Nate reached the Englishman in two bounds and knelt. A hasty probe revealed a vicious gash on the side of Nash’s head, possibly made by a war club. The flow of blood had reduced to a trickle and was not in itself life-threatening, but Nash required immediate attention. So, slipping one arm under Nash’s legs and another under his shoulders, Nate grunted, strained, and lifted.
The trek to the plaza seemed to take forever. Nate was breathing heavily when he rounded the last dwelling to be starkly illuminated by the dozens of blazing fires. Instantly Mandans were on their feet, pressing close and asking questions. Nate could only shake his head and try to get through them to where Winona sat.
A shout parted the throng as Moses had parted the Red Sea, and through the crowd came Four Bears, Winona, and Zach. Shakespeare was approaching from another direction.
“I found him like this,” Nate said before anyone could pose the obvious question, and Winona instantly translated for the chief’s benefit. She leaned over Nash, examining the gash, then announced, “I think he will live. But we must get him to the lodge so I can tend him.”
With every last man, woman, and child trailing behind, Nate led the way to the chief’s lodge and deposited the Englishman on a soft blanket. Nash groaned. His eyes flickered open and shut. “Can you hear me, Eric?” Nate asked. “Who did this to you?”
“Indian,” Nash mumbled.
Nate recalled the conflict between Jarvis and the jealous husband earlier, and wondered if a young brave interested in Morning Dew had taken revenge on the presumptuous artist. “Did you get a good look? Describe him.”
“Indian,” Nash repeated weakly. “Thin ... breechclout ... red paint on face ... bald in front ...”
“Bald?” Nate blurted out.
“ ... red hair in back ... like quills,” Nash continued, then collapsed, exhaling loudly.
Like a thunderbolt out of the blue the information jolted Nate to his feet and he swung toward Mato-tope. “Sioux,” he declared in sign language, adding, “Where is Morning Dew?”
Four Bears understood immediately. Rather than succumb to fear or fume and curse, he calmly spun and barked orders, dispatching warriors every which way. Outside, as the news spread, others began shouting, “Sioux! Sioux! Sioux!” There was a great pattering of rushing feet.
Nate stood aside so Winona could minister to Nash. He spied Shakespeare at the entrance and joined him. “You can keep your damn plews,” he groused.
“Why? You won the wager.”
“At what cost? I don’t want any part of them.”
The mountain man tendered an affectionate smile. “Ay, sir. To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.”
“If they’ve got her, I’m going along,” Nate declared. “I want to get my hands on the bastards.”
“We won’t be able to leave until daylight,” Shakespeare pointed out. “Can’t read tracks at night, old coon.”
“You’re going too?”
“What? Miss the chance to add a Sioux scalp to my collection? I’d just as soon pass up the chance to shoot a white buffalo.”
Out of the night materialized Diana Templar, Jarvis towering at her side. “What’s happened?” she inquired. “Our host showed up a minute ago and made it clear we should come here quickly.”
“The Sioux have raided the village,” Nate answered. “Eric must have stumbled on them and they left him for dead.”
Diana gasped and had to reach out to the giant for support. She swayed, steadied, and asked in a raspy tone, “Is he ... ?”
“He’s still breathing, missy,” Shakespeare informed her. “But he won’t be wrestling any panthers for a spell. Winona is inside patching him up. You might want to help her.”
Lady Templar swirled past them.
Suddenly shouting broke out at the north end of the village, and was shortly echoed by shouts from the east and south. The clamor spread, becoming a general din of yells, whoops, and shrieks. Several of the warriors dispatched by Four Bears returned on the run, reported, and ran off again. With each report the chief grew more sullen, so that he was a solemn specter when he walked over to the frontiersmen and the giant.
“You are right, my friend,” Mato-tope signed to Nate. “The band of Sioux struck while we were all at the feast. They killed a man and woman who had left before anyone else, they stole many horses, and they shot four dogs.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “I should have expected this. I should have insisted we put men on watch, but I forgot. I knew my daughter had grown fond of Lake Eyes, and all I could think of was them and what I would do if they wanted to share the same lodge.”
A stocky, perspiring brave dashed out of the night, breathlessly relayed the grim tidings he brought, and disappeared as he had come.
Mato-tope seemed to have aged five years in five minutes. “It is worse than I thought. The number of horses missing is over thirty. My daughter is nowhere to be found, and three other women and two boys are also missing. The Sioux have taken them,” he disclosed.
“That’s good to hear,” Shakespeare signed, and when the chief and Nate glanced at him strangely, he explained his statement. “With that many horses and captives, the Sioux can’t go as fast as they normally would. If it’s the same small band we saw before, there’s hardly enough of them to handle so many. We should be able to catch them before the sun sets tomorrow.”
“You may be right,” Four Bears conceded, his tone betraying the conflict waging within him between hope and despair. “But this is not your fight. Neither of you are Mandans. You need not join us.”
“We have a stake in the outcome,” Nate said.
