What puzzled her was why these pockmarked red men were among the captives. What could they have done to cause the renegades to take them captive?
Tears fell from her eyes as she again thought of her daughter and what might have happened to her. If Megan was out in the wilderness all alone, she might be the victim of animal attacks, or . . . other redskins.
She gazed heavenward and silently prayed that the good Lord would make all of these wrongs right, and look after her child, who was so pure and helpless.
Again she hung her head, her sore feet dragging even more heavily along the ground. Her legs were weak from walking so far without stopping to rest.
She reached up and found dried blood in her hair from her head injury, and a huge knot almost the size of a chicken egg.
It pounded as if someone were hitting her over and over again in the head with a hammer; the pain was so bad sometimes, she had the urge to vomit.
But she had thus far successfully kept herself from vomiting, for she was afraid that if she did, she might choke.
Her mouth was so dry. She couldn’t remember when she had last had a drink of water.
Her stomach ached from hunger, so much that it felt as though something was twisting in her intestines.
No. She had never been so hungry, or thirsty, or afraid, as now. And she was so sad and empty at the loss of all of her friends. But worst of all was not knowing the fate of her lovely, sweet Megan.
All she could do was hope that her prayers reached the heavens and would be answered.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could last under these conditions, and the warriors seemed even more listless than she.
She tried to focus on something else. She wondered about her husband and the other men who were away trading. When they arrived home and discovered the massacre, what would they do?
Yes, she had planned to flee her husband today, but now she hoped that he cared enough to come and try to save her, although the scars on her back made by his belt proved the ugliness of his spirit. Perhaps she would be better off with Indians!
At least she knew that her husband cared enough about his daughter to search for her. He had never laid a hand on Megan. As far as Shirleen knew, Earl did truly love his daughter.
A movement to her far left, on a rise of land, drew Shirleen’s attention suddenly. She saw a lone Indian there gazing down at those who were traveling below him. She wondered if he belonged to this renegade group, or another that might be even more heartless. Was he a scout of some kind?
By the way he turned to follow the procession down below him, it was certain that he had spotted her and the others.
She looked quickly ahead at the renegades and saw that they had not yet noticed the Indian who was spying on them. They were too cocky about their victory today, laughing and talking amongst themselves.
Her heart pounding, Shirleen gazed quickly up at the rise where she had seen the lone Indian, gasping when she saw he had disappeared.
The renegades continued to ride nonchalantly through the long, waving grass, unaware that they’d been seen.
She was not certain how to feel about that lone Indian. She did not know whether to feel hopeful that he and his friends might save her from the renegades who had come and raped and killed today.
Or should she fear them even more?
Thus far she had not been harmed by her captors except for the blow to her head.
Might these others rape her as soon as they had her as their captive?
Were they another band of renegades, or were they from a decent band of Indians?
Shirleen hoped for the latter. Perhaps they were a good-hearted band, who would let her go and search for her beloved Megan.
But knowing that most Indians hated white people because of what the white people had taken from them, Shirleen did not have much hope that she would be treated any better by a new group of Indians than she was now being treated.
Again she hung her head and walked dispiritedly through the grass, ignoring the splash of golden wildflowers at her far left. Usually she enjoyed seeing flowers. She would never hesitate to take a bouquet home for her supper table.
Tears filled her eyes again at the realization that her former life was now lost to her. She would no longer be among those who were civilized and God-loving.
Chapter Five
All our actions take their hues
From the complexion of the heart,
As landscapes their variety from light.
—Bacon
Blue Thunder rode down a steep slope to where his warriors and Gray Eyes awaited his return from scouting.
Knowing that it would be best for only one man to go spy on the travelers, Blue Thunder had chosen to ride alone to the top of the hill. He was eager to see if they had found Big Nose, and especially to see if he had red-skinned captives with him.
Blue Thunder knew the warriors from Gray Eyes’ village as well as their own chief did because they met in joint council so often.
Blue Thunder was glad that he had not been seen by any of the renegades. He would have the element of surprise on his side when he chose to attack. Only one person had looked up at him, and that had been a white woman.
He had known instantly that she was the only survivor of the recent ambush.
He doubted that she would alert the Comanche renegades about having seen him. Surely she was hoping that he would find a way to help her as well as the other captives.
And . . . he . . . would!
As he rode onward to where his men and Gray Eyes awaited his return in the darkest shadows of a nearby forest, bitterness overwhelmed him.
He would never forget the sight of Gray Eyes’ captured warriors tied in a long line along with the lone white woman.
From his vantage point, on his steed on the hill, he had not been able to pick out Big Nose from the others, but he did know that those were Big Nose’s warriors.
Hatred for the Comanche renegade filled his heart when he had looked more carefully at Gray Eyes’ captured warriors.
Some could barely stand, much less walk. When one fell, another quickly helped him to his feet.
