the wall of supplies and hunkered next to McNair. “You saw. You know who it is.”
“Can’t be anyone else,” Shakespeare agreed.
Cyrus Porter was listening. “Can’t be whom? What was that all about, Mr. McNair? What do those heathens want of us?”
“They want to trade for a captive.” Nate paused, dreading how the wealthy Hartforder would take the news. “They have a white woman in their clutches.”
“Good Lord!” Porter declared. “Those fiends! Of course we’ll do all in our power to rescue the poor woman. Who could she be?”
“Your daughter, would be my guess,” Nate said.
Dumbfounded, Porter’s lips worked like those of a fish stranded out of water. For a full fifteen seconds he sat thus. Then his stupefied look gave way to a mask of sheer rage, and he grabbed his rifle and went to push to his feet.
“No!” Shakespeare cried. He was closest; he looped both arms around Porter’s shoulders and held him down. “You mustn’t let on that you know her, or the Shoshokos will up their price!”
“Let me go, damn it!” Porter fumed. He was younger than McNair by many years and heavier of build, but he could no more budge the mountain man than he could a mountain. “They’ll turn her over to us right this minute or they’ll all pay, and pay dearly!”
“You’re not thinking straight,” Shakespeare cautioned. “Rile them now and you’ll only succeed in getting all of us killed. You have to be patient and let Nate and me deal with them on their own terms.”
“Like hell!” This came from Adam Clark, not Porter. The young dandy had gaped on hearing the news. Now he, too, snatched his rifle and would have risen had another rifle not been shoved in his face.
“I won’t let you get us all killed,” Nate stated crisply. “LeBeau, take Mr. Clark’s gun from him until he’s cooled down some.”
The riverman stepped forward, bent low so the Diggers couldn’t see him, and reached for the Hall’s. Clark held on, eyeing him defiantly. “Tell me, monsieur. What good will we do her if we are all dead?”
Clark looked helplessly around for support, but no one came to his defense. Scowling, he let his fingers go limp and the rifle was taken.
LeBeau chuckled. “And they say those of us with French blood in our veins are hotheaded!” He took a post beside Chavez. “It is like the kettle calling the pot black, non?”
Nate grasped the furious father’s rifle and gave it to Chavez. “I’ll do the best I can to get her back quickly,” he told Porter. “But you have to remember who we’re dealing with. One wrong gesture, any little mistake, could get this woman killed. The Diggers have no use for her. Their chief has said as much. It’s probably lucky for her we came along when we did, or they might have killed her before long. We have to be mighty careful.”
“And we don’t know for sure that it is Hestia,” Shakespeare threw in. “The description fits, but it could be someone else. We have to be patient until they bring her here.”
“All right! All right!” Porter growled. “I won’t make a scene. Do what you have to.”
Nate glanced at Winona, who smiled encouragement, and straightened. Coyote’s Brother hadn’t moved, and from the diamond pinpoints of curiosity lighting his eyes, it was apparent he had heard everything. Nate climbed over and signed, “We have talked your offer over.”
“I do not know your tongue, but I heard some of you argue. I can guess why. Your people want the woman but they are not willing to give us what we want.”
“You took our words wrongly, Indian,” Nate signed, and felt his stomach flutter as he tried his bluff. “We argued, yes. But the reason is that only one of us wants this woman. You keep her and do as you want with her.”
The Shoshoko couldn’t hide his surprise. Murmuring broke out among the warriors below, who could see the exchange clearly thanks to the rising sun. “Only one of you cares what happens to this pretty woman?” Coyote’s Brother signed. “A woman of your own kind?”
“None of us knows her,” Nate signed. “What is she to us?”
“If a Shoshoko woman were taken, we would do all in our power to get her back.”
“We are not Shoshokos. Our ways our different from yours.” Nate hoped his features didn’t betray any of the anxiety he felt. He was gambling the woman’s life on the Diggers’ gullibility.
“So you will not give us anything for her?”
“The man who wants her does not have much to give. He can spare one knife, one axe, one fire steel, and a red blanket. I told him you wanted much more and not to waste your time making an offer.”
“Bring this man out so I may speak to him.”
“He does not know sign.”
Coyote’s Brother stared over the boxes at the horses a moment. “I must talk to my people.” Wheeling, he hurried down. The Diggers rose, breaking ranks to cluster around him. A dozen voices spoke at once.
Nate walked to a stack of small crates and leaned on them. On the other side crouched Zach. He winked at his son, then said to Porter, “I made them an offer. They’re debating whether to accept.”
“How much did you say we would trade?” Porter asked.
“A fair amount of goods,” Nate fibbed.
“Fair, hell! Tell the bastards we’ll give them anything they want. Our horses? They can take them all. Our supplies? They can take everything. Guns? We’ll give them however many they want. All that’s important is having Hetty safely in my arms again.”
