The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  Was she saying that she no longer believed the Modocs to be invincible, despite their string of successful surprise attacks? But although he desperately needed the answer, he didn't try to form the question—couldn't think how. She had a feather in her hand, a long, gloriously white tail feather nearly as broad as her palm. When she handed it to him, he couldn't remember how to breathe. "Thank you," he managed, using the last of his air.

  "Do you understand?" she asked. "Eagle wants you to have this. It is his gift, his message to you."

  "Message?"

  "He hopes you will know what this land means to me and my people. If you share my belief, you will."

  What belief? She'd given him a feather from a creature that sanity said didn't exist. But he'd seen it, felt the wind of its passing. Overburdened by what he was thinking, Jed tucked the feather under his shirt. The moment it touched his chest, his flesh felt warmer, more sensitive somehow.

  Aware of how closely she was watching him, he indicated the stronghold. "I didn't want to come here," he told her. "There were some who bet I wouldn't leave alive. I was inclined to believe them."

  "Because the Ma Klas are savages?"

  "Ma Klas?"

  "That is our ancient name, one fitting for people no better than animals."

  He wanted to insist that they were neither savages nor animals, but he'd spent so damn many years of his life thinking of Indians as just that. He wasn't sure he wanted to change, because if he did, he would have to admit he'd been wrong all those years. "Can you blame me for wondering if my life's in danger? I'd be a fool not to realize they might hate me enough to kill me."

  "They?" She rocked away from him, the movement once again allowing the wind to pull the fabric away from her throat. "I am hey, Jed. And I am not a savage."

  "I know that."

  "Do you see that there are no animals among the Modocs? Only a few men, women, and children with food in their bellies but without a place to build their wickiups."

  "You had one. On the reservation."

  Fire ignited in her expressive eyes. Sweeping her arms to take in the land in all directions, she said, "Before the white man came, all this was our home."

  She was right, so damnably right that he had no words with which to try to argue. Besides, how could he speak when he had never seen anything that looked as exquisite as she looked at this moment. Like her eagle spirit, she was half flesh and blood, half magic. Behind her lay a lake so large that he couldn't see to the other side, a lake that supplied her people with much of what they needed to survive—or would if the army wasn't trying to keep them from it. She'd told him about those on their vision quests who climbed a distant butte so they could watch the morning sun touch the center of the world. Today it was easy, very easy, to believe that nothing existed beyond this beautifully barren place.

  "What do you say to that, Jed? Should we not live on the land that has nourished us since the beginning of time?"

  "Things change, Luash."

  "I have seen your peace person, Meacham," she said. "He is not a wise or strong-talking man. When he tried to convince us to return to the reservation, his words were weak. Do you think that will change now?"

  "He won't be alone. General Canby might be part of the group and probably Colonel Gillem."

  "Gillem? Who is he?"

  "He's supposed to be in charge of the war effort now."

  "You do not like him."

  "No," Jed admitted. "I don't. The man doesn't know what he' doing, but then I'm not sure anyone does. It's such a—I can't say who all's going to be involved, Luash. What I can say is that nothing's going to happen fast."

  "My uncle is not a man who makes decisions quickly. And he does not trust the army men."

  Jed sighed and she wondered if he was as weary as he sounded If he still cared so little for his life. "What will you say to your general?" she asked. "Will you tell him the Modocs are like starving dogs? We are not. Spring will soon be here. Then we can again make cider from manzanita berries."

  "I hope you're right."

  She hadn't expected that. Or maybe the truth was, she'd seen the answer already in his eyes and had no defense against her reaction. When he held out his hand, she stared at it for a long time while she memorized the fine lines in his palm, the short, clean nails, the strong fingers. "Don't be afraid of me," he whispered.

  "I am not."

  "You haven't let me touch you; that tells me something."

  He was right, but how could she tell him that if he touched her, she might shatter like a fine layer of ice? "It has been a long time since we last spoke. We have become strangers again."

