* * *
The trail was not hard to follow through the first three passes. There was really only one way through the mountains that loomed straight up above them on each side. It would be more difficult when they left the last of the high mountains and traversed the lower slopes. Then they would have to rely upon their skills as trackers, for Jason knew from experience that Stone Hand could be impossible to track at times. He was more confident this time, however, because of the presence of Sarah and the baby. It would not be as easy for the Cheyenne to cover his tracks. Too, he hoped Stone Hand would not think he was being trailed this soon and might not push as hard to travel fast.
They camped after dark the first night on an outcropping of boulders by a busy stream. Magpie scurried about, making the camp and preparing some food. Long Foot, after seeing to his horses, sat off by himself, chanting a song of mourning. He sat there, moaning low, almost in a whisper, for more than an hour before coming back to the fire and eating some of the meat Magpie offered him.
Jason watched in silence. His heart was sad for his friend’s loss but there was nothing he could offer to ease his pain. He thought about the man they were tracking. Where would he take his hostages? He was traveling south now but he had little choice. Where would he go when they were clear of the high mountains? Oklahoma Territory? Commanche territory? He seemed to have allied himself with the Commanches. He might go back there. Then his thoughts lingered on Sarah and her baby. From what he knew about the man, Jason did not have to guess why Stone Hand came for the baby. He could not abide the thought of his son being raised by whites. He had killed Raven. Why her and not Sarah? He could only conclude that the reason might be that Sarah had milk and Raven did not. That thought triggered another alarming question. How long would Sarah live after her milk dried up? He had wondered at first how Stone Hand had found his valley. Then he remembered Sarah telling him of the three Ute warriors who had passed by while he and Long Foot were in the Bitterroot country. They must have told Stone Hand of the three women and a baby.
Magpie looked at Jason, her eyes searching his, silently asking if he wanted more to eat. He shook his head no, and she started to turn away. With a hand laid gently on her shoulder, he stopped her. Since her heavy song of mourning on the day of Raven’s death, she had remained silent in her grief. As she gazed up at him now, he could read the hurt in her eyes. His gaze shifted down to her antelope skin bodice, which was stained with her own blood from the slashes she had administered in her grieving. His heart reached out to her at that moment and he longed to tell her everything would be all right. Her eyes, unblinking, never left his gaze. After a moment, she came to him, seeking the comforting she so desperately needed. He held her close, his arms around her, her head on his shoulder, and he could feel her body relax in the haven of his embrace. For a few brief moments he felt a peace that he had never experienced before.
* * *
They were up and away at first light, holding to the eastern slope of the pass, riding in the shadows of the steep walls that formed the narrow corridor. The shrill cry of a hawk went unnoticed as the two men kept their eyes glued to the trail, their senses keen for sounds out of the ordinary. Long Foot led. Jason knew he could not hold the Osage scout back anyway, his passion to avenge his wife driving him like a forest fire. Jason’s only fear was that his friend’s rage might blind him to the point of blundering. Long Foot, however, did not miss a sign, even when the trail they followed veered across a rocky crest and turned to the east.
“He turn toward sun,” Long Foot said. “Maybe he go to Shoshone.”
Jason pulled up beside him. “Maybe, but I doubt it. It’s just his nature to change direction. He’ll turn back south.”
Long Foot nodded slowly, thinking it over, then agreed. “He go Commanche. We catch him.” He spoke softly as if to reassure his dead wife. “Damn right,” he added, barely above a whisper.
Jason’s prediction proved to be correct, for after several miles the trail turned south again and followed a narrow pass through the last of the mountains and into the hills. By noontime they came upon Stone Hand’s campsite from the night before. Jason swore when they found it. He had hoped to find it earlier in the day. Now he knew they were still a half day behind them. They had not closed the distance any from the day before. Stone Hand was making as good a time as they were, even with Sarah and the baby. Jason could imagine how hard it was on Sarah, but he tried to put it out of his mind and concentrate on the business of tracking.
