They hadn't gone more than a hundred paces past the creek when he stopped. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced from the trampled grass that had caught his attention, toward the tree line to their right. It was risky to travel in the open rather than through the cover of the forest, but it would also save them time to get back to the camp they had set up the night before.
Cam looked to Matunaaga. Their eyes met briefly, then Mat stepped forward, and touched several of the bent grasses. He crouched to the ground, focusing on the signs in the dirt.
“Eight men,” Mat said. He didn’t look up.
Cam lowered the deer to the ground and followed the tracks with his eyes. "Early today," he surmised. The rain from the night before would have made the ground and vegetation damp and soft in the early morning, but the warm sun had dried everything by this time, including the soil. These tracks had been made shortly after the rain.
“They moved slow, but here they were in a hurry.” He pointed to where the strides of these men had clearly lengthened.
“Bakianee?” Mat asked.
Cam nodded. He and Mat had strayed into Bakianee – Blackfoot - hunting grounds. It had never stopped them before when following prey. A hunting party was easy to evade. An occasional confrontation was good to hone his reflexes and skills.
Mat’s lips twitched in a smile. “The Bakianee call you Kia-ayo, the most ferocious warrior in the forest. I have nothing to fear while in your company.”
Cam scoffed at his friend’s banter, and the muscles along his spine grew tense. “Perhaps I prefer that name to the one given to me by the Sky People,” he retorted drily.
He turned his attention back to the tracks in the grasses. If there was a party of Bakianee less than half a day away, it would be wise to investigate. His eyes followed the line of trampled grass. The eight men had spread out, rather than remained in a single file. Whatever had drawn their attention, they had wanted to make their presence known. This was not the behavior of a hunting party, at least that was what these tracks told him. Whatever had set them astray of their intended course had given them no cause for alarm, and possibly even made them confident of an easy kill or victory.
“If this was a hunting party, what were they hunting?” Mat put Cam’s thoughts into words.
Cam eyed the buck he’d shot. “I will follow their tracks. You take the deer back to camp.”
Mat laughed. “You will never pass up a chance to confront our enemies. Sometimes I wonder if you’d not rather be Bakianee.”
Cam glared at his friend. “I wish to be Bakianee as much as I wish to be Tukudeka.” He paused, then added, “I do not desire, however, to have my throat slit in my sleep tonight. It is wise to investigate.” He held out his hand. Mat met his hard stare, then handed him his horn bow that he’d carried, and nodded.
“I get it, Cam. We both feel the same way.”
Cam’s brows raised. Rarely did either of them speak the old language of their youth, except with Pikowan, the man who had raised them. It had been more than twelve long years since he’d been taken from the only life he’d known, and he’d forgotten a lot of the words. The Sky People had been full of promises, full of tales of how he had been chosen for great things.
“The future of the People, of the land, depends on you, Cameahwait,” they had told him. “This is where you belong. You do not understand it now, but in time it will become clear to you.”
While he couldn’t deny that the mountains, the rivers, and the valleys called to him, he hadn’t fully understood what the ancient one had meant when he’d stood in a young boy’s bedroom, held out his hand, and offered him a new life. Cam’s memories of the family he’d left behind had dimmed over the years. He’d been an ignorant youth, ready to break free of adults who’d set limits for him and told him what to do.
Mat bent forward at the waist in a mock bow and laughed. "Cameahwait - He Who Never Walks - the mighty chosen one of the Sky People, the man with powerful puha, I bow to you to keep us safe from any Bakianee ambush at our camp tonight." He had switched back to the language of the Tukudeka.
Cam’s jaw muscles hardened. His friend was much more accepting of his life, even if he’d also rejected the Sky People in favor of living with Pikowan.
“I’ll see you back at camp, Chief,” Cam said lightly to end the banter. Following the tracks would be a better use of his time. Slipping into the old language, and using Mat’s English nickname, he’d let his friend know that all was well between them.
