Dances Naked (12 page)

Red Shirt took the child and saw right away he was different. She did not have the cloth on his behind to keep the wetness and filth next to his skin. She kept her son bare bottomed
as
he should be. She was young but had already proved to be healthy enough to produce a son. He nodded his head at her. Yes, he’d take her and the child with him.

“Wha, what are you going to do to me?” Grant whined pathetically. He had seen the Indian with t
he red shirt pawing his sister—
he didn’t care about that. He was afraid of what they were going to do to
him
. He’d heard the stories about what the Indians did to people who robbed, or tried to rob, them. The tales of torture flashed through his head as he scream
ed out again, “It was her idea—
she told me to take the horse
,
and even gave me the gun!”

Red Shirt understood what the cowardly white man had said
,
but he could also see that he was lying. He looked back at the girl. She was shocked at his words and was now indignant. “You liar!” she shouted as she stomped toward his prone, panicked form. “You
took
that gun from me. No telling what you would have done to that poor man,” she said pointing to Marty, “
If
you had it then. He had less than we did! You took his horse and then you didn’t even let him keep his boots! And you eat all the food
,
and make me walk
,
and, and…”

Rachel was frustrated beyond words so didn’t even try to f
ind them. “Asshole,” she hissed,
and then spat at him. She walked over to Red Shirt and her baby. “He’s not worth it. Can we come with you?”

Red Shirt’s eyes widened. This had to be a first: a white woman wanting to come live with a red man. He had planned to take her anyway
,
but she was willing, no, wanting to come with him. He shut his eyes and tipped his head
, yes, and
then gave her back her child. No, this was his child now. He had lost his wife and son last winter. These two would take their place. She was young and strong enough that she could bear him many more sons: and nice to look at, too. Today was a good day, a very good day.

G

rant started blubbering again, “What are you going to do to me?” he pled. He tried to sniff back the tears and snot that were now streaking down his face like slug trails through dusty stones. “I’ll be good, I promise,” he begged again.

Marty saw the color of Red Shirt’s face start to deepen. It was obvious
he
was fed up with the coward and wanted
him to
shut up. But
,
he also knew that the woman was related to him somehow
,
so didn’t want to draw blood, or at least any more than Number Two had already brought forth with his quick, right cross to the jaw lesson in manners.

Marty spoke up both for and to him, “Grant, you might want to curb your tongue there before my friends decide that it might make a good pendant, eh?”

Grant gulped then subconsciously sucked in his lips, protecting what was inside. Cutting out tongues was one of the Indian tortures he had heard about. His pleas we
re falling on deaf ears anyway—
these red men didn’t speak English. Maybe they’d have pity on him because of the girl and his nephew. Yes, he’d give his sister to the Indian and the baby, too, for a while at least, and then maybe they’d let him go. “Eh, hem,” Grant cleared his throat aloud, trying to get Red Shirt’s attention.

He got it all right. Red Shirt walked purposely over to Grant, still lying obediently on his back, and glared at him. However
,
this time the Indian in charge did not put his foot on his prisoner’s throat. He knew that he had the white intruder’s complete attention and grinned as only a victor on the verge of causing extreme pain could. He would make this coward endure more of the same punishment he had used earlier for tormenting the woman. Red Shirt kicked dirt and gravel into Grant’s face then backed away, issuing the order to his men: bury him.

The two braves scouted the area for wood and returned to Red Shirt with three pieces to use as the rough material for shovels. Number Two made short work of the timber with his hatchet, paring down a handle and flattening the other end for a spade. The Young One had found a suitable site and was removing the larger stones from the area, setting them in a pile for future use. Number Two handed
a roughly hewn digger
to both The Young One and Marty
,
then began digging.

Marty took the
crude
spade and worked just a fervently as the other two. He didn’t know the exact details of Grant’s punishment, or execution, but he knew that if he didn’t help with the process, he might be stuck right next to him in the pit they were digging. He wasn’t fond of Rachel’s brother by any means
,
but these braves probably were going to make him suffer before they killed him outright. Grant might have a chance of survival if he was smart and strong... and could shut up. “Oh, well; too bad, so sad,” he commented as he pulled out another shovelful. “Can’t say he didn’t deserve it.”

Marty looked away from his task. He and the other two laborers had been working diligently and hadn’t taken a break. It wasn’t punishment for them
,
but wasn’t an easy job either. Number Two grunted a short command that
seemed to say, ‘that’s enough—
let’s stop for a drink.’

“Sounds good to me,” Marty said aloud and followed the other two to the trees where Red Shirt, Rachel
,
and Junior were seated. Rachel was nursing her baby and chewing something at the same time. It appeared Red Shirt had given her some jerky for her breakfast.

Rachel picked up the canteen with her free hand, took a drink
,
and then smiled at her benefactor. He was a nice man and she hoped she would be able to stay with him. Grant had been telling her about New Bern and their cousin for four months at least. It was always two more days. She was beginning to doubt that there even was a relative in New Bern. However
,
she did know that New Bern was more than two days away. S
he wasn’t trained in navigation;
had never learned how to use the stars to guide her, but did know that they had passed the same areas several times on more than one occasion.

