Thunder on the Plains (7 page)

“Or what?”

Sunny remembered what Colt had said about these men, called them thieves and murderers. She felt so sick she thought she might vomit. She didn't know much about what men did with women, but she knew enough to realize she was in horrible danger. She struggled again, but the man's grip on her was so strong that her efforts were fruitless.

“Here's how it is,” their leader said, fixing his eyes on Bo again. “From what we've been watchin', you're a man with a lot of money, and now you've admitted it. Now, first we'll loot what we can right here—watches, money, anything you got. Then me and my men here, we'll take the little gal with us when we leave. How much you figure she's worth,
Daddy
? A thousand? Ten thousand? A million? You tell me how much
you're
worth, and that's how much it's gonna cost you to get your daughter back. You try anything, you're dead, and she's ours to keep. You got any idea what a gun like this would do to you at this range? Your head will be lyin' on the other side of this ridge, your brains scattered all along the way.”

“Bastards!” Stuart spat out at them.

One of the others fired a gun at his feet, making him jump, and they all laughed. Bo's men stood helpless.

“Colt!” Sunny cried out. “Where is he? What did you do to him?”

The leader moved his eyes to her again. “Who's Colt?”

She just stared at him, realizing then that the man was not aware someone else might be out there. Would Colt come, or had he deserted them?

“He's our guide,” Stuart answered. “You killed his best friend in that stampede, and if you take off with Sunny, he'll by God kill you! All of you!”

The man grinned. “One man?”

Sunny squirmed and whimpered, tears of terror forming in her eyes.

“Let her go
now
,” Bo pleaded. “I'll pay you anything you want if you don't harm her. But if you touch her wrongly, you won't get a cent!”

The man shook his head. “You'll pay anything, no matter
what
we do to her.”

“You'd better listen to Mr. Landers,” came a voice from the darkness. “Let her go!”

Everyone stood stiffly silent for a moment.

“Colt,” Sunny whispered.

“Let go of the girl,” the voice repeated, “or you'll be the first to die. You there, the big fat stinking bastard holding the rifle on the girl's father. I've got a bead on your gut, mister. Nothing's worse than getting gut-shot. I guarantee, no matter what else happens, your belly will explode with lead before it's over if you and your men don't put down your arms right now. Tell your man to hand the girl over to her pa.”

Several long, silent seconds passed. “Who the hell are you?” the leader asked.

“Like you already said, names don't matter,” came Colt's voice. “Just do like I say.”

Bo could hear the breathing of his abductor grow heavier. He watched a mixture of fear and stubbornness pass through the man's eyes, and he swallowed, wondering if he would pull the trigger and blow his head off. Suddenly, the man whirled and shot into the darkness, apparently hoping to hit Colt. Sunny saw a flame from the shadows as Colt's revolver fired. The buffalo hunter's body flew backward and landed in the fire. He let out a short scream, then went silent.

Everything happened in a matter of seconds. The man holding Sunny gave her a push, and she heard another shot. Someone behind her cried out, then fell against her. Sunny gasped and ran for her father. “Let's get out of here!” someone else yelled. Sunny heard another shot, then the sound of a horse riding away.

Sunny stood clinging to her father, everyone frozen in place for a moment, not sure yet if they were safe. Finally Colt stepped into the firelight. Sunny whimpered his name, wanting very much to run to him, but there was still a viciousness in his eyes that frightened her. He walked up to the first man who had fallen into the fire. The man was so big that his body had actually put out most of the flames, but part of his buffalo skin jacket burned brightly so that there was still light. The rest of him smoldered in a stench, and the front of the man's clothing was covered with blood. Sunny put a hand to her stomach at the awful sight.

Colt kicked at the body as though it were no more than a dead animal. “Three are dead,” he said matter-of-factly. “The fourth got away.” He looked at Bo. “This makes up at least a little for what happened to Slim.” He glanced at Sunny. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He looked at her father. “Just doing my job.” He turned to one of Bo's men. “Get rid of these bodies. Two more of your own men are dead. We'll bury them and get the hell on our way in the morning.”

It took three men to lift the big man off the fire, and the flames flared up brighter again. Colt walked closer to Bo, and Sunny thought he looked suddenly older. With vengeance still lighting his eyes, and having just killed three men without an ounce of hesitation, he was an intimidating sight. Sunny clung to her father.

“I'll take one of those cigars you're always offering,” Colt told the man.

