The Yellow Rose (40 page)

Every time they tried to get near a horse, it would nicker and move away. For a time it seemed hopeless, but then one of the horses did not bolt as they approached. Quaid stood watching them, outlined by the pale moonlight. He moved slowly, holding his hand out and speaking softly.

The horse dipped his head but made no attempt to run this time. When Quaid got to him, the horse stuck his head out and allowed Quaid to stroke his nose. “This is a tame one. He’s about half broke.” He slipped the rawhide halter over the horse and walked away. The horse followed as obediently as a dog.

When the two of them got back across the river, Brodie said, “I’ll go get the other horses, and we’ll hope that Moriah shows up in the morning.”

“She’d better,” Quaid said. “We can’t hang around here. We’re liable to be caught and lose our scalps. That raid may be on a bunch not far from here. It’s now or never, Brodie.” He added, “I wish I was a prayin’ man.”

“Well, I’ll do the best I can, but I wish Ma knew about this. She’d pray up a storm,” he said as he turned to go get the horses.

Jerusalem had been baking biscuits, but she had been troubled all day.

Something had come to her spirit, and she could not identify it. Finally, Clay came in at noon, and she said, “Clay, I’m worried. Something’s wrong.”

“Are you sick?”

“No, but I want you to go get Rice,” she said with finality in her voice.

“Rice? What for?”

“God’s laid it on my heart to fast and pray for Brodie and Quaid and for Moriah. You go get Rice. We want all the praying folks we can. I don’t know what it is, but God’s told me we need to pray.”

Clay took one look at her, but he never questioned things like this from Jerusalem. “I’ll be back as quick as I can get him,” he said. He turned and left the room, and Jerusalem went over and sat down in a chair. She closed her eyes and began to pray soundlessly.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

L
ook, Quaid, there they come!”

Quaid looked up to see Moriah and the Indian woman who had accompanied her days before along with the boy emerge from the trees headed toward the river. They walked quickly, for it was a cold day, and he knew they would have but little chance to take her. “Come on. Get the horses,” he said.

“What if the other woman hollers?”

“I don’t think she could holler enough to reach back to the camp, at least I hope not, but we’ve got to take a chance.”

The two stood up and suddenly Brodie said, “Wait a minute. Look, there’s an Indian with them.”

Quaid turned to look and a tall Comanche emerged from the trees.

He was obviously following the two, and Quaid shook his head. “Why did he have to come along? Well, we can’t wait. We may not get another chance like this.”

“What will we do? Just run down on him?”

“No, he could duck back in those trees as soon as he saw our horses.” Quaid scanned the terrain and said, “Look, I’ll go down and cross the river around that bend. There’s a chance he won’t see me, and I can come in behind him. I’ll sneak around and take him with my knife. It’ll have to be quiet. As soon as I do, you bring the horses on across—all three of ’em.”

“I don’t like it, Quaid. The woman might run off and get help from the village. And those Comanches have knives, too. Look, he’s got a tomahawk in his belt.”

“It’s the best chance we got,” Quaid said impatiently. “We don’t have time to argue about it.”

“But what if he kills you?”

“He may do that, but I’ll take him with me. You come in and take Moriah home.” He stood up and started to leave, then turned and said, “Tell Moriah I’m sorry I let her get took.” Without another word, he turned and ran through the brush, dodging from tree to tree.

“I wish that Indian hadn’t come along! I could take him out with a rifle from right here, but that won’t do. Lord, help Quaid to take care of that Indian, because if he don’t, we’re gonna end up dead!”

Moriah was carrying two empty water skins in her left hand, and with her right hand she was holding on to Ethan. Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, “Why is Lion following us?”

Loves The Night had been very much aware of Lion’s presence. “He thinks you might run away. Probably Bear Killer told him to keep a closer watch on you while they were gone.”

“Run away on foot? I wouldn’t get far.”

“Lion’s a stubborn man.”

Moriah put Lion out of her mind. She did not like the man, and neither she nor Loves The Night had told Bear Killer about how he had struck her. As she made her way down to the river, she looked down at Ethan, who clung to her hand. He was two years old now, a sturdy boy, who gave evidence of being very tall. The sun had burned him a golden color, not coppery like the Indians. The sun glinted on his hair, which was dark but had a touch of red. When he looked up and smiled at her, he called her name and pointed at the river.

