Chapter Five
Angry Wolf lay in his deserted forest camp, his head aching from the cheap whiskey. In fact, he hurt all over. He sat up slowly, thinking he hadn’t felt so bad since that long-ago time he had fought the dog soldier, Iron Knife, for possession of that white girl, Summer Sky. That yellow-haired bitch! He reached to touch the old scar on his chest where she had stabbed him as he had attempted to drown Iron Knife.
How long had it been? With his head aching, it was hard to think; more than six winter counts ago. Yes, it had been a long time, but even now, he could remember the thrill of holding the big dog soldier under the rushing water of that creek.
Iron Knife was almost dead when Angry Wolf heard a slight noise and whirled around to face the naked beauty just as the white girl buried the blade in his chest. After that, he remembered only falling and the cold water sweeping him off his feet. He must have lapsed into unconsciousness, and the current grabbed him, washing him away. He remembered vaguely struggling to keep his head above water as the flooded creek swept him along. So this was what it felt like to die. He didn’t want to die, not without killing Iron Knife and raping that white beauty, but he was slipping into blackness and couldn’t fight the current anymore.
When he finally awakened, he was lying on a sand bank at a bend in the creek, half in, half out of the water. Angry Wolf was too weak to even move, and there was no way to know how far he had floated or how long he had been lying here except that it was almost dark. The only way Angry Wolf could be certain he wasn’t dead was that he was in pain and very hungry. Somewhere far in the distance, he smelled the scent of burning wood, and when he managed to raise his head, he saw a wisp of smoke on the horizon. Had there been a great forest fire somewhere? If so, he hoped Iron Knife and Summer Sky had burned to death, trapped in the inferno.
Angry Wolf tried to crawl up the creek bank, but the pain in his chest was more than he could bear. Had Heammawihio spared his life only so he could die by inches here by this creek? He managed to turn his head to take a few sips from the rushing water. He was wet, wounded, shivering and he had no food. In the water, he could see small fish swimming just a few inches away as if they mocked him, but he hadn’t the strength to rise up and try to catch them. Besides, Cheyenne might eat turtles, but seldom fish.
He heard sounds of voices, a woman’s laughter coming toward him. Iron Knife and Summer coming to make sure they had finished the job? He couldn’t defend himself if they did. Maybe if he pretended to be dead. . . .
He heard the creak of wagon wheels and a man’s voice. “What on earth? Honey, look at this!”
And the girl’s soft voice, “Oh, Ethan, it’s an Indian, and he looks dead.”
“You stay right there, honey, let me see about him.” The creak of the wagon as the young farmer stepped down, the shadow thrown across Angry Wolf’s body as he bent over him.
“Ethan, is he dead?”
“I’m not sure, if he ain’t, he oughta be; you should see this wound.”
“Maybe I can help.” The girl’s voice as she jumped down from the wagon. “Oh, my, he’s an ugly one, ain’t he? Poor thing, what do you reckon happened?”
Their pity was his only chance for life, Angry Wolf knew. He opened his eyes and looked up at them, more dead than alive. The young man wore overalls, and his skin was weathered and tanned. A poor dirt farmer, Angry Wolf thought with contempt, glancing past the man toward the ragged old wagon and the straggly mule.
“Stay back, honey, he’s moving!”
“Mercy! He’s so near dead, he can’t hurt anyone.” She leaned over him and he noticed that she was dark-eyed with long brown hair. She wore a faded gingham dress, a sunbonnet, and a gold band on her work-worn left hand. She bent over Angry Wolf and he saw that the swell of her breasts tightened the faded calico.
Angry Wolf smiled evilly now as he remembered the young couple from all those long years ago. They had taken him to their cabin and nursed him back to health. Then they had put him to work around their little farm, hoeing and chopping wood. Angry Wolf had waited until late one night when the couple slept to attack Ethan with the axe. With the young farmer lying dead and bloody across the bed, Angry Wolf had raped the girl, despite her pleas for mercy. Then he had stolen anything of value on the place, taken the one old mule and ridden out. He hadn’t even bothered to look back at the sobbing, naked girl.
Six long years ago. Now Angry Wolf groaned aloud as he sat with his aching head in his hands and thought of those past events. He wondered what had ever happened to the young farmer’s woman or to Summer, that pretty yellow-haired girl who belonged to Iron Knife. He reached to touch the old scar on his brown chest. Only the strongest survived, and women were meant to be used to bear a man’s sons or pleasure him. Summer. If he ever got his hands on her again, he’d find ways to torture her she’d never even thought of.
