Badlands Bride

by Cheryl St. John

  Last Horse.

  "What do you want?"

  He moved swiftly, lunging toward her. Hallie raised her fist to strike him, but he moved in too close behind her, stifling her scream with his hand and pressing her back against his hard body.

  Hallie kicked and struggled against his superior strength. He dragged her effortlessly through the doorway to the west side of the house, opposite the soddy and freight buildings. Two of his braves waited with rope and kerchiefs.

  Hallie's heart pounded erratically at the sight of them. She fought to free herself, but Last Horse held her fast. One of the Indians shoved the kerchief into her mouth and tied another around her head, pulling her hair painfully. Last Horse let loose long enough to bind her hands, then raised her off the ground, while another caught her flying ankles and tied them.

  Last Horse picked her up and ran with her as if she was an animal he'd shot. Three horses waited on the frozen riverbank. Last Horse tossed down a fur from the back of his horse, dropped Hallie on it and rolled her up. After that, she couldn't see, could only feel his rough handling, then the sensation of rising and the motion of the horse.

  She grew dizzy. She couldn't breathe. The horse jolted her body and she was almost grateful for the cloth in her mouth so her teeth couldn't jar together.

  Kidnapped! The words of every tawdry dime novel she'd ever read focused in her mind. Indians did horrible, un­speakable things to white women. She had every right to be terrified.

  No. No. This wasn't just any Indian. This was Cooper's brother. Running Elk's son. He wouldn't harm her. Would he? White women had been carried off and never seen again. Some had been raped and killed. Others had been taken into slavery.

  That wouldn't happen to her. Cooper would get home and find her missing. He'd been raised with Indians; he could track them.

  These Indians no doubt knew how to cover their trail, though, so that even another Indian couldn't find them. But in the snow? Of course there'd be tracks in the snow….

  Her one small assurance bit into her thigh. As long as Last Horse didn't discover she had a gun in the folds of her skirt, she had an ace in the hole. When the time was right, she could use it.

  The ride lasted forever. They stopped once and Last Horse adjusted her weight, returning to keep her in a new position, for which she was grateful. Her wrists and ankles throbbed. Her ribs ached from the constant jamming against the horse. She should be grateful for the cushioning and warmth of the fur.

  At last the horses stopped again and she was lifted down and laid on the ground. The Indians talked among them­selves. She made out their movements.

  Finally she was picked up again and deposited. Someone peeled back the fur and she blinked, unable to see. It was night already. An orange flame flickered and Hallie focused on a craggy rock wall. They were camped in a small cave. Last Horse sat her up and propped her against the cold stone. She glared at him.

  He went to the fire and sat with his companions.

  Sometime later, he brought her strips of dried meat and a bag that looked as if it contained water. Untying her hands, he yanked the bandanna from her mouth.

  Hallie gagged first, then accepted the water bag, drinking thirstily. He pulled it away and gave her the dried meat.

  "What are you going to do with me?" she asked, the words sticking in her dry throat. The others turned and looked when she spoke.

  Last Horse glanced from them to her. "Eat."

  She watched his back as he returned to the fire. She chewed the tough meat, her tongue painful as she swal­lowed.

  After an hour or so the Oglala men took pipes from their supplies and lit them. The strong tobacco smell reminded Hallie of her father…of Cooper…of security. Fear knotted in her belly. Against the rock wall, far from the fire, cold permeated her body and she shivered.

  Pain lodged in her bladder until she could no longer ig­nore it. She'd seen the others come and go. Her heart pounded with distress. "Last Horse."

  His ebony head turned.

  "I need to go outside."

  Setting his pipe aside, he rose. He untied her feet and led her into the frigid night. "If you run away, I will find you. Or you will freeze and die."

  His ominous words sent another chill through her already shaking body. He spoke the truth. This was not the time to use the gun. This was not the time to try to run away. If she wanted to live, she had to plan carefully and stay calm.

  She made her way through the snow, stepping over branches and ice-encrusted weeds until she was sure she was out of Last Horse's sight, and hastily relieved herself. Cloth­ing adjusted, she blinked into the darkness. She didn't even know which way she'd come!

