Spirit's Song

by Madeline Baker

  Straightening her shoulders, she pushed her fears into the back of her mind. She had survived with the Indians for eight months. She was physically stronger now than she had ever been in her life, thanks to the hard work she had been forced to endure. Her hands were calloused. She could carry heavy loads of wood. She knew how to skin and gut a deer, though it still made her stomach churn to do so. She knew how to start a fire with a flint. Knew that bees would lead her to water.

  She laughed softly. No doubt her mother would be shocked when she saw her again, with her calloused hands and sun-browned skin. Her mother had always said you could tell a lady by her hands. Well, she hadn’t been a lady for quite some time.

  “You can do this, Kaylynn,” she said aloud. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Nothing but the stranger with his cold gray eyes and scarred face.

  She wondered if he would come after her. The thought made her walk faster. She would rather face a mama grizzly defending her cub than be at the stranger’s mercy.

  She walked for hours, stopping only briefly to rest and drink from the river. To pass the time, she thought of her room at home, of all the dresses and shoes and hats she had once had. Her mouth watered as she thought of sitting down to one of Mrs. Moseley’s elaborate dinners. Ah, what she wouldn’t give for a slice of thick, succulent ham, or a plate of chicken and dumplings. And one of Mrs. Moseley’s heavenly pumpkin pies… It would be wonderful to have crepes and sausages and hot cocoa for breakfast. To sleep in her old feather bed as late as she pleased. To spend her days shopping with her friends, taking tea at La Belle Cafe, having Christmas again, parties again. She wondered how Grandmother Dearmond was doing, and if she still spent long hours working in her garden. Kaylynn had loved to spend time with her grandmother, had loved listening to Grams tell stories of the old country, and how her family had sold everything they owned and left England to come to America.

  Lost in pleasant memories of home, the time passed quickly.

  At dawn, she found a secluded thicket and crawled inside. She ate a little of the jerky she had packed, then curled up on a makeshift bed of leaves and closed her eyes.

  * * * * *

  Jesse stood inside the empty lodge, his eyes narrowed. She was gone, there was no doubt of that. The ashes were cold; one of the blankets was missing, all the foodstuffs were gone.

  He loosed a long, shuddering sigh. So, rather than stay with him, she had run away. He grunted softly. It didn’t matter. He was well rid of her.

  Turning on his heel, he left the lodge. Outside, he mounted his horse and rode toward the Lakota encampment. He had wasted enough time. It was time to get on with his reason for coming here.

  It was early morning and the people were just beginning to stir. Blue-gray smoke from hundreds of cook fires rose skyward. He rode among the lodges, nodding to men he knew. And then he saw Ravenhawk walking toward the river, alone.

  Jesse grinned. Sometimes, Fate was kind.

  * * * * *

  Ravenhawk floated lazily in a quiet part of the river. After days of hard riding, it felt good to relax, to do nothing but gaze up at the sky. Maybe he would stay here this time. His mother had been glad to see him. He knew she would welcome his company. Living alone was hard on a woman. With no man in her lodge, she was forced to rely on the generosity of others for meat and protection.

  Grunting softly, he stood up. He might as well stay. He had nowhere else to go, and plenty of time to get there.

  He turned at the sound of hoofbeats, swore under his breath when he recognized the scar-faced man sitting astride the big blue roan mare. Jesse Yellow Thunder. Damn!

  “What do you want?” Ravenhawk asked. He glanced at his knife, lying on the riverbank beside his clout and moccasins.

  Yellow Thunder grunted softly as he pulled a set of handcuffs out of his back pocket. “What do you think?”

  Ravenhawk shook his head. “I’m not going back to jail.”

  A slow smile spread over the bounty hunter’s face as he drew his revolver. “I think you are.”

  “You’re crazy if you think my people will let you take me.”

  “That’s up to you. The reward says dead or alive. Dead’s easier.”

  “Dammit, I didn’t do it.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

  “All right, I robbed the damn bank. I was drunk and broke.”

  “Been there a time or two myself,” Jesse admitted. “But I never robbed any banks.”

  “I’m not going back.” Ravenhawk shook his head. “You know what it’s like, being locked up. I’ve done enough time. I can’t do any more.”

