Colonel Holder was clearly alarmed although he didn’t say anything at first. He was a man accustomed to facing unexpected situations but Jason’s warning hit squarely in his own family. In spite of his immediate concern, there was never a moment of panic. When he spoke, it was with great resolve. “That devil is as brazen as they said he was. We’ve got to act fast, Jason. If what you suspect is true, Sarah’s in danger right now.”
The colonel moved quickly, summoning the sergeant major and ordering him to mount a patrol immediately. While in the process, he explained to Jason that Sarah was not in camp. Captain Welch had invited her to accompany his medical team on a visit to the agency clinic. Sarah, anxious to get a closer look at the women and children of the reservation Cheyennes, accepted with enthusiasm.
“Damn!” Jason exhaled. “When did they leave?”
“Just after breakfast.”
She must have left right after he had talked to her at the mess tent. He found it irritating that, moments after teasing him with her playful chatter she had ridden off with Captain Welch. He immediately reprimanded himself silently for thoughts of such a petty nature in the face of the serious business at hand. “I’m going on ahead,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried to his horse. He didn’t express his entire feelings to the colonel, no need to add to the man’s distress. But he knew in his gut that Stone Hand had given him a warning at the scene of the picnic. And now Sarah could not have cooperated more with the savage in his deadly game.
* * *
Sarah Holder was both fascinated and appalled at the conditions she found at the agency. She had heard many exciting stories of the proud and fierce Cheyenne people. She was not prepared for the pitiful appearance of a people in captivity. There seemed to be no purposeful activity in the Indian camp. The men stood in groups, talking. The women sat silently before their tipis, some mending clothes, some making corn cakes from government-issued meal. They stared with empty eyes as she walked among them. John seemed impervious to their plight as he walked along beside her, carrying on a constant chatter about his clinic and how the Indians were like children with no practical knowledge of modern medicine. It was clear to Sarah that the doctor saw himself as some sort of medical savior to these people. She couldn’t help but feel troubled that he gave no consideration to the obvious fact that they had somehow survived for centuries before he arrived with his white man’s medicine.
“Will you be all right for a little while?” He stood with her while his men erected a tent to be used for a field clinic. “If you like, I can have a blanket spread for you in the front of the clinic.”
“No thanks, but I think I’d rather look around out here. You go on and tend to your patients. I’ll entertain myself.”
“As you wish. But, Sarah, don’t stray far from the clinic.”
She answered with a smile and the doctor excused himself to see to the needs of the small gathering of people awaiting him. Sarah occupied herself by watching a group of children playing a game behind the tent. It was a spirited game and it captured her interest immediately.
After a short while, she glanced over as an old man appeared on the opposite side of the circle where the children played. He was bent and gray, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Sarah gave him no more than a fleeting thought. He seemed to be watching the children at their play with some interest.
The children had a ball of sorts, fashioned from hide, and they were indulged in a spirited effort to knock it about with sticks. It appeared to Sarah that the children themselves were knocked about more often than the ball. There was a great deal of laughter and excited cries and while she was unsure of the object of the game she became fascinated with the intensity of the players. When she glanced up at the old man again, she noticed that he had moved around the circle, closer to her. He seemed to be as intense a spectator as she. She was distracted for a moment when she heard her name called and turned to see John standing outside the tent.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” he called out. “I hope you’re not too bored. I’ll be a while yet. Then we’ll have lunch. I had Sergeant Ortiz prepare a picnic basket for us.”
“I’m fine,” she called back. “See to your patients. I’ll amuse myself.”
“All right then, just stay close to the clinic.” He disappeared around the corner of the tent.
The events that took place during the next few seconds happened so fast and with such suddenness that Sarah had no time to react. A powerful hand was clamped tightly over her mouth and she was lifted off her feet by an arm that crushed the breath from her lungs. Everything went black and she lost consciousness without ever having made a sound.
* * *
When Jason galloped up before the agency building, he was met by a scene of confusion bordering on chaos. He didn’t like the look of it, knowing at once that his worst fears had been realized. He was too late. Captain Welch was pacing back and forth, ranting before a stoic group of young Cheyenne men. His orderlies were searching frantically from lodge to lodge. The Cheyenne women and children stood passively by, watching the confusion. Jason did not need an explanation. He knew what had happened and his only concern at that moment was a dread that he might find Sarah’s body. He had to count on a feeling that Stone Hand’s inclination would run more toward abduction than murder, for no other reason than to extend the anguish of his enemy. When a thorough search of the entire village turned up nothing, he assumed his hunch was correct and there was a small measure of hope that the girl was still alive.
