Tobin grumbled to himself as he prodded the weary buckskin along. He had been in a black mood ever since realizing that the man he hunted could be anywhere between here and the Divide. He continued on this old Salish trail because his instincts told him the Cheyenne was heading back to Medicine Creek. The buckskin stumbled and Tobin lashed out at him, laying his whip across the exhausted horse’s rump. Even a man with Tobin’s scarcity of compassion had to relent eventually and let his horse rest, if only to prevent being set afoot. So, reluctantly, he made his camp for the night.
There still being a full hour of daylight left, he climbed up to the crest of the ridge before him to take a look at the country that lay ahead. From this higher vantage point, he could see the narrow ribbon through the trees ahead that indicated the trail he intended to follow in the morning. He turned and peered intently at the trail behind him, then to the east and west. There was nothing in any direction that might indicate there was another living soul within miles of where he stood. He grunted his displeasure and turned to retrace his steps to his camp below. That was when he saw it. It was no more than a gray wisp, a single, slender smoky thread, drifting up to be caught in the evening breeze. He locked his gaze on the slender ribbon, staring intently at it until he was sure of what he saw. There could be little doubt it was a small campfire, one a man would make if he didn’t want to attract attention.
A wide smile, more nearly resembling a grimace, spread across Tobin’s grizzled features, certain his instincts had been right. He remained staring at the thin line of smoke for a few minutes, judging the distance. Two miles at the most, he calculated. He glanced back at his weary horse, pulling at the grass around the cotton woods. “Damn!” he uttered, for he knew he would be pushing a dead horse if he tried to ride him now. He looked back at the smoke. “Hell, I can walk two miles.”
Making his way back down the hill as quickly as he could, he was already thinking of the pleasure it would bring him to pay Little Wolf a little visit that night. “Thought you was pretty slick,” he mumbled, the smile still etched across his hairy face. Tobin figured he could cover the distance between them before dark if he didn’t tarry. From habit, he checked his rifle and pistol. Then, leading his horse, he set out on foot.
* * *
Rain Song lay on her side, her legs drawn up under her protectively. Her legs were not bound but her hands were tied, each one to a separate sapling so that they were about a foot apart. He had gone to hunt, but she made no effort to free herself. She knew it was useless. She had strained against her bonds as soon as he left, but to no avail. Now she lay exhausted from the effort, knowing what was sure to come when Hump returned.
Thanks to Broken Wing’s efforts to convince the dull-witted brute that Rain Song was still too weak from her wound to be of any use to him, Hump permitted her to rest for a couple of days, content to appease his lust with an occasional crude groping of her body. Although she endeavored to feign illness, he, even with his slow mind, would be put off no longer. The thought of a union with the hulking savage was enough to send her mind reeling. But, knowing she was helpless to prevent it, she tried to strengthen her resolve to withstand his abuse. She was determined to live through whatever happened, for now she knew that Little Wolf was still alive. She heard a horse approaching and a tear slowly seeped from her eye and traced a path down her cheek.
Hump threw the carcass of a small deer on the ground and dismounted. He dragged it over and held it up for her to see. “You see, no one is a better hunter than me. I will also be a better husband than your white Cheyenne.” He pulled the carcass back by the fire. “I will butcher the meat. Then you will cook it. After we eat, we will make love.”
The thought sent a cold shiver the length of Rain Song’s spine, but she tried not to show her fear. “I am still too weak. I would not be good for you. It would be better to wait.”
“No!” Hump roared. “I am tired of waiting. I think you are lying to me. I think you are not weak anymore. First, I will have food, then I will have you.” He hacked away angrily at the deer carcass, cutting off strips of flesh to be roasted over the fire. Hump was slow of wit but he would be fooled no longer. He had lived alone for so long, due to his inability to convince any woman to live with him, that he naturally prepared the meat himself. He placed it on branches to hold over the fire, forgetting that he had just told the woman she would cook it. As he worked, he glanced often at the woman lying helpless before him. From the lust in his eyes, there was no disguising the thoughts that dwelled in his simple mind. Rain Song swallowed hard to choke back a sob. She tried not to think of Little Wolf because she was ashamed for him to know what was about to happen to her.
