“Blackbird will let you use his bow.” He indicated one of the other men. “If you are successful in the hunt, we will trade. If not, you return his bow.”
Long Walker nodded. “Will someone let me use a robe for tonight?”
A woman handed him a ragged buffalo robe. He accepted it gratefully, only hoping for a moment that its previous occupant was not infested by many lice. He curled against the outside wall of one of the lodges and fell asleep almost instantly. It had been long since he had slept without the threat of death or capture. He could eat later.
By the time daylight allowed him to see for the hunt, Long Walker was searching for buffalo. A few of the men in the village had expressed resentment and scorn at the suggestion that the stranger could best them at hunting. Most, however, realized that a man of one of the hunter tribes would be more skilled than one of the Growers. That was the way of things.
Walker was pleased to note that there were several small bands of buffalo in the immediate area. One group was grazing slowly in the direction of the village. He wondered if it might not be possible to help the Growers make a larger kill. He could see that at one point the valley narrowed. A few men could conceal themselves and perhaps kill several of the animals. He rode along the ridge and attempted to plan the best strategy for the hunt.
Then, from the advantage of his new position, he saw an alarming development. Approaching from the east was a column of riders. They were some distance away, but there was little doubt as to their identity. It could be no other than the war party he had just left.
There was a moment of panic, then reason returned. The war party could not be searching for him. They would have no reason to do so. The Head Splitters were merely traveling, returning to their own people, while Long Walker was, in effect, doing the same. Since their destination was the same, their paths would easily cross. He must remember this and be more careful.
For the present, quick action was necessary. The village of the Growers was, in a way, a haven of refuge. It would be against the code of conduct to attack an enemy in the village of neutral friends and traders.
Still, Long Walker wished to avoid all contact with the Head Splitters if possible. There would be questions, doubts, and embarrassment for the Growers. The impression he wished to leave was that of a man beaten, fleeing for his life. At the same time, he must have weapons.
Reluctantly he rejected the thought of staying close enough to catch a glimpse of Running Eagle. There would be time for that later.
He headed straight for the village of the Growers, looking all the while for the buffalo that he sought. A fat young cow raised her head to stare at him curiously as he approached. Long Walker fitted an arrow to the bowstring.
Owl Dung sensed the pursuit and sprinted forward as the cow whirled to run. Long Walker’s arrow struck the selected spot, and the animal stumbled and fell to lie kicking in the grass.
Now, scarcely pausing to look at the dying buffalo, he urged the horse on toward the village. He slid to a stop before the lodges.
“Blackbird!” he called loudly.
The man emerged from the doorway.
“Your buffalo is there,” he pointed. “I must go. There are Head Splitters coming. I keep your bow.”
Without waiting for an answer, he urged the horse into a fast canter away from the village.
He was pleased with the manner in which things had happened. The closemouthed Growers, if they mentioned him at all, would describe him as a frightened fugitive, running for his life. This was the impression he meant to leave for the enemy war party.
More important, his contact with the Growers had suggested the beginning of a plan for the rescue of Running Eagle.
34
Since arriving back at his people’s summer camp, Black Fox had experienced continual frustration.
There had been the celebration of the defeat and capture of the enemy warrior woman, which was gratifying, of course. Dances, songs, and ceremonies honoring the deeds of the successful war party had lasted for several days. The captive Running Eagle had been displayed for all to see, to marvel at her beauty, and to wonder that such a woman could be a ruthless warrior. Many men envied Black Fox, in whose lodge she would remain.
Black Fox accepted the envy as graciously as was required, as he had the honors of the dance and celebration. Privately he was more frustrated than ever.
When he had only thought and dreamed of the girl, distant and unattainable, the stress was bad enough. Now it was even worse, an eventuality that had not occurred to him.
The girl submitted to his demands, it was true, but the manner in which she did so was a denial. Her haughty pride, her aloofness, were untouchable. Try as he might, Black Fox could not shake the feeling of loathing that he saw in her eyes. It was as if she looked at some repulsive, unwholesome creature. To make matters worse, it made him feel inferior, degraded somehow.
Then, in resentment and anger at this feeling, he would approach her again, only to experience an even stronger repulsion. Mixed with all this was the defiance in her glance. It was like that of a fettered eagle, captured but never tamed, defiant until the end of life itself.
To Black Fox this proud demeanor only increased her desirability, and hence his frustration. He smiled outwardly at the ribald remarks of his friends who envied him the possession of the girl. Inwardly he became more and more depressed.
He wished sometimes that he could be rid of her. She could be sold, of course. Any one of a number of influential men in the tribe would pay him many horses and robes for her. Their leering, sidelong glances at her told that plainly. Unfortunately such a transaction would reveal the truth to all—that possession of this girl was not the triumph that it seemed.
Sometimes he even wished that he had killed her initially. That would have avoided his present problems. Now it was too late. To kill her now would also be an admission of the disappointment that he found in her.
To some extent he began to avoid her. That was better than her flat, emotionless submission, while her eyes blazed with the degrading mixture of pride and loathing for him.