“Goddamn, Coles, I swear I don’t know how it could have happened! She was right behind the tent here, watching some children playing. I just checked on her to make sure she was all right, just a few minutes before she disappeared.” Welch was grief-stricken and more than a little bit concerned about his responsibility for the safety of the colonel’s daughter. “Find her, Coles! For God’s sake, find her!”
Jason wasted little time in hearing out the doctor’s justification for his lack of protecting Sarah. He knew he was already losing precious time. A quick scout of the area painted a vivid picture of what had occurred. Stone Hand, it could be no other, had snatched Sarah from behind and carried her inside a nearby lodge. There he undoubtedly had tied her up and then carried her out behind the lodge where his horses were tethered. The trail led off to the west.
Welch mentioned that there had been no one around Sarah except the children and an old man who was also watching the game. Something jogged Jason’s memory and he recalled that when he had watched Lame Dog’s camp he had seen an old man, bent and gray, ride out alone. Coincidence? Maybe, but he remembered Colonel Holder remarking that Stone Hand often wore disguises. As he stood, gazing out in the direction the tracks led, he glanced over to discover Sam Running Fox standing nearby. When Sam caught his eye, he walked over to Jason.
“Like I told you.” Sam stated the obvious, “Stone Hand goes where he pleases.”
Jason didn’t answer right away, staring at the half-breed for a full minute before he spoke. “Sam, can you give me any help on this?” Sam simply shrugged. “Where will he likely take her? Any idea?”
“No. Who can say what is in Stone Hand’s mind?” He watched Jason’s reaction and he could see that the girl was important to the tall Indian scout. “Stone Hand is big medicine. He has no friends. He talks to no one. It is best you leave this one be, Jason, or you’ll be next in line to decorate his scalp stick.”
Jason considered this sober advice for no more than an instant. Then he climbed into the saddle and turned Henry’s head to the west. “Well, I aim to give the son of a bitch a chance at this scalp and I’ll tell you this…he damn sure better be a spirit…because, if he’s a mortal man, I’m gonna hang that devil.” Henry sensed the urgency of his master and Jason had to hold him back a moment, long enough to call out to Captain Welch. “I’m going after them. Tell the colonel I’ve gone on ahead.” He started to leave when Sam grabbed Henry’s bridle and held him.
“Wait. I’m going with you.”
Jason was startled. “What? I thought you said it was no use going after him. Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill you?”
“I’m already a dead man,” Sam replied stoically. “He knows I talked to you the other day.” He turned to get his horse and weapons, pausing to give one more comment. “I’d rather hunt than be hunted. Maybe we might get lucky.”
* * *
The trail led to the west for what Jason figured to be about ten or twelve miles where it turned to the north, following a small stream. Stone Hand was traveling fast. Jason had sought to gain ground on the renegade but they were unable to shorten the distance between them. He had hoped that having Sarah with him would slow the Cheyenne down. At least he could be reasonably certain that the girl was still unhurt at this point because Stone Hand was traveling hard. She was no doubt bound hand and foot. He and Sam remained hard on the trail until daylight began to fade. Darkness found them close to a low butte, dotted with an occasional tree. There was nothing they could do at this point but wait until first light to pick up the trail again. Theirs was a cold camp that night.
Sleep was not easy. Thoughts of the girl weighed heavily on his mind and he found it impossible to avoid envisioning possible scenes of Sarah’s fate. Her survival depended solely upon Stone Hand’s moods and what he planned to accomplish with the kidnapping of the colonel’s daughter. Although he and Sam were the pursuers, he was mindful to keep a cautious eye for attack from the Cheyenne. He felt that Stone Hand knew he would be coming after him…wanted him to, in fact. And he just might double back on them. Sleep finally came in spite of the many thoughts racing through his brain and he awoke to the sound of Henry’s noisy grazing on the sparse grass around his head.
They didn’t waste any time in getting under way again. After a couple of hours’ ride, they came across Stone Hand’s campsite. In spite of the urgency to keep going, Jason stopped briefly to scout the campsite. There was not a great deal of sign to tell them what took place during Sarah’s first night of captivity but there was enough to form a picture in his mind.
“The girl put up a fight here.” Sam’s fingers brushed over some crushed blades of grass. “She got beat or mounted, or both. Can’t tell.”
Jason’s face was tense. “I hope she just got beat,” was all he said.
