Winter's Touch (43 page)

“Hunter.” Gussie stayed him with a hand to his arm. “You’ll be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gussie turned back to Carson. “Bess,” she said over her shoulder, “put some water on to heat.”

While Bess did that, Gussie fetched clean rags and her medicine box. She used her scissors to cut the rest of Carson’s shirt away. So much blood. Dear Lord.

But when she began cleaning the wound, she was amazed. It wasn’t nearly as deep as she had feared.

“How bad is it?” Carson asked.

“Well,” she said, putting a smile in her voice for his benefit. “If I had my way it would keep you in bed for a week, but I suspect you’ll be up and about in no time. I’m amazed, truly. There was so much blood, I feared it was much worse.”

“Winter Fawn,” he whispered.

“Don’t talk, dear, just rest while I take care of you.”

“I remember. Winter Fawn…her hands. The heat. That’s why…”

Gussie paused, then resumed cleaning gently around the wound. There would be time for explanations later. She didn’t want him thinking about Winter Fawn and what might have happened to her. Gussie refused to think about it herself. Not now, when Carson needed her.

“Here, Aunt Gussie.” Bess placed a bowl of warm water on the bedside table.

“Thank you, dear. Move the lamp a little closer, please.”

Gussie made short work of cleaning the wound and stitching it closed. Carson was even able to sit up on his own while she wrapped a bandage around his chest to hold the padded cloth in place over the wound.

Hunter barreled back into the house, his face pale. In his fist he carried a bloody arrow. “Crooked Oak,” he spat. “I recognize the markings on the arrow.”

“Winter Fawn?” Carson demanded.

Hunter’s eyes were fierce. “He took her. I followed the signs to the river and lost them there. But he’ll take her back to the tribe with him. They’ll be easy enough to find.”

“Why would he take her there where she has friends and family who would help her?”

“Because he’s an arrogant fool,” Hunter spat. “I’m going to saddle my horse.”

“You’re not going alone,” Carson stated flatly.

“Carson, you can’t,” Gussie cried.

“You’re in no shape to ride,” Hunter claimed.

Carson pushed himself to his feet. He swayed a moment, and the pain was bad enough to make him want to fall down, but he settled for gritting his teeth and steadied himself. “I can ride.”

Gussie was able to delay them long enough that Innes returned before Hunter left the house to saddle the horses. When he learned what had happened, he exploded with rage. It took several minutes to calm him enough so that he was coherent.

“I’ll saddle you a fresh horse while I’m saddling ours,” Hunter said.

“Nae,” Innes said forcefully. “You’ll no be goin’, lad.”

“What do you mean I’ll no be goin’? She’s my sister.”

“Aye, but think, lad. If shooting starts, how many of Our People are you going to be able to look in the face and kill?”

“I can shoot that bloody bastard Crooked Oak right between the eyes and smile while I’m doin’ it.”

“Aye, as could we all. But there will be others. Your uncle.”

Hunter stared furiously at his father.

“Someone has to stay here, and we canna any of us leave afore light or we’ll lose the trail for sure.”

The argument was long and heated, but Innes finally won. Hunter would stay and look after the women.

But no amount of arguing could persuade Carson to let Innes go alone. The two of them would head out at first light.

Innes looked to his son. “Lad, we’re leaving ye with a heavy responsibility, looking after the women.”

Hunter tore his gaze from Bess and faced his father. “Aye.”

“There comes a time in a man’s life, if he’s lucky,” Innes said, flashing a look toward Gussie, then back, “when the most important thing in the world to him is a woman.”

He flashed Gussie a second look, and her heart skipped a beat.

“We’re leaving you with ours,” he finished.

Hunter’s shoulders straightened. “I will guard them with my life.”

A short time later, Carson reached into the bottom drawer of his bureau and took out his revolver and holster. He had taken them off the first day he’d arrived at the ranch nearly a year and a half ago and had not worn a side arm since. There was only one purpose for such a gun, the killing of men. He had vowed after the war that he would never kill another man.

And now Crooked Oak had taken Winter Fawn.

