Mountain Rose (33 page)

She had learned many things from her young friend—that his name was White Feather, that his father was called Lone Wolf, and his grandmother was Grey Dove. He had always lived in this village, he'd said, but there were numerous tiny villages scattered along the Platte, each with its own chief. These chiefs were chosen according to their wealth.

White Feather also told her that each village had a man called a shaman. He explained that this man was like the white man's preacher or priest. The shamon also interpreted dreams, performed ceremonies and cured the sick.

Raegan remembered with a smile that it had been through White Feather and Grey Dove's help that the chief had agreed that she could go to a nearby stream every day and bathe.

It had come about on the second day after her arrival at the village, when she and White Feather were alone in the plank house. He sat close to her, his head leaning on her shoulder. He looked up at her and said, "All the time you smell like flowers. Do you not put bear grease in your hair?"

She had laughed and given him a quick hug. "No, White Feather, that is not a custom of the whites. However, if I don't get to bathe soon, I'll begin to smell like the bear itself."

White Feather giggled. "I would not like for you to smell like the grizzly. I will go speak to my grandmother."

So it had been decided that each noon, when the sun was at its warmest, Grey Dove and White Feather would accompany her to a small pool formed by a waterfall a short distance from the village. When she had voiced her pleasure, White Feather had teased, "Grandmother say white people have strange customs, but that it is already known by our people that the pale-faces are strange to begin with."

"Oh they are, are they?" She had pulled him to the floor and tickled his ribs, sending him into gales of laughter.

Raegan remembered how their hilarity had come to an abrupt end when the haughty-faced woman who served her meals entered the house. She shot them both a black look, then slammed the wooden bowl of stew onto the floor before stalking outside.

White Feather had stared after the woman, a brooding look in his eyes. "I do not like that one," he sighed. "She thinks to replace my mother with my father. I worry that he will only see the beautiful face that hides her true ugliness."

"Your father is a very wise man, White Feather." She put an arm around the narrow, sagging shoulders. "When the time comes for him to choose a wife again, I'm sure he'll choose one who is gentle and will be kind to his two sons."

"I hope that you are right, Raegan," he'd answered, but there was doubt in his voice and a worried frown on his forehead.

From outside came the sounds of the village coming awake. Dogs barked, children laughed or cried, and smoke from cook fires wafted under the door. Raegan turned over on her back, wondering where Chase was waking up this morning. "Please, God," Raegan whispered, "send Chase to bring me home."

Chase was bringing up the rear today, and ever since moving out this morning he'd felt that they were being followed. But every time he looked behind him, he saw nothing except maybe a squirrel or a bird or a fox—never any sign of a hostile Indian or a fat man. Still, the feeling persisted.

It was early in the afternoon when Sid, riding in front, spotted the rude building tucked alongside the Platte. He reined his mount in and held up a hand for the others to do the same. Chase rode up beside him, and together their eyes scanned the area around what they recognized as a fur post.

Their slow study showed half a dozen boats and two canoes pulled up on the river bank. Hope flared in Chase's heart. Did one of the vessels belong to Roscoe? Were they finally coming to the end of their hunt?

From inside the building came the laughter of women, the raucous guffawing of men. Chase kneed the stallion into motion, waving to the others to follow him. They quietly approached the building and swung from their saddles.

Just as quietly, three fierce-eyed Indians slipped through the forest only feet behind them. When Chase pushed open the post's door and he and the trappers stepped inside, the braves noiselessly leapt up on the porch and flattened themselves along the wall. Revenge burned in Lone Wolf's black eyes.

Inside, suspicious-looking faces were turned on the strangers who had invaded a territory not their own. Then quickly it was noted that these weren't ordinary men. Not one was under six feet tall, and all had the shoulder span of a buffalo as they stood spread-legged, their eyes inviting a confrontation.

The anger grew to sullenness on the men's faces, but a path was made for Chase and the trappers to approach the rough plank bar. "I'd like some information," Chase said quietly.