  “Like I said, we can do this easy or hard. If we have to do it the hard way, you’re gonna end up dead, and some innocent people are likely to get hurt. But that’s up to you.”

  “You bastard.”

  Jesse nodded. “What’s it gonna be?”

  “I’ll go with you, on one condition. You let me tell my mother goodbye, and you don’t put those cuffs on me until we’re out of the village.”

  “No.”

  “Dammit, I won’t try anything. I give you my word.”

  “As what? A bank robber?”

  Ravenhawk drew himself up to his full height, his black eyes narrowed and angry. “My word is as good as yours, bounty hunter.”

  “All right. Your word that you’ll come peaceably, right now. But you make one false move, and you’re dead where you stand. We understand each other?”

  Ravenhawk nodded.

  “Let’s go.” Jesse shoved the handcuffs back into his pocket and holstered his gun, then rested his forearms on his saddle horn while he watched Ravenhawk step out of the water.

  The Lakota were a handsome people, and Ravenhawk was no exception. He was tall and broad-shouldered, well-muscled but not bulky. He wore the faint white scars of the Sun Dance on his chest.

  Under other circumstances, they might have been friends, Jesse mused. They were both half-breeds, both hunted men. But Jesse worked mostly within the law, while Ravenhawk traveled the outside.

  “I’ll take that knife,” Jesse said.

  Ravenhawk picked up the sheathed blade and tossed it to the bounty hunter, then pulled on his clout and moccasins. Anger churned deep within him. He’d been a fool to let his guard down. He should have known that Yellow Thunder would be on his trail as soon as that wanted poster came out, but the last he’d heard, the bounty hunter had been over in Colorado chasing down the last of the Dawson gang.

  He swore softly, wondering if maybe he should make a run for it now and take his chances with a bullet. Anything would be better than going back to jail. He had already decided he had taken his last bank. It was time to try another line of work.

  “Let’s go,” Yellow Thunder said.

  Blowing out a sigh of resignation, Ravenhawk headed for the village.

  Yellow Thunder rode up alongside him. “Where’s the money?”

  “It’s gone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was only a few hundred dollars.” Ravenhawk shrugged. “I spent some. Lost the rest in a poker game.”

  “You robbed a bank, and then blew the take in a poker game?” Jesse shook his head. “You really should find a new line of work.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “All in good time. All right. This is how we’ll play it. We’ll mosey over to your lodge. You tell your mama goodbye, and we’re out of here. Nice and quiet.”

  Ravenhawk nodded.

  The village had awakened in his absence. There was a sense of anticipation in the air as the people contemplated the last four days of the Sun Dance festival. It was the high point of the year, a time for renewing the sacred arrows, a time for seeking power. He had planned to take part in the Sun Dance, to offer his blood and his pain to Maheo as a token of his vow to return to the ways of the Tsis-tsistas.

  He saw his mother sitting before their lodge. She had aged since his last visit a year ago. There was gray in her hair now; fine li
nes in her face that he had never noticed before.

  She looked up and smiled as he approached. “Hinhanni waste, cinksi.”

  Ravenhawk smiled back at her. “Hinhanni, waste, ina.” Good morning, my mother.

  “Will you eat?”

  Ravenhawk glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. “I must leave.”

  His mother stood up, her brow furrowed, her eyes worried. “Leave? So soon?”

  He jerked a thumb in Yellow Thunder’s direction. “This man needs my help. I must go with him.”

  She turned and looked at up Yellow Thunder, who nodded at her. She studied him a moment, then looked at her son again. “How soon will you return to us?”

  “I don’t know. As soon as I can.” Ravenhawk glanced over his shoulder at the bounty hunter. “Just let me get my gear,” he said, in English.

  Jesse placed his hand over the butt of his Colt, then nodded. “You do that.”

  Ravenhawk ducked inside his mother’s lodge. He stood there for a moment, his hand caressing his rifle, his honor warring with his revulsion at going back to jail. He lifted a corner of the lodge flap and peered outside. Yellow Thunder had dismounted, and now his mother stood between the lodge and the bounty hunter.

