Wilderness: Vengeance Trail/ Death Hunt (A Wilderness Western Book 4)

by Robbins, David

  “I have noticed this,” Lame Elk said. “White people do not seem to know about spirit things. They do not let the Everywhere Spirit guide their lives. They do not even know they have a spirit center. This, too, is most perplexing. I do not see how the whites can hope to prosper unless they drastically change their ways.”

  “I am sorry to say it, but I agree,” Spotted Bull said to Nate. “Your people are more puzzling than women. Whites treat the land as if they own it, and they take more from the land than they give to it. This is terribly wrong.” He scratched his chin. “Look at what has happened to the beaver. In the few winters that white trappers have been taking pelts, more beavers had been killed than in all the winters that have gone before all the way back to the beginning of all things. Why do whites have such little regard for the natural order of the world?”

  “I honestly do not know,” Nate replied.

  “Well I do,” Lame Elk said. “We’ve given the matter much thought and I believe the problem is that whites do not go around barefoot enough.”

  Nate blinked, uncertain if he’d heard correctly. “I don’t follow you.”

  “I was told that most white men wear heavy boots and white women wear odd shoes all the time. The trappers and a few others wear moccasins. But except for white children, hardly any whites ever go around barefoot,” Lame Elk said. “How do your people expect to stay in touch with Nature if they fail to take a walk in the grass every now and then? We must feel the earth under our naked feet if we are to fully appreciate our ties to the natural order of things.”

  “I never thought of it in quite that way,” Nate said.

  Just then, from off to the south, arose the clamor of many voices and the sound of a general commotion. Footsteps pounded outside the lodge entrance and a male voice called out, “Spotted Bull, this is Fox Tail. May I speak to you?”

  “Enter,” Spotted Bull said.

  A young warrior poked his head inside. “I thought you would like to know. A hunting party has just returned, and they have captured an enemy of our people.”

  “Where are they now?” Spotted Bull asked, rising.

  “On the south shore of the lake near Chief Broken Paw’s lodge,” the young warrior said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must inform others.”

  “Thank you for telling us,” Spotted Bull said.

  The young warrior backed out and raced off.

  “This is great news,” Lame Elk said. “Things were getting too boring around here. Now we will have some excitement. Maybe we will get to torture this enemy before he dies.” He laid down the pipe and pushed himself up to his feet. “Let us go see what is happening.”

  Spotted Bull looked at Nate. “Would you like to come along?”

  “I certainly would,” Nate said, rising and grabbing the Hawken. He winked at Winona and trailed the two men outside where the bright light made him squint. They turned southward, joining scores of other Shoshones, mostly men but also a few women who had heard the news and were eager to glimpse the prisoner for themselves.

  By the time Nate and his new friends arrived at the chief’s huge lodge, over a hundred Shoshones already ringed the lodge entrance where the chief, the hunting party, and the captive now stood. Nate had to stand on tiptoe to see the members of the hunting party, and he was surprised to spot Drags The Rope among them. Then the ranks of spectators in front of him momentarily parted and he got a good look at the prisoner. His blood ran cold at the sight. It was Red Hawk.

  Chapter Eight

  The Dakota warrior stood with his shoulders squared and his head held erect and proud, radiating defiance from every pore. His wrists had been bound with thick strips of leather behind his back. His chest and arms bore scratch marks, indicating he had been involved in a fight, and a jagged tear now marred his leggings from his left knee to his ankle. All of his weapons had been confiscated. His brown stallion was off to the left with the mounts belonging to the hunting party.

  Drags The Rope was engaged in earnest conversation with an elderly warrior who wore a crown of eagle feathers.

  Some of the Shoshones were taunting the Sioux, insulting his tribe and lineage or casting aspersions on his manhood. A few bold children dashed up to him and threw sticks at his face and torso.

  Nate didn’t know what to do. During the brief time he’d been with Red Hawk, he’d grown to like him. He didn’t want to see anything happen to the outcast. But he worried that if he dared to speak up the Shoshones might hold it against him. He bided his time and moved closer, trying to hear the discussion between Drags The Rope and Chief Broken Paw.