"Go to hell," the bearded bartender growled.

Chase drew his Colt and laid it on the bar. "I'll take you with me, mister."

When some of the men growled a protest and started moving in on Chase, there came the clicking of eight triggers being cocked. The would-be defenders stepped back, and the bearded man growled, "What's the information you're seekin'"

"I'm lookin' for a fat, bearded man who came down the river, on the run for killin' the wife of a Tillamook Chief."

There was a stunned silence as the customers in the post stared at Chase in disbelief, as if asking what damn fool would lay a hand on a Tillamook woman, much less kill her. Then alarm spread over their features. What if the man dragged out of the river had led the revenging tribe to their door?

As one, all heads turned to the man asleep in a chair, half hidden in a shadowed corner. Chase pushed away from the bar, and with the trappers following him, he crossed the sawdust-covered floor and looked down on the man who was no longer fat. He reached down and grasped

Roscoe's shoulder in a painful grip, startling him awake. When his eyes flew open, Chase jerked him to his feet.

A path was made for Chase as he hustled the whimpering Roscoe out the door. "What are you gonna do with me, Chase?" Roscoe suddenly hung back.

"I'm not goin' to do anything to you, Roscoe. I'm goin' to let the Tillamooks take care of you. We're goin' to take you to their village, which we should have done in the first place, and you're gonna tell their chief that you, alone, stole his woman."

Roscoe's eyes widened in terror. "You can't do that! They'll kill me!"

"Of course they will," Chase answered coldly, pushing him to walk off the porch. "Do you think they'll hand you a bunch of flowers for killin' one of their women?"

"I ain't goin'," Roscoe yelled, and with a hard jerk he was free of Chase's grip. But as he staggered backwards, he came up against a hard, bronzed body. While everyone gaped at the sudden appearance of three Indian men, Roscoe stared wildly into a pair of black eyes that promised death. His mouth opened and closed like a fish taken from a line and tossed onto a river bank, making no sound. The two braves with the tall Indian laughed loudly and pointed at his feet. Roscoe had wet himself, the urine puddling around his boots.

When Roscoe looked pleadingly at Chase, the tall Indian ordered, "Do not look at them for help. Nothing and nobody will save you. I am

Lone Wolf, chief of my tribe. Before many more sunsets, I will avenge my wife's death."

"It wasn't me who took your wife," Roscoe wailed like a woman. "It was Rafferty there." Roscoe pointed at the stunned man. "He's fat like I used to be."

Angry muttering rose among the trappers, and three started toward the lying man. Chase stepped in front of them when the chief began to speak again. "Twice I have heard that you stole my woman, caused her death. Now I want to hear you say it."

When Roscoe clamped his mouth shut and shook his head, Chase gave him an impatient look and ordered, "Tell him, Roscoe. Tell him the truth and you'll be dealt with fast. Lie to him and you'll be days dyin'."

With the trapped look of a fox cornered by a back of yelping hounds, Roscoe's eyes darted around, seeking a way to escape his looming death. There was nowhere to run, and his face suddenly crumpled in defeat. "I done it," he whispered hoarsely.

After a sharp intake of breath, Lone Wolf's lips twisted in a cruel, mirthless smile. Chase had advised Roscoe badly. There would be no fast death for the fear-crazed Roscoe.

And Chase was also wrong in thinking that all he had to do now was climb on his stallion and head for home and Raegan. Cold apprehension fluttered along his spine when Lone Wolf looked at him and said, "White man, are you not curious about who told me first about this man?"

Stark pain stared out of Chase's eyes. This savage had somehow gotten his hands on Raegan.

The chief slipped a noose around Roscoe's neck, then turned to Chase. "I can see from your expression you know of whom I speak. Your wife is a brave woman."

Chase lost all reasoning, was unable to listen to common sense telling him not to anger the arrogant chief or he risked never seeing Raegan again. He lunged for the chief's throat, but Sid and two others caught and held him.

