Sioux Slave (19 page)

The next time they stopped to rest she would attempt to leave a clue for the pursuers. If she left the medicine charm hanging on a bush or rock, would Hinzi find it?

She closed her eyes and thought of Hinzi back in the camp, recalling his gentle, sensitive lovemaking. She would have given anything to be safely asleep in his big, protective embrace, as the Pawnee girl had been all night. Had she been missed when dawn broke? Did Hinzi care enough to come looking for her? Kimi had delayed the trio as much as possible so the Lakota warriors could catch up with them. Suppose her people thought she had run away with the traders in a fit of jealous anger? Suppose no one was in pursuit at all?

Hinzi, she thought desperately, where are you? I need your help so badly!

 

 

Rand had slept fitfully all night, his arms reaching for the soft body of his delicate butterfly. Then when his embrace closed on an empty spot on the blanket, he would awaken, feel around in the darkness, and realize Kimi was not beside him. He would lie back, angry with her for her petulance. He swore under his breath. He should have kept the Pawnee girl. At least when he awakened in the middle of the night wanting a woman to caress, a soft pair of breasts on which to lay his face, he would have them. What difference did it make as long as the girl was eager and willing?

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, angry with Kimi. Was she even now lying sleepless, too, in her mother's lodge? He half rose on one elbow, thinking he would slip through the darkened camp, lift her bodily, and take her back to where she belonged—in his arms and in his blankets. Rand was a virile man who needed a woman often. More than that, he hungered for the feel and scent of Kimi's softness, the taste of her mouth and nipples.

Was he in love with her? Of course not. He only lusted after her and remembered how good she felt, wet and hot beneath him, as he thrust his body into hers. Someday he must return to his other life hundreds of miles away, a civilized life with a civilized girl who could waltz and do needlepoint and make idle chitchat about fashion with his mother and sister. Kimi would never fit in or be accepted even if he took her back to his world. The only thing that made sense was enjoying her while he was among the Sioux, then forgetting about her when he finally returned to his life. Wasn't that what soldiers had always done with the enemy's women?

He dozed off again, sleeping fitfully, remembering the nightmare of events that had brought him to this point.
Lenore
. He dreamed of saying good-bye to his fiance in the glass conservatory of her grandmother's estate. Rand had changed some. Lenore complained about it. It was hard to think of gala balls and fine mansions with all the death and hell he'd seen. He'd been a dispatch carrier for the gallant John Hunt Morgan.

What had happened to all those daring Rebels who had ridden with Morgan's Raiders? He didn't know. Rand had been captured by a young general named George Armstrong Custer. He remembered the brash upstart because like himself, Custer had such pale eyes and light hair. That ended the war for Rand. He was sent to Point Lookout prison and then volunteered for Fort Rice.

Fort Rice. A miserable outpost on the edge of the world. Rand didn't think he had much choice but join up when the Yankees came through the prison stockade recruiting. Like Cherokee Evans, who'd been at Point Lookout since his capture at Shiloh, Rand felt he was staring death in the face every day as men starved or sickened and died around him.

The volunteers were put on a ship called the
Continental
and sent to New York. From there, the Galvanized Yankees were loaded on a train West. At the Missouri River, they were put aboard an overloaded stern-wheeler named the
Effie
Deans.

Even in his sleep, Rand shuddered, remembering the execution. Rand had thought young Colonel Dimon was bluffing when he decided to make an example of a man,
any man
, to reinforce discipline. It was against all military rules to try and execute a soldier without proper board review. In the end, the President himself had the power to commute a death sentence, and Lincoln was notoriously softhearted and lenient.

That didn't faze young Colonel Dimon. He chose a man out of the hundreds on board, claiming the red-haired blacksmith from Tennessee, William Dowdy, had plotted to take over the boat.

Only Cherokee Evans had had the guts to argue with the colonel as the river boat inched its way up the Missouri toward Dakota Territory.

Rand didn't even know the scared, condemned boy personally. After all, Dowdy wasn't even an officer, much less from the same social strata. Besides Rand didn't think Colonel Dimon would take the responsibility for not going through proper channels.

Rand would never forget that day in 1864. As the overloaded boat moved up the muddy river in the September heat, Dowdy sat chained while a couple of soldiers built a wooden coffin. The sounds of the hammers and saws were louder than the stern wheel churning up the water. There is something about a man marked for death that scares other men away. Only Cherokee had sat and talked with the red-headed blacksmith.