  “—climbed a ridge to spot game and saw him watering his horse at a stream,” Drags The Rope was saying. “White Lynx, Man Afraid, and I sneaked down and surprised him while he was seated on the bank, deep in thought. He never heard us coming. Once we laid our hands on him, he put up a great struggle. The others had to come help us subdue him.”

  The Chief glanced at their prisoner. “I know you are an Oglala. Do you speak our tongue?”

  Red Hawk made no reply.

  “Very well,” Broken Paw said and switched to sign language. “We will untie you so you can speak in sign. If you try to get away, we will cut your feet off.” He nodded at Drags The Rope.

  A knife flashed in the sunlight and the leather strips binding the Sioux fell to the grass. He began rubbing his wrists while glaring at his captors.

  “Now tell us your name,” Broken Paw said.

  “Red Hawk.”

  “Where is the rest of your war party? Were you sent ahead to spy on our village? How many Dakotas are with you?” Broken Paw asked, his hands flying.

  “I am alone.”

  The chief frowned. “Do you take me for a fool, Oglala? You would have me believe that you came all the way from the Dakota hunting grounds alone?”

  “I speak the truth,” Red Hawk said. “I am not here on a raid. All I want is to be left in peace.”

  Many in the crowd started whispering, and from the baleful glances they cast at the captive it became apparent to Nate that Red Hawk would be extremely lucky to live out the hour.

  A husky Shoshone standing near Drags The Rope suddenly raised a war club overhead and bellowed for all to hear. “There is only one way to deal with this Oglala dog! I say we treat him as his kind would treat us!”

  There were cries of assent from a number of spectators, and a few men clamored for the Sioux’s scalp.

  Nate realized the Shoshones were gradually working themselves into a killing frame of mind. No matter what Red Hawk said, the Shoshones wouldn’t believe him. He hefted the Hawken, debating what to do. As an adopted member of the tribe he was welcome to speak up at formal gatherings, but he didn’t know what to say.

  Broken Paw gestured for silence and faced the prisoner again. “If you are not here on a raid, then why are you in our territory?”

  “I am passing through,” Red Hawk said. “I did not know I was close to your village until a short while before your warriors jumped me, and I was heading away from here when they did.”

  “Even if your words are true,” Broken Paw signed, “our people and yours have fought a number of times in the past. We have no treaty with the Oglalas. This makes you our enemy.”

  Red Hawk sighed. “I know.”

  “As our enemy, you know the treatment you will receive,” Broken Paw said. “The same treatment your people would give one of us if the situation was reversed.”

  Suddenly the husky warrior gave Red Hawk a brutal shove that knocked the Dakota to his knees, then waved his war club in the air and whooped wildly. “I say we stake this dog out and try our luck with lances.”

  “I agree, White Lynx!” one of the watching warriors called out. “He will look like a porcupine when we are done.”

  Nate glanced at Spotted Bull and Lame Elk, both of whom were solemnly observing the proceedings. He doubted either would help him if he dared to intervene.

  White Lynx took hold of Red Hawk’s hair and j
erked savagely. “Who will help me stake him out?”

  Several men eagerly started forward.

  Horrified at the prospect of Red Hawk being killed, Nate gripped the Hawken in both hands and gulped. It was now or never. He might not be able to influence the outcome, but at least he could live with his conscience if he knew he’d tried his best to assist the Dakota. His every nerve tingling, he took several strides past the ring of Shoshones and shouted at the top of his lungs. “No!”

  Total silence abruptly engulfed the Shoshones. Amazed expressions were turned in the frontiersman’s direction and a murmur rippled among the crowd.

  Broken Paw pivoted, betraying surprise when he laid eyes on Nate. “And who are you, white man? I do not believe we have ever met.”

  “I am known as Grizzly Killer,” Nate said formally. “I am married to Black Kettle’s daughter, Winona.” He became aware that Spotted Bull and Lame Elk were standing at his side.