When he stood quietly, only his fists opening and closing, Lone Wolf nodded approval and spoke again. "Your wife brought me my son and related how he came into her possession. She also told me about this man." He gave the rope a tug, choking off Roscoe's breathing for a moment.

Chase gritted his teeth and waited for the handsome Indian to finish toying with him. "I hated detaining one so fair," the Tillamook chief said with mock regret. "She is like the rising sun, a fresh breeze off the hills. But you must understand that I had to make sure of her story."

"All right! You've found out she spoke the truth." Chase shook himself loose from his friends. "I'll be goin' after her now."

Lone Wolf gave him a mocking smile. "Perhaps I want to keep her. Her beauty and soft voice are restful to me." He pinned Chase with glittering black eyes. "Will you fight me for the fair one?"

"You're damned right I'll fight you!" Chase's whole body vibrated with blind anger. "I'll fight your whole damn village for her!" he shouted. "I'll tear your village apart."

All traces of amusement and teasing left the chief's face. "You talk foolishly from anger and a deep fear of losing your wife. This pleases me, for now you know what I have suffered."

"I knew all along, man." Chase quietened down. "And now I ask you, husband to husband, don't make
my
wife pay for
your
wife's death."

Lone Wolf stared down at the ground for what seemed like ages to Chase. When he could stand it no longer, Chase demanded harshly, "Well, what's it to be?"

Black eyes were lifted to him. "I must think on it. You go home and wait for my decision." When Chase gave an angry start, a cautioning hand was lifted. "And do not think that you and your men can slip into my village and steal the fair one away. I would gather all the tribes along the Platte, and within an hour every man, woman, and child around your village would be dead."

"Come on, Chase," Sid said quietly, taking him by the arm and stepping off the porch. "There's nothin' you can do. You can't sacrifice the whole village, no matter how you hurt. Besides, I feel that everything is goin' to turn out all right. The chief strikes me as bein' an honorable man."

Chase allowed himself to be led to his mount, every fiber in his being wanting to pull his Colt and put a bullet in the Indian's heart. But he knew he was whipped, and he climbed into the saddle weary in body and aching in his heart. As they rode away, Sid looked back and watched Roscoe being led away, the rope tight around his neck. A shudder shook his big frame. He wouldn't want to be in his shoes.

It was early dawn when Raegan was shaken awake. She peered up at White Feather as he exclaimed, "My father has returned home, Raegan!" He held up a heavy blanket. "Come, put this around you. We will go see if his journey was sucessful,"

Raegan sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she realized what this might mean. If they had found Roscoe, made him talk, she could go home. She was ready to leave her bed of furs when Lone Wolf walked into the house. She eased back down and watched the tall man affectionately clasp his eldest son's shoulder, then stride to the pile of furs where his mother and infant son slept. He gently awakened the grandmother and conversed with her in their native tongue as he carefully uncovered the baby, then gazed down at him tenderly.

Raegan knew when the conversation turned to her, for both mother and son turned their gaze on her. Grey Dove smiled as she answered a question put to her, and Lone Wolf nodded his head in satisfaction at her answer. What had been his question? she asked herself as he rose and came to her bed.

She was becoming uneasy as Lone Wolf silently regarded her. What was he thinking? What were his plans for her? She drew a breath of relief when White Feather spoke, breaking his father's concentration on her.

"Father, did you find the man you sought?"

"Yes, my son. After several days' ride we found the man."

A hard light shone in the boy's eyes. "And is he the one who caused my mother's death?"

"Yes." Lone Wolf squatted down and reached a hand to Raegan's hair. "The fair one did not lie to me." He slowly stroked the silky tresses.

"And will he suffer before he dies?"

"He will suffer as no man has ever suffered before." The answer came in a hard voice. "My only worry is that he will die fast. He is a coward and has little endurance."

He ran a finger down Raegan's cheek. "Unlike the fair one's man."

"You saw Chase?" Hope and dread mingled in Raegan's voice. "Please don't tell me that you killed my husband!" She had risen to her knees, her hands clasped together as though in prayer.