  Hallie glanced up for the moon, but clouds obliterated any light. She'd be damned if she'd call out to him. She squinted into the darkness. Surely she'd see the fire in the cave's entrance.

  A hand shot out of the darkness and grabbed her arm, yanking her forward. Hallie recognized the repugnant smell of tobacco and musk that clung to Last Horse's clothing. The lighted cave appeared, and he pushed her inside.

  She hurried to her spot.

  Last Horse took the fur she'd been wrapped in and placed it by the fire. "Come."

  She'd heard that abrupt word from Cooper many times, but it had never given her the sense of foreboding that it did from this man's lips. Warily, she rose. Her heart ham­mered against her ribs and her fingertips grew numb.

  It would do her no good to run. There were three of them. They were bigger and faster. And even if by some miracle she escaped the cave, she'd be hopelessly lost in the dark and freeze by morning. Self-preservation brought her for­ward.

  "Lie down."

  Keeping her eyes on him, she did as directed. He flipped the edge of the fur over her and returned to the fire.

  The pulse throbbing in her ears slowly faded. Her heart chugged to a regular cadence. Warmth permeated her chilled arms and legs and she relaxed. Her hand strayed to the hard derringer in her pocket, but after a minute she brought her fingers to the stone against her chest.

  You can pray to the spirits now, Hallie.

  She didn't know how. But Cooper believed. The waver­ing memory of that night in the Yuwipi man's tent came back to her. She heard again the mystical beat of the drums, smelled the overpowering burning grasses and felt the pres­ence of the strong, solid man beside her, the man she'd come to trust…and care for. The man who filled her thoughts and senses and heart. She closed her eyes, and beneath her fingers the stone grew warm.

  Cooper. Cooper, find me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mid afternoon, Cooper returned to the still and silent log house. Even the fire in the fireplace had burned out. Assum­ing Hallie had spent the day at the soddy, he built up the flame, made himself coffee and thought over the day's events.

  He'd talked to Chumani's sister first, and she'd led him to a cousin who named someone else, and so on and so on, until his search led him to Walks Alone, the woman Last Horse visited at the reservation.

  Walks Alone had obviously been influenced by Last Horse's hatred for Cooper, because she volunteered no in­formation and held no appreciation for the gifts he supplied The People.

  Cooper had ridden home no more enlightened than be­fore. If the bracelet had come from Last Horse, it could have come from anywhere. His Oglala brother had connections with every unsavory whiskey trader and trading post oper­ator in the territory. And he wouldn't be open to Cooper's questioning.

  Cooper wasn't even sure where Last Horse and his band wintered anymore.

  His stomach rumbled and he grabbed his coat, heading for the soddy. The women would have supper on by now.

  Chumani looked up from the kettles over the fireplace and greeted him.

  "Hey, Coop!" Yellow Eagle jumped up from his collec­tion of carved animals and leapt onto his uncle's back.

  Cooper spun him around a half dozen times before strid­ing to the fireplace with the boy on his back. "Smells good."

  "Squir
rel stew," Chumani said in their language. "Yel­low Eagle shot it with his bow this morning."

  "Ah! Yellow Eagle, what a fine hunter you are! You provided our supper." He peered over his shoulder at his nephew's proud grin. "Where's Hallie?" he asked, thinking if she'd gone to the privy she'd have been back by now.

  "Hallie must be at the house. She has not been here all day," Chumani replied.

  Cooper lowered Yellow Eagle to the floor, a sense of unease rolling over him. "You haven't seen her all day?" He turned to the boy. "What about you?"

  "We had our lesson this morning, then I came home. I haven't seen her since then."

  "Is Hallie in your house?" Chumani asked, picking up on Cooper's distress.

  "No." He grabbed his coat and checked the privy, the freight office and the barn. "Seen Hallie?" he asked Jack.

  "Nope." The man stood stirring a pan of beans over the cookstove in his back room. "Didn't see her all day."

