by Connie Mason
Aware that both Sargeant Wilson and Lieutenant Goodman were listening, Shannon was unwilling to divulge crucial information before witnesses.
“Could we speak in private?” She licked her lips nervously. “It’s about—er, something we’re both concerned about,” she hinted.
Wade Vance knew immediately what Shannon was referring to. Though she had been warned time and again not to interfere, she obviously hadn’t listened and in the process had learned something vital to the investigation of Clive Bailey. Unfortunately, he was in the midst of a staff meeting and couldn’t leave.
“Go home, Shannon. I’ll be through here shortly, then we can discuss whatever it is you have to tell me. I’ll drop by in about an hour.”
Shannon nodded, much relieved. It was a burden being privy to information of such major importance. Vance watched her leave headquarters, a speculative look on his face, before returning to his meeting. Lieutenant Goodman remained behind a few minutes longer talking with Sargeant Wilson, then he too took his leave.
Blackness swallowed Shannon as she strode across the parade ground, shivering in the cold wind that whistled out of the north. Few were about this time of night; most everyone was inside enjoying supper in comfort. Shannon’s head was pounding with everything she’d heard tonight. If only she had been able to recognize the second voice! Suddenly a gust of wind caught at her coat, and she pulled it closer about her. She couldn’t help but think that in Georgia it would already be warm and the evening breeze redolent with spring flowers.
A shrouded figure stepped out of the shadows, but because Shannon had her head bent against the wind she failed to see it. She suspected nothing, had no time to be frightened, as the figure crept up behind her. A single tap from the butt of his gun rendered her unconscious. With a sigh she crumbled into the arms of her assailant.
Major Vance approached Shannon’s house a full hour later than he intended. Unfortunately Colonel Greer had kept him in the meeting longer than expected. To his dismay, Shannon’s house was dark. Had she grown tired of waiting and retired for the night? Strange … he could have sworn Shannon’s information was urgent enough to warrant her waiting for him. He supposed it could wait until tomorrow, he reasoned, turning away. He’d catch her before she left for school in the morning.
No one answered when Vance knocked on Shannon’s door early the next morning. Thinking she’d already left for the schoolhouse, he walked the short distance to the schoolyard, surprised to find children milling about outside on such a cold, damp morning.
“Is Miss Branigan inside?” he asked one of the older boys.
“Naw, teacher ain’t here yet,” he returned. “It ain’t like her to be late.”
“Is that why you’re all standing about outside?”
“Yeh. Why do ya suppose teacher is late?”
“I don’t know, son, but I aim to find out. Why don’t you and the other students go on home for now. I’ll find Miss Branigan. Tell your parents you’ve been granted a holiday.”
A cheer followed his words and the children quickly scattered. Vance lingered for a time, checking the door—it was locked—and looking through the windows. Shannon was nowhere in sight, nor had she been inside the schoolhouse to start a fire in the stove. A frisson of fear crept up Vance’s spine, and his intuition told him something dreadful had happened to Shannon. Obviously she had information that placed her life in danger and was paying dearly for her prying. He had assumed Shannon had given up the notion of helping solve this case long ago.
Vance prayed he was wrong. He hoped he and Shannon had merely missed one another. He hurried off, hopeful, yet knowing in his heart she wouldn’t be there.
He was right. Shannon wasn’t at headquarters, nor had she been seen since the previous evening. He immediately dispatched a detail of men to search the fort. Two hours later, they returned to report that Shannon Branigan was nowhere to be found. Vance felt justified in returning to Shannon’s house and forcing the door open.
A careful inspection proved that Shannon had never returned to her house last night. The bed hadn’t been slept in, and ingredients for making bread were spread out on the table. The ashes in the stove were cold, indicating that Shannon hadn’t cooked breakfast that morning. Not only was Vance concerned over Shannon’s disappearance, he feared for her life. He had no proof as to the identity of the person or persons who had taken Shannon, but he strongly suspected that Clive Bailey was somehow involved. Vance hurried to Colonel Greer’s office to ask permission to form a patrol to look for Shannon. He wished Blade was here, for if they ever needed his tracking skills it was now.
