“That’s why,” Nate addressed his wife. “In her condition she shouldn’t do a lot of riding.”
“I am right here,” Lou said. “A few hours in the saddle won’t bother me.”
“No, my husband is right,” Winona said. “Zach might show up while we are gone. You should stay in case he does and I should stay in case you need me.”
“I’m perfectly fine, I tell you.”
“Zach isn’t the only hardhead,” Nate said.
“I just hope he’s all right,” Lou said. “There are so many things that can happen to a person in the wilderness.”
“Yes,” Nate had to admit. “There are.”
The women thought they would be pursued, so they kept running, even when they were well out of sight of the trading post. Raven On The Ground in the lead, they went up the first hill and down the other side. They paused to look back and listen, each of them a shadowy shape in the darkness.
“Are they after us?” Lavender asked.
“Not yet,” Flute Girl said.
“But they will be,” Raven On The Ground declared, and ran on, her dress swishing against her legs.
“I wish we had our horses,” Lavender puffed.
So did Raven On The Ground. On horses they were safer from the beasts that prowled at night, the bears and mountain lions and others. The shriek of a big cat lent substance to her fear. Still, she ran.
When Raven On The Ground finally stopped, she had an ache in her side. Bending over, she gulped for breath. They had put three hills between them and the trading post, but it was nowhere near enough.
Lavender dropped to her knees. “I can’t run another step. I’m sorry.”
“We must,” Flute Girl said. She was breathing hard, her body stooped over. “I think the whites are waiting for daylight, and then they will give chase.” Looking around, she asked, “Where is Spotted Fawn?”
Only then did Raven On The Ground realize that she had not seen the youngest of them since they left the burning lodge. “She has to be here,” she said, and called Spotted Fawn’s name.
There was no answer.
“We left her?” Lavender said in shock.
“Everything was happening so fast,” Flute Girl said.
“That is no excuse.”
Raven On The Ground blamed herself for not noticing when Spotted Fawn let go of her. “The two of you keep going. I will find her.”
“Be sensible,” Flute Girl said. “If you go back, they will catch you.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“It will be better if we get away and get word to Long Hair,” Flute Girl said. “Let our warriors deal with the whites and bring Spotted Fawn back.”
Raven On The Ground started back, but Lavender grabbed her wrist.
“Please don’t.”
“She is my friend.”
“She is a friend to all of us,” Flute Girl said.
“Please,” Lavender pleaded.
With great reluctance, Raven On The Ground gave in. To keep from thinking about Spotted Fawn, she said, “We have rested long enough.”
On through the night they jogged while around them the wilds were alive with the roars and snarls of predators and the bleats and cries of prey.
Gnawing apprehension ate at Raven On The Ground. Not for herself, but for Spotted Fawn. There was no predicting what the whites would do to her in their anger. They had to know that if they harmed her, Crow warriors would swoop down on the trading post in overwhelming force. That would be the end of the whites. They would get what they deserved.
Geist and his bunch were not like Grizzly Killer, Raven On the Ground reflected. They were vile men with no regard for anyone else. They were worse than the beasts that filled the night around her with so much noise. The beasts were only being true to their natures.
It occurred to Raven On The Ground that Geist and those with him were being true to theirs—and she was more worried than ever.
Chapter Eighteen
Toad’s father had been a doctor. He personally had never had any great love for the profession, although his father had always hoped that he would follow in his footsteps. Blood made Toad squeamish and he couldn’t stand even to chop the head off a chicken. Forget cutting into a human being. But he’d learned how to stitch people up, and Dryfus needed stitching, so he volunteered.
Berber brought Dryfus in and laid him on his back on the floor.
Toad carefully pulled at Dryfus’s shirt. Soaked with blood, the shirt had started to dry, and it clung to Dryfus like a second skin. Toad had Berber fetch hot water while he chose a small knife from the collection in a glass case and tested it by running the edge across his thumb. A thin red line welled. He found thread and a big sewing needle, the kind used to stitch canvas, and proceeded to stick the end of the thread through the eye of the needle and tie it.