  "No. No, we haven't."

  "How can it be otherwise?" she asked in a desperate attempt to keep barriers between them. "We are at war."

  "We're also human beings. A man and a woman. I haven't stopped thinking about you. You wouldn't be here if it had been any different for you."

  "My uncle—"

  "Your uncle spoke of lightning and thunder between us. Maybe he hopes I'll tell you some military secrets; I don't know what he's thinking. What I do know is that I don't want to ride away with things the way they are between us."

  He shouldn't have said that. How could she go on telling herself that he belonged to a different world when he spoke words that touched her heart? "I wish we had never met."

  "So do I. That way I wouldn't be forced to reevaluate what I've believed for years."

  She didn't know what reevaluate meant, didn't want to ask. "This must be the end of us," she told him even though she had to force out every word. "When I think of you, my mind becomes like tangled rabbit fur."

  "Tangled rabbit fur. I like that."

  He liked that. She'd felt so inadequate trying to tell him how she felt. Now she believed he understood what was happening to her heart and mind. Whether that was wise or dangerous she couldn't say. "What do white men say about"—she tapped her forehead—"about what happens inside them?"

  "It doesn't matter, Luash. Nothing does except that I have to leave."

  "Now?"

  "If I don't show, the general or Gillem will send troops after me."

  Trembling, she slid her hand into his.

  "You're sure about this?" he asked as he drew her close.

  "No; no." The words came out a whimper.

  "I won't force you to do anything you don't want." She felt the warmth coming from his legs, thought about hard muscle under worn fabric. With his free hand, he gently brushed her hair off her forehead. "I could never do that to you."

  "I—want to believe you."

  "Do."

  "We might never see each other again, Jed Britton."

  "I know."

  She saw only his face, deep gray eyes the color of a coyote's fur the white scar curving into his hairline, straight nose, and flare nostrils. His flesh was lighter than hers but not by much; she wondered if the summer sun would put an end to that difference. He was much larger than her, all broad shouldered and powerful arm and legs. What was male about him fascinated her, swirled around her and touched her veins and heart and breasts and belly and the woman part of her that no man had ever invaded.

  He was inviting her to kiss him, challenging her as she'd never been challenged before. She remembered a doe she'd frightened out of its resting place the other day. Now she shared that deer's emotions. Knowing she could do nothing else, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against this man who was both danger and promise His arms closed around her and she felt, not like running, but as if she could press her body against his until they became one.

  The shivers the wind had awakened on her back and shoulder; turned into something ignited by this army man with an eagle'; feather flattened against his chest. He held her tight, his breathing as quick and ragged as her own, his strength now no more than hers and yet greater than Kumookumts's had ever been.

  Do not leave, she wanted to beg him. Stay here with me. Show me—help me understand what it is I want. Fe
ar of what would happen to her if she spoke held the words in check, but there was nothing she could do to stop her pounding heart, her need to fold herself into him.

  He became a living blanket, lips that melted against hers, a whirlwind of sensation. She stopped thinking.

  Chapter 11

  Jed stared into what he could see of General Canby's deep-set eyes and wondered if the man was as old as he looked tonight or if the weight of his responsibilities had aged him. Maybe it was nothing more than the dim lighting inside the tent. "They've got enough arms and ammunition to hold out for a long time," Jed stated somberly. "As for the fortifications—they've piled up rocks in a number of places to increase their security, but for the most part, there's enough natural shelter that it would take a direct howitzer hit into one of the caves to dislodge them, and the chances of that happening are nil."

  Canby ran his leathered hand over his long, thick beard. "I take it our scouts are right then, and the Indians can see anyone coming long before they get there?"

  Jed told Canby about the manned outposts he'd seen, then explained that the clefts in the lava formed deceptively deep crevasses capable of hiding both Modocs and their few horses. "It's a fortress. The best damn natural defense system I've ever seen."

