“Nary a word. The riverfront bunch was het up a bit about the shooting at the campgrounds, but nothing will come of it. Linc and George had spread word the women were whores and visits were welcome. Ernest is putting out the straight of it.”
“Goddamn bastards!” Fain swore. “Goddamn sonofabitches! I oughtta’ve nailed their balls to a stump!”
Rachel came to the end of the dogtrot and waved her apron.
“How come Fish took off? Did he decide he wasn’t no gunsmith after all?” Simon asked on the way to the house.
“I think he give up on gunsmithin’. He’d been hangin’ ’round ’cause of Berry. Guess he figured he didn’t have no chance o’ courtin’ her. It’s pure queer, him a-goin’ off, Eben gettin’ hisself killed, and Berry a-doin’ the fool thin she done, all in a day. I’ve got no notion at all about one havin’ a thin’ to do with the other.”
When Simon was ready to leave, Rachel brought out a food pouch. Her trembling hand caught and held back the wisp of blond hair that the breeze had torn loose from its knotted roll. She looked toward the north, her eyes anxious. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Oh, Berry, why did you go?” Then, to Simon: “Please find her.”
Darkness was approaching when Simon rode the stallion into the thick forest of tall oak, cottonwood, and elm trees. Soaring willows, their thin branches hanging to the ground, grew along the backwater of the river, making a solid curtain to the east. The need to hurry pressed heavily on Simon as he made his way over the familiar trail. Had Berry met with an accident? Had she been taken by rivermen? Linc Smith? Indians? Or was she merely camping out, roaming the wilderness looking for her pa’s contract land? If that was the case, by God, she’d get the shaking and the tongue-lashing of her life! Stubborn, mule-headed little baggage! He whipped up his anger to dull the edge of worry that plagued him and listened to the soft sounds made by the stallion’s hooves as he moved over the needle-strewn ground.
* * *
The first night was dreadful. Berry sat on the ground, her arms around a small sapling, her wrists bound together with a thin strip of rawhide. Moonlight filtered through the trees in ghostly patches, feeding her imagination. She could not sleep and periodically she shivered violently. Her teeth chattered, intensifying the pain in her jaw, which the Indian had struck when he knocked her to the ground. The whole side of her face ached and at first she had feared her jaw was broken.
Ugly was the only word to describe the younger of the two Indians. It seemed to Berry that the bone structure of his face had gone askew. His eyes were scarcely an inch apart. The rest of his face was broad, with a small lump for a nose. His mouth was wide and flat. However, he had a magnificent physique and was well aware of it. He strutted and preened when he saw her watching him. Once he went a few yards from her and let water. He laughed when she hid her face against the rough bark of the tree.
The older Indian paid little attention to her. She thought of him simply as “Old.” She didn’t think he had looked at her since he had teased his companion about his difficulty in subduing her.
Berry was afraid; more than afraid—she was terrified. She was also tired after the long ride from Fain’s homestead. Weariness and despair began to crawl through her veins. Enveloped in hopelessness, her shoulders slumped. She leaned her forehead against the tree as silent sobs wrenched her body. She fought the tears. The other time she had cried, Ugly had curled his lips in contempt and spat on her as if he despised her.
I’ll never see Rachel or . . . Simon again! Simon . . . Simon . . . She felt the warm, thick flood of tears rising to her eyes, and she was helpless against them.
After a while she quieted and went to sleep.
* * *
Berry awoke when it was just turning daylight. Heavy eyelids opened instantly. She was stricken with terror! A dark face loomed close to hers. She stared wildly, jumped, and tried to pull herself backward. Fear, like a great dark shadow, moved down over her, and she screamed. Once she started, she couldn’t stop. The sound of her screams breaking into the silence was so frightening that she tried to get to her feet so she could get away from it. Her legs wouldn’t hold her and she fell to her knees.