He sat watching her while the meat cooked. His mind was of a single thought beyond filling his stomach. He had waited for her since Yellow Hand’s death and now he would have her. She answered his stare with only fleeting, fearful glances. The horror he saw in her eyes only served to heighten his pleasure and increase his desire for her. He was somewhat puzzled when her eyes seemed to fix on him and grew wide with alarm. Confused, he realized too late that she was staring at something behind him. He turned to stare into the barrel of a Winchester rifle. A split second later, part of his brain was spattered on the feet of the woman tied to the sapling behind him.
Rain Song screamed, certain the next bullet would come her way. There was no second shot, however, as the hulking man dressed in animal skins calmly dragged Hump’s body closer to the fire and turned him face down. Without speaking, he sat down on Hump’s body and pulled a strip of the roasting meat from the fire. After he had eaten most of the skewered meat, he glanced at Rain Song, seeming to notice her for the first time.
“Well, little missy, it don’t appear to me you was too anxious to mate with your boyfriend here.” He laughed, enjoying his joke. “Can’t say the same for him, though. He was so busy lookin’ at you, he didn’t have no time to pay attention to the likes of me.” He laughed again, a deep, hollow laugh. “I reckon that cost him.”
Rain Song was terrified. She had dreaded the abuse she was bound to receive at the hands of Hump. But this new menace made her blood run cold. His dark eyes, set back behind heavy scowling brows, seemed to dissect her with their steady gaze. The huge man looked her over from head to toe. She could almost feel his touch as he examined every inch of her without ever leaving his seat on Hump’s corpse. There was an aura of death about him, and she feared she would not see another sunrise.
Finished with his supper at last, he wiped the grease from his hands, using his shirt for a towel. Releasing a loud belch that sounded like the bawling of a buffalo calf calling for his mama, he swung one leg around so that he straddled Hump’s body. From that position, he calmly drew a long skinning knife from his belt. Taking a handful of the dead Nez Perce’s hair, he yanked his head up and neatly scalped him. Rain Song looked away.
Tobin laughed. The scalping done, he got to his feet and walked around the fire to stand directly over the terrified woman. “Now lemme see,” he started, stroking his chin whiskers as if thinking on it real hard. “I reckon I can guess who you might be. You ain’t who I expected, though, when I seen your smoke back yonder.” He bent down to get a closer look. She tried to draw away from him. “You ain’t Nez Perce, that’s fer damn shore.” He smiled, pleased with himself. “Cheyenne, ain’tcha?” The look in her eyes told him he had guessed correctly. “You ain’t dead after all. No ma’am, I wasn’t expectin’ you—the varmint I was looking to find was your husband. But finding you might just make my job a whole bunch easier.”
He reached down and grabbed her ankle with one huge paw. With the other hand, he flipped her skirt up to her waist. She kicked at his hand with her free leg but he caught it in his hand and held her fast by both ankles, her skirt still above her waist. She cursed and spit at him. He ignored her venom while he looked her over as callously as if examining a horse. “Yeah, I figured you to be a pretty little thing, to make a man go to all that trouble just to get you back.”
Much to her immediate relief, he released her and moved back by the fire. Looking around at Hump’s sack of supplies, he asked, “You got any coffee?” She did not answer. “Damn, I ain’t had no coffee in a week.” Finding nothing that interested him in Hump’s parfleche, he threw it aside and sat down by the fire, this time on the ground. Rain Song could not help but recall a time when a bear rummaged through her father’s camp, poking at everything, strewing things about. “Now, little lady, let’s you and me get acquainted. I’m figuring you to be Cheyenne. Is that right?” She did not answer. “And I’m thinkin’ your man is that white man that calls hisself Little Wolf.” Again she did not answer. She didn’t have to—her eyes answered for her at the mention of her husband’s name. Tobin smiled and slowly nodded his head. “I figured as much.” He knew he now had something Little Wolf wanted more than his freedom, and he would have to come to him to get her. Things couldn’t have worked out much better for Tobin.
