“You also succeeded because you have no fear. I would never have been able to secretly meet Dog with Horns as you did. I would have feared a trap.”
“A good enemy, nephew, is worth more than many bad friends.”
“Uncle?”
“I knew Dog with Horns would not have me killed without first hearing why I had come to see him. His curiosity would not let him. That is why I had the woman who was gathering roots take word back to him that I was waiting in the forest.”
“You took a great risk.”
“Not really.” The Rattler glanced around. “No one but you need know this. I met Dog with Horns once, back when we were small children, in the days when the Utes and the Shoshones shared Bow Valley. His people arrived while ours were preparing to leave, and for a day we played together. Or I should say, we fought together, because we were always wrestling or racing or doing something else to prove which one of us was the best. He claimed the Shoshones were superior to the Utes, and I had to show him that was not the case.”
“How did you know he would help you try to stop Grizzly Killer?”
“I have studied the nature of men. Beliefs we hold when little often carry over into our adult life. Dog with Horns despised our people when he was young, so I counted on him feeling the same way when I paid him a visit ” The Rattler shook his head to clear water from an eye. “The hard part was finding his village. From past raids I knew the general region he would be in, but not the exact spot.”
“I hope I am as smart as you are when I am your age, Uncle,” Holds the Arrows said.
“Heed my words and do as I do and one day you will be a chief,” The Rattler predicted, giving the youth a clap on the shoulder that caused Holds the Arrows to go under. Thrashing and gasping, the young man popped back up.
“Thank you for your time, Uncle.”
“One more word, then I must check on my horse.”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“Learn to swim.”
~*~
Long Holy stared in the direction they were heading, to the southeast, and remarked, “You continue to surprise me, Grizzly Killer. I thought you would spend at least a day or two searching for sign.”
“And give Mighty Thunder in Sky the time he needs to close in on us?” Nate replied. “This way is better.”
“Is it?” Long Holy asked. “What if you are wrong?”
“How can I be?” Nate rejoined. He swept an arm to encompass the rocky ground stretching for miles and miles until it was swallowed by the early morning haze. “If they were Utes, as I suspect, they will certainly not want to stay in Shoshone territory since they know every warrior who can sit a horse will be out after them. Home is where they will head, and just as rapidly as they can. That means they went southeast, and once we reach the end of this wasteland we should find their tracks easily.”
Just then Winona rode up next to them and said in English, “Nate, will you please take a look at the right strap. I think the cradleboard is slipping.”
Slowing, Nate leaned to the side, giving tiny Evelyn a grin. He also gave the strap a tug, then declared, “Snug as could be, love of my life. And she looks as happy as a lark.”
“She will not stay happy if we do not locate water soon. I did not have as much milk to offer her this morning.”
“If the Utes crossed this godforsaken area, they must know of someplace to find some.”
“Did you stop to think that they do not need water as much as we do? Warriors do not usually bring babies along on raids.”
“They have horses, don’t they? And horses need regular watering.”
“You cannot compare horses to babies.”
Nate didn’t press the point. He was as worried about the problem as she was, perhaps more so since the blame would fall squarely on his shoulders if harm should befall Evelyn. Crossing the wasteland had been his idea and his alone.
By noon a welcome sight relieved Nate’s anxiety. A jagged line of blue-green mounds that grew dramatically in size the farther they went, and by the middle of the afternoon had assumed the towering proportions of regal mountains cloaked in robes of verdant green. Where there was vegetation there had to be water.
Soon the rocky ground gave way to clumps of weeds which in turn expanded into a narrow plain of buffalo grass waving in the wind. Nate was on the lookout for game trails since they invariably led to favorite drinking spots. Temporarily he had forgotten all about the band he was chasing, but he received a timely reminder when he spied brown blotches in the grass, blotches that took on the familiar shape of horse droppings.
“Can I do it, Pa?” Zack asked, eager to demonstrate his skill.
“Go right ahead,” Nate told him.