Sam detected a deeper message in Jason’s tone and realized that the girl might mean more to the scout than the simple fact she was the colonel’s daughter. He tried to ease Jason’s mind somewhat. “Probably just a couple of smacks to let her know not to give him any trouble. Stone Hand don’t usually mount white women. He don’t think they’re good enough to breed with a Cheyenne.”
Sam’s comments did little to ease Jason’s mind. He decided he had better not dwell on thoughts of that nature and climbed back in the saddle. Nudging Henry with his heels, he took up the trail again.
Toward midday they determined that the signs were fresher and they knew they were gaining on Stone Hand. He urged Henry on. As he rode, his eyes constantly searching, it dawned on him that the trail was too easy to follow. Possibly Stone Hand felt he was safely out of danger by then. Something cautioned him that the man they followed was smarter than that and he realized there was another possibility to consider, one that was more likely. Stone Hand had traveled fast the first day, maybe to distance himself from the cavalry patrol he knew would follow. But he made no effort to disguise his trail. Now he slowed his pace, possibly to allow Jason and Sam to catch up. Sam agreed that that was more likely what he was thinking. It fit the devious mind of the renegade. The game was on again. Stone Hand was inviting them to catch him if they could.
Late afternoon found Sam and Jason approaching a low line of hills that stretched out across the horizon for miles, disappearing into a brown haze in the western sky. This could mean trouble, Jason thought. It would be no more difficult to trail Stone Hand through the hills as long as there was not too much rock. But there would be many more opportune places for ambush. He looked back to signal Sam to pick up the pace.
Darkness came once more, Sarah’s second night of captivity, and while he was sure they were closing the distance between them, still they had not gotten close enough to get even a glimpse of Stone Hand on the horizon. As he settled in for the night, he wondered how far behind them Colonel Holder might be—by now, possibly a full day. They had been traveling fast. His concern now was for the horses. Henry was as stout a horse as he had ever seen. He was a match for any horse on the plains. But he was beginning to show signs of fatigue, as was Sam’s paint. Stone Hand would ordinarily ride his horse till it dropped but under these circumstances he would be forced to rest his horses, too. This might be the time Stone Hand made a move. Jason and Sam took turns standing watch that night. There seemed little sense in taking chances.
Morning came without incident and they took up the trail once again. Midday found them traversing one low ridge after another, watching the trail before them and to both sides, alert to any sign of ambush. Jason unconsciously eased his rifle a little in its boot to make sure it was free and quickly available. The summer sun hammered the rocky trail they followed up yet another ridge of scraggly brush and twisted trees. They were moving slowly now in order to follow the tracks across a rocky point. Up ahead of them, the trail closed to a narrow gap between two small cliffs…a spot made for ambush.
Jason stopped and waited for Sam to pull up beside him. “I don’t like the looks of that. Whaddaya think, Sam?”
“If I was looking to ambush somebody, I couldn’t find no better place than that.” He stood up in his stirrups and looked to both sides. “We could ride around, pick up the trail on the other side.”
Jason looked out to both sides of the gap. To skirt the steep draw would mean a loss of precious time and add the possibility of not being able to pick up the trail again. The hills on both sides were steep and rocky. It might be difficult to pick up a trail that could go in any direction on the other side of the draw. And if they didn’t find a trail that might mean Stone Hand was still in the draw and they’d have to go in to find him anyway. “Hell,” he finally said, “I’m sticking with the trail.” He nudged Henry forward.
“What the hell,” Sam muttered and followed.
They moved slowly, eyes darting back and forth, searching the sides of the draw from rock to rock, looking for any obvious ambush position. Once within the narrow walls of the draw, there was no sound to break the leaden silence except the muffled padding of the horses’ hooves in the dust. It seemed that all living things in the canyon were holding their breath, watching the two men. Jason could feel the weight of the silence, his body tense, waiting for the rifle shot that would tell him that he had been a fool. There were hundreds of ideal ambush spots in the silent boulders that lined the walls of the canyon. Still there was nothing to break the silence by the time they reached the halfway point. Now he could see the far end of the passage and the open hills that lay beyond. Were it not for Sarah, he would have gone around. Only a fool rode willingly into an ambush. What purpose would it serve if he got himself killed while trying to save a couple of hours’ time? It was useless to worry at this point, nothing to do but keep going and keep his eyes peeled.