Bo nodded, taking one of the smokes from an inside pocket of his jacket. “I don't know what to say, Colt. You saved my daughter from that stampede, and now this. I'll pay you Slim's share of the money when we reach Fort Laramie, plus an extra two hundred fifty.”

Their eyes held for a moment, and Colt took the cigar. “I don't want your damn money. Slim told me not to take this job, but I didn't listen. Now he's dead. It's my fault, not yours. And saving your daughter's life and virtue isn't something a man can put a price on, now, is it?” He turned away, stooping over the fire to light the cigar. “I found my horse,” he explained when he straightened. “Followed the hunters' tracks and realized they were heading right back here. I just figured I'd wait till dark and surprise them.” He puffed the cigar a moment, then took it from between his teeth. “I'll make my own camp.” He held up the cigar. “Thanks.” He turned, then hesitated, looking at Bo again. “This dream of yours has cost a lot of lives already. After all this, you'd better build that damn railroad.”

He disappeared into the darkness, leaving the rest of them stunned. What had just happened so quickly seemed unreal, until Sunny looked again at the bloody, smoldering body of the big man who had threatened her and her father. She told herself that what Colt did was simply a necessary evil in a violent land, where survival went to the strongest and the fittest, sometimes to the cleverest. She understood that out here there was no room for hesitation or remorse. Off in the distant hills coyotes began to yip and howl, and it hit her with much more clarity just how drastically different Colt Travis's world was from her own. She felt like a foolish child for giving him even the slightest romantic thought.

Sunny struggled to write without scribbling as the wagon in which she sat bounced and jolted over the rough terrain. Her leg hurt so badly now that walking or riding a horse was too painful.

Five
days
have
passed
since
the
buffalo
stampede. We are down to one wagon that carries a mixture of salvaged necessities, mostly food and cooking utensils and extra ammunition, along with the feather mattress on which I sleep inside the wagon. Father and Stuart are forced to sleep under the stars with the other men. Other than my father and brother and the two cooks, there are only six men left, plus, of course, our guide.

The comforts she had been afforded at the beginning of their journey were gone. She had managed only one bath over the past five days, amazed that the battered tin tub she used did not leak. Her father had set it up behind some thick, blooming bushes along the riverbank.

Thank
goodness
I
found
my
journal
among
the
wreckage
, she wrote.
We are following the North Platte now, and I am anxious to reach Fort Laramie, where we will buy extra wagons and supplies. It is strange not to have Miss Putnam helping me bathe and do my hair and such, and I miss her very much. I pray she is someplace happy now. The rest of us carry on like real pioneers. I never thought I could survive such a life. It is a real test of our stamina.

She dipped her pen into the ink bottle again.
Thanks
to
Colt
Travis, we at least do not have to go hungry. Colt managed to shoot an antelope three days ago, and just yesterday he shot two rabbits. To watch him clean and skin an animal is like watching an artist, for he is quick and very skilled, leaving the skins in quite beautiful shape. They now hang drying on the wagon, in case they are needed for trade with Indians.

She leaned back, moving to try to get her sore leg in a more comfortable position. Now that they had lost Slim and four other men, Colt stayed closer to the wagons as their little group limped toward Fort Laramie. Enough horses had been salvaged so that the men all had something to ride, with four extras. Only seven of the original eighteen mules had survived and been found, and six of them pulled the wagon, the two cooks taking turns driving.

Sunny looked back down at her journal.
Mr. Travis has been very quiet since Mr. Jessup died, and I think he is in deep mourning. I feel bad for him, especially since he has saved my life twice so far on this awful trip.

“Now what?” One of the two cooks sitting in the wagon seat had spoken the words. “Whoa!” the driver yelled. The wagon came quickly to a stop.

Sunny set aside her journal. “Keep the girl inside,” she heard Colt shout.

“Stay out of sight, Miss Landers,” the driver called to her.

Sunny wondered what new catastrophe they had encountered. She winced with pain as she turned to peek out from the side of the wagon, lifting the canvas just enough to see at least twenty painted warriors sitting on their ponies on a rise south of the wagon. “Indians!” she gasped. Surprisingly, this was the first time they had encountered any of the wilder Plains tribes.

“No women along,” one of the cooks commented. “Didn't Colt tell us once that when women weren't along it was probably a war party?”

Sunny's heart pounded with dreadful imaginings of what the painted warriors might do to her if they decided to attack. Her father's men lined up alongside the wagon, weapons ready.