Shannon opened her eyes to absolute darkness. She tried to move, and couldn’t. Her arms and legs were tightly bound. Panic—sheer, stark panic—seized her when she opened her mouth to scream and tasted the gag. A cloth covered her eyes as well, so she couldn’t see where she was. Still groggy from the blow to her head, Shannon tried desperately to recall what had happened. The last thing she remembered was walking home from headquarters, then everything went blank. She moved her head and a terrible pain pierced her brain. Her groan of agony died in her throat, suppressed by the gag.
In a burst of insight, Shannon recollected what had happened. Someone had struck her on the head and brought her—where? Where was she? And why? Once her head cleared somewhat, it became obvious why she had been attacked. Someone didn’t want her to tell Major Vance what she knew. And that someone was Clive Bailey and his cohort. The shuffle of feet brought all her senses to attention. A squeaking hinge warned her that someone was very near. She learned just how near when a man spoke to her.
“You couldn’t let well enough alone, could you, Shannon?”
Clive Bailey!
“I wanted to marry you, but it was all an act on your part, wasn’t it? You were just fishing for information. Are you the government agent sent by Washington?”
Shannon shook her head in vigorous denial.
“What are we going to do with her?”
“She has to die.”
This from a second person in the room whose hoarse growl Shannon identified immediately as belonging to Clive’s partner.
“It’s such a waste,” Clive sighed regretfully. “Wait, I have a better idea! Mad Wolf offered gold for Shannon once,—I’ll bet he’s willing to do so again. He wanted her damn bad. I did too. Maybe I’ll poke her a time or two before she leaves here.”
“I wouldn’t mind it myself,” the nameless man concurred. Lust colored his words and Shannon shuddered. “But not here, not now—it’s too dangerous. Come morning everyone will know Shannon is missing. I want her delivered to Mad Wolf as soon as possible. Do you know where to find him?”
“I’m fairly certain I’ll find him and his renegades at their secret camp. I know the way,—it’s where I delivered the guns.”
“It has to be done tonight, before a search is instigated,” the man said thoughtfully. “Stuff the girl in a gunny sack and throw her across your horse. At this late hour, no one will be about to see you. I’m depending on you to find Mad Wolf and make the deal.”
“You can count on me.”
“Just remember, half the money is mine.”
Mad Wolf! Dear God, not again, Shannon thought bleakly. Why hadn’t she listened to Blade and avoided Clive Bailey? Then Shannon sensed that she was alone again and began straining against her bonds, but it was futile. She was trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose. Sheer exhaustion soon put an end to her struggles. Unless she thought of something quickly, she’d end up Mad Wolf’s captive again.
Two hours later, Clive Bailey and his partner returned. Despite Shannon’s valiant struggle, she was stuffed into a gunny sack and carried from the room that she since realized must be the storeroom of Bailey’s trading post. The air left her lungs when she was tossed across the back of a horse. The animal was walked for a length of time before a man she assumed was Clive Bailey mounted behind her and galloped off into the night.
Since
Major Vance was the only man besides Blade who knew of Clive Bailey’s involvement in gun smuggling, he went alone to the trading post to see what he could find out. The store was still closed when he arrived, and the ruckus he raised at the door failed to bring the owner. Vance felt no guilt over forcing the door open. A thorough search of Bailey’s living quarters, the store, and the storeroom yielded nothing. But the very fact that Bailey was absent was proof enough for Vance. He firmly believed Bailey was responsible for Shannon’s disappearance. An hour later, Vance received Colonel Greer’s blessing to lead a column of men out of the fort to look for Shannon.
“Major Vance, I’d like to join you.”
“We’re leaving immediately, Lieutenant Goodman.”
“I’m ready, sir. I’d like to help catch the scum who abducted Miss Branigan. She’s an exceptional young lady.”
“Permission granted, Lieutenant. Saddle up. We ride out in five minutes.”
