“Oh, God.”
Nate fought down another cry. He touched her cheek, which was crisscrossed with welts and terribly swollen, and his eyes moistened.
“If they’ve killed you…”
Nate couldn’t finish. He clasped her wrist and felt for a pulse and nearly whooped for joy when he found one, strong and regular. He pressed an ear to her bosom to listen to her heart.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Swallowing to rid his throat of a lump, Nate raised his head. He had lost all sense of direction. The North Star gave him the clue he needed. Apparently he was east of the slave hunters’ camp. Which meant the river should be to his left.
Picking up Winona again with the utmost care, Nate carried her to a grassy flat at the water’s edge.
“Please,” Nate said. He cupped his hand and dribbled water on her face and neck. She groaned, and stirred. He kissed her, then dipped his hand in again and trickled drops between her parted lips and down her throat.
Winona coughed and blinked, and her swollen mouth curled in a hint of a smile. “Are you trying to drown me, Husband?”
“Thank the Lord.”
Winona coughed some more and went to turn her head, and winced. “I take it you saved me?”
Nate couldn’t talk for the new lump in his throat, so he nodded.
“You were a bit late this time.”
Nate bowed his forehead to her shoulder and sobbed. He held her sides and trembled.
“Husband?” Winona had never seen him like this, not in all the years of their togetherness.
“I thought—” Nate said, and couldn’t finish.
“Oh, sweet one.” Winona ran her fingers through his black mane. “I am here and I am alive. Be strong.”
Nate nodded. Sniffling, he sat up and wiped his face with a sleeve. “If I ever did lose you, I wouldn’t be able to go on living.”
“Husband!” Winona said again, and winced again, as well. “I sure do hurt. I killed one of them and they were mad. They beat me, Olan and that Bromley and the German, Kleist.”
“Not Wesley or Trumbo?”
“No. They stood and watched, and Wesley said not to kill me, that I was bait to bring you, and they must keep me alive until I served my purpose.”
“They’re all going to die.”
Winona rose onto her elbows and squinted through puffy eyes. “The Worths, Grizzly Killer? Where are they?”
“The slave hunters have them. I couldn’t save them and you. I was unarmed and it was five to one.”
“We cannot abandon them.”
“Do you honestly think I would?”
Nate cradled her head in his lap and caressed her hair and said softly, “I went berserk. The very thing I have warned Zach about time and again.”
“Where do you think he got it from? He is more like you than he is willing to admit.” Winona grasped his hand and closed her eyes. “Tell me. Do I look as terrible as I feel?”
“You would scare infants.”
Winona started to laugh but stopped. “Don’t do that, Husband. It hurts too much.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
For a while they lightly touched and lightly kissed and then Winona said, “And you were right, Husband.”
“About what?”
“They must die. Especially the one who hurt me the most, that Olan. I will cut out his heart while he is still alive and show it to him as he dies.”
“Only if you get to him before I do.”
In all his born days Samuel Worth had never seen the like. The mountain man had torn through the slave hunters like a tornado through a cotton field. Samuel yearned to have fought at Nate’s side, but bound as he was, all he could do was lie helpless with frustration and give a whoop of joy when Nate made it into the woods with Winona in his arms.
“Lordy!” Emala exclaimed. She had seen it but couldn’t believe it. That one man could do all that. As near as she could tell, he got away without a scratch. The hand of Providence, she decided, and gave inward thanks.
Chickory was speechless with amazement. He had seen only a few violent acts, and none were like this. It reminded him of the Bible stories his ma used to read to him. Stories in which Samson or David or Joshua would smite their enemies, hip and thigh.
Randa was glad Mr. and Mrs. King got away. Now she was worried for her parents and her brother. The slave hunters were in a foul mood. They had recovered and a few were on their feet. They looked fit to kill anyone who glanced at them crosswise.
Olan swore and continued swearing until Wesley snapped at him in anger.