  “Yes. I have heard of you,” Broken Paw said, stepping forward. He gestured at Red Hawk. “Why do you seek to protect this man?”

  “I know him,” Nate declared and listened to even more whispering break out among the spectators.

  “How is this possible?” Broken Paw asked in surprise.

  “My wife and I met him earlier. He saved us from a grizzly,” Nate said and launched into a brief recital of the encounter. He concluded his story by saying, “You should believe him when he says he is alone. He is an outcast.”

  “Oh?” Broken Paw said, glancing at the captive, his eyebrows arched. “That would explain a lot.”

  “He made no attempt to harm us,” Nate said, hoping to convince the chief to spare the Dakota’s life. “Yet had he wanted to, he could easily have ambushed us.”

  White Lynx let go of Red Hawk’s long hair and stalked toward Nate. “What difference does that make, white eyes? The Oglala is still our enemy and everyone knows what we must do to him.”

  “Why not let him live?” Nate asked.

  “So that he might sneak back here in the dead of night and murder some of us in our sleep?” White Lynx rejoined in contempt. “No. I say we kill him now.”

  “It is customary for us to slay enemies of our people,” Broken Paw agreed. “If we were to let this one go, it would show us to be weak.”

  “Not at all,” Nate said. “It would show that you have wisdom and compassion. The true mark of a warrior is knowing when to kill and when not to kill.”

  “What do you know about being a warrior, white man?” White Lynx asked.

  “My name is Grizzly Killer,” Nate said.

  “So I have heard, but it does not impress me as it does so many others,” White Lynx said. “To me you are nothing but a white man, and a white man has no business interfering in tribal matters.”

  “That is no way to talk,” Broken Paw said. “You know that Grizzly Killer has every right to speak as he wishes. By taking Winona as his wife, he has become a part of our tribe.”

  White Lynx sneered. “Next we will be admitting Blackfeet and Kiowas.” He jabbed a thumb at Nate while addressing the chief. “What does he know of our ways? No matter what you say, he is not a Shoshone.”

  “I can speak for myself,” Nate said before Broken Paw could answer. “It’s true I wasn’t born into the tribe, but I admire and respect the Shoshone way of living more than I do the way of the white man. My heart is the heart of an Indian.”

  A snort burst from White Lynx. “You are touched in the head, white man. Only an Indian knows the heart of an Indian.”

  Nate’s anger flared. He’d tolerated all of the insults and belligerence he could stomach. “And only a fool takes a human life, white or Indian, without just cause. To kill the Dakota just because he is from a different tribe is something the Blackfeet would do, and I thought the Shoshones were better than the Blackfeet.”

  White Lynx bristled, hefting his war club. “Are you calling me a fool?”

  Broken Paw looked from one to the other. “Enough of this bickering,” he said sternly. “We should behave as reasonable men.”

  “What is there to be reasonable about?” White Lynx demanded. “I say we kill the Dakota now. Let Grizzly Killer go hide in a lodge if he is afraid to watch.”

  Struggling to restrain himself, Nate said, “And I say killing the Dakota is bad medicine. Spare him instead.”

  “Both of you have good points,” Broken Paw said diplomatically. “This is a grave issue that should not be decided by one man alone. We will call a council and discuss what is best to do.”

  “A council? Why waste the time over such a trifle?” White Lynx asked.

  “Since when is the taking of any life a trifle?” Broken Paw said. “No, we will let the Dakota live until after we hold a council tonight.”

  “Then let me have him until then,” White Lynx said, leering. “I will give him the treatment he deserves.”

  The chief hesitated, then said emphatically, “No. The Oglala will be in Grizzly Killer’s custody until after the council meeting.”

  “You pick this white eyes over me?” White Lynx snapped.

  Unruffled, Broken Paw said, “Grizzly Killer is the one who has spoken in the Oglala’s defense. It is only fitting that he look after the prisoner.”

  White Lynx glared at Nate. “I will remember this,” he said and abruptly stormed off into the crowd, shouldering his way through, oblivious to the reproach of those he bumped aside.