He strapped the gun belt around his waste and reached back into the drawer for extra ammunition.

The next morning before dawn Crooked Oak untied Winter Fawn’s feet so he could mount her on the horse he had brought for her. She did not fight him this time, but he was taking no chances. He tied her feet together with a long strip of rawhide that ran beneath the horse’s belly. Then he loosened her hands and retied them behind her back.

Using a rope to lead her horse, he and the others started out.

Crooked Oak and his friends had hidden themselves among the rocks atop the bluff behind the ranch house well before dark the day before and waited. They’d seen Red Beard and two other men ride away. The cub, Hunter, had stayed behind.

Crooked Oak dismissed the boy as a threat, and the white man was dead. Red Beard would likely return soon, but Crooked Oak could not guess if the man would follow or not. Winter Fawn was, after all, only a daughter.

He couldn’t dismiss Red Beard’s tracking or fighting skills, but Crooked Oak was taking care to leave as little sign of their passing as possible. If Red Beard tried to follow, he would not have an easy time of it.

He looked behind him at the woman he had spent so many weeks to locate. She was not so beautiful now. One cheek and eye were swollen where he had hit her.

She had deserve it, he thought again. Deserved that and more. When he thought of the way she had spread her legs for the white man a violent rage seized him. He had thought that hitting her would appease his anger. He’d been wrong. Not until he drove himself into her and emptied his seed into her would he be able to rid himself of the image of the white man lying between her legs.

He could have taken her last night. Had wanted to. But he would not have it said that he had forced her before they were joined. When they reached the tribe he would make his offer to Two Feathers, who would accept and give Winter Fawn to him for his wife.

If Winter Fawn had known that Crooked Oak was planning her future she would not have cared. She did not care about anything. Without Carson, she had no future. No life.

The sun beat down on her, but she didn’t notice the heat. Didn’t realize she’d had no food or water since the day before. The first time she became truly aware of her surroundings, she found herself, incredibly, alone.

She was tied to the horse and her hands were still bound behind her back. The horse was tied to the branch of a willow, and just beyond, a stream rushed by. Suddenly she was so thirsty. Terribly thirsty.

She looked around, but no one was in sight. Where had Crooked Oak and the others gone? From all appearances, they had left her, but that made no sense. Why go to all the trouble to track her down, then leave her beside some stream?

Whatever the reason, she did not care. If she could get free she could return to the ranch. Somehow she would find it, even though she had no idea where she was right then.

She realized then what a fool she’d been for not paying attention to what was going on around her all day. Carson might be dead—but surely there was a chance that he wasn’t. And there was her father, Hunter, Gussie and the girls. She sill had them, didn’t she? But she’d been too cowardly to face the thought of Carson’s death to keep her wits about her, and now she had no idea where she was or when—if?—Crooked Oak might return.

She had to get free.

She was struggling against the rawhide around her wrists when gunshots rang out beyond the bend in the stream. Someone shouted.
In English.
There were white people nearby. Maybe they would help her.

“Here!” she cried. “Help me!”

Then she heard a wild war cry and realized with horror that Crooked Oak, Red Bull, and Spotted Calf were attacking a party of whites. Surely it was a small party, for three warriors to attack.

Unless others had joined them. Had she been so wrapped up in her own misery that she had failed to notice other warriors?

She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure.

More shouts and shots rang out. She struggled frantically to get free. She had made no progress at all except to rub her wrists raw when a loud splashing in the stream warned someone was coming.

Crooked Oak rode down the middle of the stream from around the bend, his rifle raised high in victory. Behind him rode Red Bull and Spotted Calf.

At the sight of the fresh scalps dangling from their rifle barrels Winter Fawn closed her eyes. There would be no help for her from those poor people.

Crooked Oak rode directly to her side. His eyes glowed with victory, and something else she could not interpret.

“It is true,” he said. “With you, I am invincible.”

Winter Fawn frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, he tilted back his head and shouted his victory over his enemies.

