Sundancer (Cheyenne Series) (50 page)

      
She ran over to him. “What's happening? Why is everyone fleeing?”

      
“The army. Dillon's coming with a large column of cavalry—they were told you're being held prisoner by the Cheyenne.”

      
“That's absurd! Who—”

      
“There's no time—you have to get out of here before you're caught in the crossfire.”

      
“I can tell the soldiers I'm no prisoner. Let me talk to this Dillon,” she said as he took her arm, walking swiftly to the roped-off corral and whistling for his chestnut.

      
“It isn't that easy. I want you safe first. Then I'll stop Dillon.”

      
She could see by his expression that he was not going to listen and gave up arguing as he bridled and saddled the big stallion. Then he roped the gelding she had been riding, quickly saddled it and helped her mount. “Ride for those alders down by the river,” he instructed her, pointing in the far distance at the cluster of trees. “Wait there for me. Don't come out or let anyone see you until this is over. I mean hide, Roxanna!”

      
She blanched. “There's more going on here than a misunderstanding, isn't there?”

      
“Get going,” he instructed as she reined in the gelding and faced him.

      
“Cain, listen to me. If you ride up to the soldiers dressed like that they'll think you're Cheyenne. They'll shoot you. If they see me, they'll know—”

      
“No,” he said with a curse, but she spurred her horse past him, headed downriver toward Dillon's cavalry, her bright silver hair streaming like a banner behind her.

      
Sees Much stood in the midst of the pandemonium, watching as Cain roared a fierce oath and galloped after his headstrong wife. Then the shaman walked calmly toward Leather Shirt's lodge, where his brother and His Eyes Are Cold were standing with the Lakota renegade.

      
Gesturing to one of the Dog Soldiers, the chief said, “Bind the Lakota and then conceal them both. We will wait for the Blue Coats here.”

      
“Brother of the Spirit Bull and Her Back Is Straight have gone to meet the soldiers,” Sees Much said. “They will listen to him—he is an Iron Horse chief among them.”

      
“If the one called Dillon recognizes him,” Leather Shirt said worriedly.

      
“Let us go. I have warned you. In return you are honor bound to give me Powell,” Johnny Lame Pony protested as his hands were being tied at gunpoint.

      
“You have no honor, therefore I am not bound,” Leather Shirt replied impassively, dismissing the prisoners with a chop of his hand.

      
As they were dragged into the lodge by the Dog Soldiers, Powell looked at the renegade with contempt. “You fool. He isn't going to let either of us go.”

      
On the rise, hidden behind an outcropping of shale, Weasel Bear looked down on the camp, cursing the Lakota traitor who had to have given the warning. Perhaps he could still stop the half-blood and his woman from reaching Dillon before the army attacked. His companions had already given a false report to the colonel that the woman was being dragged out to be put to death. That should incite the soldiers into a headlong rush to attack. But he had to kill Not Cheyenne and his woman. He wheeled his horse around and streaked after the two riders in a course which would intersect them before they reached the soldiers.

      
As soon as Roxanna was free of the camp and headed toward the route the army was taking, she slowed her horse. She realized that if she raced into their sights with her husband in pursuit they would surely shoot him, mistaking him for a buck intent on harming her. As he reined in beside her, the look on his face was thunderous.

      
“We have to ride together. Take me on your horse, Cain, please. There's no time. You can't stop them dressed like a Cheyenne. Don't you see—”

      
“Don't you see, you little fool, we'll make a perfect target when—”

      
The high-pitched whine of a bullet echoed from a copse of willows across the narrow fork of the river, missing Cain by scant inches. At once he flattened himself on the chestnut and seized her reins, yelling, “Lie flat and hold on!”

      
Cursing, Weasel Bear fired again, but the riders were moving swiftly and the low leafy willow branches waved in the breeze, obscuring his aim. He missed two more shots as they vanished behind some boulders. He cursed his marksmanship, then crossed the river, splashing through the shallows, his eyes fastened on the rocks. There was not much time before the blue bellies would ride up the river valley. Not Cheyenne and his woman must be dead! Then he could watch the destruction of Leather Shirt's village and his vengeance would be complete. The Iron Horse man would reward him instead of that traitor Lame Pony.

