“Better to die trying to join the Union forces than remain here and be killed by the graycoats, whom we know we cannot trust,” Yellow Jacket said.
“Well spoken,” said the ancient one. “I have prayed to the Master of Breath and feel there is no other answer.”
The others looked to Yellow Jacket, and he turned the alternatives over in his mind. It would be like the Trail of Tears all over again, marching thousands of people through the cold, with not even time to bury their dead if they fell.
“Opothleyahola is right,” Yellow Jacket said, “we must do this. We need to leave as soon as possible to beat the snows.”
Now the ancient leader shook his head. “We cannot leave right away. Tribal members are still arriving from all over the Indian Territory and driving their cattle with them. It will take careful planning and an element of surprise. If we could be on the trail a few days before the graycoats know we are gone, we have a better chance.”
“Then we are sworn to secrecy,” Yellow Jacket whispered, “and we will wait for the signal from you, great leader.”
“Maybe the Master of Breath will be with us,” the old man murmured. “We will head northwest and pick up reinforcements among the Union Cherokee, then turn due north. Now, let us depart this meeting with care. We do not want the graycoat colonel or his aide, Captain Wellsley, to suspect anything.”
They had been in council for several hours. Now they went out into the night, nodding to the faithful giant, Smoke, who would stay to guard the ancient leader.
Pretty had hatched a plan as she watched her uncle, Yellow Jacket, leave for his meeting. He might be a big, respected warrior, but because he idolized her, she figured she could bring him around. Tonight, though, she had plans to meet her lover. She waited a few minutes after Yellow Jacket left; then she put pillows under her blankets to make her bed look as if she slept. She took one last look in her little mirror, adjusted the blue bracelet on her arm, then sneaked out the door and through the woods toward the sutler’s store. Her lover would be waiting there, and she had something very important to tell him: She was now certain she was expecting his child.
Harvey Leland looked up from his bookwork as Pretty entered the store, and frowned. “I didn’t send for you.”
“Dear one, you hadn’t sent me a message in such a long time . . .”
“It’s been no more than a few days.” He was gruff and out of sorts as he slammed his ledger shut. In truth, he was tired of the silly Injun girl. Besides, now he was scared. “Why didn’t you tell me Matt Folane was your uncle?”
Matt Folane. The white man’s name for her uncle. She walked around the store, fingering ribbons and trinkets, the blue beaded bracelet on her delicate wrist gleaming in the light of the kerosene lamp. “It never came up.”
“No, you deliberately didn’t tell me.” He got up from his chair and limped across the store to confront her. “You knew I’d think twice—”
“Would you have?” She threw her arms around him, looking up at him coyly with her big, dark eyes.
His body reacted to the warmth of her full curves; then he regained control and pushed her away. “Anyone with any sense would tread lightly around that big warrior. They say he used to be a Lighthorseman and has killed a dozen men.”
“Or maybe more,” she laughed. “You know what folane means in our language? Folane is a Yellow Jacket, a kind of wasp that will sting—and sting hard.”
Harvey shuddered. “You know what your uncle thinks of whites and particularly Southerners. You should have warned me.” He looked about anxiously. “Where is he, anyway?”
She shrugged and played with her bracelet. “Gone to some silly meeting. He won’t be back for hours.” She reached to kiss him, molding the full curves of her body against him, her lips opening against his.
Damn, he wanted her, even knowing the risk of messing with Matt Folane’s niece. Harvey put his arms around her and deepened the kiss. “If he won’t miss you for hours, maybe we could . . .”
“Maybe we could,” she murmured, taking his hand and leading him toward the room at the back of the little store.
Damn, he was taking a chance, but she was so nubile and exciting. “Just a minute—let me turn off the light and lock the front door. Can’t be too careful.”
He did that, then took her hand, leading her back to his room and closing the door. A small kerosene lamp burned on the bedside table, illuminating her pretty brown face as she lay down on the bed.
“Dear one,” she whispered, “we have to talk.”