Where was he? Angry Wolf lifted his throbbing head and looked around. His mouth tasted sour of old cheap whiskey. Yes, now he remembered. Some days ago, he and two other renegades had raided a wagon load of whiskey bound for Denver. The teamster still hung tied to his wagon wheel over the ashes of a dead fire. Angry Wolf grinned now and rubbed his pock-marked face as he stared at what was left of the wagon driver, remembering how he and his partners had laughed and passed the bottle around as the man screamed. That was what he got for sneaking whiskey into. Indian country with a war going on. The white man had hoped for big profits. What he got was slow death roasting alive while the renegades laughed and drank his whiskey.
By the time the three had drunk gallons of the firewater, they had been quarreling among themselves. Angry Wolf looked around. Where were the other two braves? Among the wreckage and broken bottles, he dug around and found Horse Stealer, his throat cut with a broken whiskey bottle.
Now it all came back to Angry Wolf: the quarrel, the fight. Deer Slayer, the third Cheyenne, had run for his horse as the two fought, riding out just as Angry Wolf cut Horse Stealer’s throat. Deer Slayer’s eyes had been big with horror at the broken taboo. Angry Wolf had yelled at him and tried to stop him from leaving, but the Cheyenne brave had fled.
Angry Wolf had committed the worst crime, murder, and there was a witness. He considered whether he could ride Deer Slayer down and kill him before he could get to any Cheyenne encampment with the news. No, this had happened some days ago, from what he vaguely remembered. What to do? If word got out, he would not be welcome in any Cheyenne camp, and when the Sacred Arrows were opened, there would be blood on them. He staggered to his feet, then retrieved his knife and lance. It wasn’t the first time Angry Wolf had killed a fellow Cheyenne. He didn’t much believe in the superstition of the bloody arrows, but a live witness was something else.
He looked around the littered camp site, trying to decide where he was and what he should do? Mountains. He could see peaks around him that he knew the whites called the Rockies. For six years now, he had survived riding with the outlaw dog soldiers or raiding lonely settlers’ cabins. However, now he had killed a brother Cheyenne, and that was serious, especially since there was a witness.
Angry Wolf needed a place to hole up, maybe one with good food, a warm fire and a pretty woman. He gathered up his things. There was only one old horse grazing in the deserted camp. Either Deer Slayer had taken the others or they had strayed away in the week or so Angry Wolf had been drunk. He looked around, trying to decide where to go, what to do. The winter wind blew cold against his pock-marked face. Somewhere in the distance, his keen nose detected just the slightest scent of smoke. That might mean some isolated settler or miner.
Angry Wolf grinned with yellow teeth, remembering how trusting the young farmer and his woman had been. He would follow the scent of that smoke. With any luck, it would lead him to some lonely cabin where there would be food, a stupid, trusting white man to kill, and a pretty woman to warm his loins until he tired of her and cut her throat. As soon as he could steal a good horse and more supplies, he would be on his way again.
Angry Wolf’s head didn’t ache so much now except when the old horse stumbled on the trail. “Buzzard food,” he swore and whacked the horse with his bow. He hoped he would run into a field of fat ponies at that cabin he was searching for in the hills ahead of him. The wind blew cold, and who knew when it might decide to snow again?
At least he was better off than the Cheyenne who had been camped at Sand Creek weeks ago. He and Horse Stealer and Deer Slayer had heard rumors about a massacre there. When they had tortured that fat whites wagon driver, he had told them more. Vehoes. No wonder the Cheyenne word for “spider” and “white man” were the same. How he hated them! Many years ago, the whites had brought disease among the Indian tribes, and his whole family had died. Angry Wolf reached to touch the ugly pockmarks on his dark face. Whatever he did in revenge against all white people was not enough to bring his family back to life.
He wondered as he rode whatever had become of Gray Dove, the sultry Arapaho beauty he had hoped would become his woman. She, too, had turned away from his ugly face, wanting Iron Knife, the handsome, tall dog soldier instead. He hated Iron Knife for that. Angry Wolf touched the scar where Iron Knife’s yellow-haired woman had stabbed him. He hoped something terrible had happened to them both.