A bleak look flickered in the handsome brave's eyes as he continued to stroke Raegan's cheek. "Your man is unharmed," he said finally. "I would say that he and his companions have been home three days now."

In her relief that Chase was alive, Raegan became aware of the caressing hand on her face. She moved her head and the hand dropped. She smiled happily. "Now that your wife will be revenged, I'll make ready to return to my home." She threw the coverings aside and gathered herself to rise. In another hour it would be daylight, and she would be on Beauty's back, racing toward home and Chase.

"I have not said that you may leave." A hand on her shoulder pushed her back to the furs.

"Of course I can leave." Raegan's eyes snapped angrily. "It is only fair that I should."

She received a humorous smile at her imperious tone. "What a fierce brave you would be, fair one, had you been born a man." With a graceful lift of his body, Lone Wolf stood up. "I will reach a decision after the buzzards have eaten the flesh from the bones of the killer of my wife. When the sun reaches the timberline, his torture will begin with the running of the gauntlet. I want you to watch it. White Feather knows where to bring you."

Raegan rose to her knees, opened her mouth to shout angrily that she didn't want to watch the torturing of Roscoe, that she wanted to go home. But Lone Wolf was gone, closing the door behind him. Again she sank back down, frustrated tears running down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, Raegan." White Feather patted her back. "Come, you must wash your face and brush your hair. The sun is almost at the tree tops. I can hear the braves and women gathering at the council house."

Raegan washed her face, but White Feather had to pull the brush through her hair and settle a blanket over her shoulders before leading her outside. It had finally hit her that she might never leave this village—that Lone Wolf might decide to keep her.

She moved woodenly beside the boy and made no objections when he directed her to the front of the crowd so that they wouldn't miss any of the torture that was about to be visited on Roscoe.

A double line of Indians stretched before the assembled men and women, about fifty yards away from the council house. All those lined up carried either thick willow switches, rawhide strips, or lengths of bush bristling with thorns. With widened eyes, Raegan realized what it meant—running the gauntlet. Roscoe would have to run down that wide aisle, feeling the taste of lashes on his back. Actually, that didn't seem all that horrible, she thought, considering his crime. In the end, the trappers would have done much worse to him.

Her eyes were drawn to a struggle going on in front of the council house. Roscoe was trying to break free of the two men tearing off his clothes. When he stood naked, taunts and jeers sounded down the lines. Again he made a break for freedom, and again he was caught and held fast. Then the chief barked an order and he was dragged down to the opposite end of the lines. He would begin his run from there, ending at the council house—if he made it.

All was quiet until Roscoe received a hard push to his back, propelling him forward. When the first stinging lash cut into his buttocks, he started a wobbling run, with yelps of pain as blow after blow struck his bare flesh, stinging, cutting, ripping the flesh off his back, buttocks and thighs. He stumbled once but caught himself and ran on, knowing that if he stopped he was a dead man. Through a haze of pain he saw the council house looming up, and with the last of his strength he flung himself before its door.

As Roscoe knelt in the dirt, his back bloody and his sides heaving, a young brave stepped forward and clubbed him alongside the head. He raised his shaggy head, surprise on his face. He had thought that now he would be free to go, that running the gauntlet was the extent of his punishment. He soon learned, however, that it had just began as he was led away and tied to a tree. When three braves advanced on him with sharp hunting knives drawn, he began to scream even before they started peeling strips of skin off his chest.

A roiling began in Raegan's stomach as she watched with horror-filled eyes what was happening to Roscoe. Never would the trappers have done that to him. "White Feather," she gasped, "I am going to be sick."

The boy took one look at her white face and helped her to her feet. He led her behind a tree, where she lost what remained of last night's supper. "I think you should go back to the plank house now, Raegan," he said, taking the cloth band from his forehead and gently wiping her mouth. "Come, I will take you."

She nodded numbly and leaned on his young body as he led her away from the screaming Indians who felt not a bit queasy at what was happening to Roscoe.