  Canby leaned back in his wooden chair and swept his eyes over the tent's dirty walls. "Better than this by far, then. All right, so there's no way the men we've got here can roust them out?"

  Jed thought he'd made that abundantly clear. The Modocs believed in their shaman's power, so much in fact that if Curley Headed Doctor told them to remain in the caves, they might even as the army cut them down to the last child.

  Luash. Although three hours had passed since he'd seen her, he could still feel her lips on his. His body still remembered her heat. And, as if to contradict the way she'd pulled herself free and run, the feather she'd given him remained pressed against his chest.

  Gillem, not surprisingly, was arguing for additional troops. If the Modocs saw even more soldiers coming in, he insisted, they would become disheartened and surrender, or if not that, at least take the forthcoming peace talks much more seriously. General Canby angrily retorted that he'd already received a number of cables from the secretary of the interior warning him not to spend any more money on the Modoc campaign. "The president wants a peaceful settlement. That's what I'm going to give him."

  "Peaceful!" Gillem snorted. "That's because he's been listening to those ignorant liberals he allows to surround him. They don't know what they're talking about. If he'd come out here."

  Canby cut him off, reminding him that it wasn't up to them to debate their president's policies any more than it was their business to decide whether the Mormon settlers had been right in trying to outlaw all shaman activities. That order had caused deep friction between settlers and Indians and played its own role in the war. In the past, Jed hadn't cared about the politics or religious sentiments behind Indian policies; Indians like Red Cloud and Sitting Bull believed in war and he believed in giving them what they wanted.

  A Modoc woman had altered his thinking.

  "I suppose the president wants Hooker Jim and the other murderers to receive a pardon," Gillem challenged. "Probably'll invite them to the White House."

  Jed's thoughts slid to his short exchange with Hooker Jim. He'd been surprised by the Modoc's youth, but not by his militancy, looker Jim was hot-blooded and hot-headed all right, and if Captain Jack—Kientpoos—was wise, he wouldn't for a second turn his jack on the man Luash called Ha-kar-Jim. "I told them nothing's going to happen until Meacham arrives, and probably not for awhile even then," he explained.

  "And in the meantime, they go right on frightening folks and making fools of us," Gillem grumbled. "The soldiers don't have enough to do. They're drinking too much and gambling; they want to be fighting. If they don't get some action, they're going to walk away from this"

  "No fighting! You know the president's orders," Canby insisted. After glaring at each other for a full minute, Canby and Gillem began discussing how well the Modocs would receive Meacham. Jed sat in silence for awhile, then asked for and received permission to get something to eat.

  As soon as the cold night air entered his lungs, he began to feel better. The tent stank of cigar smoke and unwashed bodies, a sharp contrast to the clean tang of sage he'd breathed while with the Modocs. For maybe two seconds, it was all he could do not to walk out into the dark and make his way back to where he'd last seen them—her.

  The smell of beef distracted him. He waited while a cook working inside a three-sided wooden lean-to filled his plate with something he couldn't identify and then headed toward the miserable excuse for a tent he shared with Wilfred. Van Bremer's ranch, despite the house and bam, now looked like a full-fledged army encampment. Not only had eating tables been set up for the soldiers, but logs had been driven into the earth and ropes strung from them to act as permanent horse corrals, complete with guards. Other men guarded the howitzers, making Jed wonder if anyone really thought the Modocs would try to sneak in and steal the unwieldy weapons.

  Although some of the soldiers were still indistinguishable from the nervous local residents who'd gravitated here, a large number wore regulation uniforms. From the looks he was getting as he headed for his tent, Jed guessed word had gotten out about his trip to the Modoc stronghold. He was in no mood to voluntarily repeat what he'd just told Canby and Gillem, and no one among the soldiers was foolhardy enough to question an officer. Not only that, a large group to his right seemed more interested in passing around a couple of jugs.