Licking his yellow teeth, he reined in the old nag and sniffed the morning air. Again he smelled the faintest scent of smoke. He kept riding, thinking he would have to be careful; the smoke might be coming from a camp of Ute, Crow, or Pawnee all traditional enemies of the Cheyenne. If the odds weren’t in his favor, he would skirt the area and keep riding until he found easier prey. The scent of smoke was stronger now. Angry Wolf dismounted and tied a strip of rawhide around the old gelding’s muzzle to keep it from nickering at other horses.
He climbed up on a little rise in the forest of spruce and pine, then peered at the small cabin in the clearing, smoke drifting lazily from the rock chimney. Even from this distance, he saw children playing out front.
“Good!” he grunted. Children meant a woman, a young woman. He licked his lips with anticipation. He’d kill the man, ransack the place, steal the best horses, rape the woman. Children he could probably sell to the Comancheros along the border—if he decided it was worth the bother to deal with taking them there. With all the Indian troubles going on, who would notice one more burned cabin and murdered settlers? The soldiers might even blame it on the band of Cheyenne Iron Knife had belonged to, which suited Angry Wolf just fine.
He scouted the area, as cautious as a lynx that’s been caught in a trap before. The settlers might be on their guard right now with what had happened at Sand Creek. Angry Wolf hoped the whole band had been wiped out, including Iron Knife if that dog soldier was still alive. Angry Wolf hadn’t been near that band in all these years since he’d tried to kill the big dog soldier and take his woman.
He rode closer, staying in the shadow of towering trees so that he would not be seen from the distant cabin. There were horses in the corral and two small pinto ponies. Angry Wolf narrowed his eyes as he looked them over from the shadow of the trees. Fine horses. This. would be a very good raid! Why, that Appaloosa sticking its head over the barn door looked almost as fine as the one Iron Knife used to ride. His heart beat a little faster with anticipation. If the settler’s woman and whiskey were as good as his horses, Angry Wolf was about to be very lucky indeed.
He dismounted and tied the old nag to a tree, watching the corral all the while. Absently, he ran his hand across his pock-marked cheek and studied the Appaloosa. It couldn’t be Spotted Blanket, could it? Maybe his memory was faulty; he hadn’t seen that stallion since that autumn day in the forest when he had fought Iron Knife for the yellow-haired girl and lost. Maybe it was a colt sired by Iron Knife’s horse. As he considered, a small boy came out of the cabin, a boy about four or five years old. He was light-skinned and handsome with very black hair. Angry Wolf watched the little boy with interest. There were places along the border where men with strange appetites would pay big money for such a handsome child.
From inside, a woman’s voice called, “Lance, wait and someone will come out and help you!”
The boy strode toward the ponies in the corral. “I can feed them myself, Mother.”
So there was a woman, and from the age of the son, she must be young. Angry Wolf grinned and felt his groin swell and ache with anticipation. But he reminded himself that her man might not be as trusting and easily fooled as Ethan had been. Most of these frontiersmen were good with a rifle.
He watched the little boy lead the ponies into the barn. Then as silent as a sneaking coyote, Angry Wolf crept around the barn and went in. The scent of hay was sweet on the dim, dusty air. The little boy was struggling to throw some hay into the stall where he had put the ponies.
He should just snap the boy’s neck, but if the child put up a fight or managed to cry out, people in the house would be alerted. Besides, he needed the boy to lure the woman out.
He sneaked up behind him. The boy might have Indian blood, because he whirled at the sound of Angry Wolf’s moccasin in the soft straw of the barn floor. His blue eyes widened as Angry Wolf hit him in the jaw, and the boy crumpled. Grinning, Angry Wolf threw him over his shoulder and carried him away from the barn, out to where he had tied the old horse in the trees.
He really needed to know how many people were in the house. If the woman was alone, this would be easy. If she wasn’t, he needed to know how many adults might be in the cabin.
He took another look at the big Appaloosa standing in the corral. If it wasn’t Spotted Blanket, it had to be one of his grown colts.
Inside, Summer looked around as she helped Silver set the table. The men were sharing a pipe and conversation at the other end of the room before the fire, talking about Sand Creek and the Indian outbreak. Storm Gathering sat near them, listening to the men talk. Wannie and little Garnet were playing on the floor with a doll. “Did Lance ever come back in?”
Silver shrugged, busy ladling gravy over a haunch of roast venison she had just pulled from the fire. “If he got his pony put away, he may have followed Keso off down to the stream to get a bucket of water.”