“Enough, damn you. All he did was wallop you on the jaw.” Wesley spat blood and bits of broken teeth.
Trumbo had a huge hand over the center of his face. “I’ve got a busted nose, Wes. I can hardly breathe.”
“Breathe through your mouth then.”
“Oh. I forgot. Thanks.”
Bromley sat up, his hands over his crotch. “That son of a bitch. He about ruined me for women.”
“He’s a panther, that one,” Kleist said. “The next time we run into him, we’ll shoot him on sight.”
Olan said, “We’ve seen the last of him and good riddance. Now that he’s got his woman, he’ll leave us be.”
“No, he won’t,” Wesley said, scarlet leaking from a corner of his mouth. “He’ll be back. Him and his sqaw both.” He nodded at the Worths. “We have something they want.”
“That’s right!” Olan declared, and brightened. “Do you know what this means? We can set a trap for them. See to it his mouth-and nose-busting days are over.”
“He won’t be easy,” Kleist remarked.
“He broke my nose,” Trumbo said.
Wesley pressed ran a hand across his bloody mouth. “Olan’s right. We need to figure out how to draw them in, and we need to do it right.”
“We did it right the first time,” Bromley said.
“Tell that to my mouth.”
Emala cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Wesley, sir, I have something to say.”
“You have nerve, darkie. Keep it short. I’m not in the mood for any of your simpleminded shenanigans.”
“Don’t call her that,” Samuel said.
“Which? Darkie? Or simpleminded? Not that it matters. She’s both. And I’ll call her what ever I damn well please.”
“Don’t bicker over me,” Emala said quickly, to spare Samuel a possible beating. To Wesley she said, “I don’t want any harm to come to the Kings on our account.”
“You don’t, huh?”
“No. So how about if we leave them a message?” Emala proposed. “You got any paper in those packs? And somethin’ I can write with? I’ll say they should go on to the mountains and leave us in God’s hands.”
Samuel said sharply, “You’ll do no such thing, woman, you hear?”
“It’s for their sakes,” Emala said.
Wesley thoughtfully regarded her. “You really think they would do as you ask?”
“They’ve become good friends these past weeks. They’ll do as I ask if I ask real nice.”
Now it was Olan who objected. “Don’t listen to her. We want the Kings to come after us so we can pay that big bastard back for what he did to us.”
“Next time you might get more than a bop on the jaw,” Emala warned. “Did you think of that?”
“I ain’t scared of Nate King,” Olan boasted.
“Then you’re a fool.”
“That mountain man is a hellacious fighter,” Trumbo said.
Emala stared at Wesley. “So, what will you do? Will you or won’t you let me?”
Wesley came and stood over her. “Oh, you’ll get to write Nate King a note, all right. But it won’t be what you were going to write. You’ll say what I tell you.”
“What would that be?”
“You’ll beg King and his squaw to help you. You’ll say you’re afraid of what will happen to your husba
nd when we get him back to the plantation. You’ll say the Kings are your only hope, and to come quick.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
Wesley pointed his rifle at Chickory and put his thumb on the hammer. “You’ll do it or you’ll be shy a son.”
“We’re worth more money to you alive,” Emala countered. “You said so yourself.”
“Money I can’t spend if I’m dead.” Wesley pressed the muzzle to Chickory’s temple, and Chickory flinched. “I’ll gladly give up some of it to be sure I live to collect the rest.”
Emala stared at her son and then at the rifle and then at the slave hunter holding it. “You’re a vile man.”
“Is that a no?”
“Don’t shoot. I’ll write your note, but I’ll hate every word you make me say.” Emala’s eyes moistened.
Wesley motioned to Trumbo. “Go look in the packs for the paper.”
“What I want to know,” Olan said, “is how you aim to get this note to Nate King? It’s not as if we know where to find him.”