The boy slid to the ground and squatted next to one of the droppings. Touching it, he said, “Pretty hard, Pa.” He broke off a small piece and rubbed it between his fingertips, testing the texture. “I figure five, maybe six days.”
“That fits,” Nate said. He pointed out several sets of tracks. “Here’s where they stopped to take the blanket strips off the hoofs of their horses.”
“Do you really think we can catch them when they have such a big lead on us?” Zach inquired as he climbed back into the saddle.
“Maybe,” Nate said. “It all depends on how badly they want to reach their village. If they’re convinced no one is after them, and if they’re content to take their sweet time, we have a chance.”
From the plain into the mountains they rode, often finding clear hoofprints on patches of bare earth. Steadily upward they bore until, as the sun framed the western skyline, they came to a small lake nestled in a hollow flanked by two ridges. Here they made camp. And here Winona found evidence of a campfire.
“From the amount of charred limbs and such,” Nate speculated as he poked the blackened remains with a stick, “they must have rested up a day or two before continuing.” His teeth reflected the fading sunlight. “Looking better and better all the time.”
Long Holy speared a half-dozen fish for their supper. The night was serene, the stars exceptionally bright. Well before dawn they resumed the chase, and since those they were following had proceeded at a leisurely pace, they were able to gain a lot of ground by nightfall. The next day was the same. And the next.
Finally, the subsequent morning, Nate emerged from a high pass to behold a spacious valley winding southward. And several miles off, near a stream, rose a column of smoke.
“Think it’s them, Pa?” Zach asked hopefully.
“There’s only one way to find out, son.”
Availing themselves of the best cover, they slowly worked their way to the valley floor and into a belt of trees which screened their movements and brought them to within a quarter of a mile of the smoke.
Zach again volunteered, this time to shimmy up a tree. “I see a bunch of horses and some warriors, Pa,” he reported. “Can’t tell which tribe they belong to from here. Let’s see. Eight. Nine. No, there’s another. Ten, all told, but there could be more. There’s some brush and stuff blocking part of the camp.”
“Anything else?”
“Just a big old buck they have strung from a tree limb. Two of ’em are cutting it up.”
“That’s why they’ve stopped,” Nate said with glee. “All right. Come on down.” He leaned the Hawken against a tree, drew his knife, removed his whetstone from his possibles bag, and sat on a log. “I imagine they’re tired of eating rabbits and squirrels and such, what with being on the go for so long. They must be fixing to have a fine feast tonight. Then they’ll head out come daylight. Well, we’ll have something to say about that.”
“Do you have a plan, husband?” Winona asked.
“Not yet. I’m sort of making it up as I go along. Give me some time,” Nate said. He glanced at Long Holy, and caught the warrior in the act of giving him an intent scrutiny. “Is there something on your mind?” he asked in Shoshone.
“I think you are making a mistake.”
“In what
way?”
“There are too many. You and your family will be wiped out if you fight.”
“Then we will be wiped out together,” Nate said, beginning to sharpen his blade.
“Do you value the lives of your wife and children so lightly that you would throw them away for nothing?”
Nate paused in mid-stroke. “There is no one in this world I value more than my family,” he said, barely controlling the resentment he felt at having his love for them questioned. “Their lives mean more to me than my own does. And I would not call clearing our name so we can live in peace among the Shoshones again as ‘nothing’.”
“I did not mean to insult you,” Long Holy said. “I asked because I have grown to like all of you very much and I would not care to see any of you be slain.”
“If all goes well we will not be.”
“If,” Long Holy emphasized, coming closer. “But perhaps there is a wiser way. Perhaps we should wait.”
“Wait?” Nate glanced up. “Wait for what?”
“A better chance.”
“There will never be a better time. They feel safe here or they would not have stopped, so their guard will be down. And after they fill their bellies tonight, they will be so drowsy we can capture every last one with no problem.”
“They might have someone stand guard. I urge you to wait.”