“Oh, of course.” Summer returned to slicing hot bread. Keso was a big boy, maybe ten or twelve years old, by the look of him. He’d take care of Lance. Still, Summer had the most uneasy feeling she couldn’t shake as she stood there by the window with the bread pan, almost as if someone were watching her. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself, you’ve been jumpy ever since the ambush at Sand Creek.
Keso came in just then carrying a bucket of water. He was a handsome, tall Indian boy, Summer thought, and getting broad-shouldered.
He put the bucket on the table. “Hey, Mom, dinner looks good.”
Silver turned and put her arm around him affectionately. “Drat! You rascal! You know how to make sure you get a big piece of cake, don’t you?”
Summer paused. “Keso, did Lance come in with you?”
Keso gave her a blank look. “I ain’t seen him, ma’am.”
“He went out to see about the ponies.”
The boy shrugged. “I was up by the creek, not down at the corral, ma’am.”
“Would you mind—? Oh, never mind, I’ll call him in for supper.” Summer grabbed a coat and headed out the door. She didn’t want anyone to think she was being a nervous mother hen. Ever since Sand Creek, Iron Knife had complained she was being overprotective. If Lance had gone very far from the cabin, she wanted Iron Knife to caution his son. It wouldn’t be that difficult to get lost up here on this mountain with all these thick forests of pine and spruce.
She looked around. “Lance?” No answer. Of course he had gone into the barn. She walked across the pasture. “Lance?”
Spotted Blanket nickered a welcome as she went inside the semidarkness, and the two ponies stuck their heads toward her, looking for hay. Strange, here was the pitchfork lying on the barn floor. It wasn’t like either of Iron Knife’s sons to neglect a horse. Had he gone off somewhere? She came back outside and looked all the way around the clearing toward the woods. Was that a reflection off something metal? Of course! She almost smiled with relief as she walked toward the woods. For some reason, Lance was out in the woods this chilly late afternoon. Was she being overly protective? His father would probably think so. “Lance? Lance, where are you?”
With shocked disbelief, Angry Wolf stared at the woman crossing the clearing. It couldn’t be! His eyes must be playing tricks. Yet as she drew closer, he recognized the walk, the swell of her breasts, the light hair and pretty face. Iron Knife’s woman. No, it couldn’t be. If it were Summer, she would be with the Cheyenne—unless Iron Knife had been killed or she had left him and taken up with a white man.
Angry Wolf looked down at the unconscious child in his arms. Could this be Iron Knife’s son? If he thought it was, Angry Wolf would slam the child’s head against a rock and splatter his brains. No, it didn’t make any sense that Iron Knife’s woman, son and horse would be at a settler’s cabin up in the Rockies. A happy thought occurred to the renegade Cheyenne. Suppose Iron Knife had been killed, and his woman had taken his possessions and found herself another man?
“Lance? Where are you?” Summer looked all around her, but nothing moved and no one answered her call. “Lance? Lance?”
The echo came back mockingly: Lance . . . Lance . . . Lance. . . .
The little rascal, if he had gotten very far away, he was in for a good scolding. Maybe she should go back and get the others to help her look. If she didn’t find him in the next few minutes, that was exactly what she would do, even if it did embarrass him for everyone to be out searching as if for a stray colt.
Where had she seen that flash of reflection? Uncertainly, she looked over her shoulder toward the cabin. Maybe she ought to go back and get Iron Knife to help; but he and his friend Cherokee were having such a good time talking, and Silver was busy with dinner. She came to the edge of the wood. “Lance? Where are you?”
Angry Wolf watched her and grinned. The gods must like him to send her right into his trap. He lay the unconscious, trussed-up child across the path and stepped back behind a tree. He made a small sound in his throat like a whimper.
“Lance?” She ran toward the woods, taking no caution now. “Lance, are you hurt? Where are you?”
He stayed in the shadow of the trees as Iron Knife’s woman ran toward him. She was concerned now only with the safety of her child. The yellow-haired girl seemed to see the little boy lying across the path ahead. She cried out in fear and ran into the woods, past Angry Wolf hiding in the shadows.
“Lance? What’s happened?” Her whole attention was centered on the child. Silent as a snake, Angry Wolf stepped out behind her. Before she had any warning, he slipped one arm around her trim waist while he clapped his other hand over her mouth. She struggled and fought him, but Angry Wolf was strong. Her waist was narrow, her flesh warm. His arm slid up under her breasts as she fought to get away from him.