Dryfus had his hand over the wound and was grimacing in pain. “The damn bitch!”
“You were lucky,” Toad said. The blade had glanced off a rib, sparing Dryfus from a fatal wound. The cut was deep, but he would live.
“I don’t feel lucky,” Dryfus rasped. “It hurts like hell.”
“You wouldn’t feel anything if you were dead.”
“Quit jabbering and stitch me up.”
The front door opened, and in strode Geist. Petrie was behind him. Geist went to the counter and pounded the top. “The building is a loss. By morning it will be cinders.”
“That’s too bad,” Toad said, although secretly he was delighted.
“Where is she?” Geist snapped at Berber.
“We put her in the storeroom. Gratt is keeping watch. She won’t get away like the others did.”
“No, she sure as hell won’t,” Geist declared. “Burning our building. Trying to kill Dryfus. Who do they think they are?”
“You were holding them against their will,” Toad said. “It’s stupid to blame them for trying to get away.”
Geist wheeled and came over. His face had an icy cast and his fists were balled. “Stupid, am I?”
“I didn’t mean you personally,” Toad said. “I meant stupid in general.”
Geist turned to Petrie. “Ever notice how their kind twists words to suit them?”
“They do it all the time.”
“My kind?” Toad asked.
“One of us is stupid and it’s not me.” In a blur Geist drew a pistol, gripped it by the barrel, and savagely clubbed Toad. Once, twice, a third time, and Toad buckled and would have fallen, except that he thrust an arm against a shelf for support.
“No more,” Toad said.
Geist raised the pistol to hit him again. “I’ve had my fill of you.”
Succor came from an unexpected source—Dryfus. “Kill him if you have to, but he was fixing to stitch me up and I sorely need to be stitched.”
Geist glanced down and then slowly let his arm drop, his whole body shaking from the violence of his rage. “For you I’ll stop. But the next time he insults me we bury him and I run the mercantile myself.”
“Too bad,” Petrie said. “I’d have liked to see you bash his brains out.”
Toad fought off nausea and dizziness. “I rue the day we met,” he said.
Still glaring, Geist shoved the pistol under his belt. “I’d shut my mouth, if I were you. You’re this close to buying the farm.” He held a thumb and a finger a fraction apart. “Now then.” He turned to the others. “We have a bigger problem than Levi. The three who got away will make for their village. We have to stop them. They’re on foot, so they can’t move fast. I figure if we head out at first light, we can have them back here by the end of the day.”
“Are all of us going?” Berber asked.
“Use your damn head. Gratt will stay to make sure Levi behaves himself. In the meantime…” Geist hitched at his belt. “I’ll go have a talk with that little red fluff in the storeroom.”
“You won’t hurt her?” Toad said.
Geist put his hand on his pistol and made
as if to jerk it. “Want a second helping?”
Toad shook his head and was racked by another wave of nausea. His stomach flip-flopped and he swallowed bile.
“I didn’t think so. Get to work on Dryfus and do a good job.” Geist turned toward the hall. Grinning, he made a smacking sound with his lips. “You know, boys, all this excitement has made me randy.”
Spotted Fawn had never been so afraid. She stood in a corner of the small room the whites had thrown her in and fearfully watched the white man by the door. He was leaning back, his arms folded, and didn’t seem the least bit interested in her.
She should have run, Spotted Fawn told herself. When she lost hold of Raven On The Ground, she shouldn’t have stood there in the smoke wondering which way to go. She should have just run.
There was a thump on the door. The man leaning against it straightened and opened the door. Geist stormed in. He said something, and the other white man grinned and went out, closing the door behind him. Smiling, Geist came toward her.
Spotted Fawn backed up as far as she could go. She glanced left and right, but there was nothing but shelves piled with goods.
Geist began talking and gesturing.
