by Vella Munn
Although Panther would've liked nothing better than to hurtle a knife at Croon's chest, he remained a silent observer until the soldiers had passed out of sight. Then he dropped to the ground.
"Amnesty!" Gaitor hissed. "They lie! The army has always lied!"
"It does not matter. This is what I think. Somehow Croon learned that Sara came from our clan. He is forcing her to lead them to us."
Gaitor showed no reaction; obviously he'd already come to the same conclusion. "We's run from 'em 'afore. We'll do it again."
True, but not if they didn't reach and warn the clan in time. A sense of urgency washed through him; still, for a moment, he couldn't make himself move, not with the image of Sara's back imbedded in his mind. His father's back had looked like that when he last saw him, when he'd had to carry his body home for burial.
"Panther?"
"I will kill him. With my own hands, I will see him dead."
"Not iffen you lets hatred git the best o' you. That'll blind you, and he'll be the one doin' the killin'."
Chapter 19
As if they knew what he was going to say, as one, the remaining members of the Egret clan stopped what they were doing and turned toward him. Panther felt winded from his long run but knew it might be a long time before he dared rest.
"They have Sara," he gasped. "She brings them here."
A beat of silence ended with the first question. It was followed by more until Gaitor stepped forward and reminded everyone that the longer they stayed here, the less time they would have before the army arrived.
"We still run?" a warrior asked. "We do not stand and fight like Seminoles?"
"Do you think this is what I want?" Panther demanded. Weighed down by his position within the clan and the decision he'd been forced to make, he lifted his bow and arrows off his back and held them aloft. "What good are muskets if we no longer have powder? Our ancestors' weapons are no match for what the enemy brings with them. We must use wisdom, not just courage. We must let Piahokee hide us. Protect us."
"I am not a rabbit!" the warrior insisted. "I will not—" Before he could finish, his wife grabbed his arm. Her voice thin with fear, she reminded him that he had two children. She wanted them to have more than a memory of him.
That speech seemed to act as a catalyst for the entire clan. Silent, their faces pinched with concern, they hurried to their belongings and began pulling them together. Panther put his weapons back in place, then looked around for Gaitor. His friend was with Winter Rain, their conversation intense and private.
"It's him, isn't it? Lieutenant Croon."
He'd been aware that Calida was among those listening to him, but until this moment, he hadn't had time to think about her reaction. "Yes."
"Sweet Jesus. He's stalking me. As long as he's alive, he'll keep on stalking me."
"It is not only you."
"Sara—how is she?" Calida asked.
"He hasn't hurt her so much that she can't walk, but she has been whipped."
Mouth pale and eyes too big and deep, Calida stared at him for a long time. "She tried to protect us," she whispered. "But she couldn't stop him, couldn't fight him. In the end, he broke her."
She was thinking about what she'd endured around Croon. Panther wanted to clear her mind of those memories but couldn't. Not caring whether it was wise or not, he grabbed her arms and pulled her close. "Listen to me, Calida. You cannot allow your fear for Sara to overwhelm you. You must think about freedom, only freedom."
"If I turn myself over to him, he'll let the rest of you go. Release Sara."
"No! I am tastanagee! I say you will not do that."
"But—"
"No!" He was hurting her; he could see it in her eyes. But if he didn't continue to hold her, she might run toward the army. "Tell me something, Calida. If Croon had you again, would you willingly give yourself to him?"
"No. No." She shook her head until he was sure she'd made herself dizzy. "Never."
"And if you fought him, what would he do?"
"I don't care. I—I can't!"
"He would kill you."
She accepted that with the briefest of nods. "At least it would be over then."
"For you, but not for the Egret clan. Listen to me. Listen and believe. Reddin Croon is driven by hate and the need for revenge. For power. You and I have spoken of this before. You know it is true."
"Y-es."
"Then go with the others."
"The others? What about you?"
Gaitor and Winter Rain were walking toward them. It was time for Panther and Gaitor to make their plans. He had to send Calida away. "I'll do what I must."
"You're going to try to kill him, aren't you?"
As tastanagee he had no choice, and she knew that. And if she'd learned anything about him during all the time they'd been together, she'd understood this was the way he wanted it. "I can not leave Sara with him."
"Sara? Panther—" Calida began.
"You have not seen what he did to her." You do not have my memories of what my father looked like.
"It's too dangerous. Please—"
"Lieutenant Croon searches for many Seminoles. He will not be studying the shadows for a lone man."
"Not alone, Panther," Gaitor said. "This is gonna be the two o' us."
"I know, my friend. Go, Calida. Now."
"No." She wrenched out of his grip but remained where she was. Her eyes glittered and her nostrils flared. She reminded him of a frightened but determined doe protecting her young. "Give me a knife, a spear."
"You are a woman. You do not—"
"I don't care, Panther! Don't you understand? He's going to be here soon. He won't be thinking about an ambush. All he'll be thinking about is that he's chasing us, getting closer. He'll be arrogant, determined. Careless." Calida fixed her gaze on the knife strapped to his waist. "I know how to use it. I'll surrender to him; at least that's what he'll think I'm doing. I'm the only one who can get close enough to him, you know that. By the time he sees I have a knife, it'll be too late."