      
Cain helped Roxanna from her horse, shielding her with his body as he shoved her into the rocks. “Stay down. It looks as if Lame Pony's friends have arrived and I don't know how many of them there are.” Over the barrel of his Spencer carbine he scanned the edge of the trees by the river, watching for a movement.

      
“While we're pinned down here, the army will ride into the village,” Roxanna said desperately. “I can't let all those innocent people die because of me! I'm going to slip out—”

      
He turned and seized her wrist in a bone-crushing grip, pulling her against his chest as he sank down behind a large boulder. “You'll be killed if you try to ride past those trees.”

      
“Not if you cover me. I'm a good rider, Cain, I'll stay low. Let me use your chestnut. He's faster.”

      
She was right about the village. There would be a bloodbath. “Stay here and stay down,” he said, releasing her arm. “You can fire across to the trees without raising your head any farther than this.” He fired off a round crouching behind the shadow of the boulder. “You can fire a carbine, can't you?”

      
“Yes, but the soldiers will shoot you—”

      
“Dillon knows me. If I can reach him, he'll listen,” he said, moving carefully back to where the horses stood. He rummaged in his saddlebags and pulled out a soiled buckskin shirt. Slipping it over his head, he pulled off his Cheyenne jewelry. “I look as white as I ever have and they haven't shot me yet.”

      
“Cain, be careful.”
I love you.

      
“Just start shooting when I mount up, but don't raise your head!” he admonished, tossing her a box of shells.

She nodded when he swung up on the chestnut and kicked him into a gallop. Then she turned and fired off several shots as the big stallion streaked away through the trees. An answering series of shots rang out from the willows, but none hit Cain or his horse. Roxanna tried to pinpoint where the shooter was located but could not be certain. So she settled for firing into the dense willows, where she thought she had seen movement.

      
Cain heard the exchange as he rode out of range, praying that Roxanna was safe.
I'll kill him for this! Him and all his renegades!

      
He spotted the cavalry column about the same time they saw him from across the river. He had ridden out of his way in a wide circle to avoid the open river flats, which afforded no cover from the shooter in the willows. A near thing. Just a few moments more and they would have ridden straight to the village. He raised his hand and waved, calling out Dillon's name.

      
Riccard Dillon squinted at the lone rider on the big chestnut. “Looks like one of them bucks, Colonel. If them Pawnee is right we ain't got time to palaver or they'll kill the woman,” his corporal said, raising his Springfield carbine.

      
“Wait. I recognize the horse. It's Cain's.”

      
“The breed who runs the Union Pacific work crews?” the corporal asked dubiously, looking at the swarthy long-haired rider. “He's probably stole the horse'n saddle from Cain.’’

      
“He's alone,” Dillon replied, trying to make out what the rider was yelling as he rode headlong toward them over the desultory firing in the distance. Some gut instinct made him distrust the report from the two scouts. Flint Arrow and the big buck who rode with him had not returned. This whole situation smelled like a buffalo skinner on a hot summer day.

      
Then he heard his name and recognized Cain's face. “Column halt,” he commanded, signaling to the troopers, then riding ahead to meet Cain. “What the hell's going on?” he yelled as soon as they were within earshot of each other.

      
“Not what you think. My wife was with Leather Shirt's band, but she wasn't a prisoner.”

      
“Then she's in no danger? My scouts told me—” Dillon broke off with an oath as he realized the two “Pawnee” had broken away from the column at Cain's approach and were riding hell-bent for the river. “Damnation, I knew I shouldn't have trusted those bastards.”

      
“No time to explain, Dillon. My wife is in danger—pinned down by a bushwhacker who tried to kill us both.” With that Cain wheeled his chestnut about and took off toward the sound of the firing.

