by J. R. WRIGHT
“I’d offer you the saddle, but I doubt he would take to it.”
“That’s okay. I’m quite practiced at riding bareback,” she said, walking to the left side of the pony to board, while Luke waited on the right to help her on and cover her with the buffalo robe.
“You’ll need to come around here,” he said. “Pierre tells me Indian ponies are trained to board on the opposite side from what we’re used to.”
“Oh, that’s good to know,” she said, coming around to him. “Never know who I may marry next.”
Luke gave her a knee up, and soon they were on their way. He kept her pony close so she could grab hold of his arm to steady herself, if need be. She was still quite weak from the blow taken to her head during the raid, and he had only one goal in mind now: get her to camp so Pierre could nurse her back to health. And, after some sleep, he could go off in search of Breanne once again.
CHAPTER THIRTY
When the two Indians, with Breanne in tow, dashed away from Pierre and the camp on the creek that afternoon, they traveled west as fast as their ponies could carry them. It started to snow that evening, a snow that later became so intense they lost direction and finally were forced to make camp among some willows by a mostly frozen over pothole lake.
The lead one tied and took her as usual, while the compassionate one kept to himself, not coming near. He hadn’t even watched as before, when waiting his turn, but rather turned his back to the entire matter. Breanne wondered where the one on her was getting his strength, since they hadn’t eaten for so long, until he produced a small piece of the tasteless jerky and poked it into her mouth. As much as she wanted to spit it out, she chewed it briefly and swallowed it near whole to appease him.
He stayed with her the entire night, as if protecting his property. He covered the two of them with his remaining two blankets and lay close to share her warmth. When morning came, they pushed out from under a heavy layer of snow. Breanne noticed the other Indian was still sitting as before, but covered completely in white, and motionless.
She thought he had frozen during the night, but a swift kick from the other brought him to his feet. He seemed to be quite shaken by the blow, and for a moment Breanne thought they would fight, but instead, he backed away and gathered the tied horses. Soon they were on their way once again.
It was still snowing big heavy flakes this morning, but the visibility had improved greatly. They wandered aimlessly, it seemed, from one bushy low area to the next, in hopes of scaring up a deer, or a rabbit, or any other creatures that might decide to present themselves. None were to be found.
That afternoon, however, they came upon an Indian village in a narrow valley next to a swiftly moving stream. It was a small village of only a dozen or so teepees, with little action presenting itself around the camp. After much chatter the dominant one rode in alone, while the other stayed back with Breanne.
From where they were on the hillside, they saw him enter the village. In no time several males came from the lodges and gathered about him. At first they seemed hostile and pulled him from the horse. Soon, after fighting himself free of them, they backed off and appeared to be listening to what he had to say. They watched him talk for a long while before he eventually returned to them, and the three rode down and took up camp at the edge of the village.
The tribe provided them with meat, and several buffalo robes for beds. The people there seemed to be friendly. One young maiden, especially, occupied herself seeing that Breanne had plenty of food and wood for the fire.
At first, however, the maiden was a bit disturbing. She couldn’t seem to keep her hands off Breanne’s golden hair or her cowhide boots. By the following day, Breanne had became accustomed to the ways of this maiden. She had become welcome company and a comfort to have around, especially when she discovered that as long as the maiden was near, her two captors stayed away. That alone was enough to make her a treasured companion.
On the third day, Breanne heard some shots fired from the hilltop at the far end of the village. At the time, she was sandwiched between layers of buffalo robes and had become too frightened to move, until the controlling one kicked her out. He was screaming at her as if he were angry at something she had done. Could that have been Luke who had come to the village and fired the shots? Is that why he was so disturbed? Would they be going now to kill him and Pierre?
She was so frightened now, she couldn’t muster the strength to walk and soon found herself being dragged to a teepee, where she was tied. From there, she heard a lot of commotion outside, followed soon by the beat of horse hooves as many left the village in a hurry.
The young maiden kept her company that night, and when morning came, the braves returned, bringing many horses of the white man.
The dominant one entered the teepee and with great excitement led Breanne outside to show her the fruits of their night’s plundering. At first, she was afraid to look. She was afraid she would see the horses and mules from their camp. But when she finally got the courage, she was grateful none even nearly resembled theirs. No big red horse, and certainly no mules. She couldn’t remember when she had last been this happy and, quite uncontrollably, broke out into hysterical laughter.
The Indian took her laughter as happiness at his taking part in this ill deed and immediately began dancing about, releasing the most god awful cries and whoops. Once he tired of this, he forced her back into the teepee and pushed her to the floor, where he tried to enter her through the open flap. His efforts were foiled when he came up against a rabbit skin the young maiden had tied on her for extra warmth. She hadn’t put it there for the purpose of putting a stop his frequent lovemaking. Breanne knew he would simply remove it and take her anyway. She wore it to take away some of the chill she suffered from the ill-fitting buckskin flap that had become gnarled over time.
If she had tried to explain why it was there, or even told him that it was, it might have made a difference. But the fact that it caught him by surprise angered him, and he began to beat her so severely, she thought he was going to kill her.
