Forever Ecstasy (3 page)

To calm the still edgy leader, Joe decided to start speaking more like these men and drop the correct English that he’d been taught during his years of schooling. “I was ridin’ for Benton near the headwaters of the Missouri,” he fabricated. “I got a friend there who’s been beggin’ me to join him. He hired on with the American Fur Company in ’47. Been with them ever since. I figured I’d see more of this wild territory if I rode across country, rather than take a boat the long route by water. I heard the Missouri gets mighty treacherous in places, and I ain’t one to challenge crazy water much. I had my fill of that workin’ for my father back East.”

“Maybe I know your friend. I’ve traded with lots of trappers.”

“Ever met Ben Murphy? About forty—short, husky, black hair.”

“Nope. I thought I knew all those American Fur boys.”

“Ben’s quiet. He usually keeps to himself. We trapped together back South. He taught me most of what I know. When we’d take off huntin’ or trappin’, my father always sent somebody to fetch me home if we didn’t return in a month or two. He was determined I was going to learn his shippin’ business and take it over one day. I figured if I joined Ben out here, I’d be too far away for Old Joe to find me and drag me home again. I guess I got too used to being on my own at school, and I didn’t take to Old Joe’s runnin’ my life from dawn to dusk like he did his company.”

“So why you looking for a job in these parts if it’s to Benton you’re heading?” Zeke asked. When an owl hooted, he glanced in that direction, his nerves obviously on edge.

“I been ridin’ for weeks and my tail’s tryin’ to grow to the saddle.” Joe answered. “I need a rest. It’s a long way to Benton. Frankly, I ain’t lookin’ forward to crossin’ Crow Territory. It drained me to come this far through Sioux land.”

“Don’t let them hear you call ’em Sioux,” Zeke warned, “or they’ll lift your hair for sure. That’s a chopped-off French word meaning ‘treacherous snake.’ They call themselves
Dakotas,
‘friends.’ Best remember that.”

“Are they?”

“Are they what?” Zeke asked, confused.

“Friends, friendly,” Joe hinted as a reminder.

“Sioux are about the lowest and meanest savages alive.” Zeke spat again, as if clearing his mouth of a foul taste.

“You’re
working this area and you still have your scalp. You got a truce with them?”

“Sioux don’t make no truces with whites, but they’ll leave you be if they think you’re smarter and stronger than them. I’ve beaten some of their best warriors, so the others avoid tangling with me.”

“Sounds like you’re the right man to join up with in this area.”

“I don’t need nobody else to tend or to slow me down. Clem and Farley do more than enough of both. You’ll do
better to head for Crow Territory than hang around in Sioux.”

“Why is that, Zeke? Don’t they hate whites, too?”

“Not like the Sioux. Don’t show no fear of them when you’re alone, and Crow’ll let you pass. One of their prophets told them his vision said not to war with whites. All Injuns are big believers in them peyote dreams they call visions, but braves will still ambush and rob you if you act scared.”

“Hell, Zeke! Most of ’em are cowards and beggars. They’d rather have a trinket ’an fight a real man for his scalp,” Clem said between chuckles.

Zeke glared at his companion before giving his advice to Joe. “If you ain’t heading on to Benton at first light, you best ride east to one of the trading posts on the river. For a few dollars you can catch a boat to join your friend. Trappers who don’t work for companies mostly come to sell their winter catches before long. They spend a month or so jawing, drinking, whoring, and gambling. Then they resupply and go back to their trapping grounds. River’s the safest way to get there from here. It’s eastward. We’re heading southwest. You don’t need to ride in that direction.”

Joe knew the man was lying. The trail he’d followed for days was heading northwestward and Crow Territory and Benton were both in that direction! Zeke’s careless mistake and odd behavior told Joe he’d been smart to follow his gut instinct. But it was clear that the ruffian was adamant about them parting ways at sunrise. When the others remained silent, Joe yawned and flexed his shoulders. “I wish I could change your mind, Zeke, but I understand.” “I’ll get my gun and help keep guard tonight,” he offered. “I don’t want any Indians sneaking into camp while we’re asleep.”

“No need,” Zeke said. “We take two-hour shifts each, even when it seems safe. We’ve done scouted the area. The Sioux are still holed up in their winter camps south of here, and it’s a good ways to Crow Territory. You can rest easy tonight, then be on your way at dawn.”