  Swearing softly, he picked up his saddlebags, slid a knife inside his left moccasin, pulled on a long-sleeved buckskin shirt, and left the lodge. “I’m ready.”

  Jesse regarded Ravenhawk a moment, then gestured toward the horse herd. “Let’s go.”

  Ravenhawk embraced his mother, wondering if he would ever see her again, then grabbed his saddle and bridle and walked toward the herd. The bounty hunter walked behind him, one hand brushing his gun butt. The roan followed behind.

  When they were out of sight of the lodges, Jesse said, “Hold on.”

  Ravenhawk stopped, every muscle taut.

  “Get your hands up where I can see ’em.”

  Ravenhawk dropped the saddle and bridle on the ground and lifted his arms, his jaw clenching as the bounty hunter searched him. Yellow Thunder made a clucking sound when he pulled the knife from Ravenhawk’s moccasin.

  “All right,” Jesse said. “Let’s go get your horse.”

  When they reached the herd, Ravenhawk whistled up his mount, a long-legged, deep-chested Appaloosa gelding. He quickly bridled the horse, cinched the saddle in place, lashed his saddlebags behind the cantle; then, taking up the reins, he swung into the saddle.

  Jesse had mounted his own horse and now he fixed Ravenhawk with a hard stare. “Remember, you gave me your word.”

  Ravenhawk nodded curtly. “Until we’re out of the village.”

  The bounty hunter nodded, and a look of understanding passed between them.

  Ravenhawk intended to make a break for it when they left the village behind.

  And Jesse intended to stop him.

  * * * * *

  It was late morning when Kaylynn crawled out of the thicket. Brushing the dirt from her hair and clothes as best she could, she made her way to the river and rinsed her mouth, then took a long drink.

  A handful of berries plucked from a nearby bush, together with a chunk of pemmican, eased her hunger.

  The sun felt warm on her face and she sat down at the river’s edge. The water sang a cheerful tune as it tumbled over the rocks. She looked to the west, wondering how far she had come the night before, and then looked ahead, wondering how far she would have to walk until she reached civilization.

  It had taken her hours to get to sleep the night before. She had started at every sound until, at last, exhaustion had claimed her. She had slept restlessly, her dreams troubled, yet she couldn’t remember them when she woke.

  She gazed into the slow-moving river, smiled when she saw the silver flash of a fish dart past. What was the old saying, something about the journey of a thousand miles beginning with a single step? Her legs felt as though she had already walked a thousand miles.

  She sighed, knowing she should be on her way, but reluctant to move. It was so quiet and peaceful here…

  Her head jerked up and she glanced over her shoulder as she heard the muffled sound of hoofbeats coming toward her.

  Scrambling to her feet, she ducked into the thicket where she had spent the night, her heart pounding wildly in her breast. Peeking through a break in the brush, she saw two men riding in her direction. She sucked in a breath as she recognized the scar-faced stranger, choked back a cry when she realized she had left her pack at the river’s edge.

  Please, please don’t let him stop here.

  Jesse reined his horse to a halt, his gaze sweeping the ground.

  Ravenhawk watched the bounty hunter, whose attention, at least for the moment, was focused elsewhere. Now would be a perfect chance to make a break for it except for two things: his right hand was shackled to the saddle horn, and the bounty hunter had hold of the Appaloosa’s reins.

  Jesse dallied the gelding’s reins around the pommel of his saddle, then dismounted and picked up a buckskin parfleche lying near the edge of the river.

  Turning, he called, “You might as well come on out. I know you’re in there.”

  Ravenhawk followed Jesse’s gaze to a thicket a few yards away.

  “Don’t make me come in after you,” the bounty hunter warned.

  Ravenhawk looked at the ground, only then noticing the small footprints that led back and forth from the water to the thicket.

  A moment later, a woman emerged from the brake. She was a pretty thing, tall and slender. A tangled mass of dark-red hair fell over her shoulders. She stared at Ravenhawk through eyes that were as brown as tree bark, as frightened as those of a mouse facing a mountain lion.

  “Things are looking up,” Jesse muttered as he tied the parfleche to his saddle horn.