* * *
The trail was demanding. Long, wearisome day followed upon the day before. Still they seemed to make no progress in closing the distance between them and the devil they chased. Magpie did not complain even though the trail proved hard on the young Osage maiden. Though she still grieved inside for her sister, she gave no outward sign of her mourning. Death was a familiar partner to all Osage girls and Magpie did not attempt to question the sense of it. Raven was gone and in time Magpie would release her sister to the great beyond and go on with her life. In truth, she did not expect her own life to span many more days for she was convinced the devil they pursued was in fact a spirit form and would undoubtedly destroy them all. The urgency of their journey placed a strain upon all three of them so that each day seemed to be a grim passage of time from dawn to dark with almost no conversation passing between them beyond essential communications.
She leaned forward as the spotted pony she rode hesitated briefly before scaling a rocky mound on the riverbank. She could feel the powerful muscles of the animal between her thighs and the impact of its hooves upon the hard earth of the rise. Up ahead, Jason glanced back to see that she was all right. It was no more than a brief glance. Then, satisfied that she had negotiated the climb with no trouble, he quickly looked away, concerned once again with the trail before him. She had met his glance without expression but inside she was pleased that he showed concern for her. For several months now she had been aware of the strong feelings developing in her heart for the tall white scout. She had assumed in the beginning of their journey to Jason’s valley that he longed for Sarah and this was sad because she could also see that Sarah did not have these feelings for Jason. She knew now that there was affection between Sarah and Jason and that he had compassion for her but there had been no indication of a deeper feeling. She was grateful for this because she had feared he would naturally be charmed by the beautiful white woman. Jason was a good man and he deserved a good wife. In her deepest heart she wished she could make him see her. If he could see inside her heart, he would know that she would be a good wife for him.
CHAPTER 17
Colonel Lucien Holder stood staring at the message received from Fort Cobb that morning. It puzzled him. According to the commanding officer, Sarah had indeed arrived at the fort with an escort from Camp Supply but had elected to continue on to the railhead with a civilian guide. This was the part that puzzled the colonel. Why would Sarah engage a civilian guide when she could have been escorted by the next army patrol headed that way?
He had been prompted to inquire about his daughter when he received a rare letter from his sister in Baltimore. It was a rambling letter about her family and acquaintances of his that she had bumped into—nothing really newsworthy enough to interest the colonel. It was the closing of the letter that had startled him. “Give my best to Sarah. Tell her we miss her desperately.” Sarah was not in Baltimore! It had been a year. If she was not in Baltimore, then where was she?
The thought that something sinister had befallen his daughter brought a distraught Colonel Holder to Cora Kennedy’s tent in hopes her closeness to Sarah might be able to offer some clue to her whereabouts. Cora knew about the message from the commander at Fort Cobb of course, because Max had told her about it. Her heart went out to the worried father but she dared not tell him where Sarah was. She and Max had argued several times on the subject after the colonel had received the letter from his sister. Max felt they should possibly ease the colonel’s mind a
bout the safety of his daughter. But Cora disagreed. It would destroy Sarah, she said. Sarah had made it plain that she didn’t want anyone to know about the baby, especially her father. Max gave in to his wife and held his tongue, but it was increasingly difficult to play dumb when the colonel started sending out patrols to search the territory for Jason Coles. It was a difficult time for Lucien Holder.
* * *
Barely more than three days’ hard ride from Camp Supply, Sarah Holder sat, her back against a gnarled tree trunk that had somehow defiantly forced its existence within a tiny crevice in the solid stone shelf beside the stream. Her baby nursed at her breast. Although there were no physical bonds of any kind to hold her, still she was bound as securely as if hands and feet were shackled, held prisoner by the menacing form standing before her. Stone Hand watched silently as she fed his son. If she had any notion of escape during the day while her hands were free to tend the infant, they were long ago dispelled. Her first and only attempt to escape was dealt with harshly and her face was still swollen and bruised from the beating administered.