“Not now,” he replied in a hoarse whisper, hurriedly beginning to remove his clothes. He’d take her one more time and then tell her good-bye forever. His stepsister should be arriving by stage soon, and he didn’t want to have to explain Pretty to Twilight.
“Yes, now,” she protested even as he lay down on the bed naked and began to fumble with the top of her faded calico dress. “I have something I have to tell you—”
He cut off her words with his mouth, kissing her feverishly, running his soft, pink hands over her lithe brown body. He was all over her, enjoying her as much tonight as he had the night he had first taken her virginity, in July. “Save it, beautiful,” he gasped. “Let’s make love first.”
But she was pushing him away, scrambling out from under him to the other side of the bed. “No, we talk now.”
He was breathing hard, annoyed and angry. “You little tease. Get me all hot and then—”
“Remember that first night?” she smiled at him.
“Oh, honey, do I? Let’s do it again like we did that night. Let’s—”
“You remember you promised to marry me?”
Had he? What did it matter? He would have promised anything to get the voluptuous little redskin under him. “Maybe someday,” he drawled, and tried to pull her to him, but she resisted.
She put a stiff arm on his hairy chest to hold him back. “No, Harvey, we need to talk about that now.”
“Oh, hell. All right, I’ll marry you. Now let’s make love.” He tried to pull her into his fervent embrace, but she refused.
“Harvey, I—I think I’m going to have a baby.”
“What?” The mood was gone now. He sat up on the edge of the bed and began to curse.
Behind him, the girl started to cry. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Pleased? I don’t want no half-breed Injun brat. . . .”
“But we could be married, and I’d help run the store—”
“Look, you Injun tart, I got someone comin’ to help with the store. She’s comin’ on the stage—”
“A white woman?” She sounded angry and jealous. “There’s a white woman?”
He sighed, not bothering to explain. “You’ll just have to find some Injun buck to marry you if you’ve gotten yourself in trouble.”
“Harvey, there was never anyone but you.”
A horrible thought came to him. He turned to her. “You told anybody about us or the baby?”
Pretty shook her head, burying her face in her hands. “You—you told me not to tell about us.”
Relief washed over him. He didn’t want to face her vengeful uncle. Everyone around the camp said Matt Folane could cut a man’s throat or break his back without a second thought.
“But if you don’t keep your promise to marry me, I’ll tell my uncle.”
A cold chill swept over him as he turned on the bed to face the hysterical girl. “You can’t do that. You’ll be disgraced if word gets out.”
“I don’t care!” She rose up on her knees, screaming at him. “My uncle will make you marry me! I’ll tell him! I swear I will!” She was hysterical now, sobbing and screaming, beating him on the chest.
“Hush! Hush!” he ordered. “Someone will hear you!”
“I don’t care! You hear? I don’t care if everyone knows!” Her voice increased to a shriek.
“Shut up! You hear me? Shut up!” Harvey was terrified now, scared some of the Confederate officers ca
mped nearby or some of the Injuns might hear her and go for her uncle. Harvey didn’t want the half-naked crying girl to be found in his bed. He’d placate her somehow—anything to make her hush. Harvey put his hand over her mouth, and they struggled. “Be quiet, you little slut! Stop that screaming now!”
They fought on the bed, but she was no match for his strength. He muffled her voice, but then she bit his fingers and he pulled back, cursing as she began to scream again. He had to shut her up. Harvey grabbed her by her throat—anything to stop that noise. She battled him, and he grabbed her arm as she scratched his face. The bracelet she wore broke, and blue beads flew everywhere.
“Shut up!” he shouted in panic. “Shut up!” He tightened the grip on her throat as her small fingers clawed at his hands. He was terrified that someone might have heard the uproar. In his mind, he saw the big Creek warrior bursting through the door, slamming him against the wall and then reaching for that huge knife he wore in his belt.
He tightened his grip on Pretty’s throat. If he could only shut her up until he had time to reason with her . . . He’d promise to marry her to buy time—anything to keep the secret until he had time to think what to do next. His lust had caused him to toss all good sense aside, and now it was coming back to haunt him. “Hush,” he pleaded as his fingers tightened, “Hush up!”