Reason returned and she realized that the old man had untied her hands and was holding out a strip of dried meat. He had a puzzled look on his face. Berry looked beyond him and saw Ugly loping through the clearing toward them. With an exclamation and a movement so unexpected that she had no time to shield her face, he hit her with the flat of his hand. Unmistakable insults and threats spewed from his lips. Berry cried out and braced herself for more blows, but they didn’t come. With aching arms she pushed herself up. Her hair hung like a curtain over her face. She felt sick and dizzy. She licked her lips and tasted salt. Her senses were now too numbed for her to feel the pain.
It was sometime later in the day that Berry’s tired mind began to wonder why she and the older Indian were riding her mare and the ugly one was walking up ahead. He had flung her up behind the old man and tied her hands in front of him. Her skirts came up to her knees, but the Indians seemed not to notice. Now her back and buttocks ached and she was tempted to rest her head against the Indian’s thick back, but she resisted and held herself erect.
Ugly coveted the mare. Berry could tell by the way his small eyes roamed over the horse. He was notably zealous in the care he took of the animal. Then why was he walking and not riding? The old man must have a higher rank in the tribe, she decided.
“I’m thirsty,” she said to the back of Old’s head.
He gave no sign he heard.
After a while she said, “I’m thirsty and hungry. And . . . I’ll kill you the first chance I get!”
Still he ignored her.
They followed no trail that she could see. They left the creek and went down a ravine and into a forest so thick with trees that the sun came through only in small, isolated patches. The scrub and underbrush were thick and scratched her bare legs, now almost numb from hanging over the sides of the horse. They crossed a stream and climbed a rough, steep hillside. It would be impossible for anyone to follow, Berry thought with a sinking heart.
Hours passed and by evening she was lulled into drowsiness by the rhythmic rocking of the seemingly tireless mare. She was truly weary now, with an increasing ache and soreness throughout her body. They stopped, but she was scarcely aware of it until the thong was removed from her wrists. Her arms fell to her sides. She couldn’t suppress a moan as pain shot through her shoulders. The old man helped her down. She stood for a moment, then her knees collapsed and she fell.
Every muscle in her body quaked with weakness and she wondered if she would have the strength to ride away if an opportunity did present itself. Soon she realized that she would have no opportunity. Her hands were retied and she was led like a dog on a leash to a spring where she was allowed to kneel and drink. As soon as the old man had had enough water, he jerked on the leash and she stumbled after him to a sapling that stood like a stake in the earth. He tied her to it.
Ugly took charge of the mare. He wiped her down with grass, led her to water, and hobbled her before he drank.
Berry didn’t even think now, because she was incapable of anything but sleep. She took the food the old Indian brought her and before she could finish eating it she fell asleep.
She was awakened almost at once—or so it seemed. It was dark. She realized with a shock that they were preparing to move again. Ugly lined her up behind the old man and tied her wrists as he had done before. The Indians seemed able to see in the darkness, for they traveled at the same pace as before.
They need not fear pursuit, Berry thought, and tears gathered on her lashes. Simon had said he wasn’t going to come chasing after her again. She should dread to face him, fear his wrath, despise him for leading her on to think they would wed and then deserting her. But she couldn’t—not now. She would get down on her knees to him if only he would ride up and rescue her from these savages!
Berry had long sinc
e lost all sense of direction. They went up hills, down hills, through briar patches and thickets. It seemed to her that Ugly was making it as hard as possible for rescuers to follow. It occurred to her that if he’d been alone, he would have killed her, because he didn’t want the burden of a captive. He wanted only the horse. But the old man wanted her. The young Indian ignored her most of the time, although he would stand and stare at her during the humiliating times when she was forced to relieve herself in full view of the two men.
They traveled all night and Berry lost all sense of time, too. Several times during the night she would jerk her head erect after finding she had let it rest against the Indian’s back. The pace Ugly set never seemed to slacken. When the going was exceptionally rough, he moved back to the mare’s head and led the animal.
The darkness overhead had begun to pale when they finally stopped at the end of a steep climb. Berry had feared she would slide off the rear of the horse and drag the old man with her. The blanket they were sitting on was wet and her legs and thighs were raw from gripping the sweating horse’s sides.