At last Rain Song spoke. “Untie me.”
“Untie you? Hell, why would I do that?”
“I have to relieve myself.”
“Well, go ahead and relieve yourself. You don’t have to be untied for that.”
Rain Song was shocked. “I can’t do it here.”
“Shore you can. Just scoot over to one side and squirt, and then scoot back over. You got room.”
She said nothing more about it, determined to hold it until he had gone to sleep. It proved to be an extremely uncomfortable evening for Rain Song before her huge captor decided to turn in for the night. Frightened to think what plans he might have for her before going to sleep, she trembled when he at last got up from the fire and dragged Hump’s scalped corpse into the brush. After checking her bonds to make sure she wouldn’t bother him during the night, he rolled out his blankets and was soon snoring.
As the darkness deepened, the flames in the campfire died away, leaving a bed of glowing red coals. Other than the snoring of the hulking man, the night was quiet with no sounds but the calling of a night bird and the soft crying of a forlorn Cheyenne girl. Rain Song was too frightened to sleep, even had the aching in her arms relented. What would her fate be when morning came? Would she ever see her beloved Little Wolf again? This was an evil man who had captured her. She feared her death would be slow and painful.
She would have been relieved of one of her worries if she’d had any way of knowing the strange man sleeping by the fire. Tobin would not hesitate to frighten her, and he would have killed her if he had no use for her. But she was very useful to him—she was the bait he would use to set the trap for Little Wolf. As for the danger of rape, there was none. Tobin was not interested in her body at this point. Though she was fair enough, the problem was Tobin’s. He did not pursue sexual favors with women because of a profound fear of failure. This was possibly the only fear the man had, a fear of rendering himself vulnerable to ridicule. The last time he had entertained thoughts of a sexual nature was six years before with a prostitute in Lewisburg. He had failed to perform, most probably due to the tremendous quantity of whiskey he had consumed immediately prior to the liaison, and the woman laughed at him. Tobin was mortified. The woman was found dead the next morning, her throat slit from ear to ear.
Tobin knew what he was going to do. He needed a place to hold his captive, a secure place where she would not have to be under his constant watch. There was just such a place available: The little settlement of Medicine Creek had an empty jail. He might as well put it to some use. Before setting out for Medicine Creek the next morning, however, Tobin planned to effect an understanding with his prisoner so as to make the trip less bother.
Rain Song had finally fallen asleep a little before daybreak from sheer exhaustion. It seemed her eyes had been closed for little more than a few minutes when she was rudely rousted from her sleep. Groggy with fatigue and lack of sleep, her mind was in a state of utter confusion, and when she managed to shake the cobwebs from her brain, she became panic stricken. The monster who had invaded the night before was now standing over her, leering down at her, a twisted smile his only expression.
“It’s time for you to pay for your passage to Medicine Creek,” he said. Before she could react, he grabbed her ankles as he had done the night before, one in each hand, and spread her legs apart. She was helpless in his powerful grasp, no matter how she screamed and struggled. Her efforts seemed to amuse him and his grin spread wider across his hairy face. The sheer terror in her eyes told him she was getting the message he intended to send. Clamping a leg under each of his arms, leaving his hands free to explore, he grasped her thighs and slowly advanced his hands under her skirt. All the while, Tobin kept his eyes locked on hers, measuring the terror he instilled. He made no move to stop her screaming, sliding his huge body closer in between her legs. She struggled to stop him from coming any closer, but her pelvis felt as if it were about to split apart. She could do nothing to prevent what was about to happen. She felt her head reeling, close to losing consciousness.
He leaned over her until his face was almost touching hers. The dank, sweaty smell of him assaulted her nostrils. His grimy whiskers brushed against her cheek. He held her in that position for a long moment and then he spoke. “How do you like it, missy? I guarantee you it’ll be more fun for me than it is fer you.” He let her think about that for a few moments more, then added, “Maybe you and me can have a little understanding.” He pulled away from her a little. The terror he saw in her eyes pleased him. “Maybe we don’t have to do this. If you don’t give me no trouble, I’ll leave you alone. How ’bout it? But if you give me even a pinch of trouble…” He didn’t finish, but she understood fully.
