Game time, Russell. Do something the opposition will least likely expect.
Chase stopped in his tracks. He whirled around, and assumed a fighting stance, his legs wide apart, his knees bent, and his arms out at his sides, holding his weapons in his hands. Breathing hard, a wide sneer crossed his face. The maneuver had worked. His opponent looked stunned and surprised. He tried to stop, tried to brandish his spear, but in his shocked disbelief, he tripped and fell to the ground. With a loud splintering noise, the spear broke in half. Chase gave him no chance to recover. With a loud roar he ran at the man on the ground. He dropped his weapons and grabbed for the broken lance. The man tried to struggle, but Chase used his size to his advantage, holding the warrior to the ground. He rammed the spearhead into the dirt, pinning the man’s shirt into the ground. He could have easily killed the warrior, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hoped rendering him immobile would buy enough time to put some distance between them.
Chase stood and righted himself. His other pursuer was gaining ground, and he could also see several more warriors emerge from the trees. He lunged for his weapons, and took off again, straight for the bison herd. He remembered all the warning pamphlets he’d read that the park service provided, which stated to stay at least 25 yards away from bison. They were dangerous and could gore a man in seconds.
To hell with that. Chase needed another tactical surprise element. He ran straight for the herd. Several of the lumbering beasts looked up from their grazing when he approached. He didn’t slow down. He ran and darted between the big beasts. Several shied away, kicking and galloping in the opposite direction – the direction his pursuers came from. Chase whooped and punched the air with one hand, sending even more bison scurrying.
He could hear the rushing sound of the river now. It was just up ahead. He’d made it through the herd unharmed. He hoped his tactics had paid off. He couldn’t run any further. Plunging head first into the cold water, he welcomed the soothing feeling on his scorched skin. He gulped mouthfuls of water even as he swam downstream, aided by the current. He was swept past a beaver lodge. What had Sarah told him?
“I once hid from my brothers for an entire day inside a beaver lodge. They were so furious with me that I outsmarted them.”
“Thank you, angel.” He grinned. He pulled himself through the water, back upstream towards the beaver dam. He dove and swam under the lodge, until he found the opening. When he resurfaced, he was in a dark, muddy chamber. A beaver sat in the mud, chatting loudly at seeing the intruder. Chase ignored it.
How long would he have to stay hidden? The cold water began to chill him, and it was dank inside the lodge. He pulled himself up onto the muddy platform. The beaver abandoned his perch and dove into the water, slapping his tail in protest. Did those Indians know this little trick? He could be a sitting duck for all he knew.
He drew his legs up close to his body, shivering as the minutes turned to hours. Once, he thought he heard voices just above, but they quickly died away. His surroundings darkened even more. Chase huddled against the mud, gritting his chattering teeth. He closed his eyes. If he could sleep for a few hours, he could continue to the geyser basin in the morning. He knew it might be best in the cover of night, but he’d get lost. In the blackness, he wouldn’t be able to see anything.
He drifted in and out of sleep. Sarah’s face materialized before him. Imagining her smile warmed his insides.
He was in love with her.
The realization still stunned him. Did she have feelings for him, too? Why should she? He wasn’t the kind of man she needed. She needed a strong man who knew his way around the mountains and would protect her from its dangers. He couldn’t even keep his own ass out of trouble.
Her father had probably already given her in marriage to that Indian guy. Anger boiled inside him when he thought of her in the arms of someone else, of another man touching her, making love to her. He shook his head. It was probably for the best. What could she possibly see in you, Russell? You’re nothing but a screw-up.
Would her old man simply sell her to the highest bidder? Is that how marriage was arranged among the Indians? He had no idea how to barter for a woman in this time. The thought was ludicrous. He still needed to get home to his own time. He couldn’t let her know how he felt about her. She’d probably just laugh in his face.
He woke with a start. Faint sunlight streamed in through some of the tightly-woven branches above him. He clenched his teeth and hissed when he tried to move. How long had he slept in this folded up position? He forced his legs to stretch. He was numb from the cold, his body caked in dirt. Blood splattered his chest, and his feet looked like they’d been put through a meat grinder.