Joe smiled, then asked Clem, “You got another bottle of that good whiskey I can buy? It’s been a dusty and tiring ride today.”

Before Clem or Zeke could reply, Farley said, “Plenty, iffen you got—”

“No!” the hefty leader interrupted and came to his feet. “The way Clem’s been slopping down our supply like a bottomless pig, it’s about gone, except for that bottle I got in my gear. You’re welcome to a swig or two of it, Lawrence. I’ll fetch it. You stay here with the boys.”

Joe saw how the large man got to his feet with ease and agility, then left the smoky fire to head for the front wagon. With Zeke gone, maybe he could get answers to the beautiful mystery nearby, he thought. “One of you having trouble with your squaw?” Joe inquired in a genial tone as he nodded to the captive some thirty feet away at the second wagon. The moon’s angle and tall trees now placed the confining wagon and young female in almost obscuring shadows, but Joseph Lawrence had a mental picture of her that would never vanish.

The half-inebriated Clem glanced in the beauty’s direction, chuckled, and revealed, “We’s taking her to the boss. Caught her whilst we wuz scouting. He likes ’em young, full of spirit and fight. She oughta last a few weeks, maybe months if he’s more careful this time. He uses ’em up fast. Just ’twixt us, Joe, I’d like a bite of her flesh meself. Maybe we can talk—”

“Shut up, you drunken fool,” Zeke warned, his eyes narrowing as he passed Joe the half-empty bottle. “Don’t pay Clem no mind,” he said. “His brain’s sour mash by now. He’s teasing you. But if he don’t stop drinking and lying so much, I’m gonna get rid of him. He knows I traded for her in a Crow camp yesterday. You can see she didn’t care much for being sold by her pappy. She’ll settle down soon and make me a good squaw.”

Joe noticed the bite mark on Zeke’s hand that he rubbed as he lied. The woman presented Joe with a difficult decision: rescue her and lose this contact, or ignore her imminent fate so he could try to stay with these offensive men. With Zeke so mad at Clem, maybe he could persuade the leader to let him join them. If he pulled off that feat and they reached their destination, he’d never be able to free her. Yet
if these men were connected to the murderous villain he was after… “She’s beautiful, Zeke I’m sure a strong man like you will have her tamed fast. I’ve always heard that a woman with fire is more fun than one who’s quiet and cowardly. I’d say you got a good deal, a real challenge.” He sipped whiskey and deliberated which course to sail tonight.

The Oglala maiden was awake and alert, and she tried to ignore the chill on her flesh. Morning Star hated the men who had taken her prisoner and the dark fate they had in mind for her. And now there were four to fight against. Although she pretended not to understand their words, her parents had taught her English. Years ago she had practiced that skill with any light-skinned visitor who had come to their camp. Those days were gone because of the recent trouble between the two cultures. Her father had signed a treaty with the palefaces in 1820, and peace had ensued for years. But during the past two summers, sporadic fights and false charges had marred that truce.

A new breed of encroachers seemed determined to war with them now, a breed that was to provoke even more hatred and trouble between the Crow and the Oglalas. Soon her people expected more conflicts, violence, and false accusations. Yet she could not forget that her family and tribe had befriended some lightskins. Nor could she forget that her grandmother and aunt were of white blood, or that she carried a trace of it. She had concluded long ago that not all palefaces were bad. It was unfair and wrong to judge an entire race by the evil doings of some of its members, as most whites did with Indians.

This past winter had been tranquil. In fact, she had known mostly peace since her birth and had not witnessed the new troubles, so a fierce hatred for all whites did not exist in her heart. She wanted to study them and discover why there were such hostilities and differences between them. Only by learning from a problem could it be resolved, and bloodshed be prevented. Yet her captors seemed to be proving that her brother’s ominous words about most palefaces were true.

Morning Star prayed that the Indians the last man had
mentioned earlier were from her travel party and not Crow warriors arriving early. The Crow were fierce enemies of her people, the Dakotas, and had been for generations. If she were recognized as the daughter of Oglala Chief Sun Cloud, the Bird People would demand to buy her as a slave. She could imagine the horrors—or even death—she would endure at their hands. Yet she must not lose hope and courage. She must not lose her wits. She had to remain ready to seize any opening. When that glorious moment came, she wanted to flee with as much information as she could. She forced herself to concentrate on the men’s conversation.