Finally, the young maiden burst in and tried to help defend her, but she was easily knocked to the floor and kicked aside. When Breanne was near unconscious, he yanked off her boots, removed the buckskins trousers, ripped away the rabbit hide, and took her near naked while the wide-eyed maiden watched. It was the most torturous he had ever been to her, pulling and pounding at her flesh until he collapsed and fell asleep on top of her.
When it was all over, the young maiden ran from the teepee, and Breanne never saw her again. Later, when she gathered the strength to redress herself, she noticed her brown cowhide boots were missing. The maiden must have figured that she was not long for this world after such a beating and taken them.
Since Breanne dare not use the undergarment again, she ripped it in half and tied the pieces to her freezing feet.
That day the women killed one of the white man’s horses, and a great feast was had by all in the village except Breanne, who refused to eat the raw horse meat. The dominant one, on the other hand, gloried in sitting over her while eating a large piece of liver that had been brought to the lodge, allowing blood from it to drip on her face as she struggled to free herself.
The two young Santee bucks that had brought Breanne to this village left early the following morning. The tribe was angry with the way the one had treated the young maiden, who was the daughter of a chief, and the two had gone to find another village to go to. They had heard of a large group of Tetons camped to the west and planned to seek their kindness in letting them join that tribe.
When they returned the following night, they were very happy. The Tetons had accepted them, but there was one gift they must present to them in return – all the horses of this village.
In the two Santee Indians’ excitement, they told Breanne of their plan, very little of which she understood. But she gathered by their actions they were leaving, and fast. Loading everything on the ponies, including the buffalo r
obes which were generously lent to them, they were soon heading west into the night.
After only a short ride over the nearby hills, they were met by over a hundred warriors, all armed with bows, arrows, and lances. Breanne was frightened. Not so much for herself, but for the people, especially the young maiden in the village they had just left.
After a talk with what must have been a chief of the Tetons, the traitorous one rode back to where the other Santee and Breanne were waiting. No sooner had the Teton warriors left, than they followed. The mean-spirited buck could not resist watching the destruction he had planned. They arrived on the hilltop just as the warriors charged the sleeping village. Soon the screams and cries of the people within were more than Breanne could bear, and she covered her ears and buried her face into the pony. Then the village was ablaze.
Soon the screaming stopped, almost as suddenly as it had begun, and all was quiet except for the crackling of the fires and the whoops of the half-crazed warriors as they drove the horse herd toward home.
As they passed, Breanne watched keenly for a glimpse of the young maiden. She was hoping they had taken her captive, sparing her life, but she was not seen.
They didn’t stop until they reached the invaders’ village the next afternoon. It was large, covering most of the valley with hundreds of teepees.
Once the captured horses were penned, the demanding Santee rode to the leader of the raiding party, a young warrior named Spotted Pony, and asked to have his pick of the horses. With that, a commotion erupted. At first it was just verbal between the two of them. Then it got physical, as the Santee was knocked from his horse and taken away to a nearby teepee. Breanne and the other Santee were pulled from their horses and taken there as well.
After this, there was much commotion about the village, and the noise of it haunted Breanne. These animals were celebrating the carnage they had inflicted upon the people of the little village.
Even though it was evident to Breanne that the three of them were now being held captive, the two Santee were having nothing of it; over the coming hours they made several attempts at escape. Each time, they were apprehended just outside and tossed back into the teepee, until finally they were taken away and not returned.
Since she was not tied, Breanne went to the open flap a short time later and looked out. What she saw were the two Santee being dragged to a pole in the center of the village where they were placed, evidently to be tied. Her view was then cut off when the one outside guarding the lodge closed the flap.
Being weak and extremely tired, Breanne then curled up among several buffalo robes and soon fell fast to sleep. It had been a jarring, torturous ride, thundering hooves across miles upon miles of icy plains. Now she had so easily drifted away to a more pleasant time with the young maiden, who never tired of running her small fingers through Breanne’s golden hair.
She slept right on through until morning, when a commotion near her teepee awakened her. She crawled to the flap and pulled it aside enough to see several Indians gathered near the now vacant pole. She wondered what had happened to the two Santee Indians, her captors, who were surely tied there the night before. Maybe they took them away and killed them. If so, it was what they deserved. She hated them for what they had done to her and felt no pity or sorrow for their fate.
One of those near the pole was searching the ground and pointing occasionally at something there. She heard the words “white man” mentioned several times. They then became excited and ran from her field of vision.
Later in the morning, they brought in the body of one of the Santee and dropped it to the frozen ground by the pole. Breanne could tell from where she was that it was the gentle one, and he was obviously dead. After a time, one of those gathered around came to her teepee and pulled her to where the dead Indian was.
He pointed to several gunshot wounds on the body and said, “White man gun make die.” He then grabbed a hand-full of Breanne’s hair and turned her face toward his own. “White man gun,” he repeated, expecting her to agree.
Frightened now, she did not answer, but it was obvious the Santee had been shot with the big bore rifle, loaded with buckshot. That would mean Luke was nearby. As much as this excited her, Breanne hoped he would not come. She feared for his life. These people were strong in numbers, and he would surely die if he tried.