  Cooper ran to the house. Her new coat hung on the antler rack beside the door. The boots he'd given her to wear over her own for warmth stood beneath. Cooper fingered the sleeve and glanced around the room, fear rising in his gut.

  Her papers, pen and ink sat on the table as though she'd just finished with them. Maybe she was sleeping. In her unoccupied room, alarm rose in his chest. Her clothes were neatly folded in the enormous trunk: freshly laundered white cotton, silky rustling garments that had touched her skin. He ran his clumsy fingers over the exquisite fabric and swal­lowed panic.

  A leather valise held books and paper. The carved comb he'd given her sat atop the chest of drawers. Cooper stared at his wavy reflection in the mirror.

  Nothing was missing.

  Nothing except Hallie.

  Hastily he riffled through every drawer.

  And the derringer.

  With little hope he checked the other room and the loft before heading outdoors. There had been no recent snow, and the accumulation of prints outside made it nearly im­possible to distinguish any unusual activity. At the corner of the house he discovered several moccasin prints and the outline of one tiny, pointed boot.

  Circling the house and outbuildings in a careful scrutiny, he discovered the hoof marks and droppings on the frozen riverbank.

  Cooper ran to the barn for Jack, and together they dis­carded the possibilities. None of their horses had been near the river for days.

  Wiley. Cooper didn't know why the name popped into his head. Though obviously enamored with Hallie, Kincaid had always been forthright. Of late, he seemed to have switched his intentions to Chumani. The hoofprints didn't lead toward Kincaid's place. They followed the river northwest.

  "Pack me food," Cooper said to Chumani.

  "What has happened?" she asked, following the men out the door.

  "I don't know." Cooper saw the alarm in her black eyes and couldn't allow it to affect him. He needed a level head. "There were riders down by the river. Looks like there may have been a scuffle near the corner of the house. All of her things are still in there—her coat, books, clothes, every­thing."

  "She is out in this cold with no coat?" Chumani asked.

  A stricken look blanched Yellow Eagle's youthful face. "Can I go with you?"

  "No. You take care of your mother."

  Yellow Eagle took Chumani's hand and patted the back of it reassuringly. "I will."

  "You shouldn't go alone," Jack said as they crossed the yard.

  "You need to be here for them," Cooper said, gesturing with his chin to the soddy. "And the livestock has to be looked after." He stopped and stood at the corner of the house. "I'm going to Kincaid's first. If he wants, he can ride with me."

  Jack nodded. "You'd better take two horses. I'll get 'em ready."

  Cooper packed a saddlebag and rolled Hallie's coat and gloves into his bundle of furs. Dressed warmly, he rode to Wiley's.

  Kincaid saw him from a distance and met him in front of his barn. "What brings you out here? Don't have any sad­dles ready yet."

  "Hallie's missing," Cooper stated flatly. "Know any­thing about it?"

  Wiley's mouth gaped. "Well—hell, no! What do you mean, missing?"

  Cooper explained the signs. "I'm going to follow the tracks along the river and see where they head."

  "Want company?"

  "I was hopin' you'd ask." Wiley had obviously been on the frontier a good many years and would be an adequate partner.

  "Let me grab my gear."

  The amount of time that had passed before they reached the river distressed Cooper. Someone who knew where they were going would be long gone by now. Someone who didn't—well, they'd be hopelessly lost and maybe frozen to death.

  The riders had wisely traveled the hard-frozen ice near the bank. There were no tracks, but occasionally droppings told Cooper they'd been this way. As the sun lowered in the sky, gray clouds moved in. If it snowed, they'd lose the trail altogether. He picked up the pace, leading Wiley and the extra horse. The Dakota territory was vast and laced with danger. This faint trail was his only hope of finding Hallie.

  Crying wouldn't do any good. Nobody had ever paid any attention to her tears when she was a child; certainly no one would care now. Hallie swallowed the cowardly urge and watched the Indians from beneath nearly closed lids. They'd passed a bottle of amber liquor between them for the past hour, laughing and gesturing. One by one they put their pipes away and went to their pallets.