Mato-tope was not disposed to argue. “If you wish to come, do so. Two brave men such as you are always welcome.” He turned to his lodge. “Now you must excuse me, my friends. I must tell my wives all I have learned and make plans.” In the opening he paused and looked back. “How can a day that began so fine end with such sorrow? Our good medicine has flown on the wind.” With a nod he was gone.
“I suppose I’d best turn in too,” Shakespeare said. “We’ll both need to be wide-eyed and bushy-tailed when we tangle with the sneaking Sioux.” Turning, he headed into the darkness.
“Shakespeare?” Nate said.
The mountain man stopped and looked around. “What is it, Friar Laurence?”
“Do you figure we have the right to meddle in the affairs of others, even when we think we’re doing it for their own good?”
“That’s a tough question, and I doubt any man can say what’s right or wrong. But this child learned long before you were born never to give advice unless it’s asked for, and never, ever to stick his big nose in where it don’t belong.”
“So you figure I should have left well enough alone?”
“I figure we each have to do what we have to do, and damn the consequences. We can’t predict how the future will turn out. Like everybody else we have to take what comes along and make the best of it.” He paused. “But look at it this way and you might feel a little better.” A low laugh rumbled from his chest. “If we weren’t meant to speak our minds, why were we given mouths?”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The next day dawned bright and clear. Long before the sun spread its golden smile over the landscape, the Mandans were up and in pursuit of their bitter enemies. Forty warriors were selected by Mato-tope to go; the rest, who displayed much reluctance, were told to stay to safeguard the village.
There was one last-minute addition to the party. As the warriors were gathering in the plaza, Eric Nash appeared leading the mare he had ridden on the buffalo hunt. He was as pale as white linen and his head sported a tight bandage. Without saying a word, he walked over to where Nate and Shakespeare were waiting astride their mounts. Then, gripping the saddle firmly and gritting his teeth, he climbed up.
“What the dickens do you figure you’re doing, son?” Shakespeare asked.
“What does it look like?” the Englishman retorted.
“You’re in no condition for a long, hard ride,” Nate noted. “Why don’t you go back to the lodge and lay down. We’ll bring her back.”
“I’m going,” Eric said gruffly. “And I’ll shoot the first man who tries to stop me.”
Four Bears and Stalking Wolf rode over. The chief raked Nash from head to toe with an inquisitive scrutiny, shifted, and addressed Nate in sign language. “Grizzly Killer, tell Lake Eyes she is my daughter. This is for me to do.”
Nate dutifully translated, and was obliged to relay Nash’s verbatim reply: “Not true. One day I will claim your daughter as my own, so I have as much right to go as you do.”
“I made clear my wishes last night,” Four Bears said.
“So you did,” Nash responded through Nate. “And you were wise in refusing my request. But I will not always be as I am now. Soon, very soon, I will have learned to be a good provider. I will become so good you will have no cause to doubt me, and then you will agree to our marriage.”
A kindly twinkle animated the grand chief’s eyes as he smiled at the Englishman and made the sign for “Good.” He added, “But be warned. If you fall behind, we cannot stop to help you. The captives and our stolen horses are more important.”
“I understand,” Eric assured him. “And have no fear. I will keep up even if I have to tie myself to my horse so I won’t fall off.”
As they rode from the village, Nate couldn’t but wonder if Winona had had a hand in Nash’s new attitude. She was the one, after all, who had suggested Nate teach Nash the skills the Englishman needed to learn in order to pass muster with the Mandans. And she had been the one nursing the Englishman during the night. Had Winona put the notion into Nash’s head to fight for what he wanted? That would be just like her, Nate reflected, and grinned.
Finding the trail was a simple task. Since the Sioux homeland lay to the south of Mandan country, the warriors had only to swing in a loop south of the village until they found the tracks made by the fleeing band. Presently the Mandans were in full chase, racing along at a mile-eating pace.
Nate speculated on what would happen when they caught the band. The Sioux would not give up without a fierce struggle, and they might slay their captives out of sheer spite if they became aware the Mandans were after them and believed they had no hope of escaping.
They were a hardy, courageous people, the Sioux. Originally occupying land far to the east, they had migrated westward and split up. One branch had settled in the region of the Minnesota River and did more farming than they did hunting. The other branch had settled close to the wide Missouri and adopted many of the practices of the plains Indians, essentially becoming a whole new people.
They had also acquired a new name. While they referred to themselves as the Dakotas, most whites and many other tribes were calling them by a name whose origins were difficult to truce. Nate had been told that the early French-Canadians who first encountered the Dakotas had called them Nadowessious, which came from the Ojibwa name for the tribe, Nadowessi. Somehow the French name had been shortened over the years to where everyone now simply called them the Sioux. The name was fitting, since the Ojibwa term meant “enemy” or “small snake,” and there were no sneakier or more clever horse thieves and raiders in all the broad West.
The tracks revealed the Sioux had been pushing themselves and their stolen horses to get as far from the Mandan village as they could before daylight. Further proof was provided by the fact that although their flight had taken them across the Missouri and, later on, a stream, not once had they stopped to let the animals drink.