“Don't anybody make a move unless I say so,” Colt warned. “They probably just want to trade.” Sunny watched him ride out to the Indians, wondering how it felt to him to have to deal with people so similar to his own heritage. Surely he knew that what had happened to the Cherokee could also happen to these Plains Indians. If the West was settled, like her father believed would happen, where would these nomadic people go? Up until now it was a matter of pushing eastern tribes westward into Indian Territory; but once whites filled the West, what would be left for the Indian? Still, this was such a big country. Surely there was room for everybody. The Indians could find a place to call their own.

Colt seemed to be arguing with the apparent leader of the warriors, and Sunny felt goose bumps rising on her skin. She expected at any moment to see one of the Indians sink a tomahawk into poor Colt. Finally Colt rode back to Sunny's father, whose horse was close to the wagon.

“There's been trouble, but I think we can get through this without losing our scalps,” Colt told the man. “Believe me, all of us together are no match for those men up there. Those are Cheyenne warriors, some of the best fighters on the Plains. There are at least twenty-five of them, and one angry warrior is equal to three ordinary men. I told them we're just a small party of government men headed for Fort Laramie and that we mean them no harm. Thinking you're representatives of the Great White Father in Washington will make them think twice about giving us trouble, especially if we cooperate. Just don't let them see Sunny.”

“What do they want?”

“Practically everything we've got, and we'd better give it to them.”

“But we're down to almost nothing ourselves!”

Colt's horse whinnied and pranced in a circle, as though sensing the danger. “There's no arguing about it, Landers. Their people have been harassed by soldiers, whole villages with food and weapon supplies destroyed, women and children killed. Now the army has confiscated the government issue down at Bent's Fort and won't give them promised supplies, including guns and flint and powder. Those men up there are in a real ugly mood. They're looking for weapons they can use to hunt, as well as tobacco and whatever food we can spare. I want at least six of your men to give up their rifles and ammunition to them.”

“So they can turn around and use them against us?” Stuart's face was red with fear and anger.

“They've given me their word they'll ride off and leave us alone.”

“And you
believe
them? They're
Indians
!” Stuart retorted.

Sunny could see Colt stiffen. For a moment his own face reminded her of the very warriors they were dealing with. “You trust
my
word, don't you?
I'm
Indian!”

Stuart rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, Colt. You're different!”

“I'm
no
different! An Indian's word is good as long as we don't betray them in some way. Now get the rifles together, and be glad they were willing to settle for only six instead of taking every damn gun we have!” Colt looked up at the cooks. “Get that extra meat and put it in a flour sack or something; and get out that last can of tobacco. We'll have a little left for ourselves, and I can always do more hunting. We aren't that far from Laramie.”

The cooks scrambled to retrieve the necessary items. Bo ordered six of his men to hand over their rifles and to take extra ammunition from their saddlebags. The men dismounted and walked forward, laying the rifles in a pile; the cooks added the food and tobacco.

They all backed away, and Colt shouted something in the strange, clipped Cheyenne tongue. Several of the warriors rode cautiously closer then, while their leader hung back. Sunny lowered the canvas to a tiny crack, petrified of being spotted. Her eyes widened at the nearly naked bodies of the warriors, who dismounted and picked up the supplies. Their faces were painted, their skin even darker than Colt's. She had heard many stories about these fierce warriors, the awful things they did to white prisoners. It was difficult to imagine that they could have human feelings, yet a couple of them glanced up at Colt with no animosity. They spoke to him, and although Sunny could not understand what was said, she sensed it was a form of thank-you.

Her stomach felt as though it had climbed up into her heart as she watched. The warriors took the supplies and rode back up the ridge. Their leader raised a hand to Colt, and Colt returned the apparent farewell gesture. “Stay put,” he said quietly to her father and his men. The Indians finally rode off, disappearing over the ridge.

Colt turned to face Bo and his men. “Don't be surprised if we see them watching us for a while. They're going to make sure we keep going.” He gestured to Bo. “Come with me.” Colt trotted his horse around to the back of the wagon, and Bo followed. Colt looked inside at Sunny. “For the next couple of days, you stay in there as long as it's light. Try to hold your personal needs until dark. It's very important that they don't see you.”

She nodded, still wide-eyed from a mixture of wonder and terror.

“It hurts her leg too much to walk anyway,” Bo told him.

Colt frowned with concern. “Is it really that bad, Sunny?”