“No trouble!” she screamed, her voice trembling with fear. “No trouble!”
He backed off, still holding her ankles. “All right,” he warned, “but you just remember what I said. One pinch of trouble, and I’ll split you up the backbone so fast you’ll wish you was dead.”
She believed him. Weak from her terrifying experience, she lay back, limp and drained. Right then she determined that she would still run if the opportunity arose. But she would make no attempt unless her chances of escape were extremely good. This creature would hunt her down. Of that she was certain.
Satisfied that he had thoroughly put the fear of the devil into the young woman’s heart, Tobin cut her hands loose and let her eat. He sat on his horse outside a thicket of serviceberry bushes, and waited while she performed her toilet. When she was finished, he put her on Hump’s horse and started toward Medicine Creek. Before they rode out, he gave her one more bit of instruction.
“Can you ride pretty fast?” She wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. He didn’t expect a reply. “Well,” he continued, “I don’t reckon you can outrun a bullet from this here Winchester. So don’t forget, I’m right behind you.” She got the message.
He let her lead and he followed, since all she had to do was stick to the trail traveled by countless hunting parties through the valleys.
The journey to Medicine Creek took two full days of riding. During that time, there was no attempt by Rain Song to escape. In return, there was no repeat of the brutal treatment suffered at the hand of her grim captor. Although Tobin had no intention to have sexual knowledge of the woman at present, he could still not help but let his mind imagine the pleasure she might be capable of giving a man. He had seen enough of her body to know that she might have the power to arouse his reluctant passions. But he needed her alive, and he knew if he failed to perform, he’d kill her. He’d have to—he would not be able to tolerate the humiliation.
Tobin permitted her to ride unfettered during the day, tying her up at night while he slept. On the morning of the third day, they left the Indian trail, crossed over a ridge thick with spruce and pine, and emerged from the trees to see the rough buildings of Medicine Creek.
Ike Freise scurried up the muddy street to the general store. Holding the door open while he remained on the wooden walkway, he yelled to Arvin Gilbert. “Look yonder at what’s coming!”
Arvin dropped a half-eaten pickle back in the jar and, wiping his hands on his apron, joined Ike on the walkway. Squinting against the morning sun, he followed Ike’s pointing finger, looking toward the north end of the valley. “Who is it?” he asked, unable to identify the two riders approaching the town.
“Well, less I’m mistaken, it’s that big ol’ tracker the army hired to go after that damn Injun.” He glanced at Arvin, who was still squinting to make out the riders. “They ain’t many men around that size. And it looks like he may have found his man.”
The two men watched the approaching riders until they were within a couple hundred yards of Ike’s stable on the north end of town. “No,” Arvin said, “that ain’t the renegade. That looks more like a squaw.” He turned to call back inside the store. “Lester, watch the store. I’ll be back in a minute.” He and Ike started up the street toward the stable.
They stood in front of the stable and waited for Tobin to approach. As he reached the beginning of the muddy sea of ruts that served as Medicine Creek’s main street, the two men got a better look at his prisoner.
“Why, that’s that little Injun woman, the one we brung in from that Cheyenne’s place.”
“Damned if it ain’t,” Ike replied.
Nothing more was said until the massive scout on the buckskin horse reached the stable. They had assumed he would put his horses up right away but he went right on by, now leading the horse the woman rode. “Morning, gents,” was all he said as he walked by. Like schoolboys following a circus wagon, they walked along beside Tobin, staring at the woman and waiting for an explanation. Tobin reined up in front of the jail and dismounted. He motioned for Rain Song to do the same.
Arvin Gilbert stepped up on the tiny porch. “We ain’t got a sheriff yet. The jail’s empty.”
“I figured,” Tobin replied. He pulled his rifle and bedroll from his horse and motioned for Rain Song to open the door. It was locked. Unfazed, Tobin turned his gaze on Arvin. “If I recollect, you’re the mayor of this little swamp, ain’tcha?”
