Rain Song’s arms were locked around Little Wolf’s waist, holding him tightly, not from a fear of falling off, for her body moved in rhythm with the Appaloosa’s gait almost as well as her husband’s. Rather, she held on to him desperately, as if something might snatch her away from him again. There had been little time for reunion except the short embrace at the river, for their pursuers were not far behind. She pressed her face against the bare muscular back of her husband as they moved together with the pony’s steady pace. The only sound in her ears was the thundering of the horse’s hooves as they pounded upon the grassy hills.
Little Wolf’s first thought was to gain some distance between them and the soldiers, so he called on all the speed the Appaloosa could give him. The treeless hills that bordered the river offered little cover. He was intent upon reaching the slopes of the mountains where there were bands of pine and spruce. When he reached them, he would worry about hiding his trail. Now, it would be a waste of time. So he drove the Appaloosa on.
Upon reaching the slope of a mountain, he rode up a wooded draw and over the other side of a low ridge, still riding hard, in and out of the shadowy patches cast by the tall pines, until the forest closed in above them, leaving them in total shade. Not until then did he allow the Appaloosa to settle back to a slower pace as he weaved his way through the lodgepoles. Out of the trees and into the bright sunlight again for a short distance over a rocky flat, then back into the trees they rode. Below them, he spied a narrow stream that followed a ravine back down the slope. Holding to the slope, he reined his horse back to a walk, carefully picking his way through the deep pinestraw floor of the forest. When he intercepted the stream, he took great care as he entered it, leaving the loose stones and gravel undisturbed.
He stopped in the middle of the stream and listened. There were no sounds of pursuit, only the soft murmur of the wind in the pines high above them. Pausing a moment to let the horse drink, he then walked him downstream until he found a place where a flat rock protruded out over the water. Here he decided it safe to stop for a short while.
“You can rest here for a moment,” he said, throwing one leg over the horse’s neck and landing lightly on the boulder. He reached up and caught Rain Song in his arms, carrying her to the edge of the stream, where he placed her gently on her feet. She immediately stepped back into his arms and embraced him. After a moment, he kissed her tenderly on her forehead, then each cheek, before he held her at arm’s length to look at her. “They have treated you badly,” he said softly.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she whispered. Then remembering she dropped her chin, embarrassed. “How much time do we have? I must clean myself. You cannot look at me like this.”
He shook his head sadly. It pained him to see the evidence of obvious abuse. “Don’t say silly things.” Then, “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No,” she quickly replied, “just dirty.”
He smiled. “Hurry then. I think we have a little time until they pick up our trail.”
“You were very careful. Maybe they won’t follow us.”
“The big one will come.”
He went back up the ridge on foot to see if Tobin had found his trail. Looking back the way they had come through the pines, he could see no sign of anyone as yet. The big one is good, Little Wolf thought. He will find our trail. There had not been enough time to disguise his tracks completely. It might take him some time, but Little Wolf knew Tobin would eventually strike his trail.
He made his way carefully back down the slope to the stream, where Rain Song was trying to clean some of the grime away from her body. She looked up at him and smiled shyly, still embarrassed for her husband to see her in this state. It pained him to see the bruises on her arms and neck, evidence of the rough treatment she had suffered. He said nothing but the anger was rapidly beginning to boil within him, clouding his mind with thoughts of revenge. He was not aware that his face conveyed his bitter thoughts until he realized that she had paused in her bathing and stood looking at him.
“You are thinking of killing. I can see it in your face.” A worried frown appeared on her face. “Do not think of revenge. They didn’t hurt me. It’s only a few bruises. Let’s run from this land, go far away, maybe to King George’s land to the north. There we can be free of the soldiers.”
He heard her words but his mind was still churning with the anger he felt. “They should pay for what they have done to you.” His dark eyes flashed with the spark of fury that was still welling up inside.