The closer Blade got to the fort, the more anxious he became. Would Shannon still be waiting for him? He hadn’t seen her for over three months—three hellish months of bitter cold, hunger, and deprivation. In the end it had proved too much for Yellow Dog. He died a month ago of pneumonia and complications from wounds received in the massacre. Personally, Blade thought his grandfather had died of a broken heart. Singing Rain’s death had caused him untold anguish; he had mourned her with the deep, abiding sorrow of a father whose children had all preceded him in death.
After Yellow Dog’s death, Blade joined the diminished tribe on a buffalo hunt. The meat was needed for food, the hides for tipis and clothing. Everything was used, nothing wasted. Even the stomach and intestines were cleaned and used, the stomach as a pouch to carry water and the intestines to store mixtures of food. The horns were fashioned into vessels of every description. But the choicest parts were the tongue and liver, which were consumed raw.
They had been fortunate to find such a large herd, for each year buffalo were becoming more and more scarce. Once the buffalo had been processed, his tribe began a long trek to Powder River country where they were to meet with other Sioux for a council meeting held each spring. They had expected Blade to join them, assuming his grandfather’s place as chief. But since neither his mother nor his grandfather were living, Blade found no reason to remain with the tribe. He had great love and respect for his mother’s people, but he’d lived in the white world too long to cling to his Indian ways and become a part of the tribe.
He had remained with the Sioux long enough to see the exodus of the tribe to the Powder River, where he fully expected their small numbers to be integrated into another tribe. He had explained his decision to the council and to his friend Jumping Buffalo, and promised to do all in his power to help the plight of the Indians.
Blade hadn’t forgotten his obligation at Fort Laramie. Both the President and Wade Vance were counting on him. And Shannon was waiting for him. He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again.
Blade knew he loved Shannon. Three months without her was a lifetime of pure hell. They were meant to be together, and he fully intended to tell her so—only he’d have to make her understand that they couldn’t be together until Clive Bailey was behind bars. Selling guns to renegades harmed innocent people, whites and Indians alike. When this was all over, he’d ask Shannon to marry him and hope she loved him enough to bear the stigma attached to marrying a half-breed.
Chapter Fifteen
Blade had just crested a hill when he saw the column of troops below. Assuming it was a patrol from Fort Laramie on routine surveillance, Blade’s first inclination was to let it pass without calling attention to himself. But when he recognized Major Vance at the head of the column, he realized that something serious must have transpired to bring Vance out of the fort. He also noted that Lieutenant Goodman rode with the men and that pack horses carried supplies enough for several days.
Some sixth sense warned him that he’d live to regret it if he didn’t intercept the patrol. Digging his heels into Warrior’s sides, he plunged down the incline, meeting the riders as they came around the bend. Surprise, followed closely by relief, crossed Vance’s features when he recognized Blade. He halted the column, waiting for Blade to approach.
“Blade, you couldn’t have shown up at a better time!” Vance exclaimed jubilantly.
Vance’s words did little to dispel Blade’s premonition of disaster. “What is it, Major? I haven’t heard of any attacks in the area. The Sioux are engaged in spring hunt and have little time for raiding.”
“It’s not Indians, Blade, at least I don’t think it is. It’s—” His words fell off when Lieutenant Goodman rode up to join them. It was all Blade could do to keep from seizing the man and squeezing the life out of him.
“Have the men fall out for a ten-minute rest,” Vance ordered crisply. Reluctantly, Goodman turned to carry out orders, leaving Blade and Vance alone.
“I feel the same way about the man,” Vance said, admiring Blade’s restraint. “Besides, we can trust no one except Colonel Greer. And even he isn’t aware of your position with the government. I’d like to keep it that way until we catch the culprit who is smuggling guns across the prairie.” Vance dismounted. “Walk with me out of earshot and I’ll explain.”
They walked to a rocky ledge where Vance stood shuffling his feet and staring off into space. He knew Blade would be devastated to learn Shannon had been abducted, and he wanted to break it to him gently. But Blade would have none of it.