You need to get moving. You can’t stay here.
He scooted off the muddy ledge into the water with a soft splash, biting his lips when his raw feet touched the water. Inhaling deeply, he dove and swam under, and resurfaced near the shoreline. He emerged slowly, grateful that the riverbank was overgrown with tall grasses. At least it would provide some cover. He glanced around. The bison had moved on. A hawk fluttered nearby, squawking loudly. Other than that, he saw nothing but wide open meadow. He hoisted himself up out of the water, and sank back to the ground onto his back. The warmth of the early morning sun did little to stop his shivering.
Get up, Russell. You need to move.
He was so damn tired. There wasn’t a spot on his body that didn’t hurt. His stomach growled loudly.
Chase stood and wobbled on unsteady legs. Walking on broken glass through hot coals had to be less painful than the agony in his feet at the moment. He forced himself to walk in the direction of the smoke plumes. It couldn’t be more than a couple miles. He had to at least work the stiffness out of his legs. The pain in his feet he could deal with. He began swinging his arms back and forth to increase the circulation in his body, and his strides lengthened.
He looked ahead, scanning the distance. Any second now, he expected his pursuers to materialize out of the forest up ahead. Had they given up? Somehow he didn’t think so.
Chapter 19
Sarah paced along the riverbank. The horse she’d been given to return home on cropped lazily at the tall grasses. She hadn’t slept all night. Was Chase dead? Surely someone would have announced their victory to her by now if he had been killed. She fought the urge to mount up and cross the Firehole, and search for him. Chief Heavy Moccasin had warned her not to interfere. If she was found on the other side of the Firehole, his warriors had permission to kill her, too.
She recalled some of the horrific tales told by other trappers of the Blackfoot toying with their captives. The games were never intended to bring victory to the unfortunate prisoner. They were designed to torture and prolong death. Chase didn’t stand a chance. She had never heard of anyone surviving one of these cruel games.
She’d known there was no hope for him the moment Heavy Moccasin had told her of his intent. She had bartered and pleaded with him for Chase’s life to no avail. She’d even threatened that her father would no longer trade with the tribe.
Heavy Moccasin had merely laughed at her, saying he would not bargain with a woman, and she should consider herself fortunate that she’d be allowed to return to her home unharmed. He even granted her a brief moment to speak with Chase. Out of respect for her father, he had given her the use of a horse, and allowed her to retrieve Chase’s clothing. When she’d left the village, he had told her someone would send her a piece of Chase’s body as a gift. It was considered a great honor. Sarah swallowed back the bitterness in her throat at the thought.
The horse suddenly popped its head up. Grass hung from its lips. Its ears were pricked and its head turned towards the river. Sarah’s heart beat faster. What had the horse seen or heard? She grabbed for her rifle and scanned into the distance. She couldn’t see anything except the smoke and mist from the hot water pools on the opposite side of the river.
The horse didn’t resume its grazing. It moved arou
nd nervously, and Sarah was grateful that she’d remembered to hobble the mare’s front legs together to keep her from running off. Something was definitely on the other side of the river. Her eyes moved systematically up and down along the tree line far off in the distance. Suddenly she spotted two warriors. They were running towards the hot springs in her direction. What were they doing? Sarah dared not hope. Was Chase alive? Had he made it this far? It seemed impossible. Those two warriors were definitely trying to position themselves to head someone off.
Sarah continued to scan into the distance, her heart pounding as she struggled to see anything. There! To the south, a figure darted out of the trees. She dared not believe her eyes. Chase! She laughed, tears streaming down her face. This man, this incredible man was making a mockery out of the mighty Blackfoot warriors! Several other figures emerged from the forest in hot pursuit. She could hear their frantic war cries. All he had to do was run straight to the river, and he’d be safe. At the pace he was going, he would easily outrun his pursuers.
