by J. R. WRIGHT
The second night when they made camp, they tied her again, this time among some wild rose bushes. There they each took her again, and again she struggled until exhaustion made her concede.
Finally they offered her food. It appeared to be jerky, like Pierre and Luke had made of the deer and antelope. As much as she wanted to refuse it, she felt she must eat now, or would surely die. If it weren’t for Luke, Breanne would have accepted the thought of death, but her love for him would not allow it. She must live for him, and somehow they must be allowed to be together again. The meat was rancid and lacked the flavor of salt, but she chewed down each little piece they placed in her mouth, trying not to taste it.
This night she lay awake for some time, wondering if Luke had found their trail and was following. Or was he even alive to follow? As far as she knew, there had been only the three Indians, but what if they had gotten to Luke and Pierre before coming for her? The thought was unbearable, and she fought to free herself while the Indians slept until, again exhausted, she fell into a deep sleep. A sleep so deep, she needed to be shaken awake by one of the savages at daybreak.
They rode hard again this day. Twice they crossed streams, and each time the Indians watered themselves and their horses. Each time she asked for water or to be let down to drink for herself, but they ignored her requests.
That evening, however, after they had crossed a shallow rock bottomed lake, they allowed her to drink her fill from cupped hands before taking her into the woods and tying her for the night.
Her worries about Luke being dead were dismissed this night. She saw him milling around in the moonlight on the opposite shore. She couldn’t see his face from that distance, but instinctively knew it was him. It appeared to be the big hat he had bought in Independence, and the stature and movements were the same. She wanted to cry out, but again, they had gagged her. She wished there were a way to alert him of her presence without waking the two Indians. This thought was quickly wiped away when she discovered they too were awake and watching Luke’s movements.
They wasted no time now in dragging her further back into the darkness of the woods. Soon they broke camp and rode away, only to come to another lake. It was now she realized they had been on an island.
They entered the water and crossed to the other side where they again made camp.
The following morning they tied Breanne to the horse as usual, then led the three horses into the darkness of the woods where they tied them. The two Indians then went back to the shoreline on foot and waited to see if the white woman’s man would discover the shallowness of the lake and follow. When they finally saw him come from the island into the water, they hurried for their horses and traveled on.
They had hoped the white man wouldn’t discover the shallowness of the lake and would lose their trail. But since this hadn’t happened, and he was less than a half hour behind, they traveled at great speed, leaving a hard to follow zigzag trail through the woods.
That afternoon it clouded over and started to snow. The Indians hurried their horses on even faster now. They knew, given enough time and distance, the snow would wipe out their trail. As the day passed, it snowed even harder until the ground was covered with several inches, and visibility was only a few hundred feet. That evening they turned north and then back to the west, the direction they originally came from. They traveled at a walk now, as the horses were nearly done in, and kept that pace throughout the night.
At daybreak they discovered themselves within viewing distance of Luke’s camp. It had stopped snowing, but their position was well protected by trees, so they watched as he broke camp and rode away. They could tell he was without a trail the way he raced his big red horse straight ahead. Once he was out of sight, and they were sure he hadn’t circled back, they once again got underway.
Breanne watched Luke until he could no longer be seen. She had an empty feeling in her heart that she might never see him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Indian ponies were exhausted, so they traveled only a few miles after seeing Luke before making a day camp among some heavy brush. Almost immediately the leader, the one who had killed the third Indian and had always been the first with her, wanted her. Breanne hadn’t as yet been tied, so she set out to run through the deep snow. But he caught her after only a short distance. With the help of the other, they then carried her kicking and fighting back to the brush where they tied her. The leader got a big kick out of the fun of it all, laughing the entire time. He was joyous because he had fooled the white man and still had his woman. They each took her in turn, as usual, then bedded down for a long nap.
After the leader was asleep, the other one must have taken pity on her, because he came with one of his blankets and covered her shortly thereafter. This was the first token of kindness shown by either of them, and this set her mind to thinking. This one had always been the gentlest with her, so what if she started showing him some affection? Would that then cause a riff? Perhaps the gentle one would kill the leader, or, better yet, they would kill each other. What did she have to lose? She would be dead before long anyway, if things continued the way they were: little palatable food, stinging cold most of the time. If she didn’t eventually succumb to starvation, surely pneumonia would get her. With that thought, she drifted off to sleep. The dirty blanket wasn’t much, but it did comfort her enough so she could rest, and did until shaken awake several hours later. It was the mean one. He had tossed aside the blanket and was atop her again.
When he was finished with her, the gentle one, who had been sitting cross legged nearby, watching, hopped to his feet and came dashing through the snow for his turn, pulling aside the breechclout, exposing his erectness as he traveled.
Once he was atop her, Breanne began jerking at the rawhide that lashed her hands to the brush and casting her eyes from side to side. “Cut me loose!” she said loudly.