She didn't want to sound like a baby in front of him, but the leg had gotten too sore to hide it any longer. “It hurts worse every day. But I'm sure it will be all right.”

Colt turned to her father. “You'd better let me have a look. That cut should be getting better by now, not worse.”

Worry moved into Bo's eyes. “I just figured it would be all right. She hasn't even let
me
look at it.” The man turned his gaze to Sunny. “Is that wound worse than you're letting on? You'd better let me see it, Sunny.”

Sunny reddened with embarrassment. “Daddy, it's clear up on my thigh!”

The man sighed and dismounted, climbing into the wagon, grunting from the effort. “Sunny, I wish Miss Putnam was here, but she isn't,” he said, crouching close to her. “If that cut is infected, we need to know. Now, let me have a look. For heaven's sake, I'm your father.”

Sunny knew she could no longer object. The ugly cut was beginning to worry her, too, but she hadn't wanted to seem whiny about it. Reluctantly, she pulled up her skirt and pushed up one leg of her bloomers, exposing her outer left thigh. Her father began unwrapping the bandage she had put on herself, and before he even finished he detected the smell of infection.

“Keep a lookout,” Colt was shouting outside.

“I don't see anybody,” one of the men answered.

“Colt, you'd better look at this,” Bo called out to him.

“Daddy! He
can't
look at it.”

“This is no time for modesty, Sunny. My God, child, you should have
told
me!”

Colt dismounted and climbed over the wagon gate with ease. Bo moved out of the way so that a shaft of sunlight made it easier to see. Sunny closed her eyes and looked away, one tear spilling down her cheek.

“Damn,” Colt muttered. She heard him sigh deeply, and he spoke her name. Sunny looked at him, some of her humiliation leaving her when she saw the true concern in his eyes. She thought how strange it was that he could look so much like the fierce warriors who had just left them, and a moment later those hazel eyes could hold such gentleness. “Sunny, something has to be done about this. You could lose your leg.”

“My God!” Bo gasped. “What have I done, bringing her out here?” He touched her hair lovingly.

“What can you do?” Sunny asked Colt, stifling an urge to cry openly.

Colt looked at her father. “The only thing that might kill off the infection is to burn it out of there.”

Sunny gasped in a whimper, and Bo's eyes widened. “
Burn
it! But that would be so painful, and it will leave a worse scar than the cut!”

“A little pain now and a scar are a hell of a lot better than losing the whole leg, wouldn't you say? Besides, it's not exactly in a spot anybody will ever see, except maybe her husband, who shouldn't give a damn.”

Sunny felt the embarrassment returning, and she covered her face. “Let him do it, Daddy,” she whimpered.

“I've seen these things before, Landers,” Colt told the man. Ever since the man had told him to stay away from Sunny, Colt had been unable to call Bo by his first name. “There's no other way to do it.”

“Good God,” Bo muttered, suddenly looking like the aging man that he was.

“We'll do it tonight after we make camp. We don't dare sit here too long right now. Those Cheyenne might return and wonder what we're still doing here.” Colt gently pulled Sunny's skirt back over her leg, leaning closer. “Sunny, it's not as bad as you think. I promise that the infection in that wound hurts a lot more than the burn that will be left after we get rid of it, but you have to be braver than you've ever been so far.”

She shook, wiping at her eyes and meeting Colt's gaze. She felt better when he smiled softly. “You're one strong, brave woman, Sunny. You've got the Landers spunk, just like your pa said. I want you to know that you fooled me good on this trip. I figured you'd cause one hell of a problem and whine all the way out here, but you've been as brave as any woman on any wagon train I've ever worked for. Your pa can be proud of you.” He looked at Bo. “Stay with her awhile.”

“Of course.”

Colt left them, and Sunny rested her head against her father's chest as he held her, but it was not Bo Landers's arms that comforted her. It was the thought of Colt's last words. It was not just that he had called her strong and brave. He had called her a woman.

***

Sunny's father embraced her firmly from behind, and Sunny kept her arms wrapped around a pillow, which she would use to cover her face when the awful moment came. Her screams had to be muffled so that no Indians would hear. She was too frightened now to cry, or to care about the embarrassment of having to bring in Stuart to hold her legs. Just outside, a piece of flatiron that had been saved from one of the destroyed wagons was being heated in the hot coals of the campfire. One of the cooks wrapped a towel around one end of it, lifting it out to see that the other end glowed red. He carried it over to where Colt waited inside the wagon. “This good enough?” he asked.