“Yessir,” Arvin replied at once, “I’m the mayor.”
“Well, Mayor, I aim to use this here jail for a spell. If you ain’t got a key to open that door, I reckon I’ll have to kick it in.”
Arvin glanced at Ike, then back at the imposing bulk of Tobin. He knew that, as mayor, it should be his decision as to whether or not someone could simply confiscate a public building. It didn’t seem right for Tobin to come into their town and do what he damn well pleased without so much as a by your leave. He briefly considered informing Tobin that he would take it up with the town council—until he looked into the cold depth of the huge man’s eyes. There was violence there that lay just beneath the surface, promising to explode if given the slightest provocation. “I’ve got the key,” Arvin said, moments before Tobin got set to kick the door in.
He unlocked the door with a key from a ring holding a dozen others and stepped back to permit the Indian woman entry. Before he could replace the ring of keys, Tobin clamped his wrist in his huge hand and, with the other, opened the ring and took the key off. “I’ll need to keep this,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.
Arvin froze. He wanted to protest, but he did not have the courage. He looked to Ike Frieze for support but Ike had already backed away to give the big man room. Finally, he mumbled that he guessed it was all right to use the jail temporarily. Tobin’s smug expression told him that he had expected as much.
“I’ve got to get back to the store,” Arvin muttered and turned to leave the tracker and his captive.
Ike turned also and was at Arvin’s elbow as they walked back toward the south end of the street. When he figured they were out of earshot, he glanced back nervously before speaking. “Damn, Arvin, that devil’s figuring on doing damn near what he pleases.”
Arvin, like Ike, had had the same thought after their confrontation with Tobin. Medicine Creek was vulnerable to being run over roughshod by men like Tobin. It was too promising a settlement to be endangered by the possibility of a corrupt sheriff. Franklin Bowers had been domineering, but he did submit to the general wishes of the town council. On first appearances, Tobin appeared to do as he pleased. This could be disastrous for the settlement of Medicine Creek.
“I don’t like the look of this,” Arvin said as they approached Blanton’s Saloon. “Maybe we ought to call a meeting of the council and discuss it.”
Ike agreed. “Maybe we ought to. You know, I don’t cotton much to him keeping that squaw in there anyway, just inviting that damn crazy Injun to come in here and shoot the place up.” In front of Blanton’s now, he suggested, “Let’s go in and talk to Henry.”
Henry Blanton was sufficiently concerned about the potential problem when told of the recent occupants of the jail. “You’re right, Arvin, we need to have a meeting right away. I’ll send my boy to fetch Morgan and Mr. Norsworthy.”
Within thirty minutes, the nucleus of the town council was assembled in the back of Blanton’s Saloon. The last to arrive was the Reverend Norsworthy, who loathed the practice of meeting in a saloon but put aside his principles for the purpose of conducting community business. When everyone but Rev. Norsworthy had a beer in front of them, Arvin called the meeting to order and related the news he and Ike had learned a short time before. To a man, they all agreed that Arvin’s assessment of the situation was most likely accurate and it was absolutely a necessity to set things right with their uninvited guest.
“Somebody needs to put the fear of God—excuse me, Reverend—in him before he thinks he can just ride in here and take over the town.” Having said it, Ike sat back down quickly before somebody suggested he might be the one for the job.
There were nods of agreement all around. Morgan Sewell spoke up. “I reckon it would be the mayor’s job to notify him.”
Arvin was afraid he was going to hear a suggestion like that. He was quick to respond. “I don’t think that devil can be persuaded by one man. It would be far more effective if he sees the whole town is behind this.” He looked around the table, discouraged by the lack of commitment he read in their faces. “Listen, maybe we’re jumping to conclusions here. Let’s speak to the man. We might be reading him wrong.” He still saw doubt in their faces. “Why don’t we just invite him to come up here and talk to us? We might be making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“What if he won’t come?” Morgan asked.
“Well, instead of asking him to come up here, we could all go down to the jail.” Arvin looked around the table for agreement.
“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “Hell, you’re the mayor, Arvin. Just go on down there and tell him how things are.”