When her wrists were untied she was pulled off the mare and fell in a heap on a thick mat of dead leaves. A great longing swept over her to simply lie there and sleep. She felt weak in every bone in her body and thought it would be simpler if she went to sleep never to awaken. At that moment she felt the hopelessness of her situation more than at any other time since she had first looked into Ugly’s face. Surely she must wake from this nightmare!
Berry struggled to raise her head, to lift her leaden eyelids. It was turning daylight. She lay where she had fallen, weak and exhausted. Pains stabbed her back and buttocks. The old man was laying a fire and paying no attention to her. The need to relieve herself forced her to get to her feet. She backed slowly toward a bush. The old man looked up and nodded. She felt a surge of relief before other thoughts crowded her mind. He knows there’s nowhere for me to go, and if there was, I’d be too weak to make the effort. The thought brought her will to survive into her full consciousness like the pounding of a hammer on an anvil.
She had to start using her mind—to think, to take better care of herself, to eat and drink when she could. When the time came for her to make a break, she would have the strength to do it. She went back to the old man, straightened her back proudly, and looked him in the eye.
“I want a drink of water.”
He looked at her with piercing black eyes, and it occurred to her that he wasn’t as old as she had at first thought he was. The desire she saw in his eyes made her skin crawl, but she was determined to not cower before him even if he killed her. She put her hands on her hips. Resentment and anger flared in her eyes.
“I said I was thirsty, you old . . . coot!” she shouted.
The stoic face broke into smiles. Then loud cackles of laughter came from his almost toothless mouth. He laughed and slapped his hands against his dirty buckskin leggings. He jabbed her with his forefinger. “Coot . . . coot . . .”
“Not me! You, you dirty old buzzard!” She jabbed him with her finger.
He continued to laugh, stomping his foot on the ground and waving his arms.
Angry and frustrated, Berry walked to the edge of the clearing. She saw a small stream of water oozing out of the rocks to form a small puddle before it went on down the rocky slope they had climbed in the dark. She fell to her knees and drank, scooping up the water in her hands. It was cool and delicious. After she drank, she splashed her face and pushed back the tight curls that framed it. She tore a strip from the hem of her dress and tied her hair at the nape of her neck. She longed to remove her shoes and cool her feet in the water, but she saw the ugly one coming up the slope. Just the sight of him made a chill slither down her spine. She stood, not wanting him to tower over her.
He threw two rabbits at her feet and then stared at her contemptuously. Berry looked at the rabbits and then at his face. His flat lips were curled in a sneer.
“You think I can’t clean and cook a rabbit!” she said, “You’d like an excuse to kill me.” Her green eyes flashed a confidence she didn’t feel. “You ugly, disgusting, stinking polecat! What do you think I’ll clean them with? My teeth?”
To her surprise, he reached for the knife in his belt. With a flick of his wrist he sent it into the ground at her feet. She had heard somewhere that most Indians knew a little English. She wondered just how much these two knew.
Berry dressed and washed the rabbits and took them back to the fire. The Indians were sitting cross-legged on the ground—arguing. The young one was angry. The sounds he made were clear and distinct. The old one mumbled, but Berry got the impression that he was having the last word. Their talk exasperated her. Instinctively she knew they were arguing about her. Damn them! She would do some talking herself and see how much English they knew.
“When Simon Witcher comes to get me, he’ll cut off your heads and feed them to the wolves. Simon Witcher . . .” She said the name slowly and distinctly. “He’ll bring Fain MacCartney, Zebulon Pike, Manuel Lisa, and soldiers.” She kept her back turned to the now-quiet Indians and searched her memory for names of prominent people. “The people in Saint Louis will be looking for me. I’m the daughter of Auguste Chouteau. The scout called Light will send his knife into your backs.” She heard a small grunt but didn’t look around. She bent her head over the rabbits and repeated, “The scout called Light . . . will come for me.”