Without a second glance at Mat, Cam set out to follow the wide tracks left by the Blackfoot. He'd covered several hundred paces, when the prints in the dirt shifted again, and came together as if the men had found their intended prey. The grasses and ground were trampled, making it impossible to tell one footprint from another. By the way the vegetation had been crushed, a struggle had taken place here. Cam knelt to the ground. There were no fresh animal tracks. Had there been other people in this meadow?
He remained in a crouched position, his haunches resting on the heel of his foot, and he tuned out the sounds of the crickets. His gaze roamed over every inch of the area until his eyes caught a small object stuck between several tufts of grass. He reached for it. It was about the length of his thumb, but no wider than his small finger. The white material, smooth and shiny, was something he hadn't touched since his early childhood, and could not be of this time. His heart sped up.
Had his pleas to the creator finally been answered? There could be no other explanation. Someone had been here, someone not of this time. What he held in his hand brought back memories of his mother and the high heels of the shoes she often wore. The more he studied the object, the more convinced he became that what he held in his hand was the broken heel of a woman's shoe, something that could not possibly exist in this time.
Cam leaped to his feet, his heart racing in his chest. He broke into a run. The tracks led further east. The Bakianee once again moved single-file, and their number had increased by two. The new sets of tracks that had joined the hunting party looked distinctly different. Moccasins had not created the larger set of prints. The smaller, distinctly female prints indicated that the woman struggled to keep up. Several times, she had fallen to her knees, and the man had helped her get back on her feet. At one point, her tracks changed from wearing her heeled shoes to being completely barefoot.
Cam didn’t bother looking for any discarded footwear. He continued until the sun had already sunk well into the horizon. The tracks had led through a swath of forest, then into the hills. The Bakianee had followed a deer trail up a steep incline, keeping a narrow, fast-flowing river just below them. At the top of the plateau, the river would end in a waterfall.
The woman had slowed the party down. She’d struggled to keep up with the pace the warriors had set, and for good reason. Her unprotected feet would have been raw by this point, climbing this mountain. Why hadn’t the Bakianee killed her for being a hindrance?
Cam’s pace didn’t slow. He kept his footfalls even as he ran to catch up with the Blackfoot party. Every now and then, the tracks indicated that the men had stopped, and a struggle had taken place, or the woman had fallen behind. Each time he came upon such an area, his pace increased. He swore that he would catch up with them before they killed the two people they had taken captive. He had to know where they had come from, and, more important, how they had ended up here. There was only one way someone could travel through time, and it required the sacred vessel created by the Sky People.
He reached the top of the plateau by the time the sun had disappeared completely. The dark sky revealed countless stars twinkling above. Cam didn’t stop to admire them. Several clouds passed overhead, but there would be no rain tonight. The scent of wood smoke reached his nose, and Cam moved silently through the stands of lodgepoles. The rushing sound of the waterfall would make it easier for him to reach the Bakianee camp undetected.
The soft glow and flickering of a fire through the trees alerted him that he'd f
ound what he'd been tracking. Using the trees for cover, he moved closer, his bow strung and ready, if needed. He counted eight men sitting and laughing around the fire, and his muscles relaxed. They hadn't posted a sentry, at least not yet. Cam remained behind one of the closest trees. He studied each man, assessing their weapons until his eyes fell on the two people huddled in the shadows away from the fire. He might not have noticed them at all if not for the white coat the man wore.
Focusing his eyes on the prisoners, little details about the woman sitting next to the man became clearer. She wore clothing that hugged her feminine figure, her skirt bunching up around her knees to reveal bare legs. Her long, yellow hair was tied back, creating a tail. On her face, resting on the bridge of her nose, were black-rimmed . . . glasses. It took a moment for the word to come to him. There was no such word in the Tukudeka language. His pulse throbbed at his temples, and his heart leaped for joy. He'd been correct that this man and woman were from the future, and he would find out how they'd arrived in this time.