Later that afternoon Breanne was taken to another part of the village where only women milled about. She assumed these were women who had no man to provide for them, as Pierre had talked about often. She was placed in the care of a deeply wrinkled, white haired old woman who immediately began sizing her up. She squeezed her skinny arms, ran a hand over her bony rib cage, and even pinched her rear, all the while shaking her head and jabbering angrily as if Breanne were beyond help. Soon, however, she was taken into the teepee and given food. First there was a broth, followed by a doughy bread cake, and dried meat.
Although Breanne had no appetite, and the food was rancid tasting, she forced herself to eat. She knew she needed to build her strength for Luke, if he should ever come. And she was sure he would eventually, if not today.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When Luke rode into camp in the evening with Sarah alongside, Pierre dropped his axe where he was working on a log for the cabin and came running. Luke was already on the ground and helping Sarah down when he got there.
“That’s not…!” was all Pierre could get out, before disappointment came over his face.
“This is Sarah,” Luke said and went to work removing the saddle from the near done in horse. “Indians burned them out west of here. The husband is dead.”
Sarah glared at Pierre, who was glaring back. They seemed to have an instant dislike for one another.
“You must be Pierre?” she finally said, and extended a hand as a peace offering.
Pierre ignored the hand and threw his attention to the Indian ponies. “What do you expect to do with those?”
“It’s what’s left of six that dogged our trail,” he responded, not knowing what Pierre was getting at.
“Indians have been known to track stolen ponies hundreds of miles. They’ll come for them,” Pierre warned.
“They’re all dead,” Luke argued.
“If there are any left where they came from, they’ll come,” he said again, striking a match on his stiff old buckskins to light his pipe.
“What shall I do then?” Luke asked, so much hoping for some rest before going back west in search of Breanne.
“Take them back to the tribe they come from, before they get wise those that left haven’t returned, as they should have in due time.”
Luke could have argued some more, but knew the futility in it when it came to Pierre. “I’ll be on my way as soon as I switch horses.”
“I’ll pack you some food,” Pierre said around the pipe, then pointed the stem toward Sarah Martin twenty feet away. “Can that woman be of any help around here?”
“I’m sure she’ll be a great help. She seems to be seasoned to the hard life of these parts.”
“Good! I’ll be needing some help with the cabin and the beavers…”
“I assure you, Mister Pierre,” Sarah stepped forward, “if I’m allowed to stay, I fully intend to do my share of the work around here. No matter how difficult or unpleasant it may be!”
“Ever skin and stretch a beaver pelt?” Pierre asked, still disappointed she hadn’t been Breanne. “Ever built a cabin?”
With that, Luke looked around and saw numerous beaver pelts stretched on hoops of willow and hanging from nearby pine trees. ‘Pierre has been busy,’ he thought proudly.
“I helped my husband build our cabin,” Sarah returned. “And yes, I have skinned many animals over the years for the table. None, however, for the hide alone. But I’m willing to learn.”
“You’ll do fine,” Luke said in an attempt to smooth things over, and he glared at Pierre.
“I’ll get the food,” Pierre said and hurried off toward the wagon. Pe
rhaps he had underestimated this woman, Sarah. In his tired old eyes, she wasn’t bad looking. Maybe that’s why he had sized her up as not being fit for hard work. Most handsome women discovered early on they didn’t need to do hard work to get by. There was always a man about to pick up the slack. Even among the Indians this was true, he had discovered over the years. It was always the ugly ones that made the best workers.
“I’m not sure I’m welcome here,” Sarah said after Pierre had left.
“He’ll get over it,” Luke said. “He’s just disappointed you weren’t Breanne. He became quite attached to her over the past months.”
“I can understand that, and I sympathize with you both,” Sarah said, glancing over at Pierre digging in the wagon. “I just want you to know, I’ll truly try my best not to be a burden to either of you while I’m here.”
“Just step softly and walk wide for a time. He’ll come around,” Luke said and went for the red horse.
In short order Luke was saddled and again ready to pull out. Sarah was making herself useful by picking up around the camp. Pierre watched her every action and so far liked what he saw. But time would tell, he thought.
“Don’t be too hard on her. She’s had a rough time of it,” Luke said. “She’s got a gash on her head you may want to look at.”
“You be careful. Remember what I said about watching your back.”
“Take care of the woman, and yourself,” Luke said and reluctantly rode away.
After a few hours’ nap on the trail during the night, early morning brought Luke to the place where he had killed the Indians the day before. Shockingly, nothing had changed, and this puzzled him. He thought surely their people would have at least come to gather the dead. There were some animal tracks around the dead horses, and some had been eaten on by varmints. But other than that, all was as if it had just happened.
Near noon, when he reached the village of the dead Indians, he discovered why. It was totally destroyed. Bodies lay strewn throughout, and the teepees had been burned to the ground. As much as he hated these people, sorrow filled his heart. Small children lay in crusted puddles of their own blood. Charred bodies lay where their teepees had been. Only one horse remained, and it was wounded and near death. Luke finished it off with one shot from the big bore.