Finally she noticed battle trophies other than the scalps. New rifles and hand guns. A string of five horses being led by Spotted Calf. A blue coat with brass buttons.

“What have you done?” she cried upon seeing the latter.

“We have killed the enemy.”

Eyes wide with horror, she looked at him. “You fool! The Army will hunt down Our People like the eagle hunts the rabbit. We will all be slaughtered for this.”

“They cannot defeat us,” he bragged. “I will lead Our People to a great destiny. You will see.”

Winter Fawn spoke not another word. She could not, for the fear clogging her throat. He was mad. There was no other explanation.

It was late the next day and a line of clouds was building along the mountain ridges to the west when they crested a rise and saw the camp along the Arkansas River where all of the Southern Arapaho had come together for the summer. The sight of those several hundred tepees clutched at Winter Fawn’s heart. They looked pitifully few compared to the memories of her childhood when there had been so many more. Was this all there was left of Our People?

Crooked Oak dismounted and sent Red Bull and Spotted Calf on ahead. After they left, he came and stood beside her. “I will untie you now, and you will say nothing of having to be forced to return to your own people.”

“If you think I will remain silent—”

“You will, because if you do not, I will reveal that which you do not want known.”

“If you are talking about what you saw between me and Carson—”

“That I will not discuss. You are to become my wife.”

“You are mad.”

“I will not have it said of you that you are a whore. No, that I will not speak of. But I will make you pay.”

“My grandfather will never accept your offer without my father’s approval.”

“You will beg your grandfather to accept, or I will tell him of the rabbit. It will not take much begging. Two Feathers has convinced him to accept my offer.”

“Untie me, you stinking coyote. I know nothing of any rab—” The look in his eyes stopped her.

“Ah. I see you remember. You thought no one saw. But I was there in the trees when your father brought the rabbits that day. I saw what happened. I heard him tell you that no one must ever know. But
I
know.” He thumped a fist against his chest for emphasis.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The white man has taught you to lie, but he did not teach you well. You will be mine.”

Winter Fawn chewed the inside of her jaw. She would say nothing. Let him think he could force her by threatening to reveal her secret. She did not care if the world knew of her secret. After knowing Carson’s touch, she would die—by her own hand if necessary—rather than become Crooked Oak’s wife.

She hoped she looked properly subdued, for she wanted her hands and feet free. She would ride into the camp with him and go to her grandmother’s lodge. Her father would come for her. If they tried to force her to marry Crooked Oak, she would flee. But she would wait as long as she could, to give her father time to reach her.

She cast her eyes downward in the pose of a shy maiden. “You may untie me now.”

Crooked Oak was pleased that he did not have to hit her again. With a grunt, he sliced through her bonds. “You will tell anyone who asks that you fell from your horse and bruised your face. You will tell them the white man held you against your will and that you were overjoyed to see me.”

“I will tell them.”
I will tell them you are a conceited ass.

Crooked Oak rode into camp as the conquering hero he knew he was. Red Bull and Spotted Calf had done their work well in announcing his triumphant return. A large crowd was gathered waiting for him. Even Little Raven was there. That was excellent. Crooked Oak would supplant him soon as their leader. Our People would chose him over that old man who constantly counseled peace. Crooked Oak would lead Our People to a glorious victory over the hated white man. Now that he had Winter Fawn, he would become the greatest warrior ever known.

Carson and Innes might have caught up with them the first day out if it hadn’t been for the troopers. Two of the five were still alive. The attack had taken place less than two hours earlier. Chafing to ride hard and fast after Winter Fawn, Carson ground his teeth in frustration. Someone had to ride for help, and they couldn’t leave the troopers alone, in the unlikely event that Crooked Oak and his men came back. Carson stayed with them while Innes rode the ten miles to Colorado City for help. One of the two survivors would recover; the other probably wouldn’t.

As Innes rode for help, his mind and heart were torn in a dozen directions. He wanted to give his horse its head and urge it to speed across the plains toward Winter Fawn, but he could help no one if he ran the beast into the ground. And there were the troopers, poor lads. Barely old enough to shave. Scalped. Butchered.