      
Dillon signaled the troopers to follow. By the time they arrived, the shooting had ceased. Cain leaped from his horse and ran toward a pile of boulders calling a woman's name—Roxanna, not Alexa.

      
Roxanna threw down the rifle when she heard Cain approaching and scrambled down the rocks to meet him. “Cain! Thank God you're safe! I was so frightened,” she said, leaping into his arms as she peered over her shoulder at the soldiers who drew near.

      
A square-faced officer dismounted and approached them. The colonel was a fortyish man with eyes that looked as if they'd seen more than enough of military life and the world at large. He tipped his hat respectfully at her, revealing a head of thinning gray-brown hair with a distinctive widow's peak.

      
“Mrs. Cain,” Riccard said uncertainly. The silver blonde was a real looker, even decked out in Indian buckskins. What had Cain called her—Roxanna?

      
“Roxanna, this is Colonel Riccard Dillon, late of Fort Russell. Colonel, my wife, Roxanna Cain.”

      
Ignoring the question about her name, Dillon gave her proffered hand a gentlemanly salute, “I can see you haven't been harmed. My Pawnee scouts reported old Leather Shirt was preparing you for a public execution.”

      
Roxanna gasped in outrage. “Why, that's absurd. These people are my friends, my relatives.”

      
“Where did you acquire Pawnee scouts?” Cain asked.

      
“They rode into my camp a little over a week ago with papers signed by Frank North—or at least it resembled Frank's scrawl. Funny, but I never thought they looked like Pawnee.”

      
“Was their leader a big flat-faced bastard, kind of barrel-chested and banty-legged with a scar here?” Cain asked, running his fingers across the left side of his neck.

      
“Yeah.”

      
“Rope burn from a brush with a hangman. He's Sioux, not Pawnee. Name's Johnny Lame Pony.”

      
“Cain, that's the Lakota who rode into camp earlier,” Roxanna said, thoroughly confused by what was going on.

      
After saying to her, “There's no time to explain now,” Cain turned to Dillon, who cursed under his breath. “He and the men with him are involved in the sabotage on our grading and surveying crews. I have a hunch I know who the other scouts were too. I plan to track them down, but first I need to see that my wife is safe. Can you spare an escort to take her back to the railhead at Medicine Bow?”

      
“No, I'm safe with the Cheyenne. I don't want to leave you.”

      
“You can't go with me, Roxy, and Jubal will be frantic until you're back home,” he said, giving her a swift kiss, then turning to Riccard. “Can I count on you?”

      
Dillon nodded. “I can spare six troopers. Should have her down to the railhead by nightfall if they ride steady. My job is to get these renegades, Cain. I want the whole story out of you.”

      
“See to my wife and I'll explain everything when I get back from Leather Shirt's camp. I'll bring you Lame Pony.”

      
Roxanna was torn between fear for Cain and seething fury at his high-handed dismissal of her as she watched him swing onto his horse and ride toward the village. She turned to the officer with a worried frown. “Do you have any more idea than me what's going on?”

      
Riccard shrugged. “Only that those phony ‘scouts' intended to lure me into attacking Leather Shirt's camp in hopes of rescuing you.”

      
“But why did you come after me in the first place?”

      
By the time he had explained about the telegraph supposedly signed by Jubal, both of them were perplexed. Roxanna judiciously did not mention in the exchange that Andrew Powell was being held by Leather Shirt. The Cheyenne had escaped disaster once already. Let the old rascal see to his own salvation.

      
True to his word, the colonel picked six men to escort her back to civilization. “You can wire your grandfather as soon as you reach Medicine Bow. I'm certain he'll send a car at once to bring you back to him,” he said to her.

      
Although Roxanna was far from certain she wanted to confront Jubal just yet, she decided it might be best to have the matter of his “arrangement” with Cain out in the open. If only she were not worried sick about the danger her husband was in, riding after those renegades. “Before I go back to the rail line, I intend to say good-bye to Leather Shirt and Sees Much and my other friends with the Cheyenne. They took me in when I came to them as a supplicant and in return I almost got them killed.”