It was the chattering of a squirrel to Spotted Fawn; she didn’t understand any of it. “Stay back,” she warned. “I will not let you hurt me.”
Geist’s eyes roved from her hair to her moccasins and back again.
Spotted Fawn’s breath caught in her throat. She had seen that kind of look before. Geist wasn’t there to hurt her. He had something else in mind. “Do not come near me. I do not want you.”
Geist reached out.
“No!” Spotted Fawn smacked his hand away. It seemed to amuse him. He reached out again and she smacked him harder. He was staring at her breasts. “You cannot do this,” she said, knowing full well he was going to, that there was no appeal she could make that would dissuade him.
Suddenly lunging, Geist wrapped his arms around her waist. He laughed and nuzzled her neck and stuck his wet tongue in her ear.
Spotted Fawn kneed him. He grunted and his grip slackened, but he didn’t let go. She kneed him again, but he shifted and caught the blow on his thigh. His eyes acquired a glitter that had nothing to do with his hunger for her. He growled some words and tried to press his mouth to hers.
Spotted Fawn fought. She pushed and kicked and struggled to break free, but he was much too strong. In desperation, she butted his face with her forehead. Wet drops spattered her face, and he stepped back, blood streaming from his nose. He bunched his fists.
Spotted Fawn tried to dart past him to the door. A punch to her belly sent her reeling. She slammed against a shelf but managed to stay on her feet.
Outside, there were yells. The door started to open, but Geist barked and it slammed shut again. He sneered at her, said something, then touched himself and advanced.
Spotted Fawn yearned for a knife. She grabbed a folded blanket and threw it at him, and he laughed. Backpedaling, she picked up a metal tin and threw that at him, too. He easily dodged. She retreated and bumped into more shelves. On one was an object with a wood handle and a head made of metal. She had no idea what it was. Standing so Geist couldn’t see, she grabbed the long handle in both hands.
“Stay away from me.”
Geist sneered and came on, blood on his mouth and chin. He spoke in a harsh tone.
Spotted Fawn pretended to cower, and just as his fingers touched her, she swung with all her might. He tried to duck, but he wasn’t quite quick enough and she clipped him across the top of his head. He fell at her feet. She raised her weapon to strike him again, but he wasn’t moving.
Dropping to a knee, Spotted Fawn put down the thing with the long handle and helped herself to Geist’s knife. She hefted it, uncertain. It would do her little good against the other whites. There were too many. They would overpower her. She put the knife down and pulled his pistol. It was heavier than she had expected. She had never held one, but she had seen whites use them and knew that one of the secrets to firing it was to pull back the metal spike on top. She applied both her thumbs and the spike clicked.
Swallowing her fear, Spotted Fawn went to the door. She pressed her ear to it, but heard nothing. Cautiously, she worked the latch as she had seen the whites do. There was another click and it opened. She quickly stepped out.
Gratt and Berber were talking. Berber froze in astonishment, but Gratt started to take a step toward her.
Spotted Fawn pointed the pistol at him and he froze, too. “Stay where you are,” she commanded. They might not understand the exact words, but the tone was clear. Keeping her eyes on them, she backed down the hall. When she and her friends were exploring, they had discovered a back door into the trading post. She would use it and flee into the welcome sanctuary of the night.
Gratt yelled.
Probably telling her to stop, Spotted Fawn thought. She continued to retreat until her back bumped the door. Reaching behind her, she fumbled at the latch. Finally it moved and she pushed on the door and was outside.
Flooded with relief, Spotted Fawn whirled around and ran to the west. Although the flames had dwindled some, the other lodge still burned. She raced toward it, eager to reach the dark beyond.
The pounding of running feet behind her filled her ears.
Spotted Fawn glanced behind her. It was Petrie. She sought to raise the pistol, but he was so very, very quick. The stock of his rifle filled her vision and then she was on her back on the ground, in great pain. He raised his rifle to hit her again, but a shout stopped him. Petrie lowered it and stepped back.