As if he understood, he swiftly drew his knife and cut all the lashes, hands as well as feet, before coming atop her again. Before doing what she planned to do, she looked to see that the other was watching. Assured he was from a distance, she assisted the compassionate one by lifting her body to receive him. This she had never done before, making them lift her into position and then lying motionless as they had their way with her.
It was clear on the face of the leader that he did not like what she had done, but he continued to watch intently.
Slowly then she raised her legs, wrapped them around his back, and then caressed his neck with her hands, as he wildly pumped away, liking what she was doing.
Finally the dominant one, who had become sufficiently jealous, drew his knife and came toward them on a run.
“No…!” Breanne screamed and pushed the gentle Indian from her just in time for him to avoid the knife. Then she scrambled to gain her own footing, to be away from what surely would happen now. But it didn’t. The compassionate man ran away, and the bigger one tossed her back to the ground. There, he proceeded to have her again. The affection she had shown the other one had aroused him once again, and, by the way he pulled at her legs, it was evident he expected the same treatment.
When that didn’t happen, he became angry, pulled his knife, and stuck the sharp point in her ribs. Still Breanne refused to move, other than to pull away from the knife, which had drawn blood. She felt the warmness of it running down her side. It was evident now her little plan had failed miserably, and for attempting it, she would surely die. Why prolong the suffering? Luke was gone, and she knew they would eventually kill her. She was cold and sick, and now braced herself for the inevitable death to come. No way was she giving in to his demands, at any cost.
The one who had run off was soon back. It seemed by all the chatter and arm waving, he was putting up a forceful argument with the one atop her. It must have been convincing, because eventually the knife was withdrawn. He quickly finished and stepped aside to wash off in the snow.
With that, the other one came forward and examined the
wound. It was about an inch long and quite shallow. The coldness of the snow in which she was laying had caused it to clot quickly, and the Indian did little except lick it several times with his tongue to cleanse it of anything that may cause infection. When he had finished with that, he took his turn with her, in this case completing what he had started before being so harshly interrupted. This time, however, he got no encouragement from Breanne. She lay lifeless as he did his thing and then allowed him to wash her with snow before pulling her red flannels together and retying her buckskin flap, as he always did after his turn.
The Indians traveled slower now. They were confident the white man wouldn’t find them. They even went so far as to risk a fire at night. It had become colder, and the blankets from the ponies were no longer enough to keep them warm at night.
The night fires were a great comfort to Breanne, but there was another revelation that was pleasing as well; they no longer felt it necessary to tie her at night. Of course, she was so weak from hunger and sickness now that she wouldn’t be able run far if given the opportunity.
Then, the fourth day after seeing Luke for the last time, a strange thing happened, or didn’t happen: neither Indian attempted to take her. Or that night, either. She wished now that they had tired of her and would never touch her again, but she knew better. The fact was that none of them had eaten for three days, and there just wasn’t the available energy to expend on the unnecessary act.
The next afternoon they crossed a river and soon approached a camp in the woods. Smoke from a fire rose above the treetops. Breanne hoped it was not a village of more Indians and soon realized it wasn’t. What shocked her was that she knew this camp! It was the camp these savages had taken her from, her and Luke’s camp, and Pierre was busy skinning a fresh killed deer hanging from a low tree limb in the clearing. What were they doing here? Why had they brought her here? Were they planning to release her back to her people? Would she be free soon so Pierre could nurse her back to health?
Not likely, she soon realized, as the Indians loaded their bows with arrows and stretched them out full distance. They were prepared to shoot Pierre once he came from behind the deer where he was working. She was certain now their goal was to kill him and take the deer. Why else would they want to harm him? He was no threat to them at the moment. At first she didn’t know how to warn him. She was gagged as usual. Finally, she kicked and beat at the pony she was on until he lunged forward into the others. This caused the three of them to whinny.
Pierre may not have heard this, but the mules in camp had. They instantly began to bay loudly and pull at their ropes. With that, Pierre wasted no time in getting to the wagon for a rifle. The two arrows struck the wagon, narrowly missing him as he ran. He couldn’t see them in the darkness of the woods, but fired in their general direction anyway. The slug struck a tree near one of the Indians. That alone appeared to be enough to send them packing.
In the meantime, Pierre acquired another rifle and fired a second time. This one went in the same direction as the first, but by then they were long gone. Breanne knew Pierre had not seen them at all. He might have heard the hoof beats as they rode away and by that knew they were gone. But as far as knowing she was with them, there was not a chance. She wanted to leave something behind so Luke would know she’d been there, but she had nothing to drop.
Soon they were far away, heading west onto the rolling plains she had seen so much of on the trip from Fort Pierre. Somehow that seemed so long ago, almost as if months had passed.
Would she ever again see Luke or Pierre? The question haunted her as the miles passed under the horse’s hooves and she was further and further from the place she had dreamed of calling home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It was early morning twilight during his rapid return to camp that Luke stumbled across the place where the Indians had spent their first night after taking Breanne. It was a section of the trail he totally missed when following them before. It stood out as a well-trampled area in an ocean of waving grass. And in the center of it, clearly outlined under a blanket of snow, was the frozen corpse of the before unnoticed missing Indian.