The last man’s words revealed he was new to her land. He seemed different from her cold and mean captors. She sensed that the big foe did not trust the handsome stranger. Morning Star decided that the sunny-haired man would be lucky to get away from the others alive.

Sun Cloud’s daughter tried to ignore Joe, as she needed to concentrate on the others and their plans. She wished she knew who was the “Boss” they had mentioned several times within her hearing and wished they would reveal more. She knew there were weapons inside the wagons for the Bird People to use against her tribe. She needed to discover why these men wanted to create an inter-tribal war.

Morning Star watched them drink and talk. She knew the stranger had noticed her but was pretending she did not exist. Even if he were a good man, she could not cry out for his help. He was as outnumbered as she; he was also white, and that probably made him a foe.

She closed her eyes and leaned her weary head against a spoke of the wagon. She was thirsty and hungry; the men were punishing her with the denial of food and water for battling them, especially the big one. Several times he had shaken her, slapped her, and shouted of horrible things he would do to her if she weren’t a gift for his boss. Then he had laughed—an evil sound—and said she would soon wish he were her owner instead of the other man! Despite her fear, she had pretended not to understand his threats.

The wind’s coolness and strength increased and blew over her flesh, causing her to tremble. She wished she had been
given a blanket to ward off the night’s chill, but told herself that her comfort wasn’t the most important thing at this time, even if she
were
miserable. Her outstretched arms ached, and her tightly bound wrists caused her fingers to tingle and lose feeling. The hub of the wagon pressed into her back and made it beg for relief. Her buttocks were sore and numb from being confined to the same awkward position for hours. It was a struggle to accept such torments in silence, to resist fatigue, and to quell her fears. She prayed her party had not been misled by the false trail her captors had set for them. If so, her world could be lost forever. Once she was enslaved and used, even if she escaped, how could she return to
her
tribe without her honor?

“You
can toss
down your bedroll and sleep here,” the Oglala
maiden
heard the big man say to Joe. “Best get an early start tomorrow; you got a ways to ride.” She heard Joe excuse himself and saw him vanish into the denser trees and bushes to the right of the campfire. The other men huddled and whispered. A bad sign, she decided. No doubt they were—

Morning Star perceived someone’s stealthy approach behind her under the wagon. The scent was unfamiliar. Her heart rate increased and she quivered in suspense.

Joseph Lawrence, Jr., could not allow an innocent girl to suffer the terrible fate that Clem had mentioned before Zeke had silenced him. If he could free her without getting caught, he would continue his deceitful attempt to join up with the suspicious men. If not…

Joe had removed his jacket to keep from putting telltale stains on it. He used his elbows and feet to wriggle to the female. He hoped the shadows and her pinioned body would conceal him. He lifted himself to his knees and leaned close to her head. “I hope you understand me, woman, because I don’t have much time,” he whispered. “I’m a friend, but those men over there are real bad. I’m going to cut you free, but keep still and quiet until I get back to the fire and distract them. I’ll leave my knife beside you. When I have their attention, free your legs, then sneak away. If you understand what I’m saying, nod your head.”

Morning Star did not know all of the words he used, but she grasped his meaning. Though she worried that the man’s strange behavior was a trick to make her expose herself, something within her said to trust him. She gathered her courage and nodded.

“That’s a relief,” Joe murmured. With caution, he sliced through the rope at one wrist, then the other. As ordered, the female didn’t move from her strained position. He slid his knife to her right side. “Make sure they aren’t looking when you free your legs. Hide until they stop searching for you. I’ll get back to the campfire to spy on them. Good luck.”

Joe worked his way from beneath the wagon and retrieved his jacket. After brushing the debris from his shirt and trousers, he slipped on the jacket and sneaked into the concealing trees. So far his plan was a success, but he remained guarded. He began to whistle as he walked along the riverbank to camp. He entered the clearing with his shirttail hanging out, as if he had relieved himself and hadn’t straightened his clothing. The other men were bedding down, their weapons nearby. Joe wondered why no guard was being posted, as Zeke had talked about earlier. He wondered if it had been a ruse to keep him rifleless. He came to full alert and decided that perhaps he should get away while he could, as soon as the girl was safe. To stall for time and conceal his wariness, he remarked, “That coffee and whiskey ran through me fast. I’d sure love a bath if that water wasn’t so cold. I’ll fetch my bedroll and join you. I’ll be—”