The request struck Nate as being so odd that he jumped to the conclusion Long Holy must have an ulterior motive for making it. He thought of how quiet, how preoccupied, the warrior had been the last few days, and for the first time he wondered if he had made an error in allowing Long Holy to tag along. A query was on the tip of his tongue when he detected motion behind the Shoshone, and peering into the trees he saw something that made his blood pump faster.
Zach had been right. There were more members of the band, two more, in fact, and both were coming through the trees straight toward them.
Chapter Eleven
Nate King had only seconds to do something. The Indians were about thirty yards out, talking as they strolled side by side. Neither man was looking in front of him. Soon one was bound to, and all hell would erupt.
“Hide out!” Nate urged, pointing.
Zach and Long Holy glanced around, recognized their plight, and instantly took refuge behind trees.
Winona turned, frowned, and came over to the log as Nate flattened behind it with his rifle at his side.
“Get down here with me! There’s room for two.”
“You will need a distraction.”
“Too risky. Hurry.”
As if she hadn’t heard, Winona coolly took a seat on the log, adjusted her dress, and began feeding the baby from her breast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Nate demanded, grabbing the hem of her garment. “Lie down before they spot you!”
“Shhhhh,” Winona said. “And don’t miss.” She winked at him, then bowed her head, resting her chin on Blue Flower.
The only choice Nate had was to play along. Squabbling would alert the warriors to his presence, and if they attacked, Winona was right out in the open, a perfect target. Furious at the risk she was taking—and not a little proud at her brazen ploy—he rose on one elbow and peeked around her hip.
Both braves were still advancing. The style of buckskins they wore identified them as Utes. Suddenly the tall one on the right, who held a bow, scanned the woods and froze. He had seen Winona and the horses. His companion, gazing in the same direction, blinked in astonishment. Exchanging perplexed expressions, they crouched and came warily nearer, their attitude and posture showing they suspected a trap.
Winona started humming softly while rocking back and forth, her hand gently stroking Evelyn. “Be ready, husband,” she whispered. “When they are close enough I will drop down.” Then she hummed louder.
Nate could feel sweat forming in his hand, but he dared not release the knife to wipe it off. The Utes were coming on quickly now. They had seen no one besides Winona, so perhaps they believed whoever else was with her had gone on toward the camp. Or perhaps they were concerned for their fellows and wanted to find out what was happening so they could give warning if the other Utes were in danger.
Ten yards out the tall one stopped and used sign to inform the other brave to bear to the left and approach “the woman” from the side.
Pulling back, Nate listened to the tall warrior’s almost noiseless approach. The man spoke gruffly to Winona, who simply went on nursing and humming. Sounding angry, the warrior addressed her in Ute once more. The next moment Winona threw herself to the right.
Nate surged to his feet. The tall warrior had a shaft notched to his bowstring, but he was holding the bow at his waist rather than having it ready to shoot. Nate’s right arm flashed in a lightning arc. From the end of his hand streaked a glittering bolt that buried itself at the base of the Ute’s throat, all the way to the hilt.
Eyes going wide in disbelief, the tall warrior dropped the bow and frantically backed away. Gurgling and whining, he clutched at the knife and yanked it free. In doing so, he transformed his neck into a crimson fountain as blood gushed from the severed arteries. The brave tripped over a root, fell on his backside, and sat there pumping his life’s fluid all over the grass.
Nate spun, his right hand falling to his tomahawk. Dispatching the second Ute quietly was imperative if he hoped to avoid alerting the rest. But he need not have worried.
The other Ute stood not eight feet away, his posture unnaturally slumped, his arms and fingers limp. From the center of his chest jutted the explanation, the red tip of Long Holy’s lance. Slowly the Ute sank down onto his side. Long Holy placed a foot on the dead man’s shoulder, gave a powerful wrench, and tore his lance loose.
From behind a pine Zach stepped. “Awww,” he groused, “I didn’t get to count any coup!”