After they had lost their home
,
Grant didn’t want to settle anywhere. All he wanted was to use her and her
child to get sympathy and food—
or to use as a distraction while he pillaged and robbed. She knew he did
that
whenever he found the opportunity. She knew it was bad,
but there was nothing she could do about it. She had asked him to stop on two different occasions. In retrospect, she should have bit her tongue after the first thrashing he had given her for sassing him. No, he wouldn’t listen to reason and had no scruples. The worst part though
,
was that he never shared his spoils with her or the baby. She shook her head to erase the bad memories of him and their brother, Atholl, Senior, her child’s father. She looked back at Red Shirt and smiled in relief. Even if this man was an enemy, at least he gave her food.

He didn’t like to hurt people. There had been too much of it in his short life
,
but this man needed to be taught a lesson, even if by one not of his family or tribe. He had seen the man be cruel to the horse and, just as
bad,
the
woman
and chil
d. He couldn’t just let him go—
that would be a sign of weakness in front of his men. Killing him swiftly would be easiest
,
but burying him up to his neck with rocks and dirt would be a fair punishment, too. If he did manage to get out of his earthen grave, he would probably be so weak that he wouldn’t be able to make it to water. There weren’t many creeks or streams around here and the few springs in the area
well
hidden. Yes, he’d let his men bury him then let the woman throw on the last shovelful of dirt
,
if she wished. She didn’t seem to care for him even
though
they had been traveling together.

Red Shirt grunted his order; this time using severa
l words of his Indian language. He pointed at Marty and signed
for him to help the other two. The three were to assist Grant to his tomb of shame. Of course, Grant wasn’t too eager to go
.
He
kicked and wriggled like a live fish on a hot frying pan, squealing and whining that it wasn’t his fault. “It was her that did it. She told me to take the stallion, that the mare wasn’t good enough for her. She gave me the gun and said to shoot the damned Indians. The only good Injun was a dead one. She, she …”

Twack!
  This time Red Shirt took the honor of shutting off the free flowing faucet of lies. He shook his head and snorted at the pathetic excuse for a man: white, red or otherwise. He not only lied, he was blaming a woman, a woman of his own family
who
he had abused, for his wrongdoings.

Grant was stunned but still conscious. He tried to open his mouth to protest
,
but his face wouldn’t respond. He brought his bound hands up under his chin and realized why he couldn’t speak: his mouth was open all the way and he couldn’t close or move it. His jaw was either broken or dislocated. He looked to Rachel, pleading with his eyes since his voice wouldn’t work.
H
e could see
that she didn’t care though. No, wait—s
he did care. She was smirking and shaking her head side to side, relishing his predicament.

“How do
you
like being hit in the face? Not very nice, eh?” she remarked then snorted in disgust. She had zero sympathy for the brother who beat her for sport, let her have just enough food to live
,
and wiped his ass with her hat. “Let the devil have you then,” she said then walked away from the pit. They could do what they wanted to him.

As it turned out,
the ground was too hard and the implements too primitive to dig a proper man-sized pit. They settled for a grave that was deeper at one end than the other.

Inevitably, Number Two had to hit Grant one last time to knock him unconscious. Even binding his legs hadn’t helped much. His wiggle potential was too high for the three of them and Red Shirt didn’t want to stoop to the level of enforcer and assist in the punishment.

The braves each carried a leg
.
Marty supported
the sho
ulder and lax head, which flopped to the left, the jaw,
set catty-wumpus to the right. Just as
they were
getting ready to drop him into the pit
,
Marty hollered, “My boots! Can I get my boots back, please?” His hands and arms were full of passed out male so he couldn’t employ his usual sign language to communicate his message
,
but still managed to nod to the feet. “He stole those from me. His were in the saddlebag. They might be there still…”

Marty looked up at Number Two to see if he understood. He did all right. He was grinning. He nodded down to his own feet. Marty hadn’t noticed earlier
,
but Number Two was wearing Grant’s old boots. “Then can I have mine back? I mean, they probably wouldn’t fit you anyway. I have big feet.”

Number Two looked over to Red Shirt to verify that it was okay. Red Shirt gave his now familiar grunt of assent so the three men stepped back and put the shit-smelling body back down. Marty scrambled to the opposite end and tugged. The boots
,
too big for Grant
,
came off easily. He unzipped them and stuck his bare feet inside, quickly zipping them up without his missing socks. “Thanks, mates,” Marty said then went back to his shoulder toting position, ready for the other two to grab their end.

So, Marty had his boots back and Grant, the mean big brother, thief, liar
,
and general black-hearted creature
,
was laid out in a relatively shallow grave, buried up to his neck in dirt
.
The tomb was
secured by various sizes of boulders to deter
,
or at least slow down, egress by him or access by coyotes, foxes
,
or wolves. The ants weren’t out, not even butterflies were flying about. No, the little six-legged critters like flies, ants
,
and wasps wouldn’t bother him. But
,
the four-legged kind would be attracted to the smell of blood from his earlier thrashing. They might not be able to get to the main course of limbs and torso
,
but
they
could
snack on the tender bits like his nose
,
ears
,
and eyeballs. He’d be lucky if he died of thirst before they found him.