Mary Connealy (51 page)

Glowing Sun hit the ground hard. The world twisted around, made no sense. Gasping in pain at the collision, she noticed the world was black. She blinked her eyes but couldn’t see. Even in the dark of night her eyes should have picked up something.

A hard jerk and something was pulled off her head.

Suddenly she realized she was on her back on the ground. Light blinded her and she blinked and squinted at the pain. Sunlight filtered through towering trees.

Then two dark heads blocked the light. Evil men.

She attacked to find her hands tied.

She screamed to find her mouth gagged.

She jumped to find her feet bound.

So she lay still, inhaling terror.

The one man she’d seen before, holding her feet. His angry eyes had followed her into unconsciousness.

The other, the one who’d cut off her breath, was shorter but otherwise like the angry man, full beard, dark hair, fur coat and hat. The shorter one reached for her with scarred, ugly hands. He lifted her up, steadying her. His grip didn’t hurt. His eyes didn’t glow with cruelty. He seemed a bit kinder than the other man. Of course, she’d kicked the bigger man. But in fairness, the shorter man’s face bore the marks of her fingernails, so if their cruelty was over her behavior, this one had as much cause as the other.

“We’re just takin’ you back to yer people, miss,” the shorter man said. “You’ve been caught by the Flathead Indians, and we’re doing our duty to return you to whites.”

Whites.
Glowing Sun understood
whites
and
Flathead.
She’d heard that word used for her village.

She shook her head frantically, hoping they’d understand she couldn’t speak this language. Maybe if they went slow. Maybe some of her white parents’ tongue would return to her. So many years since she’d heard it. Even the missionary to her village spoke the tribal language. The missionary was one of their own people who had learned about God from another village.

The smaller, kinder man said, “We’ve put a far distance between us and your village. But we’re not lettin’ you loose, and we’re not takin’ off the gag. You don’t know what’s best for you, missy. So we’ll keep you bound until we can turn you over to your own kind. It’ll only be another day, so missing a meal won’t hurt you none.”

Glowing Sun had no idea what it meant. She heard “far.” She heard “village.”

The two men set her back on the ground so her back could lean against a tree.

When she leaned on that tree, something poked into her back, and suddenly she knew what she needed to do.

She waited until they were settled down to eat a cold supper in the fading light. The hard jerked beef made her stomach growl. Studying the area, she noted the moss on the north side of the tree, the slant of the sun, the slope of the mountain. She could see a distant peak and recognized it. She had no idea how far she’d come, but she knew where she needed to go. All she needed was a running start.

God, do not take another family from me. Help me find freedom. Help me find my way home once that freedom is mine.

She watched the men and prayed fervently to bear what pain might be coming her way with her reckless plan.

She waited until the men were done eating and busy setting up their night camp. Then, when their attention was diverted, she grabbed the kerchief knotted so tightly over her mouth and jerked it down to her chin and screamed.

The two men whirled and dashed at her. The short one clamped his hand on her mouth as he had earlier, knocking her head back against the tree.

The other muttered. Unintelligible words growled back and forth between the two of them. Then the tall man untied her hands and twisted her arms painfully behind her back.

The man holding her mouth jerked the gag back into place. “I’d hoped we could leave you with your arms tied in front. You’d sleep better.” He shook his head.

The other man took pleasure in jerking the binding tight and pulled so hard on her arms her shoulders ached.

“Hey be careful of her,” the shorter man said. “We have to keep her tied, but you don’t have to hurt her. She don’t know no better than to run back to her tribe.”

Glowing Sun cried out in pain. She could have controlled it and normally would have. It wasn’t her nature to fuss over a bit of pain. But she wanted them to think she was weak and defeated. She wanted them to be confident. She wanted them to sleep deeply.

The tall man dropped her roughly so her head struck the tree behind her. Stars burst from behind her eyes, and she did a good job of acting hurt. As embarrassing as it was, she faked that she was crying, sobbing. Though it wasn’t hard to fake it, because she was afraid and the ropes cut into her wrists and her stomach growled and her village was far over the next mountain.

The tall man laughed in triumph as he went back to his side of the camp, leaving space around her as if
she
were the one who smelled bad.

