Savage Cry

by Charles G. West

  Wolf Tail shrugged indifferently, glancing at Marlowe, then back at Charley as if expecting everyone to know about the woman captive. “The one taken by Black Elk last summer,” he answered.

  Suddenly totally sober, Charley asked, “Took her from a cabin in the Black Hills?”

  Marlowe stopped chewing long enough to listen to the conversation when he noticed Charley’s rapt interest regarding the white woman. When Wolf Tail seemed unsure about Charley’s question, Marlowe quickly supplied the Blackfoot words for Black Hills. Understanding then, Wolf Tail nodded, “Yes, it was there.”

  Charley sank back on his heels, stunned by the news. Martha! he thought. Then a sly smile creased his lips. So the bitch is still alive. Now, ain’t that something? His thoughts flew back to the cabin in the Black Hills, and the lust he had for his brother’s wife. The thought of her rebuking him, which angered him so at the time, now only widened his smile. Maybe thisis one helluva twist of fate. She wouldn’t stick her snooty nose up at me now, I reckon. With a sudden laugh, he dragged the jug from behind him. “Let’s have another round, boys. Hand me that cup.”

  Staring at him with a suspicious eye, Marlowe asked, “You’re gittin’ mighty generous with that whiskey, ain’tcha, pardner?”

  Charley just laughed again at the thought. “Seed stock, Marlowe. Hell, these boys has got something to trade now.”

  Marlowe didn’t understand, so Charley stated his intention to offer all the whiskey they had packed on the mules if neccessary as an inducement for Wolf Tail and his friends to deliver Martha to him.

  The announcement didn’t set too well with Marlowe. “What the hell for?” he demanded. “What do you want with a woman, especially one that’s been used up by a bunch of Injuns? We can git a helluva lot of furs for that whiskey. You wanna throw it away for a woman?” He shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Hell, if you need to plant your pickle that bad, you don’t have to give away all our whiskey for it. We can steal you a squaw for nothin’.”

  The smile remained on Charley’s face for a long moment before it gradually faded into a dark frown when he spoke. “In the first place, it ain’t our whiskey. It’s my whiskey, and I’ll do what I damn well please with it.” He paused to let that sink in while he glared into the angry face of his partner. “We’ve got sixteen more jugs back in the cache. I don’t figure it’ll take more than the five we got on the mules, plus a little piece of this one.” When Marlowe just shook his head, still dismayed, Charley went on to explain. “This ain’t no ordinary woman. Why, this is my dear sister-in-law,” he said contemptuously.

  Marlowe didn’t like it, but he didn’t protest further, mollifying himself with the knowledge that the time would soon come when he would put a bullet in Charley’s back. He sat still, holding his tongue while Charley proposed a trade that Wolf Tail was going to find difficult to resist.

  At first, Wolf Tail did not understand. “Whiskey for the white woman? The woman is not mine. She belongs to Black Elk of Bloody Axe’s village. I cannot trade a woman that is not mine.”

  “You can steal her, can’t you?” Charley persisted. He motioned toward the packmules. “I would give you all this firewater for the woman.”

  Wolf Tail had a strong desire for the whiskey, but this thing Charley proposed was a bad thing indeed. He could not entertain thoughts of stealing from his own people, even when Charley explained that the woman was his sister-in-law. He gazed longingly at the jugs before giving his final answer. “This I cannot do. Black Elk is a blood brother.” This was all he voiced, but he also knew that Black Elk was a fierce warrior, renowned for his bravery in battle, and would no doubt kill the man who stole his property.

  Charley was rapidly losing his patience. If Wolf Tail was the drunk Marlowe stated him to be, he should be willing to cut his own mother’s throat for that much whiskey. The thought of Martha was already burning a picture in his mind of the sweet revenge he would enjoy for her rejection of him. He tried further enticement by suggesting there might be even more whiskey to come in exchange for the white woman. The more Wolf Tail resisted, the stronger Charley’s desire for Martha grew.