Her screams had become a mere whimper now as her eyes bulged and she gasped for air. Her small hands still clawed at his fingers, and she bucked and tried to twist out of his grasp, but she was powerless against him. He was past reason, past anything but sweating fear and anger. Yellow Jacket must not find out. He must not.
Pretty’s voice was only a gasp, and her struggles grew weaker. All Harvey Leland could feel was relief that he might make her stop screaming, figure a way out of this mess without having to marry this Injun slut. All he wanted to do was save his own hide—the same reason he had fled to Indian Territory to avoid the war. “Shut up, girl,” he gasped. “Oh, please shut up!”
Pretty stopped struggling, her breath coming in gasps as he tightened his hold on her throat. Her eyes rolled back. His cold sweat ran down his balding head and dripped on her brown face. What had he done?
Very slowly, Harvey loosened his grip. Why was Pretty so silent? His fingers had left blue marks on her slender neck. “Pretty?”
No answer. Her silence was even more terrifying than her screams had been. “Pretty? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you so hard—it’s just that I panicked when you said you’d tell your uncle. Everyone’s afraid of that warrior.”
Still no answer. He shook her thin shoulder. “Damn it, I’m tired of your pretending, you hear me? Now you open your eyes and we’ll talk about this.”
She didn’t open her eyes. The girl lay very still and limp, looking small and brown against the sheets. A terror began to grow in Harvey’s heart, a terror even worse than the fear of her vengeful uncle’s finding out he’d seduced the girl with a few ribbons and trinkets. He was more scared than he’d ever been of fighting the war. “Pretty, you wake up, now.” He grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her, shouting at her, “Stop playactin’ on me, girl.” He shook her hard, but she did not answer. Her head shook from side to side, her eyes half open, long black hair a tangle around them.
Oh, my God. Harvey began to cry, not for the dead girl but for himself. He was a marked man. There was no telling what kind of torture that big Injun brave would mete out to his niece’s killer. Or maybe the rebel army would hang him. And all this with Twilight on her way to him, and his future so carefully planned.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could hide the body, or at least get it out of his store. Yes, that was what he would do. Anything to keep the secret. With those marks on her neck, they’d know she’d been strangled. How long would it take people to track it to him? Had anyone ever known he was her lover? Had anyone ever seen her coming and going from the store? He didn’t know. All that mattered now was getting rid of the body.
Hurriedly Harvey began to dress. The pebbles that he kept in his left boot to give himself a pronounced limp rolled out, and he didn’t bother to gather them up. No one would see him in the darkness, so no one would know about his fake limp.
He opened the outside door cautiously and was greeted by an icy blast. Shivering, he hurried to get his heavy coat. As he put it on, he glanced at the floor. The blue bracelet. Those damn beads had gone everywhere when it broke. He must pick them up.
The girl lay so still, he didn’t want to look at her as he went to his knees and began to gather the beads. The dim lamp made them hard to see in the shadows, but he picked up all he saw. A sound outside. Was that a sentry, or Yellow Jacket sneaking up on him? Harvey slipped the beads into the pocket of his coat and turned to the dead girl. He must get her out of his bed, no matter what he did with her. Maybe he could make it look like an accident. Yes, that was what he would do. No one would ever know.
He didn’t want to touch the body that was already so cool and limp, but he had to. Harvey had whipped many slaves, slaughtered a few chickens, and kicked a cat or dog or two in his forty years, but he had never killed a human. He didn’t have the courage for that. Taking a deep breath, he swung the slight body up in his arms. Her head dangled back, so that the marks on her throat showed almost black now. Her long hair swept the worn wooden floor. Where to go? What to do? He was so scared, his hands shook. Maybe he could make it look like an accident. Harvey grabbed a coil of rope off a nail. Then he headed out the back door and into the cold night toward the forest. The ground was damp and muddy beneath his small boots. His heart beat so hard, he was certain it would wake up everyone over at the sleeping rebel camp and the Indian settlement.