He no longer knew exactly what he wanted from her. He was no longer certain that her spirit could be broken. There had never been a woman like this, at least not in the experience of Black Fox. If, indeed, he could overcome her pride and force her to accept the situation as he saw it, would it only make matters worse? Would her dull, colorless acceptance become more of a problem than he found it now?
Black Fox was not accustomed to such response, or lack of response, from women. Yes, that must be what was missing in the relationship. Above all, what he wanted was not mere possession of the girl. It was for her to come to him. If the beautiful dark eyes would only show the fire of desire instead of the burning coals of hatred.
But how was he to achieve this? He had treated her well. After the initial period of her captivity he had not even tied her. How could she ask for better treatment? He had spared the life of her warrior consort, Long Walker, when he could have killed him.
Ah, that one! Black Fox pondered often that Running Eagle had undoubtedly approached Long Walker with the fire in her eyes that he wished for himself. He should have killed the man!
But it had worked well. Long Walker had been shamed, his freedom traded for that of a woman. He had retreated, tail between his legs. Even the chance near meeting at the village of the Growers had been ludicrous. Long Walker had apparently made a buffalo kill nearby but had been forced to abandon it at the approach of the war party. He had slunk away, as a coyote abandons a buffalo carcass at the approach of wolves.
Still, it rankled Black Fox that the man had something that he desired—the affection of Running Eagle. He sat against his willow backrest and watched her at her work. It was frustrating to watch the graceful curves of her body, her supple, willowy motions. It aroused him, then embittered him as he was reminded once more that the taste of victory had turned to ashes in his mouth. Yet he could not refrain from
looking.
She was dressing skins beside the lodge. The other wives of Black Fox worked a little apart from Running Eagle. Their dislike for the beautiful captive was apparent. Black Fox supposed it was because of jealousy. No matter. They could adjust. If only he could, he reflected miserably.
An old woman hobbled down the path among the lodges, leaning on a stick A basket of corn was balanced on her other hip. She was apparently from the nearby Grower village, offering corn to trade. She was bundled in a tattered robe which she had pulled around her ears against the chill of the wind.
The old ones feel the wind’s chill more sharply, Black Fox observed to himself. The weather was really quite pleasant.
The Grower woman paused to barter in the sign talk with a wife at a neighboring lodge. She handed a few ears of corn and tucked the cylinder of pemmican she received in exchange into her basket. Then she approached the spot where Running Eagle worked.
“Not her,” Black Fox called. “The other women!”
The old Grower apparently did not understand. She turned, confused, and her foot struck some small obstruction in the path. The woman pitched headlong on her face, spilling her basket’s contents on the ground.
Painfully she rose to her knees, retrieved the basket, and began to pick up the scattered ears of corn. Running Eagle stepped over to help her.
Black Fox was amused. Seldom did the Growers actively enter the camp of the hunting tribes to trade. Usually the hunters, more mobile by habit, approached the Growers.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a warning buzzed, like the rattle of a real-snake. He half rose for a better look at the old woman. Her back was toward him, and a bare leg protruded from beneath the tattered robe. It was not the wizened limb of an old woman, but the muscular, bronzed leg of a warrior.
“Stop!” Black Fox yelled.
The Grower sprang erect and threw the robe aside, turning to face the astonished Black Fox. From the mouth of the newcomer now came the unmistakable, deep-throated war cry of the People.
Long Walker sprang forward, swinging the walking stick as a weapon. Black Fox jumped aside, seized a war club, and parried the next blow. Men came running.
“I want him alive!” shouted Black Fox.
The first man went down under his staff’s blow, but the wave of numbers overwhelmed Long Walker. In a few moments he was seized, disarmed, tied, and dragged before Black Fox.
“So!” Black Fox chuckled. “We meet again!”
35
Long Walker found himself trussed tightly and shoved roughly forward. He was wild with despair. His plan had failed.
It had seemed good, the scheme to enter the Head Splitter camp disguised as a Grower. No one would pay him any attention, and he would not be expected to know the tongue of the Head Splitters. He could communicate in sign talk and move freely about the camp to locate Running Eagle’s place of imprisonment.
He had taken time to plan the move in detail, complete with the garments of an old woman, her basket, and her corn. The Growers drove a hard bargain. He had only the horse and the bow he had obtained from Blackbird to use in trading. The Growers knew this well.
This village was conveniently located only a short distance from the camp of the Head Splitters. The hunter tribes often camped in such proximity to facilitate trading and gathering of winter supplies.
So, Long Walker reasoned, it would not be unusual for a Grower woman to enter the camp of his enemies. It would be overlooked as a common occurrence.
And it had almost been successful. He had found Running Eagle and had contrived to spill the basket of corn almost at her feet. He had hoped to be able to hand her a small knife which he had obtained in trade from the Growers.
He knew that, as a prisoner, the girl would not be allowed to have any weapons at hand. If her chores required the use of a knife, or even a flint awl or scraper, it would be taken from her at the completion of the task. She would be regarded as a dangerous prisoner.
He had taken the sharp flint from the folds of his tattered robe and was actually in the act of handing it to her when Black Fox shouted. Aiee, then things happened so rapidly.