Of those who knew sign—McNair, Winona, Zach, Blue Water Woman, and Two Humps— not one told Porter the truth. All of them knew what was at stake, and all of them appreciated the deception Nate was trying to pull off.
The Nez Percé did say, though, in his halting English, “We make mistake. We maybe kill many Earth Eaters. Show them who better warriors.” Nate figured the Shoshokos would spend a long time discussing what to do. He was wrong. Within minutes Coyote’s Brother came back, and the first words he signed sent a tiny shiver down Nate’s spine.
“We think you lie, white man. We think you do care about this white woman.” The Digger pointed at the sun. “When it is there,” he pointed at where the sun would be about two in the afternoon, “the woman will be here, and then we will see if you speak the truth.”
Nate’s bluff had been called. Either he held firm, in which case he wouldn’t give a torn plew for the woman’s chances, or he showed weakness and gave the Shoshokos the edge they needed. “We are on our way to the big water. We cannot waste half a day waiting for you to bring her.”
Coyote’s Brother signed, “There are many of us and few of you. I think you wi
ll stay until the woman is brought.”
“We have many rifles,” Nate responded. “So I think we will go when we please. And if your people try to stop us, your women will shake the stars with their wailing tonight.” He paused, as if having an idea. “Unless you would agree to a plan that will satisfy us both.”
“What plan?” the warrior asked with evident distrust.
“Can you ride a horse?”
“The Shoshokos can do anything whites do.”
“Good. Then perhaps you would take some of us to your village to see this woman. On horseback we would get there and back much faster.
If Nate harbored any lingering doubts about the intentions of the Diggers, they were dispelled when Coyote’s Brother grinned like a bobcat about to pounce on a quail.
“How many of you would go?” the warrior asked.
“Four,” Nate said, thinking fast. “We will lend you a horse to use.”
“I must speak to my people.”
Nate swung around and found Shakespeare upright and staring at him in amusement. “What’s tickled you?”
“Though this be madness, yet there is method in it,” McNair quoted with gusto. “I see through your scheme, and except for one small miscalculation, I think it might work.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Not a thing. Weren’t you listening?” Shakespeare stared at the buzzing Diggers before elaborating. “I expect you’re counting on me to go along, but I have to stay with the greenhorns to get them ready. You can see that it has to be one of us, can’t you?”
“I can,” Nate said, chagrined he hadn’t thought of it himself. “So I’ll just take Chavez and LeBeau.”
“And Two Humps, in case the plan falls through. He knows the country better than I do.”
“And Two Humps,” Nate agreed. He faced the tracker and the head of the rivermen. “I’ve tricked the Digger chief into taking me to his village to see the white woman. What he doesn’t know is that I have no intention of trading for her. I’m going to steal her back right out from under his nose. But I can’t do it alone. I need two good men willing to give their lives if need be to save this woman. And I can’t think of two better men anywhere than the two of you.”
Chavez lowered his head, his sombrero hiding his eyes. “I am flattered, señor,” he said, suddenly hoarse. “I will come. A pretty señorita is always worth dying for.”
“True, my friend,” LeBeau said. “Many times in St. Louis I thought I would.” He tweaked his mustache. “Count me in.”
Nate looked at the Nez Percé. The old chief simply nodded once.
“Now just a damned minute!” Cyrus Porter barked. “This woman might be my daughter. I can’t let you put her life in peril. What if your plan doesn’t work? What if these savages turn on you?”
“My sentiments exactly,” Adam Clark bristled. “None of you knows sweet Hetty, so you don’t really care if she lives or dies, but I, on the other hand—”
He got no further. Nate reached over, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked him nose to nose. “For hundreds of miles I’ve had to listen to you flap your gums, mister, and I’m mighty tired of hearing you whine. You’re a flash in the pan who doesn’t have the sense to know when others are doing him a favor. The only chance you have of seeing Hetty Davin again is if we’re able to pull this off.” Disgusted, Nate shoved.
Clark landed hard on his buttocks. He turned beet red and clenched his fists as if about to spring. Instead, like a sail going limp from lack of wind, he sagged and rested his forehead on a saddle. “I hate this wilderness and everyone in it,” he sniveled.
“Watch your back,” Shakespeare suddenly said.
Coyote’s Brother was returning, a strut in his walk. Showing teeth, he signed, “I agree, Grizzly Killer. I will take you to see this white woman.”
Horses were swiftly produced. The Shoshoko acted disturbed on learning that the Nez Percé was going but didn’t protest.
Nate hated leaving his family on that knoll, surrounded by hundreds of enemies, with no guarantee he would ever set eyes on them again. He fought an impulse to keep looking back and focused on the sweaty back of Coyote’s Brother in front of him. The Digger rode as if drunk, flopping and sliding back and forth, his elbows flapping like bony wings.
The one time Nate did shift in the saddle, he saw the ring of warriors closing in again on the knoll, forming the living wall that kept the expedition hemmed in. A lot of activity was taking place on top as Shakespeare did his part.