It was past noon and the day was hellishly hot when Dimon had the
Effie
Deans anchor just above the village of Omaha. With the soldiers standing mutely as witnesses, young Dowdy was marched ashore. From the boat deck, Rand had watched in disbelief. Dimon was certainly carrying this bluff a long way. Damned Yankee officer. Rand cursed softly under his breath. Young Dowdy slumped down on the wooden box while soldiers dug a hole.
Dimon can't do this
, Rand thought.

He remembered mostly how hot it was, the feel of sweat running down the neck of his blue wool jacket, and the way the slight breeze moved the prairie grass. Of course the colonel could do it; they were hundreds of miles from authority. The firing squad lined up.

Bob white. Bob, bob white
. It seemed strange that quail whistled and a rabbit jumped out of the grass and scampered away as though executing a man didn't change the world at all.

The sound of the rifles cracked through his mind, sending frightened quail exploding up out of the grass. What had been a man crumpled and fell. Now it was only a pile of blue cloth on a body. Rand blinked, staring in disbelief, listening to the mutter from the men. He had seen a lot of death in the past several years, but nothing that affected him like watching this execution on the flimsiest of charges. And he hadn't protested, hadn't done a thing to stop it.

Young Dowdy was hastily put in the wooden box, buried by the river. In minutes the
Effie Deans
continued on her way upstream as if nothing important had happened. Rand stared at the fresh mound of dirt as the boat pulled away. He spent the next few hours looking into the darkness, contemplating his own life and the world around him. He was ashamed that he had done nothing–not raised a hand, not uttered a word of protest. Only the half-breed Cherokee had tried to stop the killing.

Abruptly it seemed very important to Rand that he do something to ease his guilty conscience. Evans didn't like him, Rand knew that. The former officer with the Tennessee troops made it clear he thought Rand self-centered, spoiled, and worthless. It was abruptly important to Rand that Cherokee Evans think well of him, so when Rand heard a rumor that Dimon had marked Evans as a troublemaker and the next candidate for his firing squad, Rand took action.

Late at night, disguising his voice, Rand crept to Cherokee and warned him. Cherokee went over the side of the boat and escaped. What had happened to the man? Did he drown in the muddy Missouri that warm September night? Rand had often wondered. After that night, he began to change a little, knowing the world didn't revolve around him any more. It could have just as easily been him left back there in a shallow grave on the riverbank as the unfortunate blacksmith.

 

 

He awakened suddenly, breathing hard. Bright sunlight streamed across his face. Where was he? Oh, yes, in a Lakota camp. He swore under his breath with sheer relief, flexed his shoulders. It was good to be alive. He remembered his dream. Well, none of that mattered anymore. Kimi. Would she come to him this morning and tell him how sorry she was? He'd had enough! She was his as long as he stayed with the Sioux, and he didn't intend to be made a fool of by a woman's jealousy.

He got up, stretched, went outside. The camp was busy. Women were cooking and carrying water, children were playing. He looked out toward where the traders had been camped. They were gone. Just as well. If that filthy trio had tried to trade for Kimi one more time, Rand would not be able to control his anger. At least the Pawnee girl had no doubt made it back to her kin by now. In a small way, maybe Rand had repaid the debt his guilty conscience owed for not doing anything to help poor Dowdy.

Rand strode toward old Wagnuka's tipi, slapping his quirt against his leg. His feelings at this moment were that he might turn Kimi across his knee and spank her until she promised to mend her ways. He thought about it a minute and shook his head. He couldn't do anything to hurt her, not even a spanking, although the little chit deserved it for what she'd put him through. Lenore was so bland by comparison. He hadn't known a relationship with a female could have so much crackle and conflict. He wasn't used to it and he didn't know what he thought about it.

He wasn't sorry he had bought the captive Pawnee girl with borrowed ponies that must still be repaid. It was beneath his dignity to explain it to the fiery white savage. Yes, that's what she was. Could she ever be turned into a genteel lady? Would she have the same fascination for him if that happened?

He stuck his head through the tipi flap. “Wagnuka, I know it's taboo for me to speak to you, but I need to talk to Kimi. Where is she?”