Spotted Fawn tried to rise onto her elbows, but a boot caught her. The breath left her lungs, and she was nearly paralyzed by agony. Blinking, she stared up into the fiercely contorted features of the man known as Geist. He was holding his knife.
Geist bent and spit in her face.
Spotted Fawn wanted to defend herself, but her arms wouldn’t move as they should. His did, though. She saw his knife gleam in the light from the fire, gleam in an arc again and again and again, and she felt wet and warmth and an emptiness that knew no end.
Chapter Nineteen
The three women had run all night and were on the verge of exhaustion.
Raven On The Ground gasped for breath. She came to the bottom of yet another slope and into the shadow of the hill they had crossed, and stopped. “This should be far enough. We will rest.”
No one objected. They had put a lot of distance between them and the trading post.
To the east, the black sky was lightening to gray. Dawn was breaking. The birds were astir, and in a nearby copse of woodland, sparrows chirped.
Lavender wearily sat. “I haven’t run this much since I was a girl.”
“I have lost feeling in my legs,” Flute Girl said.
“It was worth our effort,” Raven On The Ground said. “They won’t catch us now.”
“Unless they have a tracker,” Flute Girl said.
“I can’t stop thinking about Spotted Fawn,” Lavender said. “Do you think she is all right?”
“They wouldn’t be foolish enough to harm her,” Raven On The Ground replied.
Flute Girl disagreed. “They are white. They do not think like we do. What is foolish to us might not be foolish to them.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Poor Spotted Fawn,” Lavender said.
“Let’s not talk about her,” Raven On The Ground said. She eased to the ground and wearily scanned the crown of the last hill they had crossed.
Flute Girl was bent over with her hands on her knees. “If your lover was here, I would tell him what I think of his precious whites.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Why not? You have made no secret of your desire to have him be yours.”
“You blame Chases Rabbits for our plight when it is the fault of the whites?”
“Who convinced us that working for the whites was a good thing to do?”
�
��You forget. The whites held council with Long Hair. They fooled him, too. They pretended to be our friends when they were not.”
Lavender raised her head. “Enough, both of you. There is no question who is to blame. The whites schemed to use us to fill their pokes with money. That is what brought us to this.”
That ended the argument. Raven On The Ground eased onto her back. Streaks of gold lit the eastern sky. The sun was rising. She closed her eyes. Fatigue overwhelmed her. Almost instantly she fell asleep.
Although it felt as though she had slept for only a few minutes, when she opened her eyes the sun was directly above them. She had slept half the day away.
Feeling sluggish and sore, Raven On The Ground sat up. Her friends were sound asleep, Flute Girl snoring. She stood, wincing at the discomfort in her legs.
To the west, mountains reared. Timber covered most of the slopes. Here and there were high cliffs with specks moving on the sheer heights. Mountain sheep, their meat so succulent—it was one of her favorites.
Raven On The Ground stretched. Her body demanded more rest, but they had slept long enough. She went to Lavender and shook her. Lavender mumbled and moved an arm as if to push her away.
“Wake up. We must keep going.” Raven On The Ground shook her harder.
Lavender stirred and blinked, squinting in the bright glare of the sun. “I was having the most pleasant dream.”
“I am sorry.”
“We were in our village. It was night and we were celebrating. Our warriors had killed many buffalo. We had butchered them and there was meat for everyone. We were dancing and singing.”
“We will dance and sing again.”
Raven On The Ground moved to Flute Girl. She placed her hand on the bigger woman’s shoulder and Flute Girl came awake with a start. She sat up and glanced about in alarm.
“What is wrong?”
“We are fine. We must move on.”
For a while they hiked slowly, their leg muscles stiff. The farther they went, the less it hurt. They were walking briskly when Lavender looked over her shoulder and blurted, “No!”
In the distance three riders came on at a trot. There was a fourth, but he was leading extra horses and lagged behind.
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