The other man crouched down, and she withdrew to the extent she was able. Eyes wide, doing her best to look terrified and defeated, she whimpered a bit.

“We only mean to help you, miss. Don’t worry. We’ll get you back to your people.” The man seemed kind, though he smelled bad enough.

She nodded just to let the man think he’d won. None of her triumph showed in her eyes. But now her hands were tied behind her back just as she’d hoped. She’d wait. Bide her time. As soon as the men had settled for the night, Glowing Sun would move her bound fingers to the hidden seam in her skirt, in the middle of her back.

And get her hands on her razor-sharp blade.

W
ade set a fast pace, and the men who came with him kept up. They rode well beyond the setting sun.

“We’ve got to lay up, I know.” Wade turned to the men who had stayed with him so faithfully. “Let’s find a spot to camp.”

“We’ve ridden hard before,” Buck said genially.

Wade found himself liking all three of these men. They shaped up to be decent, hardworking, and tough. He hoped as much could be said about him.

Shorty had a campfire going and coffee on by the time the horses were stripped of their leather and pegged out to graze.

Settling in with a cup of what was, at this point, barely warm brownish water, Wade marveled at the comfort of it in his hands. “Thanks, Shorty. I figured to make a cold camp. This is mighty nice.”

Shorty grunted.

Roy got out a brush and worked on all four horses as if he couldn’t quite sit still.

“Your son’s a workin’ man, Buck. A fine youngster.” Wade wasn’t that much older than Roy, but the four years seemed like twenty.

Buck smiled, as if he knew just how old Wade was. “You’re in a hurry to get to this drive. Any reason?”

“I know—” Wade stumbled. He’d almost said Belle’s name. He concealed a smile. No reason not to tell the truth. The men could stick or not. Probably would. But he decided to leave them to the surprise. “I’m not sure what’s riding me, really.” Wade studied Buck a moment. “There is no reason to feel this strange burden for them, but I feel like God Himself is pushing me to hurry.” Wade wondered what this three would make of that.

Buck nodded. Shorty kept pouring coffee. Both of them acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I know they’re shorthanded. I’m sure they’re handling things. It’s a crew that takes care of itself.” Wade had seen the Tanner girls once because he’d been roaming the high country and ridden into their range. Belle kept them so secluded there were some who weren’t quite sure even how many children she had. All of those girls were tough. Tougher than him by a long shot.

It occurred to Wade that this might be more of his need to rescue, as he’d felt for Cassie Dawson. The fever to protect her had calmed once he’d seen how happy Cassie was with Red. He’d never have gotten over her without God filling the awful, empty places in his life.

Now this urgency to get to Belle reminded him a little of that desperate need to rescue Cassie. The main difference being, if he implied to Belle she needed to be rescued, she’d rip his arm off and beat him to death with it. “But I’m also sure they’re all pushing themselves to the limit. They need help, and I said I’d give it. I guess I’m just bent on keeping that promise. And wanting to get there before they wear themselves down to the bone.”

“Good enough for me.” Buck finished his coffee and a piece of jerked beef he was gnawing. He turned to Roy. “Son, hit the blankets. We’ll be up riding hard before daybreak.”

Roy left his fussing with the horses and came to where he’d laid out his bedroll, collapsed on it, and was out almost instantly.

Wade finished his coffee and took Buck’s advice, too.

The next morning they kept up the ground-eating lope, slowing only when the tortuous trail twisted across talus slides or was so steep Wade and the others dismounted to walk.

They’d put hours behind them before the sun rose, and as they reached the bottom of a treacherous slope, Wade saw the flickering light of sun on water and knew it was time to give the horses a rest—a brief rest. He raised his hand, signaling halt, just as a deer darted between two bushes straight ahead. He barely saw its form, but it was fawn-colored and quick. He reached for his rifle, thinking to bring grub to Belle along with helping hands.

He heard a shell snapped into a rifle behind him and knew Shorty was taking aim.

Something else moved, something bigger. Something human. “Hold up.” Wade spurred his horse forward just as what he thought was a deer raced out of the underbrush.

A woman, looking back, ran straight into the side of his horse. She cried out and fell backward. White blond hair flying. Ropes dangling from her wrists.