  Disgusted with the foolish offerings of a sizable fortune in trade goods, Marlowe snorted his displeasure and withdrew from the campfire. Muttering that he was going to see to the mules, he walked over to his horse and pretended to check the girth strap. If Charley succeeded in talking Wolf Tail into trading the woman for the whiskey, Marlowe stood to lose a great deal, payment he figured was owed to him for putting up with Charley in the first place. The question before him now was, what would be the risk if he put a bullet in Charley’s back right then? Would the six Blackfeet then rise up against him? Marlowe’s hand slid down the barrel of his rifle until it rested just above the trigger guard. It was tempting. Charley’s back was unprotected as he continued to haggle with Wolf Tail, but Marlowe didn’t like the odds that would result: one white man with eight packmules, alone against six Blackfeet. It galled him to admit it, but he needed Charley.

  Finally, Charley wore Wolf Tail down to a compromise, one that Marlowe found more to his liking. Wolf Tail agreed to take Charley to Bloody Axe’s camp in exchange for one jug of whiskey, but that was all he would agree to. Charley was going to have to deal with Black Elk himself. Marlowe tried to convince Charley that he might be playing a dangerous game, but Charley was confident that a few jugs of whiskey could buy him most anything from any Indian.

  Martha paused and sat back on her heels to listen. She thought for a moment that she had heard something, but decided that it was nothing more than the whinnying of the ponies on the other side of the creek. She was about to continue scraping the buffalo cow skin staked out before her when she heard the camp dogs begin to bark. Looking toward the center of the village, she saw Bloody Axe and a few of the other men staring out toward the prairie. Shielding her eyes against the afternoon sun, she turned to look in the direction they were watching, hoping it might be Black Elk returning early from the hunt.

  Someone was coming, all right. She could see them now. But it was not Black Elk. Getting to her feet, she continued to stare out at the approaching riders until she could make out their features. It appeared to be Screech Owl’s nephew Wolf Tail in the lead, a fact that aroused her curiosity, because he had just left the village to return to his own camp. The other five who had accompanied him were not with him now. She wondered if anything was wrong. Now they were close enough that she could make out the riders following Wolf Tail—two men, leading a string of pack mules. Suddenly a cold chill ran the length of her spine as she realized they were white men. White men! The thought struck her like a blow to her chest. Her heart threatened to explode inside her breast. The thoughts racing through her mind were thoughts of fear. White men! What do they want? Looking around her frantically, she wondered if she should hide. Calm yourself! she scolded, never thinking to question her reaction upon seeing people of her own skin for the first time since her capture. There is nothing to fear. They lead packmules, loaded heavily. They are hoping to trade, that’s all. Although she was curious as to what trinkets they might have to trade, she decided to remain at a distance.

  Several of those who had been standing with Bloody Axe walked toward the edge of the village to meet the riders. Screech Owl, Wolf Tail’s uncle, was among the foremost. The two white men stopped at the edge of the water while Wolf Tail continued on. When he rode up from the creek, he slid off his pony and stood talking to Screech Owl. There followed an animated discussion between the two with much arm waving and gesturing toward the mounted white men. As she watched, standing beside the entrance to her lodge, Martha began to experience a feeling of dread. Something about the sudden appearance of these white men disturbed her greatly. She wished that Black Elk was there.

  Finally, the discussion over, Wolf Tail motioned the white men over, and he and Screech Owl led them to meet Bloody Axe. Martha moved a few yards away from her tipi to get a better look at the visitors. Wh
at she saw stunned her, and for a moment, she felt that her knees were going to buckle. Charley! At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, and she strained harder to see him. She closed her eyes tight for a few seconds then opened them again. It was Charley, but the other man was not Robert. Martha’s mind was reeling! She had long ago accepted the fact that she would never see either of them again. Instead of joy at the sight of her brother-in-law, her impulse was to run, to hide from a part of her life that was no more. The thought of returning to a life with Robert made her almost sick with despair. She looked around frantically, seeking an avenue of escape, but there was none. So instead of running, she retreated inside her tipi, hoping that if she remained out of sight, maybe Bloody Axe would not tell Charley that she was there.