Luke used a handful of dead grass to brush away the snow that covered the face for a better look. Suddenly eyes popped out, glistening up at him as if the painted warrior was still alive. The shocking sight set him back for a moment. It was then that the bear claw necklace and breastplate beneath came into view. The animal claws were black, set apart by short pieces of cut bone. The black against the white made it an attractive piece, but that wasn’t why Luke paid such close attention and removed it from the solid corpse. He would take both back to camp in hopes Pierre could make something of it. Maybe they represented some tribal symbol that would eventually lead him to their village.
Luke arrived back at camp late that afternoon. It had been nearly two and a half weeks since he left in pursuit of Breanne and her captors. Pierre was busy trimming up some logs he had dragged up into the clearing. The ones they had cut earlier, Luke noticed, were already set in place for the beginning of the cabin.
Pierre hadn’t heard Luke ride up over the noise he was making with the axe, but as soon as he got a glimpse of someone approaching, he leaped for the rifle nearby and came up with it fully trained on Luke.
“Whoohaa…!” Luke shouted and watched with wide eyes as Pierre slowly lowered the rifle, a disappointed look on his face.
“You didn’t find her?”
“No, but I believe she’s still alive.” He came down from the red horse.
“What makes you believe that?” Pierre fumbled in his jacket for his pipe, an effort to curb his disappointment.
“Because I didn’t find her dead. That’s good enough for me,” Luke answered and began removing the saddle from the red horse. It hadn’t been off the entire time he was gone. “An old man at a wood station over near the Mississippi thinks they may have doubled back this way. He said they had run all of the Indians out of those parts, some as recent as a few weeks back.”
The look on Pierre’s face was one of surprise. “Mississippi?” he questioned. “I never figured that to be so close.” He rubbed a recent growth of scruffy grey beard.
“Me neither, but it’s eight or nine days east – a place called Woodhole on the Crow Wing River.”
“There was some varmints here day before yesterday,” Pierre said and pointed his pipe at the arrows still sticking in the wagon box down by the creek, saved purposely to show Luke when he returned. “They was after that deer.” He then pointed to the smoke fire where several poles crossed it, laden with strips of meat.
“How many?”
“Three of ‘em,” Pierre said. “Unshod ponies, but it couldn’t a been the ones that took Breanne. These each had an equal load. No double riders on any of ‘em.”
“There wouldn’t be. They killed one of their own the first night out. Breanne must be on one of them ponies alone.”
“One of ‘em was toting a lighter load. Must have been the one that carried her, or no load at all.”
Luke took note of that last statement, but ignored it. She was alive, and he wasn’t about to let Pierre talk him out of that.
“The dead one was wearing this,” Luke said, pulling the claw necklace from his pocket, then he reached to the saddle bag at his feet for the breastplate.
Pierre examined the necklace closely before making a judgment. “Black bear claws! Must be from east of here. There are no black bear on the plains. Santee, maybe? This breastplate is made from the leg bones of the otter, also from east of here.”
“So these must be the three that got away when they destroyed the village that Olaf Olsen, the old man, told me about.”
“That could explain why they done what they done,” Pierre said.
“Why us..?” Luke became angry. “We had nothing to do with it!”
“Whites done it,” Pierre said. “It’s all whites they hate now. One or all of them may have lost wives. That’s why they took her. Y
ou take mine, I’ll take yours. Eye for an eye – like Breanne was asking a while back. Indians are great for that.”
“Which way did the trail lead?”
“Followed the creek for a time till it hooked to the north, then went off to the west,” Pierre said, using hand signals to point the way. “But I doubt you’ll pick up on it now; we’ve had snow since then.”
“I’ve got to try,” Luke replied. “I’ll be needing to take that paint horse. This one needs a rest.”
“You’d best be getting some rest yourself,” Pierre said, not anxious for Luke to leave so soon.
“I’ll rest when I get her back, and not before,” Luke snapped, going for the wagon to get some oats in his hat. He would need it to catch the paint horse presently grazing on the far side of the clearing.
Pierre bagged some of the fresh deer jerky, while Luke readied the paint horse. The horse would be a little on the small side for Luke, he thought, but what choice did he have? It was bigger than an Indian pony on average, but not by a whole lot.
“May be you ought to take a mule along, just in case you find her,” Pierre said.
“When I find her, she’ll be coming back on the same animal she’s riding now,” Luke said. “Those savages won’t be in need of it any longer, once I’m finished with them.”
Luke found a faint trail along the creek and followed it to where it elbowed due west, but then it disappeared into the deeper snow of the open prairie. The wind had smoothed over all signs of it away from the cover of the trees that lined the creek.
Once again Luke was left with his instincts to guide him and felt he had no other option but to continue on west. So he did, in haste.
Hours later, and near dark, he came to a river of considerable width. For a time he traveled along the shoreline in search of hoof prints. When the faint light finally failed him, he was forced to make camp.