  Nate was elated at the temporary reprieve he’d obtained for the Sioux. He motioned for Red Hawk to join him.

  “While I admire what you have done,” Broken Paw said, “and might even agree with you, there is something you should know.”

  “What?”

  “You are responsible for this man,” Broken Paw said. “If he escapes, you will be punished. If he kills or hurts anyone, you will be held accountable. Your fate is as much in his hands as his is in yours.” He paused. “Are you certain you want to go through with this?”

  Red Hawk reached them and halted. He gave Nate a grateful smile.

  “I’m certain,” Nate said.

  “Very well. Just remember you have been warned,” Broken Paw said and walked toward his lodge.

  Now that the issue had been decided, the hunting party and the spectators began to disperse. Many conversed in low tones.

  Nate watched them go. Within an hour the argument would be the talk of the tribe. He looked at Spotted Bull, who was staring at him strangely. “With your permission, I will keep Red Hawk in your lodge until tonight. I promise to keep an eye on him the whole time.”

  “It is against my better judgment, but I trust you,” Spotted Bull said. “Very well. This Oglala may stay with us. I will go on ahead and inform the women so it doesn’t come as a shock.” He moved off, Lame Elk at his side.

  Nate drew his knife, stepped behind the Dakota, and carefully sliced the leather strips in half. When they fell to the ground he slid the knife back into its sheath and tucked the Hawken under his left arm to leave his hands free for signing.

  Red Hawk turned. “Thank you, Grizzly Killer, for speaking in my behalf.”

  “Perhaps one day you can return the favor,” Nate signed and started toward Spotted Bull’s lodge. “Come with me.” He was conscious of the stares of the Shoshones who had not yet left, a few openly hostile. Not everyone agreed with Broken Paw’s decision.

  “As much as I would like to do you a kindness,” Red Hawk signed, “I doubt I will live long enough to be able to pay you back.”

  “You do not know that for certain. There is to be a council. White Lynx might not get his way. The council meeting will be conducted by the older warriors and they are not as bloodthirsty as he is.”

  “I hope you are right,” Red Hawk said. “Although there have been many times since I became an outcast that I wished I were dead, now that I face the prospect I find death is not so appealing anymore.”

  Nate glanced at the Dakota, curiosity eating at him. “Do you mind if I a
sk you a personal question?” he signed.

  “I can imagine what it is.”

  “If you think I am prying into your personal affairs, I won’t insist on an answer.”

  Red Hawk sighed, then moved his hands slowly. “You want to ask me the reason my people cast me out.”

  “If you care to tell me.”

  “After what you have done for me, it is only fitting that you know,” Red Hawk said, a melancholy shadow darkening his features. “I am an outcast because I murdered an unarmed member of my tribe.”

  Chapter Nine

  The revelation upset Nate although it came as no great surprise. Banishment from a tribe was a severe practice adopted as a last resort. Only the gravest of offenses could result in a warrior being made an outcast. It was rarely done. He knew of only two other instances, and both of those, like this one, involved murder.

  The truth of the matter was that Indians seldom killed fellow tribal members. They would go off and raid another tribe and kill with reckless abandon, but once back in their own village they were expected to keep a lid on their tempers no matter what the provocation might be.

  All tribes preferred to settle personal disputes in a civil matter. The Indians dwelling on the plains east of the Rockies even had what were known as soldier societies who policed the encampments and punished those who broke tribal custom. Violators would be judged according to the seriousness of the offense, the reason for the violation, and the culprit’s attitude. Punishments ranged from light, such as having an ear cut off the offender’s war-horse, to severe, such as beating the offender so badly he could barely stand.

  Knowing all this, Nate had surmised that Red Hawk’s offense must have been extreme, but he hadn’t pegged the Dakota as a wanton murderer. And now, looking into the warrior’s troubled eyes and recalling how Red Hawk had deliberately risked his life to save Winona and him from the grizzly bear, Nate figured there must be more to the story. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “There is nothing to say. I was guilty. My punishment was just.”