She was frightened. She had never seen him like this, his face a dark mask of anger. Before, when preparing to do battle, he had always maintained an air of quiet resolve, methodical and unemotional as he prepared his weapons, saving his rage for the actual combat. Now he was almost brooding, his muscles tense. She was afraid for him, afraid he was going back to meet the big tracker Tobin. She had waited so long for him to come for her, at times giving up hope that he ever would. Now they were together at last. She could not bear the thought of being separated from him again.
She waded out of the water and walked up to him. Putting her arms around his waist, she pressed her body close to his. “Please don’t think about fighting. We are free now. I’m afraid something might happen to you.” She looked up into his face. “Please. We want nothing more from these white people. Please…I’m afraid.”
Slowly he relented to her pleas, unable to ignore the anguish in her face, until the faint hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “All right, Little One, we’ll head north.”
She gave him a hard squeeze, then hurriedly climbed back into the soiled deerskin dress that had been her entire wardrobe for weeks. While she dressed, he went back up the ridge to take one more look. She was sitting on his horse when he came back down, anxious to start out for a new life in Canada.
* * *
Lieutenant Brice Paxton’s column of troopers caught up with Tobin at a flat rock projecting out over a swiftly running stream. The big scout was dismounted, squatting on his heels, studying the hard ground around the rock. He turned to snarl at the approaching soldiers like a coyote over a fresh kill. He was plainly displeased to see the troopers, never planning for them to catch up to him in the first place. As far as he was concerned, the soldiers would just be in the way. It didn’t take an Injun as slick as Little Wolf to see that mob of horses trailing him. Tobin was going to have to move swiftly and cautiously to have even a chance of surprising one as cunning as Little Wolf. And he couldn’t see that happening with some twenty-odd blue-coated troopers in tow. Tobin silently cursed the lieutenant and Little Wolf. If the renegade hadn’t been so effective in covering his trail, Tobin wouldn’t have had to spend that much time picking it up again, and he would have been long gone before the sassy young lieutenant and his soldier-boys got there.
The brooding scout remained squatting as the detail filed down through the trees of the slope. When Brice pulled up beside the stream, Tobin spoke. “Ain’t you boys got nuthin’ better to do than pester me? I thought you was supposed to be back yonder, protecting the good citizens of Medicine Creek.”
Brice ignored the sarcasm. “Little Wolf is wanted by the army so I thought we’d give you some support.” He didn’t voice his real concern that Tobin was more than likely planning to murder Little Wolf and the woman with no regard for the colonel’s orders to bring the renegade back for trial.
“I don’t need no damn support. Fact is, all this noisy bunch’ll do is scare him off.”
Brice was unimpressed by the ominous scout’s gruff talk. “Well, I expect you’d best get used to this noisy bunch because we’re going with you. The colonel wants that man brought back for trial and I intend to see that the woman is returned to the reservation unharmed.” He paused, fixing Tobin with a cold eye. “That is, if you can track him.”
“Huh!” Tobin snorted. “The man ain’t born I can’t track. I’ll track him, all right. If I don’t, then you’ll know damn well he sprung wings and flew out of these damn mountains.”
“Good then. When you pick up the trail, we’ll get started.”
I wish it was just you and me without all them soldiers. I’d dearly love to lift that fine scalp of yourn. Tobin said nothing for a long moment, studying the lieutenant’s face. He glanced over at a smirking Sergeant Baskin, then back at Brice. “Well, keep them horses to hell over on that side of the crick till I find a track.” It was plain to see that the army intended to dog him no matter what he said, so he was going to have to play along for a bit. Glancing at his own shadow stretching longer on the rock, Tobin realized that it was getting along in the afternoon. “It ain’t much more till the sun gits behind them mountains. This might take some time, tracking this ol’ boy. He ain’t no ordinary Injun. This is as good a place to set up camp for the night as any, so you might as well settle your boys in. I’ll scout up this ravine a bit to see if I can set us a trail in the morning.”
Brice was not to be bamboozled that easily. He smiled and replied, “Good idea. I’ll send a couple of men with you to make sure you don’t get ambushed.” Tobin’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest.