Reverend Norsworthy, having held his piece until that moment, spoke up. “Arvin’s right. We should all go down to the jail in a show of support. Surely we can reason with this man. He can’t be as uncivilized as you paint him.”
“I don’t know,” Morgan repeated, shaking his head.
There followed two more beers’ worth of discussion but, in the end, they reluctantly agreed that all five of them would march down to the jail and inform this impudent bully that they ran the town of Medicine Creek, and any actions he took would only be with their approval.
While the Medicine Creek town council was meeting in the saloon, Tobin was inspecting his new lodgings. Rain Song was locked in one of the two cells, and Tobin had stowed his possibles in the other. Before locking Rain Song up, he tested the bars on the small window of the cell and was confident that a horse and rope couldn’t budge the inch-thick iron bars. When he was satisfied that all was to his liking, he locked the front door and took the horses down to Ike’s stable. Duly intimidated by the frightening countenance of the imposing figure, Ike’s eldest son respectfully stabled the horses in the first stall and fed them some grain. He didn’t question it when Tobin told him his credit was good.
Tobin smiled to himself when he left the stable and saw the committee waiting for him outside the locked door of the jail. Well, well, he thought, here’s the good citizens of Medicine Creek, coming to lay down the law. The thought amused him. He took his time getting back to the jail.
“Well now,” he said when he was within earshot of the nervous group. “This is more like it, an official welcoming committee.”
Arvin Gilbert flashed a nervous smile in an attempt to seem casual. “Mr. Tobin, as mayor of Medicine Creek, it’s my duty to speak for the town council.” Tobin’s smug grin did little to lesson Arvin’s discomfort in the role of town spokesman, but he continued. “The thing is, I don’t—the committee, that is—don’t know if it’s proper to let someone take over the jail without getting approval from the council.” He paused but Tobin made no response beyond a widening of his self-satisfied grin. Arvin got the distinct impression that what he was saying appeared to be amusing to the rough tracker. When Tobin still made no reply, Arvin began to sputter. “Well, ah…well, I guess we’d like to know what your intentions are. I mean, that’s our jail, a public building, and we need to know what you aim to do in there.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Tobin replied, still apparently amused.
Reverend Norsworthy spoke up then, from his position safely behind Arvin and Henry Blanton. “The fact is, Mr. Tobin, a man simply cannot ride into town and decide to take over the jailhouse. We won’t stand for it.”
Norsworthy’s fellow council members all took a step backward upon hearing the preacher’s blunt statement. Arvin quickly tried to soften the reverend’s words. “We’re just saying we need to talk about—”
“I hear what you’re saying,” Tobin interrupted. The smile faded from his face and his eyes seemed to harden and go stone-cold. Tobin had sized up the situation in the little settlement the first time he rode in, and knew then that the town was wide open for the first wild gunman who happened by. A collection of storekeepers and barbers, no sheriff, no backbone—he knew he could use the town any way he saw fit to suit his purposes. And his purpose at this time was to set a trap for one renegade Cheyenne. Always finding it more proficient to operate from a position of intimidation, he laid out his own rules for the council.
“Now I’m gonna tell you gentlemen how things is gonna be around here until I’m done with what I come for. I’m taking over the jail to hold that little Injun woman until her buck comes after her. I don’t expect no interference from any of you good citizens. The reason I’m taking it over is that I don’t see nobody in this town that can stop me.” He paused, shifting his piercing gaze on each man in succession. “Unless one of you gentlemen want to object right now.” He dropped his hand to rest on the handle of his pistol. “No? I didn’t figure. Well, there’s five of you and only one of me.” He took a step backward to give himself some room. “That ‘pears to me to be about the right odds. We can settle this thing right now.”
To a man, the committee froze. Not one among them had the nerve to stand up to the ominous hulk before them. It was painfully clear to the town council that what some had feared might happen after the death of Franklin Bowers had come to pass. Even if Bowers was still here, he could not have stood up to this fearsome maverick. For a long moment no one spoke. The men of Medicine Creek stood immobile in shocked silence. The imposing figure stared unblinking at Arvin Gilbert, a slight smile returning to split his dingy whiskers. Finally, Reverend Norsworthy broke the silence.