“Yes, river,” she said. She was glad that his eyes were a dark blue. No one could ever mistake her part in him, for although he had the high cheekbones of Bear Killer, his face had more the shape of Moriah’s. She thought he looked like his grandfather Jake, and this made her happy. She had cherished every trace of her past before being captured by Bear Killer, and now as they walked down toward the river, she said, “Go throw a rock. See if you can throw it across.”

Moriah let go of his hand, and Ethan ran toward the river and began to pick up stones and throw them into the water.

The day was warmer than usual, and, as always, Moriah relished getting out of the camp. She had never gotten completely accustomed to the smells of an Indian camp, which was unpleasant after the tribe stayed in one place for a long time. The sun glittered on the river, which looked very clear. There was no ice on it, but when she bent over to fill the water skin, it numbed her hand. “I wish it were warm enough to take a bath,” she said.

Loves The Night said, “It will be a long time before the spring comes.”

She filled one of the water skins she had brought and then said, “Let’s come back to fish later in the day. I would like some fish. I get tired of dried meat.”

Lion stood close beside and said, “Women cannot fish.”

Loves The Night carried on a running argument with Bear Killer’s brother. “I can fish better than you can.”

Lion laughed and said, “You talk too much. If you were my wife, I would cut your tongue out.”

“If I were your wife, I’d kill myself!”

Lion’s voice rose, and he began to argue loudly with Loves The Night. He argued so loudly that he did not hear the sounds of steps rapidly approaching him from behind. He did, however, see Ethan turn from the river, and he saw the boy’s eyes open wide, and he lifted his hand to point, saying, “Man,” to his mother.

Lion turned quickly, and a shock ran over him, for he saw a silver-haired man running directly for him, the knife in his hand flashing as it caught the light of the sun. He had little time to think, but as the man rushed at him, he seized the tomahawk in his belt and threw it, shouting, “Run for the village!” The tomahawk missed, and he pulled his knife as the silver-haired man was upon him.

Moriah whirled at Lion’s shout, and when she saw the figure running across the broken ground at full speed, the first thing she noticed was the silver hair, and she knew instantly who this man was. “Quaid!” she cried, but then the two men collided. She saw Quaid throw himself forward even as Lion raised his knife. Quaid struck him, and as Lion’s arm fell, she saw the blood leap along Lion’s left arm—very bright red as it flowed freely. It was not a killing wound, and Lion slung the body of Quaid off. Quaid rolled over once and was up like a cat. He stood up crouching, holding the knife out in front of him with his right hand.

Again Lion cried out, “Go to the village. Tell them that Silverhair is here. Go quickly!”

“It’s too late. Don’t let her go, Moriah,” Quaid cried. He did not take his eyes off of Lion, and the two men circled each other, moving in a clockwise direction. Moriah could not speak, and she glanced once at Loves The Night, whose eyes were on the two men. She was making no move at all to run but was watching with a fierce intensity in her eyes.

The knives flashed in the sunlight, and soon both men were bleeding.

The blood ran down Quaid’s face, for the blade had opened up a cut in his left cheek. His left hand also was bleeding, but Lion was in worse shape. He was an expert knife fighter, and time and again his blade leaped out as fast as a snake striking. Again and again Quaid blocked it and drew back. Moriah gasped as the two men came together with a grunt. Each of them had made a grab for the wrist of the other, and the two men stood there straining. Lion was a very strong man, one of the strongest of the Comanches. She saw his arm slowly rise despite Quaid’s attempt to hold it. The two men fell to the ground with Lion on top. Slowly, the blade was being forced down. He was stronger than Quaid, and Moriah, without thinking, ran forward and grabbed the scalp lock of Lion and jerked at it with all her strength. Lion uttered a cry and released his grip. He fell back and sliced at Moriah with his knife, but even as he did, he knew he made a mistake. He turned, but Quaid was upon him.

Quaid drove the knife hard, and the blade sliced downward, opening up Lion’s chest and part of his stomach. Lion looked down and saw the opening and knew that it would be fatal. Still, he threw himself at Quaid.