  Last Horse weaved a little when he stood and made his way toward her. She closed her eyes.

  Furs dropped behind her and the breeze stirred her hair. He stretched out along her back. His smell combined with the smell of whiskey reached her, and she breathed through her mouth to escape it.

  He gathered her hair and her heart jumped, but she forced herself to lie still and silent. He threaded his fingers through her hair, brushed her cheek, leaned over her and pressed his nose into the curve of her neck.

  With great restraint Hallie didn't scream or panic or throw up, none of the reactions that came naturally. Instead she pretended she was asleep, pretended she was safe in her bed at home—Cooper's home—pretended none of this was hap­pening and that in the morning she'd wake up from this nightmare and give Yellow Eagle his reading lesson.

  Two bullets. When would be the right time to use them? If he tried to force himself on her and she shot him, the others would hear and she could only get one of them—if she was extremely lucky.

  What would she do? Let him? In order to stay alive?

  His rough fingertips skimmed her jaw and a shudder started in her toes and worked its way up until her shoulders convulsed. She thought of Cooper touching her, kissing her, and wished he had fulfilled the act with her so she'd have had one beautiful experience before this man spoiled it for her forever.

  She carefully and distinctly separated her mind from her body. He stroked her shoulder, but it was someone else he touched. His liquor-scented breath seared her ear, but some­one else felt its damp and heat.

  Her fingers crept to the stone around her neck and she prayed to the spirits—to God or Cooper or whoever was listening. Find me, Cooper. Find me.

  Behind her, Last Horse's breathing deepened and his hand fell slack and heavy on her shoulder. After a time a light snore vibrated the pelts.

  Hallie pulled the fur back over her shoulder, dislodging his hand. The animal skins smelled unpleasant, but she was warm and unscathed. Holding the stone and thankful for this reprieve, she drifted into sleep.

  The stone on Cooper's breastbone throbbed with warmth. It had only done that a time or two until recently, until Hallie had found her stone. Since then, it had seemed to take on a life of its own. He stared at the dim firelight flickering on the low ceiling of the canvas lean-to they'd constructed at the foot of a butte and touched his sicun. An image of Hallie's tense face bathed in orange firelight flick­ered through his being.

  The vision startled him and he released the stone. He hadn't seen anything that clearly since his vision qu
est, and he'd secretly suspected that vision had been induced by the sacred plants the Yuwipi man had burned and that he him­self smoked.

  But that had been Hallie's face against an unfamiliar background, and even though wishful thinking could have dreamed her up, the image hadn't seemed like mere imag­ination.

  Once again, with expectation this time, Cooper grasped his stone. The sicun was warm in his palm, even through the pouch, and it definitely wasn't his imagination. He closed his eyes against the roof, mere inches from his face, and ignored Wiley's incessant snore.

  Her face came to him again, pale, drawn, pleading for something…pleading for him….

  She was afraid, but calm. Warm and safe from the weather. His whole body relaxed.

  He pictured craggy stone walls and a fire, and his face turned instinctively to the right. Northwest of where he and Kincaid had camped tonight. Farther up the river.

  How had he known that? Were the spirits trying to lead him to Hallie? Cooper thanked them just in case. Nothing more came to him, and deep into the night he fell asleep. Toward dawn he awakened to the mental tug of the stone against his chest.

  He held it, but no more images were revealed. In his breechclout, with his hair streaming loose, he greeted the overcast morning and chanted in the four directions, praying for guidance.

  "You're going to freeze the best parts of you off," Wiley commented, crawling out of the lean-to.

  Quickly Cooper pulled on his clothing, coat and boots. "I know which way they went."

  "Is it the way the tracks are going?" Wiley asked snidely.

  "Yes. But today we turn away from the river and head west."

  Wiley placed a few sticks on their fire and packed snow into the tin coffeepot. "How do you know that?"

  "My spirit stone told me."

  Wiley looked up at him with one eye squinted shut. "If you think I'm commentin' on that, think again. I knew a métis trapper who could predict the weather each morning by the way his coffee grounds splattered."