As it turned out, Tobin had not exaggerated when he said it would be difficult to track Little Wolf. Studying the banks of the stream on both sides, Tobin worked his way down the ravine and back again, for a distance of a hundred yards or so. He didn’t find anything, and was becoming more and more surly as the afternoon ticked away. Sergeant Baskin had issued specific instructions to the two troopers sent with the scout to be on the lookout for foul play. So, with two wary soldiers watching his every move, Tobin combed the north and west side of the ravine that cradled the stream. Just when he was beginning to think darkness was going to overtake them, he found a partial print at the edge of the trees.
He climbed upon a fallen tree trunk and looked out across a low ridge. The print indicated that Little Wolf had traversed the slope along the ridge instead of following the ravine. Tobin knew this country like the back of his hand, and he had a notion that it was new to the man he hunted. Little Wolf would be heading for Canada, he felt sure of that. Where else could he go to get away from the army? So he’ll be thinking to get through them mountains to the north and he’s gonna find that there ain’t but one pass through there. Satisfied that he now knew where to find Little Wolf and Rain Song, he stepped back down from the dead tree.
He didn’t reveal his find to the two soldiers accompanying him. To them, he announced, “Well, we come up dry for now. I suspect he rode yonder way, following the crick on down the slope. We’ll pick his trail up in the morning.” They all rode back to camp.
* * *
During the night, a light rain fell, causing sleepy, disgruntled troopers to search for cover anywhere they could. They had left Lapwai under light marching orders, so there were no tents for shelter. The best most of them could do was to seek refuge under the low hanging limbs of the larger spruce trees that covered the lower slopes. Even then, it proved to be a wet nights sleep for those who had not had the foresight to pack their ponchos or their rubber ground blankets. Those unfortunate enough to catch sentry duty could do little more than find a tree to stand under.
About an hour before daylight, the rain had slackened, and by the time the men began to stir from their soggy beds it had stopped completely. Sergeant Baskin made his rounds of the sentries who pulled the last tour of guard to see if there was anything unusual to report. There was not, so he assembled the detail to count heads. There were no formalities observed when in the field, especially when Brice Paxton was in command. So it was a quick muster and report to Brice confirming that everyone was accounted for.
“Cookfires, sir?” Baskin asked.
Brice didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure he could afford to take the time for a hot breakfast. The Cheyenne already had a fair head start on them, what with the time wasted the afternoon before. On the other hand, it might do a great deal for morale if the men could at least boil some coffee after the wet night they just endured. He was well aware of the complaining drifting back and forth between some of the members of his detail. When the column started out from Lapwai, the mission had been to bivouac near Medicine Creek on a guard detail. Standard rations of salt pork, hardtack, sugar, and coffee were issued each man. Before the store burned down the men would normally anticipate the opportunity to buy more palatable staples to add to their mess while camping in such close proximity to the town. He could understand their disappointment. The thought of a steaming hot cup of coffee certainly appealed to him at that moment. He reached down and pulled a soaked trouser leg away from his skin. As he did so, he looked at Baskin with a suspicious eye, wondering how the old campaigner managed to stay dry when he could not. The sergeant started to repeat his question when Brice interrupted. “Where’s Tobin?”
The usually unflappable sergeant’s face registered his discomfort in realizing he had not accounted for the surly tracker. “Why, I reckon he’s still bedded down over yonder in that thicket.”
“Well, you better go see,” Brice said.
Baskin had reckoned wrong. Tobin had slipped out of the camp sometime during the night, probably while everyone else was busy trying to keep their backsides dry. The pine thicket he had chosen to bed down in was not shared by any of the men, since no one had any desire to sleep near the ominous hulk. So it was not difficult for Tobin to steal out of camp without being seen. The thing that irritated Brice was that he was able to lead his horse away unobserved. Of the sentries assigned to pull tours at horse guard during the night, none admitted to dozing. Yet none saw the huge scout quietly lead his horse out of camp. He could not come down too hard on the sentries, since Tobin’s horse was not on the picket line with the army’s horses. He should have suspected something when Tobin hobbled the big buckskin near the thicket, explaining that his horse wasn’t sociable with other horses.