The old woman frowned at his breech of etiquette. “You make a joke. She is with you.”

He got a funny feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. “She hasn't been in this lodge all night?”

She stood up. He saw the alarm in her wrinkled face. “She is not with you? I haven't seen her since last night.”

Slowly Rand shook his head even as he looked toward the empty camp of the traders and began to curse under his breath. “Search the village quickly,” he said, even though in his heart, he knew it would do no good.

He stared out across the creek where the traders' camp had been. With a sinking feeling, he remembered the way those three had looked at her. Had she gone on her own or been kidnapped? It didn't matter, she belonged to him and he would not share her. “Get One Eye and the other braves,” he ordered as he turned to run back to his lodge for his weapons. “I think I know where she's gone and I'm going after her!”

Still not quite willing to believe Kimi might be gone, Rand did a quick search in the dawn's light. Wagnuka checked among the girl's friends. Word spread quickly. As Rand gathered up his weapons, Gopher and One Eye joined him. “Kimimila is gone?”

Rand nodded, and they followed him over to look around the traders' deserted campsite for a clue. All he saw was one very small moccasin track. While that might have been Kimi's, it also might have been left earlier by one of the children who had walked in the area. “I'm going after her. Will some of the warriors go with me?”

“Yes.” One Eye rubbed the red patch, his handsome face furrowed. “You think she might go willingly with the traders?”

“Do you?” Rand looked at him squarely.

Gopher said, “She was upset about the Pawnee girl.”

“Women!” Rand snorted. “There's no figuring them. I sent the enemy girl on her way. She's probably back with her family by now.”

One Eye drew breath sharply, no doubt thinking the same as Rand. “If the traders have Kimi, they'll use her as they did the Pawnee girl.”

The thought sickened Rand. He swung his quirt against his leg so hard, he felt the sting. If they dared touch her ... He put his hand on the hilt of the big knife in his waistband. “Friends, will you ride with me? I want my woman back and I want those three scalps to hang from the dance pole.”

One Eye nodded. “You have gained much respect among the Akicita society, Hinzi, and the traders weren't well-liked anyway. We will ride!”

 

 

They rode out as soon as possible. Rand had wanted to leave immediately, but there were proper ceremonies to be done, One Eye insisted, including prayers to Wakan Tanka and painting themselves and their horses for a proper war party. It was the Indian way, and there was no changing it. The only thing that comforted Rand was that, with pack mules and a captive, the traders couldn't move as fast as a war party.

Hinzi. Yellow Hair of the Lakota warriors. Rand, when he looked in a reflective disk of copper, was amazed at how fierce he looked with red and blue paint streaking his face and body, his buckskin horse painted with symbols and its tail tied up for war.

The late spring sun beat down on his naked skin as the war party rode out, the women encouraging them with trilling cries. Although Rand was fast becoming a good tracker, Gopher was an expert, and only too happy to follow the traders' trail for the man who had saved his son's life.

Rand glanced up at the sun as they rode out, wondering how long ago the traders had left and trying not to think about what Kimi might be going through at this very moment.

One Eye must have seen his worried expression, because he reined his horse so that he rode alongside, resplendent in his shirt decorated with the hair of enemies. “They will not touch her yet,” he said. “They will be intent on putting much distance between us and them, knowing we will follow.”

Rand glanced up at the sun, cursed under his breath. “They've got a long head start, but you're probably right. No doubt they won't feel safe until they get closer to a fort where they think the Sioux fear to ride.”

As if to reaffirm his words, Gopher galloped back from scouting ahead. “I think they may be headed to the fort.”

Rand said, “Fort Rice?”

Gopher shook his head, “No, not that one; the one farther up the Wakpa Rehanka.”

Rand glanced questioningly at One Eye.

“You whites call it the Missouri River,” the respected Shirt Wearer explained. “They may be headed for Fort Berthold. They are smart; no doubt they wouldn't head south for fear of running across Sitting Bull's Hunkpapas or a war party of Sans Arcs. They may expect to lose us somewhere between the Heart and the Knife Rivers.”

“Pilamaya, Gopher,” Rand said. His sturdy friend nodded and galloped back up to scout ahead.

“Gopher is the best of trackers,” One Eye comforted. “He could track a mouse from here to our sacred hills. He is in your debt, so he will try very hard.”