“We don’t have to. He’ll come to us.” Wesley walked to the center of the clearing. “We’ll pound a stick in the ground right here. We’ll split one end and put the note in it. King will come along, read it, and light out after us hell-bent to rip out our guts.”
“What good does that do us?” Olan asked.
“Don’t you see? We’ll find a perfect spot for an ambush, and he’ll be so fired up to save the darkies, he’ll waltz right into our guns’sights.”
“I like it,” Olan said. “I like it a lot.”
“I pray to God that Nate doesn’t fall for it,” Emala said.
“Quit with the God talk, woman,” Olan said. “I don’t believe in that stuff. There’s no God Almighty and there’s no hereafter. As Nate King and his wife will find out soon enough.”
Chapter Seventeen
They jogged tirelessly for hours. They were both in superb condition, but Winona had to stop now and again. Once, she apologized, saying, “I am sorry, Husband. The pain.”
“You’re holding up fine.”
Nate would wait, Winona would nod, and they would set out again.
They weren’t near the Platte. They weren’t in the woods that bordered it. They were at the edge of the prairie where the going was easy and they could cover a lot of ground quickly. They had a lot of ground to cover.
“I hope this works,” Winona said between deep breaths. “I do not want to go to all this trouble for nothing.”
“It’s the last thing they’ll expect.”
On they jogged, through the heat of the morning and the haze of the afternoon. They stopped to rest only once, at midday. Making their way to the river, they lay on their bellies and stuck their sweat-slick faces in the water.
“Oh, my. This feels so nice, Husband. You rest on the bank. I will pretend I am a fish.”
Rolling onto his side, Nate watched her dip her head back in. He reached over and lightly touched her shoulder, whispering, “If you only knew how much…” Then, easing onto his back, Nate laced his fingers under his head and exhaled a long, tired sigh.
Bright blue painted the vault of sky save for a few fluffy white clouds. A finch flew past, a spot of yellow dwarfed by the blazing yellow higher up. Nate started to close his eyes but snapped them open again.
Winona came up for air, and grinned. “I used to do this a lot when I was little.”
“You’re weird.”
Winona laughed, then stiffened and pushed up on her hands. “Did you hear something?”
“No. Relax. We’re well ahead of them by now.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. I checked the ground. If they’d already passed, there would be fresh tracks.”
Gaining her knees, Winona turned. “I would be more confident if we had guns.”
“We have these,” Nate said, and tapped his temple. “Guns or not, when it happens it will be fast and brutal.”
“Killing usually is.” Winona lay next to him. She ran a finger over a welt. “This is one time I will not mind. Were my mother still alive, she would be upset with me.”
“For wanting revenge on the men who did that?”
“Morning Dew had a gentle heart. She would fight when she had to, as the time our village was raided and when those Blackfeet attacked us. But she did not like violence. When my father talked about counting coup, she would say he had no need to prove he had courage. She knew he did.”
“What did your father say?”
“Black Kettle always smiled and told her that he didn’t count coup for her, he did it to protect our people.”
“I liked your father and mother.”
“They liked you.”
For a while they were quiet. Then Nate grunted and sat up. “Enough rest. We have to keep going. I figure we’re a mile and a half ahead of them by now. By nightfall I’d like to be three or four.”
“I am not an Apache, Husband. I cannot run forever.”
“If you tire, I’ll carry you.” Nate bent and offered her his hand. As he pulled her to her feet she came into his arms and kissed him on the neck. “What was that for?”
“When two hearts are one, neither heart needs a reason.”
They stood in silent embrace, his chin on her head, until the chirp of a robin brought them back to the here and now.
“When we get home I am barring our cabin door and we are not stirring out of bed for a week.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Nate said, and gave her a playful smack on her bottom.
They hiked to the edge of the prairie and resumed jogging. Minute after minute, hour after hour. They saw deer and elk. They saw rabbits and squirrels. They spied a few buffalo far out on the plain. Once they spotted a young black bear that ran off when it spotted them.