Cam unstrung the arrow from his bow and stepped out from behind the tree. Without hesitating, he strode out of the shadows into the Bakianee camp. Several men who saw him first jumped to their feet, their weapons drawn. Cam smiled, and raised his hand, holding his palm up.
“Greetings, warriors of the mighty Bakianee,” he said in their language, striding toward the men. He sought eye contact with the one he’d guessed to be the leader. “I am called Cameahwait, and I wish to share your fire.”
Several of the warriors glared at him, then turned their heads toward their leader.
“A Tukudeka does not share our fires,” the man said with bared teeth, a look of disdain on his face.
Cam ignored the weapons the warriors pointed at him. He held the leader’s glare. “I am no Tukudeka,” he said in a low tone. “I am known to the warriors of the Bakianee as Kia-ayo, because I saved your great war chief, Aatsista-Mahkan, from the mighty grizzly two summers ago.”
Several of the men murmured. The leader stepped forward. He glared at him through narrowed eyes.
“If you are who you say, you will have the mark of the bear, whose name you claim to own.”
Cam stared at the warrior, then slowly turned to reveal his back. In the light from the fire, the four deep claw marks that ran from the top of his right shoulder to the middle of his spine would be easy to see. The wounds had long healed, but the scars would always serve as a reminder that he’d nearly lost his life while confronting the most respected and revered predator in these mountains.
More murmurs erupted behind him. He kept his back turned in a silent statement that he wasn't afraid of these men and waited until the leader spoke to him.
“You are who you say,” the leader called. “I have heard that Kia-ayo walks among powerful spirits. You are welcome at our fire.”
Cam turned to face the Blackfoot warriors. Without moving his head, his gaze drifted slightly to where the two prisoners sat, still huddled together. They both looked toward the fire with fearful eyes. Not that he could blame them. The Blackfoot would make sport of these two, especially the man. The woman would face a fate much worse than death.
Cam sat with the warriors near the fire and accepted the meat offered by the leader, Cunning Fox. He listened with half an ear to their retelling of the day's hunt. When talk turned to the prisoners, he paid closer attention.
One of the men laughed. "Strange creatures, this white man, and woman. I have only seen one other white man in my life, but he did not invite me to put an arrow through his heart as these two have done. This man nearly begged us to kill him."
The others joined him in laughter. Cam glanced from one to the other. He’d waited long enough to make his move. This might be his best opportunity to get near the prisoners.
“I am a white man,” he said in a low tone.
The warriors fell silent. They all stared at him, scrutinizing him to see if he spoke the truth.
“You do not speak, dress, or behave as a white man,” Cunning Fox said. He studied him fully. “Your skin is lighter than ours, as is your hair. That is the only difference I see. In your heart, you are one with the mountains. I cannot say the same for this man and woman we found. Killing them will bring no honor.”
Cam looked again toward the prisoners. The man's head hung low, his chin resting on his chest while the woman still looked toward the fire. Her eyes, although tired, were alert. Her gaze met his. Cam didn't look away. Some invisible force kept his eyes on her. Distant memories entered his mind of young girls and women with hair the color of hers. He finally forced his eyes away and hardened the muscles along his jaw.
“What will you accept in trade for the woman?” He looked from one man to the next. “Who claims her?”
Bartering for the lives of both the prisoners would be impossible, but he could at least try and save one of them. He needed answers to his burning questions.
Cunning Fox smirked. “It is said that Kia-ayo lives with his brother and an old man. You may have use for a woman, but not this one. She is weak, and certainly not someone befitting a man of your status.”
Cam smiled slowly. He stared the Blackfoot in the eyes. “Then she isn’t worth much, and you will give her to me in trade.”
The hard expression on Cunning Fox’s face left no doubt that the warrior had realized his mistake when he’d proclaimed that the woman was useless.
“The color of her hair might bring a higher price,” the Bakianee tried to argue.
“The color of her hair won’t change that she is weak, as you say, so no one else will want her,” Cam retorted. “I think the color of her skin makes her a suitable mate for me.” He shrugged. “I give you my bow in trade for her.”