She did not even glance up at the dark figure standing over her, staring unblinking at the suckling baby. She no longer made any effort to cover her breast when she nursed the baby. The hopelessness of her plight had dulled her mind to the point of unconcern for privacy. The brute showed no interest in her beyond that of a brood mare for his son. Even her basic bodily functions of elimination were allowed no privacy from the ever-watchful eye of her captor. At first reluctant to relieve herself under his constant gaze, she suffered for almost a full day before she was forced to seek relief. She soon became numb to him and it became as impersonal as relieving herself before the gaze of a horse or a dog.
Soon after her abduction she realized that her role was that of a nursemaid and her life expectancy stretched no further than the supply of her milk. She worried that her breast might dry up soon. But that was during the first two days of her captivity, before the first of many beatings. Now she no longer cared. Her mind and body were too tired to worry about it. If her milk stopped and he killed her, it would be preferable to the suffering she now endured. Were it not for the baby, she would have pushed the issue, forcing him to end her ordeal in a fit of rage. As it was, she waited for the inevitable to happen. Whether it was today or tomorrow, it no longer mattered.
“Come,” he said with a grunt and prodded her with his foot. When she looked up, he motioned toward the horses with his head. She had not taken the baby from her breast yet but he was not to be fooled by her efforts to gain more time to rest by pretending the baby was still feeding.
Had her mind not been dulled by her ordeal, she might have noticed that Stone Hand was not pushing as hard as before. She had lost track of the days so she was not aware that it had been seven days since her abduction. Stone Hand felt confident that if there had been any pursuit he was sure to have outdistanced it by this time. It had been a disappointment to find that the white scout, Jason Coles, was not in the valley when he came for his son. His hatred for the army scout was like a glowing coal in the pit of his stomach where the jagged scars from Jason’s rifle still ached. The severity of the wounds had almost ended his life but his burning desire for revenge had served to feed his recovery. Coles had been lucky that time and lucky again that he was not in the cabin when Stone Hand came for the baby. But he would not escape Stone Hand’s vengeance for long. More important in the renegade’s mind now was to take his son to the Commanche camp of Lame Dog, where he could be cared for by an Indian woman. Then he would return for Coles.
Three more days found them approaching a modest gathering of tipis on the northern side of a shallow ribbon of water guarded by a small group of cottonwoods. This was the camp of Lame Dog. The sight of the lodges caused a quiver in Sarah’s heartbeat as she immediately realized her days might soon be at an end. She glanced down quickly at her baby then back at Stone Hand. The Indian met her glance. He seemed to read her thoughts, for his evil face twisted into a crooked smile, chilling her to the bone.
Upon their arrival in the Commanche camp, they were met with several cries of recognition. Had Sarah not been stricken with a sudden concern for her safety, she may have noticed that it was a strange welcome that greeted Stone Hand. Obviously the Cheyenne warrior felt welcome in this village but the greetings were not warm, friendly salutations one would expect upon seeing a friend arrive. Rather, there were sober grunts and nods of recognition. There was a sense of respect shown the renegade—not respect spawned by admiration, but respect such as that shown a rattlesnake. Stone Hand was unmoved by the reception, not caring what the Commanches thought of him. He went where it pleased him to go.
Sarah was terrified. Only hours before she had languished in a state of dull shock, not caring if she lived or died. Now, with a crowd of angry faces gathering around her and her baby, she realized that she did not want to die. In fact she wanted desperately to live. Some of the women of the village pushed through the crowd of children and warriors to get a better look at the white woman. First one and then another began to poke her calves and thighs as if examining a side of beef. Suddenly one of the more brazen of the curious reached up and pulled Sarah from her horse. Almost in the same motion, another woman snatched the baby from her arms. She landed on the ground and instinctively covered her head with her arms, trying to shield herself from the blows that almost immediately showered her.