The Shoshoko took them to the southwest, toward low hills jutting onto the plain like giant knobby fingers. On reaching the first hill the warrior bore to the right, around its base and past another. In this weaving manner he brought them deeper into the hills, and by the looks he bestowed, he thought he was doing a fine job of confusing them.
Nate glanced at Two Humps. The venerable chief wore a smug smile, and on noticing Nate’s glance, he grinned as if to say there was nothing to worry about, he knew exactly where they were. Nate grinned back, grateful Shakespeare had sent his friend along.
It was an hour short of noon when Coyote’s Brother took them through a gap between two hills, onto a small plain dotted with brush and small boulders. And something else. Everywhere Nate looked there were small, crude conical structures built over frames of willow poles. They were nothing like the fine lodges he was accustomed to. He was shocked by the poverty of these people.
Any sympathy Nate felt soon evaporated under the harsh glare of reality. They had to cross a dry wash to reach the sprawling encampment, and as they trotted up the opposite slope, a huge swarm of flies rose to their left and swarmed in the air.
Nate turned and drew rein. His stomach churned, reminding him that just when he thought he’d witnessed every sort of atrocity there could possibly be, along came another, newer one to prove him wrong.
Nine bodies lay in a row. All men. They resembled the bloated carcasses of long-dead buffalo more than human corpses. Naked, each scarred by wounds and mutilation, they festered with sores and dirt and more flies. Eyes had been stabbed out, fingers and toes chopped off. Jugulars had been severed, stomachs ripped wide.
LeBeau paled and averted his gaze. He wanted to be sick but refused to embarrass himself in front of the others.
Chavez rode a bit closer and said, “Apaches do the same. Are they who I think they are?”
“The settlers,” Nate guessed. A hubbub of voices alerted him to a horde of Shoshokos coming toward them. Most were women, yet there had to be fifty or sixty men still in the village. He fingered the Hawken, his skin crawling as flies droned around him.
“I do not like this, señor,” Chavez said. “They could pull us from our horses before we get off a shot.”
“We go on in,” Nate said.
Coyote’s Brother had halted and was beckoning. The Shoshokos parted to form a narrow aisle as Nate King and the others entered the village. Behind them, the swarm of flies descended again to cover their grisly feast.
Fourteen
“This is insane,” Cyrus Porter objected. “We’re asking to be slaughtered. Once the barrier is down, they’ll swarm over us like a plague of locusts.”
“Less talk and more work,” Shakespeare directed, hefting a bundle to his shoulders. He would never admit as much, but the wealthy New Englander had a valid point. They were playing with fire, so to speak, the fiery lust to kill evident in the faces of many of the Shoshokos below.
Adam Clark was hefting a saddle. “I hope to high heaven you know what you’re doing, McNair. I’d hate to be killed now, when we’re so close to rescuing sweet Hestia.”
Support for the pair came from an unlikely source, the riverman, Gaston. “Oui. I agree. We have come too far to let ourselves be wiped out by these naked vermin.”
“Keep loading the pack horses,” Shakespeare insisted. “We have to be ready when they come.”
“If they come,” Gaston said.
“They will. Nate King is too good a man to
let the Shoshokos pull the wool over his eyes,” Shakespeare said. He carried his burden to a pack animal and lashed it on tight.
Winona was loading another close at hand, and when she noticed him, she walked over. “I heard. If those man knew Nate better, they would not be so worried.” Winona took tremendous pride in her husband’s ability, both as a warrior and a provider. Among her people those were the two qualities most essential in a husband. Usually a man excelled in one or the other. It was rare for someone to be superbly skilled at both, as was Nate.
Shakespeare refrained from telling her he was as concerned as the greenhorns. Nate was one of the best, but there were limits to what any man could do, and the odds against the young mountaineer were formidable.
“I do not think the Diggers will attack us before their chief returns,” Winona speculated.
“That would be my guess,” Shakespeare said. “Their plan is to wait until after we’ve made the trade and our guard is down. Then they count on being able to mingle freely with us and jumping us when we least expect.”
“They will be in for a surprise.”
Shakespeare fervently hoped so. He worked hard loading up helping those who needed it, rechecking all the knots. When the time came, they wouldn’t be able to stop to hitch up a pack that was slipping or to retrieve supplies that fell off. There would be no second chances. They had to be as ready as they were ever going to be and have everything done perfectly the first time around.
Five rivermen were posted at the top of the slope at all times, just in case the Diggers present decided not to wait. The Indians murmured among themselves, seemingly content with the status quo.
That would change soon enough, Shakespeare mused. Frequently he gazed at the southwest horizon for any trace of a dust cloud or riders.
Once the pack animals were loaded, they were lined up in rows of three, each lashed to the next by a short length of rope. Lead ropes were looped around the saddle horns of individual mounts so the expedition could ride out at a moment’s notice.
Wilderness Giant Edition 4 Page 15