  Wilfred was stretched out on his stomach on his bedroll, his head close to the lantern so he could read. His long legs hung over his cot and brushed the tent wall. "You're still alive," he declared the moment he spotted Jed, relief clearly visible in his eyes. "I'd heard rumors to that effect, but I wasn't sure. Bets were better than even that you wouldn't make it back."

  "I'm here, all right. I hope you didn't lose." He pointed at the newspaper Wilfred held and tried to remember the last time he'd had anything to read. "What do you have there?"

  "The Sacramento Union," Wilfred explained as he shifted into a sitting position, an effort which caused his cot to squeak in protest. "A teamster brought it with him from Yreka, and it isn't even a week old—not that that makes much difference. As mixed up as they are about what's going on here, you wouldn't know they have a correspondent living with us. The paper's calling this Gillem's Camp. I wonder how that sets with Van Bremer, or with the general. I thought if you really had gotten back in one piece, you'd be stuck with Gillem half the night. That's why I decided to wait and see if you'd show up instead of wasting time looking for you."

  Jed shrugged, set his plate on his cot, and pulled off his heavy overcoat. It felt good, damn good, to be with Wilfred, where he no longer had to weigh his every word. He started to scratch his chin where he needed to shave, then his hand trailed lower. He stuck his hand under his shirt and-drew out the feather Luash had given him.

  Wilfred stared. "Where'd you get that?"

  "An eagle."

  "I know that." Wilfred's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm stupid? don't know what I'm going to do with you, boy. What I want to know is, does that feather have anything to do with that Modoc roman?"

  "Her name is Luash."

  Wilfred carefully began folding his newspaper. "And you saw her today, didn't you? I thought you were going to try to talk to Captain Jack."

  "I did. She walked part way back with me."

  "Did she?"

  "On her uncle's orders. I guess he figured I'd be safe if she was with me."

  "And you had no complaints. I swear, this business between you and that woman is the damnedest thing I've ever heard of. What'd she have to say?"

  Not enough. Too much. "We didn't have a whole lot of time, and it didn't seem like there was much to be said. We both know how it is."

  "Yeah, I'm sure you do. So, how did you get that little keepsake?"

 
; Even now the experience seemed unbelievable. "She called her eagle to her, and he left this with her." He indicated the feather. "She wanted me to have it."

  "The hell you say." Wilfred said that whenever he didn't understand—or didn't want to understand—something. Jed knew he shouldn't let it get to him, but he already had too much on his mind. "I can't explain it, all right! It happened. Either you believe me or you don't. I don't give a damn."

  Wilfred, obviously not at all taken aback, grunted, then drew the feather out of Jed's hand. "I've never seen one bigger, I'll give you that. What's she like?"

  "Young. Good looking. She's Jack's niece."

  "Jesus. You want to play with fire or what?"

  He didn't want to have anything to do with her ever again. A the same time, he wondered how he would get through the hour and days until—if—he felt her body against his again. There'd been an almost desperate quality to the way she'd held onto him and when she'd pulled away, neither of them had said anything He'd seen tears in her eyes; she hadn't been able to hide that from him. She'd trembled. It wasn't the cold that had gotten to her; she was reacting to him—reacting to how she felt about him and what he'd done to her.

  And he felt the same way.

  "Jed? You listening to me?"

  "What?"

  "I asked if you like playing with fire."

  Maybe he did.

  * * *

  It snowed for the next three days, one storm piling against another until Lush felt that the lulls between them vanished. Although it took all her energy to join the other women in a seemingly endless search for firewood, at least the storms kept army scouts close to their camp, which made it possible for the Modoc braves to reach Juniper Butte, where they shot a couple of deer. As Luash and Whe-cha returned to the stronghold one afternoon, wood strapped to their backs, they pondered whether the army tents might collapse under the weight of the snow. If that happened while their leaders were in them—

  "Maybe they are not smart enough to dig their way out." Whe-cha laughed. "They will stay there until the snow thaws, like hibernating bears. Only, unlike bears, they will freeze."