Suppose he ran into someone along the way? How would he explain his carrying a dead, half-naked Injun girl? The thought was so scary, he thought he would vomit, but he must not do that right now. There’d be time for the shakes later, when he was safely back at the store having a stiff drink. All that mattered now was making sure no one could track Pretty’s dead body back to Harvey Leland. If he was lucky, no one need ever know. Twilight should arrive in a few days, and he already had plans for his widowed stepsister. All he needed was a little luck and things would turn out fine, but first he had to get rid of this damned Injun slut’s body.
Chapter 2
It was very late, the moon gone and the night grown chill, as Yellow Jacket slipped through the darkness to his log cabin. He didn’t bother to light a lamp, because he didn’t want to wake his niece. He could see the outline of her slim form under her blankets. Yellow Jacket wished his older brother were still alive. He felt helpless in trying to discipline his beautiful, silly niece.
Yet there were bigger worries now that Opothleyahola and the council had just decided to take thousands of people and hundreds of animals on the road, marching through hostile forces and bad weather all the way to Kansas. Were the people up to it? They’d have to be, or be slaughtered where they camped by the increasing number of rebel soldiers. Yellow Jacket said a silent prayer to the Master of Breath and then dropped off to sleep.
It was almost dawn when he awakened. He sat up on the edge of his cot and stretched, sniffed the air for the welcome smell of coffee. Pretty must not be up yet. He got up, hunting for his shirt, and walked quietly to her room. She still lay motionless under the blankets. Well, let her sleep. There was a lot of misery and hard work ahead of the tribe, and there was no way he could spare her from it.
Yellow Jacket went into the kitchen, poked up the fire in the old stone fireplace. He’d have to bring in some wood. Grabbing a ragged buckskin jacket and his moccasins, he stepped outside. Frost had left delicate patterns on the ground and bushes. He grinned and took a deep breath of the cold air. Life had been good up until the Muskogee had been forced out of Alabama by the hated Southerners, but he and his brother had flourished in this new land, with fat herds of cattle and good crops. He picked up an ax and strode out into the woods. As dawn broke over the
autumn landscape, he put his energy into cutting timber, the muscles of his great back rippling as he worked.
“Yellow Jacket! Yellow Jacket!”
Puzzled, he turned at the shouting. Smoke, the mixed-black Muskogee, ran through the woods toward him. “Come quick! Something terrible has happened!”
Yellow Jacket ceased chopping and leaned on the handle of his ax. “Come, now, Smoke, catch your breath. What is so terrible that—”
“It’s Pretty,” the black man gasped. “It’s Pretty.”
“Pretty? Don’t be foolish. She’s safe in bed.”
The other shook his head, still gasping for air. “No, my friend—oh, it’s bad!”
In the distance, Yellow Jacket heard screams and shouts, sounds of confusion. Dropping the ax, he turned and ran back into the cabin, jerked the blankets from Pretty’s bed. Pillows. Only pillows under those blankets. His heart began to hammer hard, and he whirled to face his friend. “She’s not here, Smoke; what—?”
“Come.” Smoke gestured. “I found her myself. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Yellow Jacket hardly heard the other man’s words. He grabbed Smoke’s arm so hard, the man winced. “What’s happened? Tell me! Take me there.”
“This way.” Smoke gestured as he turned and took off at a ground-eating lope. Yellow Jacket’s heart was in his mouth as he followed. In the distance, he heard wails and shouts. He followed blindly, running through the woods until they met other curious people, all gathering at the noise.
Yellow Jacket slammed to a stop at the sight that awaited them. For a moment, his brain refused to recognize the sight. He blinked, hoping it would disappear, but it did not. His precious niece hung by the neck from a tree, gently swaying in the cold dawn air. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Oh, no! Let’s get her down, get her some air!”
Men rushed forward to help him, but even as someone cut the rope and Yellow Jacket caught the limp body, gently lowering her to the ground, he knew it was too late. The body was very cold and already stiff. He knelt there on the frosty ground, holding her close and looking down into her dear face. “Pretty? Pretty, speak to me! Pretty?”
To Tame A Rebel Page 2