Hardly able to bear the sight, Blue Thunder had quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere, to the one white captive.
After having seen the aftermath of the ambush, and the carnage left behind by the renegades, he wondered how this woman had survived. What made her different from the others who had been left dead along the ground, the women all heartlessly scalped and raped?
He could not seem to tear his thoughts from the surviving white woman. She was a woman with flaming red hair, so tiny and vulnerable; yet she had walked with a lifted, proud chin.
She had not stumbled once while he watched her.
Now, as then, he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of what her final fate would be at the hands of the Comanche renegades. She would eventually be passed around to all of the renegades, raped and tortured, and then killed.
His thoughts went suddenly to the white woman who lived in his village. She was a much different sort of woman in appearance from Big Nose’s flame-haired captive. She was big-boned and strong.
Every time Blue Thunder thought about how she happened to live in his village, he could not help smiling, yet, in truth, he wished she was not a part of his people’s lives.
Knowing this was not the time to be thinking about Speckled Fawn, he sank his heels into the flanks of his white steed and rode hard until he finally came to the spot where he had left his warriors and Gray Eyes.
He dismounted and led his horse into the dark shadows of the towering trees. Gray Eyes was waiting there, his expression eager.
“Who were the travelers that we heard?” Gray Eyes asked, his tone filled with anticipation.
Seeing Gray Eyes’ warriors in his mind’s eye again, how exhausted they were, stumbling along as the ropes yanked on them, Blue Thunder was suddenly hesitant to tell his friend what he had seen.
>
Yet he must, for each moment they waited before they went to rescue the men were moments that might bring death to one or more of them.
They were at the mercy of heartless renegades who murdered for the sheer pleasure of it.
“They were who we thought they might be,” Blue Thunder said thickly. “The renegades have your warriors tied together by ropes. They are being forced to walk to their destination.”
“Are they well enough, or are there signs they have been mistreated?” Gray Eyes asked, his eyes searching Blue Thunder’s.
“My friend, from that distance it was hard to tell, but from what I could gather, some of your warriors are not well at all,” Blue Thunder replied. “They have surely been beaten by their captors, but be thankful that at least these ones are alive. I would hate to think how many lie dead beside the trail.”
A sudden rage rushed through Gray Eyes. His gaze narrowed and he doubled his hands into tight fists at his sides. “Big Nose will pay for this,” he said tightly.
Then his eyes widened. “You did not say whether or not you saw Big Nose,” he noted. “Was he among those who took my men captive?”
“No, I did not see him,” Blue Thunder answered. “But I did not take the time to fully assess everything. We must act quickly in order to save those men who may not be able to go on much farther.”
“Big Nose must be there, somewhere,” Gray Eyes growled.
He placed a heavy hand on Blue Thunder’s shoulder, then lowered it to his side. “What are we to do?” he asked, his voice filled with a harsh anger, which matched the fury in his eyes.
Blue Thunder motioned with a hand for his warriors to come and stand in a tight circle around him, while their horses munched lazily on grass beneath the trees.
“This is what we should do,” Blue Thunder said, looking from one man to the other. “A group led by you, Gray Eyes, will circle around and come upon the renegades from one side, while another group led by me will attack from the other side. We will quickly pen in the renegades. They will have no choice but to surrender or die.”
Each group was chosen.
The men hurried to their steeds. With Gray Eyes in the lead, his assigned warriors went one way, while Blue Thunder and the warriors following his lead went another.
Blue Thunder rode hard as they made a wide circle until he and his men got so close they must proceed on foot, or the sound of the horses’ hooves would alert the renegades that they were no longer alone.
Each carrying a loaded rifle, the warriors moved stealthily onward on foot, until they could hear the steady thudding of the renegades’ horses’ hooves.
They were so close now they could hear the groaning of those warriors who were in pain, warriors who might not live to see another tomorrow unless they were rescued and taken back to their village shaman.
From his vantage point, Blue Thunder could now see the white woman. She continued to walk courageously onward, her chin still held proudly high.
He had never wondered much about white women, except for the one who lived among his people. White women were a part of the white world, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
But this woman?
She was very different from those he had seen and observed. There was something so sweet and sensitive about her face as he observed her. Yet she was showing her strength and courage as she struggled to survive.
Blue Thunder was glad to be the one who would save her from captivity, for he wanted to know more about what made such a tiny thing as she behave so bravely.
He hoped that she had not witnessed the rapes and murders of the other white women, for that would make her hate and fear all red men, and he did not want her to hate him.
Ho, there was no doubt that he was intrigued by this tiny, flame-haired woman whose spirit surely matched the color of her hair.
Chapter Six
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
—Blake
Moments after circling the Comanche renegades, Blue Thunder shouted out a warning that they were surrounded and to give up their weapons as well as their captives. In the next instant, all hell seemed to break loose.
The renegades were not ready to give up so easily. They stopped and positioned their bows for firing, reaching back to grab arrows from their quivers.