“There’s no need to threaten violence, Mr. Tobin. We’re all civilized men here. At least I certainly hope we are. We’re not looking for any trouble. We just wanted to talk this over.”
Tobin relaxed. His lips parted in a wide grin, exposing a row of dingy brown teeth. “Why now, that’s more like it. I knew you gents wasn’t lookin’ for any trouble. And as long as nobody gits in my way, there won’t be any.” Again Tobin let his gaze fix on each man individually for a few seconds. “I’m a fair man. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Since you ain’t got one, I’ll fill in for your sheriff for a while. Then, if some drunken saddletramp steps over the line, why I’d be more than pleased to bust his skull for ya. How’s that for being neighborly?”
This seemed to animate the frozen committee once more, triggering a great deal of nodding and gestures of agreement. Moments before there had been a wolf at the door. Now the wolf had offered not to eat them. Arvin Gilbert was the first to reply.
“Well, that does change things a mite at that. I mean, with you offering to act as sheriff, it’s only fittin’ you use the jail.” He looked around at his fellow councilmen and received nods of approval. There was an almost audible sigh of relief for the salvation of their dignity.
“Good, then.” Tobin almost looked genial. “Now I take it this here meeting is over.” He started to enter the jail, then paused. “As part of my pay, I’ll take my meals in the saloon, and you can feed my prisoner. Two meals a day ought to be enough for her. I’ll need three, sometimes more if I’m real hungry.” He stood there a moment longer to see if there were any objections. There were none.
The committee abruptly turned on their heels and made for the saloon, no one saying a word until they had passed the barbershop and were practically at the door of the saloon. Only then did Blanton feel safe to object.
“Well I don’t know about the rest of you, but I feel like we just got buffaloed.”
Arvin shook his head slowly. “Henry, I’d say we’re lucky he didn’t decide to shoot up the whole town.”
“Lucky?” Henry blurted. “Maybe you feel lucky. But I’m the one’s got to feed that big son of a bitch. How about that? And I’m expecting the town to pay for that. I ain’t gonna take him to raise.”
“I reckon we’ll handle it the same as when Bowers held a prisoner. It won’t be all your expense.” He shot an accusing look at Blanton. “Although you could damn sure afford it. You make more money than anybody else in town.”
Things were different around the little settlement in the valley now that the jail was occupied by the strange visitor and his Indian prisoner. There was a sinister cloud that seemed to hover over the entire town, entirely due to the presence of this one man. While Tobin made no outward attempts to intimidate the citizens of Medicine Creek, they were intimidated just the same. It was akin to living in a cave with a rattlesnake. You knew if you riled the snake he would surely strike. So it was best to avoid the snake if possible. Consequently, Tobin went his own way in peace, almost in a vacuum, because most of what he saw of the people of Medicine Creek was the back of their britches as they darted around corners whenever he walked the street. This was the kind of fear and respect Tobin appreciated. He knew the town was his for the taking and he began to give that notion serious thought. First, however, was the business with Little Wolf.
Tobin’s prisoner sat alone in a corner of her cell for most of every day. She was provided a bucket for her toilet and twice a day a boy from the saloon brought her a plate of food. True to his word, Tobin did not bother her. In fact, he barely spoke to her. Even when checking on her, which he did several times during the day and sometimes at night, he rarely spoke. It was as if he was merely checking the bait in his trap to make sure it had not spoiled. Rain Song feared this man. She found herself torn between hoping Little Wolf found her and praying that he didn’t. She feared what might happen if Little Wolf fell victim to this great bear that held her captive. She never doubted her husband’s strength and cunning, and no one ever questioned Little Wolf’s courage. But this man Tobin was not like any other man she had ever seen. He was not only ruthless, he was powerful and possessed a cunning in his own right, like the gray wolf and the coyote. As much as her soul ached for Little Wolf, she feared for his safety. Maybe it was best he never found out she was alive, and was on his way to Canada and safety.