He only hoped it was enough, Rand sighed, thinking about the day moving slowly into afternoon. Kimi was safe for now, maybe. They wouldn't stop to enjoy her probably until dark, knowing the Sioux might be following.

After a couple of hours of hard riding, they lost the trail in an area of rocky ground.

Gopher frowned. “These
wasicu
are smart as coyotes. It would be hard to track a grasshopper across here. The only thing we can do is fan out, search to see where they might have come off the rocks. There are a dozen different trails they might have taken out. I think the traders are smart enough to wrap their ponies feet in buckskin, so there'll be no tracks. No doubt they made a cold camp at noon, so there would be no smoke scent in the air.”

Rand's anxiety built as more precious time was lost searching the area to pick up the trail again. How many hours was it to nightfall? He glanced up at the sun. Past high noon. In six or eight hours, Kimi might be spread out and raped by the trio. He tried not to picture the scene because it added fury to an anger that was already blazing hot. He told himself it was only because she was his as his horse and rifle were his. No man took anything that belonged to Rand Erikson.

He reminded himself that he was engaged to be married to an elegant beauty back in Kentucky and that, sooner or later, he'd be leaving the Dakota territory. The thought crossed his mind that if the war party passed near the fort, it would be easy to ride in, give himself up, tell the army he was no deserter, but that he'd been held captive.

Even as the thought came to him, squat Gopher called out in triumph. He had picked up the trail again and the war party was once more on the move.

When they crossed a little creek and he saw his own reflection in the water, he was stunned at how much like a warrior he looked with his naked, tanned body and painted face. True enough his hair was light and getting shaggy, but otherwise ...
Hinzi. Yellow Hair
. Except for that, he looked as much like a savage as any of the men who rode with him. Underneath the thin veneer of civilization, there lurks a primitive savage in the most sophisticated of men, Rand thought grimly. His old life didn't seem as appealing as it once had. Sometimes civilization had stifling restraints and restrictions. In contrast, the Sioux lived without clocks and drifted across thousands of miles, following the great herds of buffalo.

Time passed. Again they lost the trail in a rocky place. They spent precious time searching for some sign. Just as Rand thought they had lost the trail completely, he saw something glittering in a small bush.

His heart beating hard, he galloped over and retrieved it. Kimi's medicine object hanging from its thong and reflecting the light. “Hohay!” he exclaimed, “she knows we will be on the trail. She left this to point the way!”

He put it around his own neck, feeling the heat of the sun-warmed gold against his brawny bare chest. It was almost like having her small, warm body against his. There was something familiar about the object, as if he'd seen it before, he thought, then dismissed the idea. The little acorn was surely not even gold–just a cheap brass trinket.

Nudging his big stallion into a gallop, he led the war party following the trail again. Rand glanced up at the sun. Only a few more hours and the trio would be camping. There, maybe feeling secure from pursuit, they would take the time to enjoy Kimi. The thought made Rand both sick and grim; wondering if he would get there in time. He put his hand on his big knife. One thing was certain, if and when he caught up with those three, he would take more than their scalps.

 

 

Kimi looked up at the sun as she and the three traders continued their journey. Relentlessly the sun moved toward the western horizon. Hoping that Hinzi and the Lakota warriors might be in pursuit, she delayed the traders as much as she dared every time they stopped to rest the horses or eat a bite. Buck noticed and slapped her around for it. “You think your man follows, huh?” the trader laughed. “He has the Pawnee girl to play with now, so he might not have even noticed you're gone.”

Lucky stood up in his stirrups and looked behind him, peering at the horizon. “Maybe if they think she left on her own with us, they may not even bother to come lookin.' ”

Tech agreed. “Shucks, we shore ain't seen no sign of them, and I been watchin'.”

Kimi didn't say anything. Maybe they were right; maybe Hinzi wouldn't come or the warriors had lost the trail. In that case ... no, she didn't even want to think about her fate.

All too soon the sun sank low over the hot, hostile country and Lucky reined in. “I know where there's a little protected grove of bushes ahead. We'll camp there.” He ran his hands up and down Kimi's arm, holding her close in the saddle. “And you, sweet stuff, you know what's coming tonight, don't you?”

The three men guffawed and Kimi shuddered visibly.