With a sinking heart, she remembered the two warriors who lay in waiting. Sarah didn’t waste another second. She knew she was too far away to shoot, but she could at least warn him. Running upriver toward where she’d seen the two Blackfoot, she spotted them lying on the ground, like cougars ready to spring at an unsuspecting antelope. Sarah aimed her rifle. She knew she wouldn’t hit either of them. The distance was too great. But it would alert Chase, and perhaps distract these two.
The sound of the gun echoed into the distance. The two Indians jumped up, whooping loudly.
“Cowards,” Sarah yelled at them across the river in the Siksika dialect. The two stared at her from across the water. With trembling hands, she reloaded her rifle. “You are nothing but old women, hiding like weaklings.” She peered towards the south. Chase was almost at the river. The two warriors she’d surprised lifted their loincloths behind their backs and bent their rears towards her, laughing loudly, then dashed upriver.
“Chase! Look out!” she called frantically. He must have seen them by now. He didn’t alter his speed or his course. In mid-run, he raised his arm, and threw an ax he held in his left hand at the warrior closest to him. The man dropped like a rock. Sarah pointed her rifle at the other warrior, who’d slowed his advance, probably from surprise at his companion’s unexpected death. She fired off her shot. It fell short of the Indian by mere feet, sending up dirt, but it gave Chase the advantage he needed. He plunged into the river. She watched him go under, then his head popped up through the waves, and he pulled himself through the strong current, to reach the other side.
He was almost to shore, and Sarah ran to meet him. Several of his pursuers reached the other bank, their war cries shrill and loud. Two of the warriors threw their spears. One landed within inches of Chase’s head in the water. He scrambled up the embankment, gasping for air. He hadn’t pulled himself all the way up, when he collapsed onto the soft earth. She dropped to her knees at his side, grabbing his arm, trying to drag him up the riverbank. He didn’t budge.
“Move!” she yelled in his ear. “Just a little further.” It was impossible for her to try and pull him. Slowly, and with a long moan, he lifted his upper body and pulled himself up the soft slope. His ragged gasps for air tore at her heart.
Several more spears darted through the air. Sarah shot to her feet.
“He has defeated you all! He is a better warrior than fifty of you put together. Go home and tell your families of your defeat.” The Indians responded with shrill cries of their own at her insults, but she knew none of them would dare cross the river. They all might be angry at their defeat, but the respect they now had for this white man would not allow for a cowardly killing.
Her attention returned to the man lying on the ground, his body heaving with each painful breath. With an agonizing moan, he rolled onto his back. Sarah ran to the horse and grabbed her blanket. She averted her eyes and covered his torso. Tears streamed down her face. She knelt beside him and cradled his head between her hands. His body was covered in dirt, bruises, and blood that the quick plunge through the river did not wash off. She gasped at the condition of his feet. How was he able to stand, much less run? Raw flesh wounds and cuts marred his soles.
Chase blinked, and opened his eyes, and a smile formed on his lips. “Angel?” he rasped between gasps for breath.
“Shhh, don’t talk,” Sarah whispered, stroking his cheeks.
“Thank…God you’re okay, angel.” He closed his eyes again, and his body went limp.
“Chase?” Sarah shrank back in shock. No, his chest heaved. He was still breathing. The thought of him dying now was unthinkable. Sarah glanced up and across the river. A group of warriors still stood, watching, probably hoping to claim victory after all if Chase was dead.
“He lives,” she yelled. “Go home.” Several raised their weapons high in the air, but none of them made a sound. Sarah knew it was a gesture of respect. Slowly, the group turned and headed in the direction they had come.
Her full attention returned to Chase. She had no supplies with her to properly take care of his wounds. The slow trickle of blood from his nose alarmed her. Her mother’s teachings came back to her full force. If he stayed lying on his back, he would drown in his own blood. Sarah pulled at his arm, then shoved at his back, grunting to get him rolled at least on his side. She pulled a piece of deadfall behind him so he couldn’t roll onto his back again.