Knowing that he was discovered, Long Walker rose to fight. He was able to land but a single blow before he was overwhelmed, tied tightly, and dragged before the gloating Black Fox. His second knife, more suited for fighting, had been stripped from him. In the confused melee he had no idea what had happened to the knife he had attempted to give to the girl.
Now worse had come to worst. He would be tortured and killed, no doubt, probably before the eyes of Running Eagle. Well, so be it. He would show them the pride with which a man of the People could die.
Running Eagle was dragged up beside him, also bound tightly. His heart sank as he saw the despair in her eyes.
“I am sorry, Running Eagle. I have failed you.”
“No, no, Walker. It could not be helped.”
Black Fox stepped forward and struck Long Walker across the face with his quirt. “Silence, dog!”
He spoke in his own tongue, then remembered that the prisoner would not understand and repeated in sign talk. Black Fox was enjoying this scene.
Long Walker was thinking rapidly. Perhaps the pride of the Head Splitter could be utilized. He motioned with his head toward his bound wrists, indicating the wish to talk.
After a long pause Black Fox nodded, chuckling with amusement. He cut the thongs, and Walker rubbed his wrists a moment to restore circulation. Then he began to sign, carefully, plainly, and boldly.
“Your mother eats dung, Head Splitter. Are you afraid to fight men, and only make war on women? I spit in your face!”
He proceeded to do so. Black Fox started to react, then steadied, suspecting trickery.
“Are you afraid to fight me?” Walker persisted.
“No, Walker, please,” Running Eagle pleaded.
He waved her to silence.
“No, let her talk, too,” chuckled Black Fox.
He reached forward and cut her bonds, also. Now he was thoroughly enjoying the prisoners’ plight. Long Walker pressed on.
“Are you afraid to fight me, Head Splitter? You have never faced me without my hands tied!”
Black Fox glowered, then resumed his chuckle.
“Fight me for her,” Walker persisted.
Running Eagle crowded forward, using hand signs rapidly. “No! Fight me! If I win, Long Walker goes free!”
“Are you afraid, Black Fox? Either of us will meet you in combat.”
Black Fox appeared to hesitate a moment, then shook his head decisively. He laughed, long and loud.
“Why should I fight either of you? I have you both as prisoners. You cannot ask such a privilege!”
The circle of Head Splitters, who had gathered to satisfy their curiosity over the excitement, roared with laughter.
“Now, what shall I do with you?” Black Fox seemed to ponder, and the onlookers chuckled with delight. “We will talk no more of fighting. I will say what is to be.”
Now his manner changed, and his face hardened. “You will both be kept alive,” he began. Then he turned to Running Eagle. “Long Walker will be treated well only as long as you do as I wish. If I become unhappy with you, his torture starts.”
He paused, and his look and gestures left no doubt as to the sort of torture that was intended. The circle was quiet now. The onlookers seemed to realize that the time for laughter was gone, for now Black Fox was deadly serious.
Long Walker’s heart sank. There was nothing more he could do. Now he had failed completely. Not only had his rescue plan been unsuccessful, but he had been unable to goad their captor into unwise combat.
Black Fox was right, of course. There was no reason for him to engage in conflict with either of the prisoners. They were already totally in his power.
A final, unpleasant thought struck Long Walker. Now he had not only failed, but he had provided the enemy the best of weapons. Until now, Running Eagle had been able to be defian
t, to protest, to cause trouble, and in any conceivable way to show her loathing for the Head Splitters.
With the capture of Long Walker, she could now be controlled. He knew that she would allow no harm to come to him, and she would do whatever she must to protect him. It was a clever insight on the part of Black Fox.
As he realized the hopelessness of the situation, Walker also realized that without him there would be no such control over the girl. If he were killed, she would be free to act as she wished.
Without hesitation he launched himself directly at the nearest warrior, seized the man’s war club, and turned to strike at Black Fox.
The young chief had correctly anticipated this move. As Long Walker turned, the heavy handle of Black Fox’s war club thumped loudly across the side of his head. Black Fox looked quickly at Running Eagle to forestall any move on her part, but she was staring at the limp form of Long Walker.
“Tie them both,” he muttered to a warrior at his elbow, “but handle the man gently. I want him in good condition.”
He pointed to a pole beside his lodge. “Tie the man there.”
He turned to Running Eagle and pointed in sign talk. “You! Inside the lodge.”
36
Black Fox lay on his bed in the darkness, waiting for the girl to come to him. He could hardly contain his delight. At last he had found a way to control the beautiful warrior woman of the enemy. The mere thought of the power over her that he now possessed made him smile in the darkness.
She had slumped for a time in sullen submission after his ultimatum. He watched her, in the dimness of the lodge, as she glanced at him from time to time. He smoked his pipe and waited.
Finally the girl tossed her head and motioned toward her bound hands. She was still sullen, anger plain on her face, but she wished to talk. Black Fox freed her from the thongs and stood waiting while she rubbed her chafed wrists. When he could stand it no longer, he opened the conversation with an inquiry.
Daughter of the Eagle Page 14