“Now that’s the kind of bear I like,” Nate said.
As the afternoon waned, Nate stopped frequently so Winona could catch her breath. She protested that she was holding him up and he merely smiled.
Nate could hardly stand to look at her bruised and swollen face. Hate festered in him, and he was not a hating man. The slave hunters deserved what he was going to do to them.
The sun was less than an hour shy of setting when Nate announced, “This is far enough!” He came to a stop.
Winona, puffing, doubled over with her hands on her hips. “I thought you wanted to keep going until sunset.”
Nate glanced at her heaving sides and the sweat dripping from her brow. “We’ve been at this most of the day and I’m wore out.”
With masterly sarcasm Winona said, “Oh, really?” She took hold of his hand and grinned. “Always tell the truth, Husband. You are stopping because you are worried about me.”
“We have a long night ahead of us.”
They went to the river, rested, drank and set to work. First they waded into the shallows and scoured the bottom for fist-sized flat stones with thin edges. These they chipped and sharpened with other stones. Then they went in among the trees, searching.
The digging was the hard part. Their palms blistered and hurt, but they kept at it, taking turns, until the job was done.
The night filled with the cries and shrieks of predator and prey, but the meat eaters left them alone.
It was pushing four in the morning, by Nate’s reckoning, when he stepped back and nodded in grim satisfaction. “This will have to do.”
“Limbs instead of rope,” Winona said. “I hope they work.”
“Whether they do or they don’t, there will be a reckoning.”
Samuel Worth squinted against the harsh glare of the sun and licked his dry, cracked lips. He had been tied to a stake for most of the day and his body was burning hot. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow and into his eyes and made them sting. For the umpteenth time Samuel strained against the stakes his wrists and ankles were tied to, but the stakes didn’t give. He glanced to the right at his wife and then to the left at his daughter and his son, and he summed up
how he felt with, “Damn me to hell.”
Emala opened her eyes. “What have I told you about cussin’ in front of the children?”
“I’m not no child, Ma,” Chickory said.
“Me either,” said Randa.
The brush rustled and out strode Olan. “If the four of you don’t shut the hell up, I will damn well shut you up.”
“The whole world is cuss crazy,” Emala said.
There was more rustling and the others came out of hiding: big, bearded Trumbo; Bromley with his shotgun; Kleist, the German; and, last of all, Wesley. The backwoodsman glanced skyward and frowned.
“Another hour and the sun will set.”
“I don’t understand it,” Trumbo rumbled. “Where are the Kings? We were so sure they’d come after these darkies.”
“We’re people, just like you,” Samuel told him. “We have names, just like you.”
Olan uttered a cold laugh. “Will you listen to him? The airs he puts on.” He took a step and kicked Samuel in the ribs as hard as he could. “When will you get it through your stupid head that we don’t care? To me you’re the same as dogs.”
Agony gripped Samuel and wouldn’t let go. He tried to double over but couldn’t, staked out as he was. Gasping for breath, he shook from head to toe. At least one of his ribs was busted, he was sure.
Emala’s eyes filled with tears and she choked down a sob. “Leave him be, you hear? He never did anything to you for you to treat him like that.”
“He’s black. That’s all it takes.”
“Enough,” Wesley said. He moved past the Worths and gazed down the trail to the west. “This bothers me. It bothers me something fierce.”
“What?” Kleist asked.
“Yeah, what?” Trumbo echoed.
“The Kings. They’re not the kind to let this drop. They should have been here by now. They should have read the note and come on fast.” Wesley gestured at the Worths. “I figured they’d spot these four staked out and lose their caution, and we’d have them.”
Emala chortled. “Nate King ain’t no fool. He’d know it was a trap and hold back until dark.”
“Could be.” Wesley pointed at Trumbo and Kleist. “I want the two of you to backtrack half a mile or so. Do it careful. Look for sign of the mountain man and his squaw.”
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