“All right, Wade, spit it out. What aren’t you telling me?” Suddenly Blade froze, his bronze features drained of all color. He knew! He knew! “It’s Shannon, isn’t it? Something has happened to Shannon.”
Amazed at Blade’s perception, Vance nodded, his face grim. “Shannon is missing, Blade. A search was organized as soon as I learned of it. She is nowhere in the fort.”
“Did you question Clive Bailey?” Blade asked, his heart pounding furiously. He blamed himself for telling her about his investigation and Clive Bailey’s involvement, even though she had more or less forced the truth from him.
“Bailey is missing also,” Vance revealed. “That’s not all. The night before she was discovered missing, Shannon came to see me. Said she had something urgent to discuss. I could only assume it concerned Bailey. Unfortunately I was in a staff meeting and couldn’t leave.
“I sent her home, telling her I’d see her later that evening. But when I arrived, her house was dark. I assumed she had grown tired of waiting and retired for the night. I left, but returned early the next morning. Her house was empty and her bed hadn’t been slept in.”
“Do you think Bailey has her?” Blade asked fearfully. For a man who didn’t frighten easily, he was scared out of his wits. “Wouldn’t he suspect he’d be under suspicion?”
“Bailey has no reason to believe he is suspected of anything,” Vance responded. “When he returns, I’ve no doubt he’ll have a good explanation for his absence. He often visits nearby Indian villages to trade. Do you have any idea where he’d take Shannon?”
“If Shannon learned something to connect him to gun smuggling, he might just decide to kill her,” Blade said, choking on his words. “Is there any possibility that Mad Wolf might have taken Shannon? When he wants something bad enough he rarely gives up.”
“I’ve thought of that, but no one has seen him this past winter, though he might have returned to the summer hunting grounds by now. Do you know where his camp is located?”
“No, but it will be in a place well hidden and not easily accessible. I think we should operate under the assumption that Bailey has Shannon and try to pick up his tracks. Who is doing the tracking?”
“Lieutenant Goodman, and he’s doing a damn poor job of it,” Vance complained disgustedly.
“I’ll take over,” Blade said. He did not ask permission but accepted responsibility on his own. “The sooner we get started the better. But I promise you one thing, Wade, if Bailey has Shannon and he’s harme
d even one hair on her head, I’ll derive great pleasure from killing him.”
Released from the gunny sack once they were well away from the fort, Shannon now rode behind Clive, her hands bound securely around his waist and her gag still firmly in place. Thank God Clive had seen fit to remove her blindfold, Shannon reflected gratefully. They rode almost continuously through the night, stopping for two hours near dawn to rest the horse and allow Clive a brief nap. Shannon was left tied to a tree, unable to move or speak.
“I suggest you get some sleep,” Clive hinted nastily, “for tomorrow you’ll belong to Mad Wolf and there will be little enough rest for you after that. Hell, I’m hoping he’ll let me have a poke for bringing you to him. I’d take you here and now except I need some sleep and we’re not far enough from the fort for me to relax.”
Though Shannon couldn’t speak, her blue eyes flashed her hatred for her captor, her revulsion, her utter contempt. But her furious glances slid off him like water off a duck’s back. Tossing a blanket over her, Clive rested his head on his saddle and promptly fell asleep. They were on their way again shortly after sun-up.
Clive knew exactly where he was going, having been to Mad Wolf’s encampment before. He only hoped the renegade would be there and not off somewhere raiding. Clive was reluctant to kill Shannon himself, but if it came to that he would suffer no guilt over performing the deed. He needn’t have worried. Mad Wolf was at his encampment along with a dozen or so of his followers.
Mad Wolf’s eyes widened in astonishment when he saw Clive Bailey ride in with Little Firebird bound and gagged behind him. He waited outside his tipi until Clive halted before him, untied Shannon’s arms from around his waist and dismounted, dragging Shannon behind down him. He waited for Mad Wolf to speak first, not wishing to anger the hot-headed renegade. Mad Wolf’s piercing black eyes never left Shannon’s face as he addressed Clive in halting English.