  “No.” The word rose in the girl’s throat and exploded in a harsh cry. “No!”

  Turning on her heel, she ran downriver, her hair streaming behind her.

  Jesse watched her go, his desire quickening as he watched her. She was as fleet-footed as a young doe. He grinned as he tied the Appaloosa’s reins to a tree, then pulled a second set of handcuffs from his hip pocket and cuffed Ravenhawk’s hands together so he couldn’t use his free hand to reach forward and untie the Appaloosa. The Lakota would have to be a fool to try to take off with one hand cuffed to the saddle, but desperate men sometimes did stupid things.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ravenhawk demanded.

  “Making sure you’ll be here when I get back,” Jesse said as he vaulted onto the back of his own horse.

  Feeling a sense of déjà vu, he touched his heels to the roan’s sides and gave chase. The girl glanced over her shoulder when she heard him coming up behind her.

  A cry of victory rose in Jesse’s throat as he rode up alongside the girl and swept her off the ground, much the way a warrior rescued a wounded comrade from the field of battle.

  She screamed as he dropped her, none too gently, over the horse’s withers. Reining the mare to a halt, Jesse grabbed the woman under the arms and set her upright on the saddle in front of him.

  She turned toward him, her eyes blazing as she lashed out at him, her small fists beating at his face and chest, her nails raking his cheek, tearing the skin. Muttering an oath, Jesse lifted a hand to his face, felt a swift, unreasoning anger boil up inside him when he saw the blood on his palm. For an instant, he relived the humiliation and pain he had suffered at the hands of Abigail’s father. Reacting without thinking, he backhanded the girl across the face. Once. Hard.

  The sound of the slap rang like thunder in Jesse’s ears. The girl was staring at him through eyes wide with fear. All the blood had drained out of her face, and the imprint of his hand stood out on her cheek like a bright-red tattoo. Damn. He had never struck a woman in his life. Shame boiled up inside of him. He covered it with anger.

  “Don’t you ever run from me again,” Jesse warned, his voice gruff with self-reproach. “Understand?”

  She nodded, refusing to m
eet his eyes.

  “Good.” Reining his horse around, Jesse rode back to where he’d left his prisoner.

  Dismounting, Jesse dragged the girl off the back of his horse and deposited her on the Appaloosa, behind Ravenhawk.

  Jesse remounted his horse. Leaning forward, he took up the Appaloosa’s reins, then fixed the girl with a hard stare.

  “You were stupid to run away,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Don’t try it again.”

  He clucked to his horse, and the roan moved out at a brisk walk. The Appaloosa fell into step behind.

  With a gasp, Kaylynn grabbed at the man in front of her to keep from toppling over the Appaloosa’s rump.

  He was a prisoner, too. His hands were cuffed to the saddle horn.

  “Hold on to my waist,” he said.

  She didn’t want to touch him any more than she wanted to touch the scar-faced man, but she had little choice. Keeping as far away from him as possible, she slid her arms around his waist, cursing the day she had left home.

  They rode for hours across the broad, flat prairie. The sun beat down on her back. Her thighs ached. Her shoulders ached. She was hot and thirsty. Perspiration trickled down her back and pooled between her breasts. It made her scalp itch.

  Finally, when she thought they would never stop, the scar-faced man reined his horse to a halt beside a shallow stream. He lifted her from the back of the horse, then drew his gun and unlocked the two sets of handcuffs shackling the prisoner.

  When the prisoner dismounted, Yellow Thunder cuffed his hands together again. “We’ll rest here for a while,” he said. “Mao’hoohe, water the horses.”

  Tamping down her resentment, Kaylynn took the reins and led the animals down to the stream.

  The prisoner went upstream a ways, dropped down on his belly and drank from the stream, then buried his face in the water.

  She slid a glance at him, wondering why he was the other man’s prisoner, wondering what he had done. He was tall and broad-shouldered, as handsome as the other man was ugly.

  When he looked up and caught her staring, she quickly looked away.

  When the horses had drunk their fill, she led them away from the stream and tethered them to some scrub brush, then went back to the river. Kneeling, she sipped water from her cupped hands, wondering if she would ever drink from a cut crystal glass again.