The hand on her shoulder spun her around and slammed her to the ground. The ugly Indian, his face twisted in anger, wrapped the thong about her wrist and tied her to a tree. What had she said that made him so angry? Which of the men she had named did he fear? He knew at least a few English words—she was sure of that now.
The meat on the spit was done, and the smell of it caused Berry’s stomach to rumble and her mouth to water. She watched angrily and resentfully as the two men ate. Finally, when they finished, the old one came to her with a hind leg and a piece of the back that was crusted and blackened from being so close to the blaze. Berry took it gratefully and her sharp teeth tore into the meat.
The young Indian stamped out the fire, muttering angrily at the old one, who sat and watched impassively, the calm expression on his face never changing. Berry also watched, amazed at how completely he erased all trace of the fire. He doused the coals with water, carried the blackened pieces of wood away from the camp, and buried them under a thick layer of leaves. Then he covered the place where the fire had been with dirt, raked it, and laid leaves over it until it was impossible to tell that a fire had ever been built in that place. He also removed all traces at the site where she had cleaned the rabbits. Berry now wished she hadn’t been so neat. She could have splashed so much blood over the rocks that it would have been impossible for him to remove it.
Ugly stood over the old man, glowering, arguing, and pointing toward the distant hills. The old man folded his hands over his stomach and belched. Ugly grew more insistent, raising his voice. Berry watched in terror as he drew the knife from his belt and brandished it with swift, unmistakable motions. He wanted to kill her! A thousand tiny hammers pounded in her head while she waited to see what the old man would do.
Finally he got slowly to his feet and folded his arms over his chest. He straightened himself proudly and shook his head. The word he spat out was the harshest she had heard him utter. He shook his head and pointed to his chest.
Ugly stared at him and walked away. Berry realized that a crisis had been averted. When the old man came for her, she got to her feet and walked behind him down the rocky slope. The mare was chomping on the grass at the bottom of the hill and Ugly stood waiting.
They traveled all day. They waded upstream in a creek that stopped abruptly when they came to a spring. The country is full of springs, Berry thought absently. They pushed through green meadows. Bees hummed thickly in the air. Elk and deer suddenly bounded from the shadows as Berry and the Indians passed through wooded valleys, but she was too miserable to see the beaut
y.
After three days and nights of riding, the pain that would have been unbearable was somewhat dulled by the curious blanking of mind that nature provides to carry one through suffering. Days and nights, trees, hills, and streams—food she determinedly swallowed. Snatches of sleep. They rode on and on. The whole world seemed contained in the movement of the mare, the slap of the brush against her legs, the sound of the hooves—the Indians. Her head hung forward and she didn’t have the strength to straighten her neck.
Hours after she had passed the desperate need to lie down that had plagued her for these past days and nights—when she thought she would go on and on forever like this, and that there would be no end—they stopped. She was powerless to move. Strong hands pulled her from the horse. She lay crumbled and dazed. A curious cone-shaped shelter danced before her eyes, but its meaning eluded the grasp of her mind.
Her eyes closed. She drifted into darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
Simon passed through the country with eyes as bleak as Berry’s had been when she passed through it. The only difference was that his eyes searched for signs of her passing. He thanked God for the time he had spent with Light and for all Light had taught him about the wilderness. Unerringly he followed the trail the Indians had taken, guided by a broken branch, a scuff mark on a stone, or the strands of silky black hair left caught on a brush or a low limb. He made his way rapidly through the forest by day, pausing only when darkness came.
It had not taken much wilderness training to read the sign the morning he found Berry’s camp. Two Indians, more than likely renegade Shawnee, had surprised her as she prepared to camp for the night. It was plain that there had been a struggle and that she had been knocked to the ground. She had crawled under a bush, and when she stood, she had been knocked to the ground again. Simon found where she had been tied to a tree; found her discarded grub bag and saddle. The Indians had made no attempt to erase the signs of the abduction. They must have been sure they wouldn’t be followed.
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