  Seated at the back of her lodge, Martha tried to concentrate on the white antelope skin from which she would make a dress. But her stitching was slow and careless as she strained to listen to the sounds from the center of the circle of lodges. Then her heart began to beat wildly when she heard the soft pad of moccasined feet approaching outside, and she thrust her bone needle faster and faster through the soft hide. Dreading the summons that she anticipated, still she jumped as if she had suddenly heard a gunshot when she heard her name called.

  “Six Horses.” It was Bloody Axe’s voice. “Come, I would speak with you.”

  For a moment, she considered not answering, hoping he would think her gone, but she knew that he had seen her working on the cow skin that morning. Reluctantly, she put her sewing aside and went to the entrance. Pushing the flap open no more than a few inches, she peered out cautiously, fearful that she might see Charley standing there. When, much to her relief, there was only Bloody Axe, standing waiting, she pushed the flap aside and went out.

  “Six Horses,” Bloody Axe began, “two white men have come to our camp. They are searching for a white woman that was captured, and they heard that we have one with us. I think it is you they search for.” When he saw the look of alarm on her face, he hastened to assure her. “They look for a slave. I told them that Black Elk’s wife is a white woman, but she is not a slave. I’m going to send them away because they have brought the white man’s firewater to trade with our young men. It is an evil drink, and I will not let them bring it into our village.”

  Martha was greatly relieved by Bloody Axe’s words, but when she looked toward the center of the camp, she saw Charley and the other white man still there, standing and watching. She felt a shiver skip along her spine. She looked into Bloody Axe’s face, wondering why they still remained. “I don’t want to see them,” she said, her voice trembling as her eyes focused upon her feet.

  Bloody Axe nodded patiently, understanding her reluctance, but he encouraged her to come with him. “I do not want them to bring the soldiers. I should kill them for bringing the firewater that sickens our young men. But if I kill them, the soldiers might still come to look for them. I think it is best if you tell them yourself that you are not a slave, and stay here by choice. Then maybe they will go in peace.”

  Martha listened to the chief. There was logic in Bloody Axe’s words. There could be trouble if she did not face up to Charley and tell him that she preferred to remain with her Blackfoot family. It would be hard. She did not want to cause Robert any pain, but she knew that the choice she made was best for her and Robert. Knowing that it was not right to hide from the responsibility for the choice she had made, she finally relented. “I’ll talk to them,” she said.

  Charley was not prepared for the change in his sister-in-law. He had expected to see a wretched shell of the wife of his late brother—downtrodden and abused, desperate to be rescued and consequently seeing him as her savior. Instead, he was stunned by the radiant vision, stepping softly in colorfully beaded moccasins behind Bloody Axe. For one brief moment, he wasn’t even sure that it was Martha. He had not remembered her to be so tall and graceful. Little wonder he had lusted for her then. Maybe, he thought, he had forgotten what a handsome woman his brother had taken for a wife.

  The small gathering of people parted to make way for her, eager to hear what would be said between Six Horses and the white men. As she approached, Charley started to step forward to meet her, but was immediately restrained by Screech Owl’s hand on his arm. Marlowe’s warning frown reminded him that the two of them might well be in peril.

  “Martha,” Charley began as soon as she had halted some ten paces from him, “I’ve come to rescue you.” He affected a wide smile as he waited, anticipating an emotional outpouring of relief upon seeing he had come to save her. But there was no sign of gratitude in her expression. Instead, she stood close to Bloody Axe as if seeking his protection. “It’s all right, Martha, I’m gonna take care of you now. You ain’t gotta be afraid no more,” Charley went on, still baffled by her unexpected lack of response.

  Martha didn’t answer at once, looking at her brother-in-law and then at the dark menacing-looking man with him. She thought it odd that Robert was not with them, that there was no mention of Robert. So she asked, “Where is Robert?”

  “Well, now, that’s a sad piece of news to have to bring you,” Charley replied, shaking his head sorrowfully. “Poor Robert’s dead, murdered by outlaws.” When she drew her breath sharply, stunned by the news, he hastened to assure her. “It’s a mighty distressing thing to have to tell you, but it can’t be helped now. I’m gonna take care of you from now on. That’s the main thing.” He looked around him at the gathering of people. “Which one of these bucks is Black Elk?” he asked, ready to buy Martha’s freedom with one of his jugs of whiskey.