Quaid stepped back, and when Lion fell, he reached down and kicked the knife away. Quickly, he lifted his head and motioned, and Brodie came galloping madly toward the river, leading two horses. He turned quickly to see what the woman would do. She was standing there watching, making no attempt to run.

“Will this woman give us away? We need time.”

Moriah could barely speak. She saw that Quaid was bleeding badly from several cuts. It had all come as such a surprise she could not believe it, but then she said quickly, “No, she is my friend.”

Loves The Night looked at Quaid, then said, “He has come for you.

I knew he would.”

Moriah faced Quaid and could not speak. He said, “We’ve got to get away.”

“But you’re wounded.”

“Yes. He will bleed to death. Quick, sit down,” Loves The Night said.

Quaid was already feeling a lightness of head. He stared at the Comanche woman, and then at Moriah, and said, “All right.” He sat down, and the Indian woman came and took his shirt off. She began to rip it into strips and began binding his wounds. Moriah came to help her.

She heard the sound of horses splashing across the river, and she cried out, “Brodie!” as the tall man that she scarcely recognized came off the horse.

He kept the lines in one hand, but she rose and went to him.

Brodie put his arms around her and whispered huskily, “Sister.” He was choked with emotion and could say no more, nor could she.

“You must get away quickly.”

Brodie said, “How bad is it, Quaid?”

“It’s bad enough,” Moriah said. “You have a spare shirt?”

“In the saddle roll.”

She quickly went to the saddle roll, stripped it off, and took out a shirt and a pair of pants. Using the bloody knife that Lion had dropped, she sliced the strips, and the two women bound up Quaid’s knife wounds.

“You must go now before Bear Killer returns,” Loves The Night said.

Quaid got to his feet and staggered to the horse. He managed to pull himself up and then whispered, “Quickly. We must go.”

“Bear Killer will come for you.”

Moriah was shocked. She looked over to see that Lion had risen up.

He was weltering in his own blood, holding his stomach, which had a large gash in it. He was a dying man, but he was staring at her. “He will come for his son, and he will kill you and you, too, Silverhair.”

“Go quickly,” Loves The Night said.

Moriah went to her at once. She threw her arms around Loves The Night and said, “You have been my friend.”

Loves The Night’s face was stiff. “And you have been my friend. Take care of Ethan. You have told me about Jesus. I have Him in my heart now.”

“I’m so glad.”

“Be careful. Bear Killer will come.”

Brodie watched as Moriah spoke to the other woman, and then his eyes turned to the boy. “Is he your boy, Moriah?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ethan.” She saw something change in Brodie’s face, and she was afraid he would reject her son. But she saw Brodie go over and kneel by the boy and say, “Come along, Ethan Hardin. I’m your uncle. You’re going to ride that big horse right there.” He picked the boy up, and Ethan cried aloud.

Moriah said, “It’s all right, son. This is our kin. You ride with him.”

She walked quickly to the mustang that Quaid had stolen, leaped up, and straddled him.

Brodie spoke to the horse and turned his own. He held Ethan tightly in front of him and started across. “Come on,” he shouted. “Hang on, Quaid.”

Moriah gave one look at Loves The Night, and the Indian woman cried out, “I will not tell them. You will need all the time to get away.

Good-bye.”

Moriah could not speak. Tears filled her eyes, but she knew she had to get away. She kicked her mount in the side, and at once the pony drove forward, splashing through the freezing water. As she crossed the river she saw that Quaid was reeling in the saddle, and she was afraid he would fall, but he held on. She looked back as they entered the pass that led out of the canyon and saw Lion lying still and Loves The Night watching her.

She lifted her hand and waved and cried out, “Good-bye,” and saw Loves The Night lift her own hand in a final gesture.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO

I
think he’s going to die, Brodie,” Moriah said.

Brodie had been sitting away from the fire talking to Ethan. Now he rose and came over and, stooping low, looked into Quaid’s face. “He does look bad, don’t he?”

“He’s lost so much blood,” Moriah said. She looked down into the pale face of Quaid Shafter, reached out, and put her hand on his forehead. “He seems so cold.”

“I don’t know what we can do, Moriah. It’s gonna take at least two or three more days to get back. We have to go so slow, hauling him in this travois.”