Cunning Fox's eyes lit up with eager interest. They fell to his horn bow. Cam gritted his teeth. It would take weeks to make another bow like the one he carried, but he had to claim the woman. Getting some answers, and perhaps a way to return to his former life was worth giving up his hunting weapon.
The Blackfoot warrior stared at him. Cam held his calculating gaze. Cunning Fox wanted the bow, but he couldn’t appear too eager for the trade.
“You claim you are not Tukudeka, yet you fashion your hunting weapon as they do. The Sheepeaters do not trade their bows.”
Cam scoffed. “I have told you, I am not Tukudeka. I have learned from them, yes, but I belong to no people.”
Cunning Fox seemed to be measuring his words. Finally, he nodded. “I will give you the woman in trade. You will take her as your wife tonight.”
Cam cursed silently, words he remembered from his youth that his former mother and father had frowned upon. He reached his hand out, and Cunning Fox clasped his wrist.
“Your buffalo robe and the woman for my horn bow,” he said firmly.
Cunning Fox nodded, and Cam handed him his bow. He stood, and snatched the robe up off the ground. With long strides, he walked up to the prisoners. The woman stared up at him warily and nudged at the man beside her. He raised his head, his eyes going wide in the dim light. He sat up straighter and tried to scramble backward on his haunches. The man was a coward, but no one could blame him for his fear.
Cam looked to the woman. Apprehension and confusion shone in her eyes, but there was also something else. A small glimpse of defiance sparked to life in her, along with curiosity. Cam hardened his gaze. Right now, with eight warriors watching, he could not show mercy. He reached for the woman's arm and hauled her to her feet. She barely reached his chin when she stood up so close to him. Cam inhaled the fragrance of her skin. He leaned closer and drew in a deep breath.
“Let go of me,” she demanded, her eyes wide and shimmering in the light from the fire. Some invisible current raced through him. The last time anyone other than Mat or Pikowan had spoken words to him in English had been many years ago, in a different life.
“What are you doing with her? Leave her alone,” the man called from behind them, a quiver of fear in his voice. The woman s
quirmed and struggled against Cam’s hold, and his grip on her tightened. He pulled her further into the shadows.
“Please tell me what’s going on here,” she cried. Her voice was strained, soft, and laced with dread, yet she fought his hold on her. The scent of her clothes, her hair, and her skin heightened all his senses.
“Doesn’t anyone here speak English?” she pleaded. “Whatever game or college prank you’re pulling, it’s gotten way out of hand.”
Cam tossed the robe to the ground. He pulled her up against his chest, and the woman sucked in a sharp breath. She brought her bound hands up to brace against him. The cool contact of her soft hands against his skin sent another ripple of awareness through him. He leaned forward, her hair tickling his nose, and he inhaled deeply.
"Numua kwana pihiyaapin," he whispered in a low tone and pushed her down onto the fur.
Chapter Four
Riley braced against the guy's firm hold on her arm when he pushed her onto the animal fur. Her effort lasted about a second. He was simply too strong, and her body too tired and sore to fight him. She folded like an accordion. Her heart pounded with both fear and anger. The words that jerk had whispered against her ear in that sensual tone sent shivers down her spine. It wasn't hard to guess what was going to happen to her. She tugged on the leather straps that tied her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut, praying for strength as tears pushed their way through her clenched eyelids.
It had become obvious a long time ago that what she and Jeffrey were experiencing was not some hallucination, but very real. Her bloody feet, and the pain from stepping on countless rocks while being dragged over rough terrain was not her mind playing tricks on her.
When those eight men had surrounded them earlier in the day, dressed like Native American warriors, pointing spears and arrows at her and Jeffrey, she’d laughed it off at first. It had become apparent real quick that they weren’t messing around, and that she and Jeffrey were being kidnapped.
Yellowstone Origins: Yellowstone Romance Series, Book 6 Page 4