  She ignored his question while she fought to control her emotions. Robert dead! Murdered! Charley’s words so stunned her that she grabbed Bloody Axe’s arm to steady herself. There was an immediate murmur of angry voices in the circle of men and women surrounding the white men. Thinking Martha had been threatened by the strangers, the people pressed closer, almost touching Charley and Marlowe. Some of the men brandished weapons, causing Marlowe to quickly plead their innocence. Speaking in his halting Blackfoot, he explained that they had not threatened Martha.

  “What he says is true,” Martha said, quieting the angry voices. “He just brings sad news of someone’s death.” In an emotional quicksand, confused by old feelings and new beginnings, she found it hard to know what to say to Charley. The news had shocked her, for she had once thought that she loved Robert. To think of him slain by a craven murderer was a horrifying thing to accept. Poor Robert, she thought, he was never strong enough for this wild new country. For a moment, she felt guilty for having been abducted, leaving him alone. It was difficult to understand why things happened the way they did, and she was truly saddened by the news of Robert’s death. After a moment, it occurred to her that she was now free of the guilt she had lived with for embracing Black Elk as her husband while still legally married to Robert. It was not the way she would have chosen, but she could now close that chapter of her life.

  Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, Marlowe continued to glance around him at the restless crowd of Indians. He was thinking that he and Charley should have stuck with their original plan to find Black Shirt’s camp. He didn’t know this Bloody Axe, only his fierce reputation. His prior thinking, that Wolf Tail would vouch for them, looked to be a mistake now. Bloody Axe had already forbidden them to bring their whiskey into his village. Charley was foolish to think he was going to buy the woman with it. She don’t look in no all-fired hurry to come with us, anyway. Nudging Charley on the elbow, Marlowe whispered, “We’d best take our leave of this place while we still can.”

  Charley was less concerned. “Hell, they’re not gonna jump us as long as we’re holding these repeating rifles. They’d lose too many. Anyway, it looks to me like there ain’t nobody in camp but old men, women, and boys.” Looking back at Martha, and raising his voice again, he repeated his question. “Where’s Black Elk?”

  Meeting his eyes with a steady, straightforward gaz
e, Martha said, “I’m sorry about Robert, and I’m sorry you have troubled yourself to come all this way to find me, but I can’t go with you, Charley.”

  Finding it difficult to believe, Charley questioned her statement. “Can’t come with me? Whaddaya mean, you can’t come with me? Hell, I’ve got enough whiskey to buy you from this buck Black Elk. Don’t you fret about that, he’ll let you go. We’ll go down-river and set up camp. That old chief ain’t gonna be able to keep his young bucks from coming after that whiskey.”

  “You don’t understand,” Martha said calmly. “I won’t go with you. I belong here with my husband’s people.”

  Charley jerked his head back, aghast. “You what?” he sputtered, unable to believe his ears. Looking around him at the people crowding around them, he demanded, “You’d rather stay here with a bunch of heathen savages than go with your own kin?”

  “You’re not my kin, Charley. You never were. I have a new life now, here with my husband.”

  Charley was seething, having been rebuffed again by his brother’s wife. His stare intensified as if to sear her with his gaze. “So that’s how it is, is it?” Glancing around him again at the bodies pressing closer, he snarled, “I always knew you were a damn slut.”

  “I think you’d better go now,” Martha replied.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Marlowe interjected. “Our business is done here.” He was getting more and more nervous as he watched the faces around them. There was enough English in the group to begin to catch key words, and the crowd was showing signs of getting testy. If things got out of hand, Wolf Tail, who understood every word, might refuse to hold his tongue, figuring to get more than the one jug he had bargained for.

  “I’ll be damned . . .” Charley started to protest.

  Marlowe cut him off. “Don’t be a damn fool, Charley. They’re lettin’ us leave with our scalps. I’m ridin’ outta here. You can stay if you want.”