Not far behind, two men crashed toward Wade through the trees and brush.

Wade swung himself to the ground to stand between the woman and two men on her trail. They emerged just as Wade leveled his rifle on them. The one in front skidded to a halt. The one behind nearly knocked his partner down.

Wade had two seconds to wonder if he’d have the guts to pull his trigger. Rifles cocked. Buck, Shorty, and Roy were ready, backing him.

“She’s ours,” the taller pursuer shouted while he gasped for breath, looking from gun to gun, all beaded on him or his saddle partner.

A barrage of words escaped from the woman who was scrambling to her feet.

Wade saw her take one running step away from him. Snaking out a hand, he caught hold of her wrist.

The girl fought his grip.

He never took his eyes off the men who were after her.

Buck came up beside him. “I’ve got ’em covered, Wade. See to the girl.”

Wade turned to study his prisoner. She clawed at his gloved hand. A white girl—woman rather—but young. Dressed in Indian clothing. “I mean you no harm.”

She moaned and crouched low, like a cornered animal. Words erupted from her lips Wade recognized as Flathead, but he didn’t know enough of the language to respond.

“Hau.”
Shorty spoke to the woman, kneeling beside her.

She didn’t respond.

Wade shook his head. “That’s Sioux. She won’t know it.”

“She might.” Shorty came up beside Wade and looked at the gasping, trembling woman.

Wade could well imagine what she thought. Two men were after her, but she’d been running free. Now there were six, and she was caught. “Can you tell her we won’t hurt her?”

Shorty shook his head. “I know a few words of Sioux and a little Cheyenne, but I’ve only been in Montana a coupl-a years. I can tell she’s Flathead because of her clothes, but I don’t know any of the lingo. But maybe…
Okiye niye?”

“What’s that?” Wade wanted the old man to get on with helping her.

“It’s Sioux. Their territories overlapped years back. She might know a few words. I think it means ‘help you.’ Or ‘help me’ maybe.”

“Great, she’ll think we want
her
to help
us.”

The woman made a sudden move, darting to her feet. Wade grabbed her. She lashed out with her feet and raked fingernails across his face.

Wade held up both hands to protect his face and crowded her toward an outcropping of rock, cornering her. “We can’t just leave you here. Let us help you. We won’t hurt you.”

A hard fist slammed into Wade’s jaw. Grabbing at her flying hands, dodging her thrashing feet, doing his best not to hurt her, he wrestled with her until she jumped back, pressing against the rock.

“She’s wild but she’s white,” one of her pursuers said. “We found her with the Indians, and we were taking her home. We weren’t hurtin’ her.”

Wade registered the men’s statement. It might be true, but it didn’t mesh with the bleeding scrapes oozing from behind the leather strips dangling from each arm. They’d tied her up for her own good? There was a laugh. “Do you know where her home is?” Wade asked. “Does she have a white family waiting for her?”

“We don’t know. But it stands to reason she belongs with her own kind, not a bunch of heathen savages.”

Wade’s jaw tightened. He’d known a few of the natives. The ones he’d met were often Christians and often gentle people. Oh, he knew there had been massacres. But there were bad seeds among all people.

The woman collapsed on the ground, wailing. Her eyes, so blue, tears drenching her face, though she seemed more fierce than sad. She was too angry, too combative. Her tears were ones of rage.

“Home? Home to your village?” Wade stood over her, feeling like a brute for making her stay when she so obviously wanted to run. He touched his cheek and pulled his fingers away bloody.

Her cry faded and her eyes locked on Wade. She pulled in a deep breath. “V–v–village? Salish village?”

Wade felt his eyes narrow. “You speak English?”

Her voice riveted everyone’s attention. Only when Wade heard running footsteps did he realize they’d allowed her assailants to escape.

Roy whirled around.

“Let them go.” Wade decided. “What are we gonna do with ’em?”

Her gaze slid past Wade to the men. If it was true—that they were attempting some kind of rescue—then they hadn’t broken any laws. Even though any fool could see the woman wanted her village, her Indian village, plenty of whites would think she should be taken back to her own kind. Studying her, Wade could see that her clothes weren’t torn and her bruises weren’t serious or plentiful.