Another fifty yards, they were almost through the draw. If he had the luck to pick up the glint of sun on a rifle barrel, he might be able to react in time. He knew that, behind him, Sam was thinking the same thought. They could see the end of the passage now. Jason could see a small stream crossing the trail ahead where it trickled down from the hills to form a shallow pool. Beyond the stream the land was rolling again. If they could get to the stream, they would be out of the ominous threat of ambush.
At last they emerged from the draw. They had been so sure of ambush while in the passageway that it was almost a letdown when nothing happened. He glanced at Sam and the half-breed made an exaggerated sigh. He began to wonder what was in Stone Hand’s mind, why he did not attempt to rid himself of his pursuers. Could it be that he really wasn’t aware of the two men tracking him? Jason gave that thought no more than a second. He knew all right, the son of a bitch knew.
As if reading his thoughts, Sam spoke. “He’s playing with us. He wants to make us sweat some.”
Jason grunted. “Well, he’s doing a damn good job of it.”
Whatever the reason, Jason was able to breathe a little easier. He checked Henry up short for a few moments while he surveyed the little valley before them. Satisfied that all was peaceful, he pushed on to the shallow pool and continued to scan the hills around them while the horses drank. He decided that Stone Hand had figured he would not follow him through the narrow draw. Probably didn’t figure me to be a damn fool, he said to himself. They pushed on, climbing into the hills, following a trail that was still very much obvious, until darkness called an end to the day’s march.
A moonless night settled over the tiny valley, spreading a dark blanket over their camp. Thousands of stars pierced the heavens with pinpoints of light. It was the kind of night that under other circumstances would be quiet and peaceful. “You want to take the first watch or the second?”
Sam answered. “I’ll take the second if it’s all the same to you.”
Jason took his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders and positioned himself with his back to a large boulder where he could see anything that moved. Sam turned in and was soon asleep. The hours passed slowly but without incident and along toward midnight, Jason rose stiffly, shook some of the kinks from his muscles, and took a walk around their camp. When he was sure that everything was all right, he woke Sam. Sam was reluctant to wake up but Jason finally roused him.
“Everything all right?” Sam asked.
“Yep. I took a little walk around. Everything’s quiet.”
“I swear, Jason. I’m gittin’ too damn old for this. My bones are aching.” He picked up his rifle and moved over to the boulder Jason had sat against. “I’ll see you at sunup.”
Although he was not sure it would be possible, Jason was sound asleep in seconds. His sleep was filled with dreams of Sarah and John Welch and Colonel Holder. It seemed that the colonel was telling him that he could not let him marry Sarah, that Jason was too rough-edged to marry a colonel’s daughter. John was in his dream, charming the girl with elegant speeches. Then the three of them laughed at Jason in his buckskins. He looked at Sarah, laughing, and then it wasn’t Sarah laughing at him but Stone Hand. He was faceless but he knew it was Stone Hand.
He was awakened by Henry nuzzling close to his back, grazing on a few thin blades of grass beneath the scrub he had placed his blankets under. He lay there emotionless for a few moments until he could shake the cobwebs out of his brain and determine what time of night or day it was. When he realized it was already sunup, he bolted upright and crawled out of his blanket. He looked across at Sam, who was sitting against the boulder. Jason could tell at once that Sam was not awake. “Helluva sentry,” he mumbled. “Stone Hand could have walked right in and killed us both.” He stood up and took a few steps away from the remains of the small campfire and relieved himself. When he finished, he walked over to Sam and stood directly over him, waiting for some response. There was none. Finally, he said, “I hope me walking around ain’t disturbing your sleep.” Sam didn’t move. Jason reached down and shook him. Only then did he notice the bloody shirt under Sam’s blanket. Stunned, he drew his hand away quickly. Sam slid over on his side in the dirt. The long open gash across his throat opened slightly to form a grisly smile that seemed a grim reminder that Stone Hand’s deadly vengeance could strike whenever and wherever it pleased him.
“Jesus!” Jason stepped backward a couple of steps. His rifle up, he looked from side to side. There was no one in sight. He looked back at Sam. “Jesus!” he repeated. Then he noticed the slit across Sam’s left eyebrow. “The son of a bitch…the son of a bitch!” He felt violated. There was no feeling of fear, only anger and frustration. He had never wanted to kill any man so badly in his life as he did this savage. He did not grieve over the loss of Sam Running Fox, he didn’t know the man that well. But it was a damn dirty shame to see a man killed purely for pleasure. Stone Hand could have killed them both but he obviously wasn’t through playing with Jason. Adding emphasis to the devil’s brazen contempt, Jason just then noticed that Sam’s horse was gone, no doubt stolen by the renegade.