Tech laughed and winked at Lucky, a grin on his hard face. “Shucks! She's so eager, she's tremblin'. Ain't that right, Lucky?”

“Damned right! Why she's almost as eager as we are, ain't you, sweet stuff?” He nuzzled the back of her neck, and ran his hot hands over her body while she struggled to pull away from him. He nudged his horse and, in the deepening purple twilight, they rode on until they reached the cluster of straggly bushes.

The three men dismounted. Lucky reached up to lift Kimi down while the other two hobbled the horses. He held her by the shoulders, looking into her face. “Okay, sweet stuff. First we eat. Later we'll see how much you know about pleasing a man–and how much we can teach you.”

He pushed her to Buck, who nuzzled her with his dirty beard while she struggled to get away from him.

Lucky began to unsaddle his mount. “Wonder if her name is Mae? Did anyone ask her?”

“Shucks! Are we gonna havta hear that story again?” Tech complained as he spat tobacco juice, began to build a fire.

“Mae is the one I'm waitin' for,” Lucky began as if he hadn't heard Tech. “A fortune teller tole me once that the keys to my future was four words, ‘Mae,' ‘fire,' ‘whiskey,' and ‘cricket.' ”

“Shucks,” Tech snorted as he gathered buffalo chips for fuel, “that ain't much of a fortune teller. I wouldn't have paid her. She tell you how the words fit together?”

Lucky finished unsaddling, carried his gear over by the fire. “The way I figure it, Mae is a special gal; one worth waitin' for. I'll spend my old age sitting by a fireplace with a big bottle of whiskey and this gorgeous, naked gal in my lap, and maybe a cricket chirpin' on the hearth.”

“Sounds good to me,” Buck said. “I knew a gal named Mae once; she was real talented. Wonder if it's the same one?”

Tech reached for a skillet. “They do say the Chinee think crickets is good luck.” He looked at Kimi. “Reckon that little half-breed gal can cook?”

“We can find out.” Buck untied Kimi. “Don't go too far, you hear, sweet? Ain't no place out on the prairie to hide no way.”

Kimi didn't answer as she rubbed her wrists. Her arms ached from being tied all this time, and her mouth was sore from the gag. Even in the darkness, there wouldn't be any place to run in this desolate stretch.

“Well, we got whiskey and a woman,” Lucky grinned.

“Shucks,” the scar-faced one complained, “you're lucky some woman's husband ain't kilt you yet.”

“How do you think I got my name?” He flopped down on the ground, leaned against his saddle.

“Quit jawin,” Buck complained. He motioned to Kimi. “You, gal, get some grub out of the supplies, cook us up a little dinner. Tech, don't built that fire so big.”

“Shucks, you don't really think those Sioux are still on our trail? Why, we're within five or ten miles of the fort.”

“You can't never tell about Injuns.” Buck spread his blanket by the fire. “They're most dangerous when you least expect them; like snakes when you step on one in the dark.”

The other two grunted agreement, and Kimi looked around, deciding that with all the horses hobbled and the weapons where the trio could watch them, she didn't have a chance of escaping at the moment. She needed time. Food would occupy their minds for a while. She got a small skillet and a slab of bacon from the supplies, moving as slowly as possible.

It was dusk now, a pale lavender-and-gray twilight. Quail called somewhere, cicadas chirped in the stillness.

Lucky got out a bottle of whiskey and some tobacco. “Yep, no man could want a better life than this; I'm a lucky man, all right.”

Buck grinned and reached for the bottle. “After supper, that's when we all get lucky.”

Tech took a big drink as Buck handed him the bottle, “Hey, Injun, your name Mae?”

Kimi shook her head, and didn't look up, although she felt all three of the men watching her as she cooked. She pretended not to notice, but her skin crawled at what she knew they were imagining. Maybe if they drank enough, she might have a chance of escaping.

“Shucks, she's the prettiest I've seen in a long time.”

Buck took a big drink, wiped his bearded face on his dirty sleeve. “Hell, Tech, any woman is purty once a man's had a few drinks.”

“That's a fact,” Lucky grinned and leaned back against his saddle. “I ain't never gone to bed with an ugly woman, but I've woke up with a few.”

Tech scratched his pox-scarred face. “If they ain't, I jest close my eyes. Then you can't tell what color they is, how old, or if they're purty or not. All cats look gray in the dark.”