She was right. If she was anyone else, he might have been swayed by her argument. But this was Calida, the woman who'd saved his life, the woman who waited in his dreams. "A woman does not fight. Does not kill."
"She does if she had to endure what I have."
Although she looked so slight that she shouldn't be able to withstand the faintest breeze, he saw beyond that to raw determination. She was ready to lay down her life if it meant ending Croon's threat to the Egret clan, to the entire Seminole people, and if Croon killed her, Panther would have to live the rest of his life without her.
"I am tastanagee. I say that you are a woman, useless in battle. It is for you to hide. I will have it no other way."
She stared at him as if he'd slapped her. Still, hand uplifted, she stepped toward him. Winter Rain grabbed her wrist. Gaitor hurried to her other side and spun her away from him. "Go!" Gaitor ordered. "He's right. You don' belong here. We don' want you."
Calida tried to pull free. She was still struggling with Gaitor when two braves approached. Gaitor shoved her at them. "Gets her outta here. Now."
As she was being pulled away, Calida glared over her shoulder at Panther. Despite the cost, he refused to drop his gaze from the hatred she threw at him.
"Panther," Gaitor said after a length of time he couldn't judge. "Forget 'bout her. Think like what you is, tastanagee."
Was that possible?
* * *
She should have fought more, should have insisted that Panther let her remain with him. She was right. Damn it, she was right! If Croon saw her, if he believed he could put his hands on her, he would forget everything else.
Barely paying any attention to what she was doing, Calida allowed herself to be dragged farther and farther from Panther and Gaitor. She tried to remember how many weapons the two men had with them and whether they'd said anything of their plans, but she couldn't keep her thoughts on anything except the image of Panther standing proud
and strong and silent.
He had been born with rare courage. He didn't know the meaning of fear when it seemed that she'd never known anything except that emotion. That was why she was here and not with him.
Winter Rain said something about the need to stay where the bushes grew the thickest and to move as quickly and quietly as possible. Nodding, Calida kept her attention fixed on where she was going, not behind her.
"You will not do a foolish thing, will you?" Winter Rain asked. "It is safe to let you walk by yourself?"
"Safe? Yes."
"I want to believe you. Calida, if you run back to Panther, you will risk his life. The army will soon reach our camp. He must think about that, only that. Not you."
"I know; I know. I should have told him to be careful. Should have said a prayer for him."
"All here ask that Breath Giver guide Panther's step. He does not need your white man's prayers."
About to tell Winter Rain that she would never consider herself white, Calida realized what the half-Seminole woman was talking about. She'd been raised on beliefs that came from her masters. She'd embraced those beliefs because she'd never had anything else, but the god she'd prayed to had never given her what she needed most of all: freedom.
"I feel useless. Worthless." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.
"I cannot see what is in your heart. I do not understand it just as you do not understand mine."
Winter Rain was right. Still, Calida was afraid to say anything for fear the girl would recognize her for the coward she was. She'd changed so much since that panic-filled day when Mistress Liana died. Piahokee felt more familiar to her than Reddin Croon's house ever had. If she could kneel at the edge of a creek without fear because an alligator might be there, why couldn't she turn around and confront the man who'd turned her into a fugitive?
Why couldn't she stand beside Panther? Match his courage?
* * *
Damn miserable hound.
After lifting his aching rear end out of the saddle long enough to restore circulation, Reddin once again faced facts. If the rock headed hound hadn't gulped down that poisonous lizard, the mutt would be with him instead of barfing until he died. That, among more damn things than he wanted to think about, was the difference between him and the men who'd agreed to take what was left of the money his father-in-law had reluctantly given him in exchange for going after the Egret clan. Because they'd never hunted with dogs, they didn't believe that having one along could make running down the Seminoles any quicker or easier.
They were wrong, damn it! And if he still had the miserable mutt, he'd show them.
Sara was walking too slowly. Just because it was going to be pitch black before much longer was no reason for her to slack off. He jerked on the rope so hard that he yanked her off her feet and had to rein in his horse while the Negress staggered upright. Fear flecked through with something else shone in her eyes. She had the look of a woman who understood who was master and who slave but also understood that her worth extended beyond what her body could provide.
He didn't know how she felt about leading him to the Seminoles. Her lacerated back was proof that compliance hadn't come willingly, but even that hadn't brought her to her knees, not completely. He wondered if she knew a secret about him, one he didn't know himself. Maybe it was like that with all women and she just wasn't as good as hiding it as most women were.
As Calida had been.
Sara. That's what the nigger had said her name was, not that it mattered. She'd willingly let him bury himself in her and yet when he did, he suspected she'd taken herself off to someplace he couldn't reach.
Calida had been like that.
When he had her back again, it wouldn't be like that anymore. This time—this time he'd own all of her.