“There will be other times,” Nate said, watching Long Holy bend over with knife in hand. A few skilled slices and the warrior had his trophy.
“Can I do yours, Pa?” Zach asked. “Please! You’ve never let me before and I’d love to do it!”
Nate hesitated, inclined to refuse the request. There had been occasions when out of adherence to Shoshone custom he had taken scalps, but he had never been able to reconcile himself to the practice. Like the self-mutilation practiced as a sign of grief, scalping went against his personal grain. Whether done by whites or Indians, barbarism was barbarism. He began to shake his head when Winona nudged him with an elbow.
“Some of the other fathers have let their sons lift hair.”
“He’s so young.”
“My father had his first scalp when he was the same age.”
The glow of youthful longing did Nate in. “Go ahead,” he said against his better judgment.
Beaming, Zach whipped out his knife, dashed to the tall warrior, and in imitation of the many times he had seen various Shoshones and his father lift hair, he inserted the tip under the front of the scalp, worked the razor-sharp blade back and forth, then straightened with the gory scalp waving from his bloody hand. “Look, Pa! I did it! I did it right!”
“That you did,” Nate conceded. “But not so loud. We don’t want the others to hear.” Since the harm had been done, he added, “You can hold onto it until we get home, if you’d like.”
“Thanks, Pa. You’re the best father there is.”
“Time will tell.”
“Pa?”
“Nothing, son. Nothing at all.” Turning, Nate moved through the trees to where he could spy on the Ute camp without being seen. From what he could tell, none of them had heard a thing. They were still carving up the buck. A few were seated by the fire. Their horses, he noticed, were tethered near cottonwoods, which gave him an idea for later on.
Zach had fastened the scalp to his belt when Nate returned. The boy showed it off proudly. “I can’t wait until I have a whole string,” he declared. “Maybe one day I’ll have so many I can make a coat out of them like that Mandan we saw once.”<
br />
Nate squatted in front of his son, tapped the scalp, and said softly, “That there was part of a human being, Zach. A living, breathing person like you and me. A person whose life I just took. It must never be taken lightly.” He fingered the silken strands. “Think of how many lives you would have to take to make a whole coat.”
“A heap,” Zach said thoughtfully.
“I know the Shoshones and other tribes see it differently, but I can’t help thinking that the Good Lord didn’t put us here to spend our days wiping each other out. There has to be more to life than killing.”
“I see your point, Pa. I’m sorry I got carried away.”
Nate tousled his son’s hair and grinned. “You had it wrong before. You don’t have the best father. I have the best son.” He gave the boy a firm hug, and as he did he saw Long Holy giving them both a peculiar look.
“What do we do next, Grizzly Killer?” the Shoshone asked, but a bit too quickly, as if he was bothered at being caught.
“We haul these bodies off, cover them with brush, and hide somewhere,” Nate answered, standing. “The rest of the Utes are bound to come searching for their friends, and we do not want to be here when they do.”
“I will take care of the bodies,” Long Holy offered. Going to the one he had lanced, he gripped the man by the ankles and began dragging him away.
Nate walked to Winona, who was untying her mare, and looping his arms around her slender waist, kissed her on the ear.
“What was that for, husband?”
“For being the most contrary female this side of the Divide.”
“I must remember to be contrary more often.”
“What you did was very brave,” Nate said, stepping to the stallion, “but you took too big a chance. What if those Utes had put an arrow or a lance into you the moment they laid eyes on you?”
“Into a lone woman with a baby at her breast?” Winona laughed. “I think not, dearest. They were too curious to kill me, as any man would have been.”
“Not all men. There are some who kill others for the thrill of it.”
Winona stared at him, then came to his side. Holding Evelyn out of the way, she made sure Long Holy was nowhere in sight before kissing Nate full on the lips. “Your concern is touching. We can argue about this another day, if you wish. For now, all that matters is the trick worked and we are still alive.”
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