Brice was mad. He whirled on his sergeant. “That answers your question, Sergeant. No cookfires. Get the men mounted and ready to ride in five minutes.”
“Yessir,” Baskin replied and turned to carry out his orders. There was little need to repeat them, for all the men were within earshot. The little bivouac sprang alive with men grabbing their saddles and blanket-rolls. Some who had not waited for permission yanked tin cups from small, already blazing fires, and gulped down quick swigs of half-boiled coffee while kicking dirt over the flames. In a matter of minutes, the detachment was in the saddle.
“How the hell do we know which way to go?” Paul Simmons wanted to know.
“I don’t know,” Brice admitted.
“Tobin said last night that he figured Little Wolf followed the stream on down the mountain.”
“I know,” Brice answered, thinking hard on the matter. He didn’t trust Tobin for a minute and the hostile bastard had been set on shaking the cavalry troop from the beginning. While the men waited for the order to move out, he rode across the stream and up the low bank on the other side. Looking out over the trees toward the mountains to the north, he thought for a moment and then wheeled around. “Sergeant Baskin.”
“Yessir?”
“Where do you suppose Little Wolf would be heading, now that he’s got his wife?”
“Why, Canada, I reckon.”
Brice nodded his agreement. “That’s what I reckon too. And, unless they moved it, Canada’s that way.” He pointed toward the mountains. With a hand signal to march, he led out across the ridge, confident that it was the same route Tobin took when he stole out of camp.
* * *
A fifty-dollar bonus when I bring your head to Lapwai. Tobin was pleased with the time he was certain he had gained on the white Cheyenne. Colonel Wheaton had promised him the bonus if he was successful in capturing—or killing, if unavoidable—the renegade. This was in addition to regular scout pay while he was hunting him. Kill him if unavoidable, Tobin thought to himself and laughed at the thought. Oh, it’s gonna be unavoidable all right, ’cause I’m gonna shoot him on sight. The anticipation of it actually caused him to salivate.
He was confident he would overtake Little Wolf before he got to the Canadian border. It didn’t make any difference to him if he had to cross the border after him—he didn’t have to pay any attention to lines drawn on a piece of foolscap like the army did. But he was sure of his knowledge of the country and his ability to track better than any man alive, and sure enough to know he would run Little Wolf and the girl down before they made another thirty miles. He almost laughed out loud as he picked his way along the old game trail in the dark, ignoring the rain that ran off his buckskin warshirt. He had hunted this country for most of two years with ol’ Kills Two Elks. He didn’t need daylight to find his way through these mountains. But Little Wolf does, he thought. He kicked the buckskin sharply when the laboring horse sought to slow the pace.
The sun had been up for little more than an hour when he came upon their campsite of the previous night. He was reluctant to pause, but he knew he would be on foot soon if he didn’t let the buckskin rest for a while. He cursed the nearly exhausted animal soundly as he led him to the tiny branch that trickled along the side of the trail. While the horse drank, he poked around in the ashes of the small fire that had been made up under a huge boulder. It had been a dry camp, out of the rain, he thought. Ain’t that sweet? They slept all cuddled up together. The picture that formed in his mind brought him sudden pleasure. The prospect of the killing brought a warm glow to his brain.
Fresh tracks in the wet earth led out to the old trail. No attempt had been made to cover them. Little Wolf had found out by then that there was only one way through the mountains, so it was a waste of time to try to disguise his trail. He knew that it was now a race. What he didn’t know—which tickled Tobin—was that his pursuer had made up a huge amount of ground on him during the night while he and Rain Song slept.
“Come on, you damned buzzard bait, I smell blood!” He jerked the reins, pulling the buckskin’s head up sharply from the grass where the horse had been grazing. He knew the horse was tired, but he sensed the closeness of the Cheyenne and he could control his impatience no longer. He led the horse up from the stream and stepped up into the stirrup. Though still weary and hungry, the buckskin stood, with head down, obediently accepting his oversized burden. “You can rest while I’m drying that damn Cheyenne’s scalp.” With that, he kicked the horse hard into a gallop.