After an inordinately long period of time, Sara was ready to get going again. The men with him hadn't stopped moving, but then they'd been going so damn slow that he and Sara hadn't fallen behind. He'd wanted to get a horse for her so she wouldn't slow them down, but there hadn't been one to spare, at least not unless he was willing to pay handsomely for it. One of the men had suggested Reddin let Sara ride with him, but he'd be damned if he'd do that for a slave.
Although it was approaching night, it was still hot, and the air seared his lungs. The only living creatures that didn't seem to notice the baking heat made unbearably humid by the rain were the damnable bugs. The miserable horses...
Several minutes passed before Reddin pulled his thoughts back from wherever it was they'd gone. He was riding this half-dead nag because General Jesup refused to see that he was about to break the Seminoles' back. He had a way to find Panther, damn it. The whole rebel Egret clan. Osceola was nothing more than a dying and dried-up chief. Whether he remained in the swamp or was under army control didn't make any difference. Panther was the one who'd refused to have anything to do with a treaty. It was Panther who thumbed his nose at the United States Army and gave the rest of the Indians a new hero.
With Panther dead or in chains, the Seminoles would by god be singing a different song.
Reddin looked around to make sure no one was watching before allowing himself a cold smile. General Jesup was a fool. No matter what other people said and thought and wrote, Jesup wasn't any better than the bumblers who'd come before him. And when he, Lieutenant Reddin Croon, came back from this little adventure with Panther's head on the edge of a bayonet, he'd be the one placed in charge of the war against the Seminoles.
His back ached. Cursing under his breath, Reddin rose in the saddle again, not so much to look around as to ease out a few of the kinks. When his gaze happened on Sara, he tried to distract himself by imagining what he'd get her to do for him once it got dark. Unfortunately, his imagination didn't make up for reality. Sara was long in the tooth. Her breasts sagged and her rump felt like rising dough when he kneaded it. She might be able to scratch a few itches but not enough.
Only Calida could do that.
For the second time in less than a minute, he tried to stretch his spine. He was barely aware of the faint outline that was all he could see of Sara when he noticed that she'd stopped plodding along. Head high now, she stared intently in all directions as if trying to push back the night. He strained to hear but couldn't detect anything except hissing bugs and squeaking leather. He thought sure she would look back at him to see if he'd noticed the change in her, but obviously she was too distracted to remember where she was.
Slowly, he reached for his musket. As he did, he glared at the men nearest him until they glanced his way. Something he took to be befuddlement twisted what he could make out of their stupid features, but at least they had the sense to follow their commander's movements.
When he yanked on the rope, Sara stopped and turned toward him. He smiled. Her mouth fell slack when he held up his rifle. "Panther!" she shrieked.
Galvanized by the name, Reddin stared into the wilderness. It seemed to be breathing, laughing at him. To have locked itself in black.
***
From where he crouched no more than twenty feet away, Panther sensed more than saw Croon's reaction. He could smell the man's fear, but it was more than that. Croon could hardly contain himself at the prospect of putting an end to the game they'd been playing for so long.
It was different for Panther. He'd been aware of little beyond Sara's wounded back, thought of little except the effort of carrying his father's body home for burial.
Screaming like his namesake to frighten the horses, Panther catapulted himself at Sara. She shrank away but had barely moved before he reached her. He freed her with a hard slashing motion.
"Run! Hide!" he ordered in Seminole. She obeyed by staggering toward where he'd been and where Gaitor waited.
Croon was lifting his musket to his shoulder. So were other soldiers, but only Croon mattered. Gaitor had made him promise that he wouldn't let revenge blind him to danger, but Croon was so close and his knife was so sharp. The
man was stiff and clumsy. The musket seemed too heavy for him. He would have time. A powerful jump, a quick slash. That was all it would take to slice Croon open from crotch to knee. He would bleed to death.
Calida would never have to fear him again.
Panther gathered his legs and ordered his muscles to obey his command. The knife felt solid. He watched as Croons musket settled on him, saw the man's finger tighten on the hammer, but he still had time.
Then something with the force of a thunderbolt slammed into his side and nearly threw him to his knees. Despite his shock, he realized he'd been shot. Because he was still looking at Croon's musket, he knew the ball hadn't come from him. But if he stayed here beyond another heartbeat, Croon would finish what another soldier had begun.
On legs that were forgetting how to work, he plunged into the brush that had sheltered him a few minutes before. He heard men yelling, heard the squeal of frightened horses. His side felt on fire. Still gripping his knife, still running, Panther clamped his free hand over the wound and forced night fog from his mind.
He would run.
Until he died.
His breath wheezed every time he pushed it out. If he didn't silence it, they would find him before Night Spirit hid him. Consumed by the need for quiet, he barely noticed where he was going. He tripped over something and fell. Only by biting into his lower lip was he able to keep himself from crying out. His face burned as if he'd walked too close to the sun, and yet his arms and legs were cold. His heart beat furiously as if trying to escape his chest. Forcing himself to stand again, he shook his head to keep from passing out.
In a few minutes it would be too dark for anyone to find him. If he could last until then—
The horses were still whinnying. Because of the ringing in his ears, it was impossible for him to determine how far away they were. He'd been a fool. He'd forgotten his warrior's wisdom.