“So we meet again, white bitch!”
Terrified and confused, Summer attempted to turn her head, break her captor’s grip. She couldn’t see who had stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice, but she couldn’t quite place it. One thing she did know for sure was that he was strong, and from the tone of his voice, he meant to harm her. Every woman’s nightmare, being grabbed by a faceless evil who leaves no doubt as to his intentions. Her first thought was for her child as she struggled. Had Lance been hurt? If she could just break free enough to scream, Iron Knife would come running, and woe to the man who had touched his woman! Her heart seemed to pound against her ribs so hard, she was sure her assailant could feel it. Who was he? What did he want? A million thoughts and terrors ran through her mind as she fought, but her captor held tight.
He laughed against her ear. “I’m taking you, and when I finish, bitch, you’ll pray to die! I’ll ambush your man as he hunts for you!”
He whirled her around, his dirty hand still clamped tightly over her mouth. Summer looked up at him, eyes wide with disbelief. No, it couldn’t be!
He grinned with yellow teeth. “You thought me dead? I lived, but I carry the scar still. Now it’s my turn to see what I can do with a knife!”
At that, he clipped her across the jaw, and she collapsed, unconscious. Quickly, he tied her hands behind her, tore a strip off her skirt and stuffed it in her mouth. She was as beautiful and desirable as he remembered, Angry Wolf thought as he ripped away the front of her dress. Such full, soft breasts. Before he carved marks on them with his knife, he intended to spread her out and rape her until he got enough of her ripe body. By then, her man would be looking for her, and if Angry Wolf was clever enough, he would kill him, too.
Angry Wolf ran his hands across her breasts, his manhood swelling and aching with urgency. He wished he had time to throw her down and take her right here, all bound and gagged, but he dared not take the chance. He knew of a cave not far from here, an old mining tunnel. That would be a good place to enjoy Iron Knife’s woman. Her screams as he tortured her might lure Iron Knife to the spot where Angry Wolf would be lying in wait to kill him. Then he would geld Iron Knife and cut his throat. Maybe he shouldn’t kill Iron Knife’s woman; maybe he should sell her to the Comancheros. He grinned as he picked her up and ran his hands up and down her smooth thighs, across her breasts. It pleased him to think of her being forced to service brutal renegades or outlaws. But that wasn’t a decision he had to make right now. First he had to escape from here, set up the trap and then enjoy his capture.
He lifted her up on the horse before him and held her against his male hardness. It had been a long time since he had wanted a woman this bad. He looked down at the little boy. The child was awake now and stared up at him with wide blue eyes. Trussed and gagged, the little boy could not scream for help. Was this Iron Knife’s son? If so, he’d enjoy the pleasure of cutting the child’s throat; but he’d have to dismount to do so, and it would be difficult with the limp woman in his arms.
In that split second, as he considered, he heard a door slam, and a woman with even paler hair came out on the porch, calling, “Summer? Did you find him? Drat it all! You men come help me look!”
Damn that other woman! If she sounded the alarm, he wasn’t going to have much time to get away. Digging sharp spurs into his horse, he took off through the woods, the girl soft and limp in his arms. Angry Wolf licked his lips with anticipation, remembered how close he’d come to enjoying her many years ago by that creek. The white scar on his chest seemed to burn. He would make her pay for that; oh, he would make her pay!
It was late afternoon, and the night would be cold if he didn’t get out of the wind. He grinned to himself. Now he had something to keep him warm. Stripped naked, Summer would be soft and hot in his arms as he enjoyed her body. His heart beat a little faster just thinking about how she would feel under him.
They traveled for miles to reach the old abandoned mine, and it was dark when they got there. The ground Angry Wolf had just covered was hard and becoming flinty with frost, making it almost impossible to track a horse. Once he had enjoyed Summer’s ripe body for an hour, he could drop back, then pick off any pursuers one at a time along the trail, if any were loco enough to attempt to trail him in the darkness. Most warriors hesitated to fight at night; they thought a man killed in the night would have a hard time finding his way up the Ekutsihimmiyo, the Hanging Road to the Sky.
Roughly, he dumped the half-conscious girl inside the mouth of the mine on thick, dead leaves that had piled up over the autumn months. Then he led his horse away and tied it by a creek a few hundred yards from the mine. If anything caused that horse to nicker, he wanted to have plenty of warning. Now to enjoy some food and the woman!