Stone Hand was in no hurry to react to the rude greeting afforded his captive. He watched for a few minutes, satisfied that Sarah deserved another beating, before he quietly ordered the women to cease. They did so immediately, not waiting to be told a second time. He threw a leg over his horse’s neck and slid down to the ground. The gathering, men and women alike, parted at once, leaving a clear circle around him and his captive.
Sarah, scarcely believing she was still alive, painfully rose to her feet, her face and head throbbing from the multitude of blows she had endured. She looked around her until she found the woman who had taken the baby. The woman stared at her in stoic contempt but she did not resist when Sarah reached out and took the baby from her.
Stone Hand was talking to an old woman. They exchanged several words then looked at Sarah and the baby. A few more words were exchanged and then the old woman gestured to another younger woman. The younger woman nodded then made her way through the small crowd. Upon approaching Sarah, she reached out for the baby. Sarah drew back, refusing to release her son. Stone Hand responded at once with an angry shout and a hard slap that almost knocked Sarah off her feet. She released the baby. The young Indian woman walked away and disappeared among the gathering of tipis. More words were spoken and Sarah suddenly felt her arms pinned behind her back and her wrists being tied. She could only conclude that her execution was near.
* * *
Stone Hand, if totally without conscience, was not impractical. He had looked forward to the pleasure the slow death of Sarah Holder would provide but he decided to wait until he was satisfied that he would have no further use for the woman. There was a woman in the village who had recently given birth and she had agreed to nurse his son along with her own. Stone Hand delayed Sarah’s death until he was sure the Indian woman was able to care for his son. Meanwhile he entertained several offers from some of the warriors to trade for the white woman. None were as attractive as the prospect of the enjoyment he would derive from killing her.
Two days passed. She remained bound, hands and feet, inside an otherwise empty tipi. She was untied briefly twice a day to eat. She reasoned that she was being fed and was still alive only because of the baby. Alone in the tipi, she cried, afraid for her life, sore from the beatings she had suffered, her breasts sore and swollen with milk, her insides aching from almost constantly having to hold her bladder until mealtime when she was released for a few minutes. Thoughts of Jason Coles and Long Foot, of Raven and Magpie, of her father, and—yes, of John Welch—darted through her conscious mind like fireflies. Brief flashes of memo
ry, they seemed to be fictitious characters in her mind with no connection to her misery. Her only driven, constant thought was to survive. On the third day the baby was returned to her. It was plain to see from the sullen expression on the old woman’s face that the young Commanche woman had been unable to feed both infants.
* * *
On the morning Sarah’s baby was returned to her, Jason knelt behind the low shrub that offered the only protection from sight on the long ridge. Before and below him, in the dusty stand of cottonwoods, lay the Commanche village.
“Thirty-one, two, three,” he said softly. “I count thirty-three tipis. Looks like Lame Dog has picked up some more people.”
“Ugh,” Long Foot grunted in response, “Lame Dog, damn right.” Growing more and more impatient as each second passed, he pressed Jason for action. “We go now, kill Stone Hand.”
Jason studied his friend’s face for a brief moment before calmly replying, “We go in that village now and we’ll be the ones who get killed.” He wondered if it was necessary to remind his friend that it was a Commanche camp he was looking at. There was no disguising the pain Long Foot felt as well as his thirst for revenge, but it would be foolhardy to brazenly ride into the hostile camp looking for Stone Hand. “We’ll have to wait till dark. Then we can take a closer look and find out where he’s got Sarah…if she’s still alive.” He could see his statement was not well received by Long Foot, and Jason began to be concerned that the Osage scout’s blood might be too agitated to allow him to function coolly. He sought to remind him of the danger in the task they had come to perform. “We’re outnumbered pretty bad and I ain’t never known Commanches to be a very gentle folk as it is. So we’d best wait and see what’s what before we make our move.”
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