Seeing this, and knowing that the Comanche would fight before giving themselves up, Blue Thunder shouted at the captives and white woman as he raised his rifle for firing. “Lie flat on the ground! Stay out of the line of fire!”
He had no time to see if they heeded his warning, for arrows began flying from the renegades’ bows; the Assiniboine answered with more powerful weapons . . . their rifles.
As Blue Thunder shot first one renegade and then another, he was thankful that it seemed his warriors were more accurate with their shooting than the renegades. Not one of Blue Thunder’s warriors fell from his steed, nor did Blue Thunder or Gray Eyes.
As the battle continued, Blue Thunder realized that Big Nose was not among the renegades. He must have fled like a coward before the attack. Perhaps he had noticed Blue Thunder scouting from the hill.
It seemed just the sort of thing the heartless man might do—save himself as those who followed him dutifully died fighting for him.
After the firing ceased, Blue Thunder realized that those renegades who were not killed had fled.
Miraculously, none of the captives, or those who’d come to save them had died.
The captives still lay prone on the ground, unsure of whether or not they were safe.
Blue Thunder and the men under his command quickly dismounted. Gray Eyes helped the captives up from the ground, reassuring them that they were finally safe from all harm, while Blue Thunder and his men went to the fallen renegades, lying in pools of their own blood, to make absolutely certain they were dead. In a matter of moments they had ascertained that none were alive.
Blue Thunder now turned to gaze at the white woman as she slowly sat up and returned his look.
Her true beauty was evident this close, but he also saw stark fear in her eyes. He was not surprised. She did not know one Indian from another and probably thought him and his warriors as dangerous as the Comanche renegades. After all, she had just seen them kill all the renegades who had not fled.
He returned her steady gaze and knew that this was not the time to reassure her that she was now safe and would be treated well. He knew that at this moment, while death lay all around her, anything he said to her would be wasted words, for he doubted she would believe him.
He turned and watched Gray Eyes gather around him those of his warriors who were strong enough to stand and listen.
His heart swelled with pride and love for Gray Eyes as his friend went from one man to another, taking the time to hug and reassure each.
Blue Thunder could well imagine the pain his friend was feeling in his heart when Gray Eyes went to those warriors who could hardly hold their heads up from the ground.
Gray Eyes hugged each of them, reassuring them that all would now be well.
Once he had explained the debt of gratitude they all owed Blue Thunder, all who could stand gathered with Blue Thunder’s warriors and awaited orders from Blue Thunder and Gray Eyes about what their next move might be.
“Go through the bags that the Comanche have placed on their packhorses. Inside will be the belongings they stole from the white people’s cabins before burning them,” Blue Thunder said, slowly looking from man to man.
Gray Eyes was standing back a little, giving Blue Thunder the right to direct all the men.
Gray Eyes found himself fighting back tears, so he would not look weak in the eyes of his friend. He owed Blue Thunder so much for what he had risked today . . . the chance that his own men might die for the sake of those who belonged to another Assiniboine band.
“Also round up all of the horses—not only those that belonged to the downed renegades, but also those that
were stolen from the herd of the Owl Band,” Blue Thunder said. “Take them back to your homes. You also will share the white people’s possessions and horses that we have made our own.”
Gray Eyes stepped up to Blue Thunder. “The horses that the Comanche stole from me and those that belonged to the white people are now yours, my friend, as well as the bags of the white people’s belongings. These all shall be yours in thanks for what you did for me and my warriors today.”
Before Blue Thunder could argue the point with Gray Eyes, his friend walked a few steps past Blue Thunder and closely studied the white woman.
He then turned to Blue Thunder again. “I do not ask for the white woman,” he said thickly. “My friend, will you take her? White women are helpless and unable to do the work of Indian women. This woman would only eat food necessary for my own people’s survival. Blue Thunder, you have food enough to share with this captive, as well as lodging and pelts to keep her warm when the cold winter winds begin to blow. I have lost so much. I do not need a white woman to take what little we have left.”
Blue Thunder hesitated. He had never wanted captives of any sort, especially those with white skin. He had no wish to give the white pony soldiers cause to come to his village because a white woman was there.
But . . . this was not just any white woman. He had seen enough of her to know that she was someone who intrigued him to the very core of his being.
And knowing that what his friend had said was true, Blue Thunder was tempted to agree to his offer of handing the white woman over to him.
“I see what you say as true, and because I do not want to see any more harm come to your village, I will take her myself. If her presence brings white pony soldiers to the Wind Band, I have enough warriors to discourage an attack,” Blue Thunder said. He nodded as he took slow steps toward Shirleen, his gaze never leaving her green eyes. “Yes, I will take her.”
Shirleen trembled as Blue Thunder stepped up to her, his eyes still reaching into her soul, it seemed.
Savage Skies Page 3