Satisfied that he breathed steadily, she gathered wood for a fire. She wished he hadn’t passed out. There was no shelter along the banks of the river. Twenty yards away, the trees would offer protection from wind, but here in the open it would be more difficult to stay warm. She didn’t have a choice. She had to build her camp around him. He was too big and heavy for her to move.
Chase began to shiver a short while later. She’d built the fire as close to him as she dared, and added more wood. She pulled his bundle of clothes from the horse’s back, unfolding his shirt. Maneuvering him as best as she could, she managed to pull it on him. The blanket would have to be enough to cover his lower half, until he woke and could pull his britches on himself.
Fresh tears welled up in her eyes when she assessed his feet. She needed to clean the dirt off of them somehow. She filled her water bag at the river, and while pouring the liquid over his feet, used her hands to gently clean away the mud and debris that clung to his open wounds. Chase flinched and moaned several times, and pulled his feet away, but Sarah kept to her task. Without a second thought to her own comfort should the weather turn cold, she pulled at the shoulder seams of her shirt, until the sleeves were free. It would have to do for bandages. She wrapped these around his feet, then pushed his moccasins on to offer more warmth and protection.
All she could do now was watch and wait. She sat by his side, staring down at him while he slept. If he woke soon, there would be time to reach the cabin before the darkness of night. Should she try and rouse him? She could care for him properly in her own home.
Tentatively, she touched trembling fingers to his cheek. Her chest tightened, and she smiled slowly. She loved him. Why this man? She’d never experienced such feelings of joy and warmth in her heart. She loved her parents, and her brothers, but this was different.
She no longer had doubts that Chase could survive in these mountains. He had done what no other man had ever accomplished. All he needed was a guide, a teacher, to show him the way of life here. Chase didn’t believe in himself. That much was clear to her. Something had happened to him that prevented him from seeing himself as a capable man. Would he see himself differently now? And how did he see her?
Sarah, stop fooling yourself. He doesn’t want to stay in the mountains. He wants to go home. He has made this clear on many occasions.
Even if Chase stayed in the mountains, would he want to be tied to a woman? He had told her he wanted no attachments. Could he learn to care for her? He liked kissing her, she knew that much. But all men enjoyed that, and it didn’t have
to be with a woman they loved or cared for. She’d seen enough of that at rendezvous, Fort Raymond, and St Louis.
Sarah sighed. She would not burden him with her thoughts. A man who wanted a wife made his intentions known. Hawk Soaring suddenly entered her mind. He had asked for her. She’d never realized he notice her in that way. If her father insisted she marry him, what would she do? Sarah had no answers. Could she marry one man, even though she loved another?
Chase stirred, pulling her out of her thoughts. His painful moan tore at her heart. She wished she could take away his suffering. His body would need time to heal, and Sarah knew he should not be out in the elements in the cold of night. She had to get him home.
“Chase.” She touched his shoulder, giving it a gently shake. “Please wake up.” His eyelids opened slowly.
“Sarah?” His voice sounded weak and far away.
“Chase, we need to leave. We can’t stay the night here. There is no shelter.”
He hissed when he tried to move. “Just…go and leave me,” he rasped.
Anger suddenly coursed through her. “I did not wait here an entire day and night just to have you die now, Chase Russell. How dare you think I would leave you behind.”
A strained smile formed on his lips. He tried to push himself on his elbows, then grimaced. He finally managed to pull himself to a sitting position, and glanced down, then at her. “You dressed me?”
“Only your shirt.” She kept her voice indifferent. His quick and shallow breaths told her how much pain he was in. If only she could comfort him. Her anger seemed to have spurred him to action, however. If it required her to be angry to get him moving, then that’s what she would use.
“Here are your britches.” She held them out for him. “I’ll tend the horse, and I suggest you get dressed. We need to be on our way.”
“You should really consider becoming a football coach, you know that, angel?” Without warning, he pulled the blanket from his lower half.
Yellowstone Redemption Page 15