Nate made a point of staying close to Eric Nash. The artist was holding up well so far, but his face was haggard, and now and then he would clutch at the bandage and grimace. About mid-morning Nate noticed the wound had taken to bleeding again. He moved closer to the Englishman and pointed out the blood trickling from under the bandage, but Nash simply grunted and kept on riding.
By noon they were well out on the prairie. Four Bears called a brief halt to rest their horses. He wasn’t going to commit the mistake of riding their animals to the point of exhaustion. In order to catch the Sioux, they had to pace themselves so that when they did finally spot their enemies, their mounts would have a reserve reservoir of endurance to tap for the last leg of the chase.
Nate had dismounted and was stretching his legs by walking in small circles when he saw Eric Nash seated by the mare, his head cradled in his hands. Going over, Nate asked, “How are you holding up?”
“Are you daft? How you think I’m holding up?”
“You’ve no call to be mad at me,” Nate said. “I’m your friend, remember?”
Eric glanced up, his features betraying his agony. “Sorry,” he said softly. “This bloody head of mine is pounding so bad I can hardly think straight.”
“Maybe you should stay here and we’ll swing by on our way back.”
“I’m seeing this through, Nate, and nothing Four Bears or you or anyone else says is going to stop me from pressing on.” Eric winced, then continued. “Maybe I’m too stubborn by half, maybe I’m just crazy, but I refuse to quit while she’s in danger. I was the one who asked for her hand in front of the whole damn tribe. This is my way of showing I was sincere.”
“No one doubts your sincerity, Eric. You have nothing to prove to anyone else.”
“Perhaps I have something to prove to myself.”
The matter had to be dropped because a moment later Four Bears swung onto his war horse and gave the command for everyone to do likewise. In a compact group, the Mandans rode off, their best trackers in the lead.
Nate hung back, at the rear, next to Nash. The Englishman had begun to sway every so often, and occasionally he would close his eyes for yards at a time, then open them with a snap as if he had been roused from sleep. The flow of blood from under his bandage had stopped, but the bandage itself was soaked.
It was the middle of the afternoon when another small stream crossed their path. Four Bears again stopped, so they could let their animals drink. As Nash began to climb down, his arms suddenly went limp, his legs buckled, and with a groan he crashed to the ground.
Nate reached him first and gently rolled the Englishman over. Eric looked up at him, his eyes silently pleading, and gripped Nate’s sleeve.
“Please. Don’t let them leave me.”
“Can you stand?” Nate asked.
The Englishman placed both hands down, shoved, and rose onto his elbows. His shoulders quaking, he tried to rise higher, his face turning livid from the exertion. After half a minute he gave up, groaned, and sank flat on his back. “Not at the moment,” he said softly.
Four Bears and several warriors had walked over to them. The chief squatted and regarded the Englishman regretfully, then signed, “Can he ride?”
“Not for a while,” Nate answered.
“I warned him. If he is not able to join us when we move on, we must leave him here to fend for himself.”
“Do what you have to,” Nate signed.
“I do not want to leave him, Grizzly Killer. I like him, even though in many ways he is like a small child. I hope he does one day marry my daughter.”
“He will,” Nate predicted.
Frowning, the chief straightened and walked off.
“What did he say?” Eric wanted to know, and when Nate had translated, he grinned and declared, “Wonderful! I knew he’d see me right, given time. Mark my words. Morning Dew is as good as mine.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched. First we have to rescue her from the Sioux.”
“I’ll be on my feet in no time. Then we’ll go teach the bleeding Sioux what’s what.”
But although Nash tried repeatedly, he couldn’t find the strength to stay on his feet. Twice he stood, and each time he would have promptly fallen on his face had Nate not been there to catch him. When Nash saw the Mandans mounting, he grew desperate and rashly lunged upright a third time. Grinning in triumph, he took a step toward the mare, faltered, moaned, and staggered dizzily.
Once again Nate had to grab hold and slowly ease the Englishman to the ground. He heard horses approach and glanced over his shoulder.
“No?” Four Bears asked.
“No,” Nate signed.
“Then I have no choice. He must stay here. But we will come back this way when we return to our village and take him with us.” Four Bears nodded at the gelding. “Hurry. Every moment is precious.”
“You go on without me.”
“You are staying too?”
“If I leave him, he might die. As you know, he does not know how to take care of himself very well.” Nate sighed. “As much as I want to go with you, I gave my word I would guide Lake Eyes and his friends safely to the land of the white men, and I cannot break my promise. I must watch over them until then.”
“You are a man of honor, Grizzly Killer,” Four Bears said. “Stay, then.” He looked at McNair. “And what about you, Wolverine? Will you come or remain?”
“I would like to go ...” the mountain man began, then hesitated and looked at Nate.
“Go on, you old goat. I know you don’t want to miss tangling with the Sioux, and Nash doesn’t need two of us to nurse him. We’ll be fine by ourselves.”
“You’re sure? I’ll stay if you want me to.”
“Just give the Sioux hell for me.”
“I will.” Shakespeare beamed and turned his horse. “Keep your eyes peeled.”
“Shoot sharps the word.”
For the longest while Nate knelt and watched the receding figures of the Mandans and his mentor. The drumming of hoofs faded to silence, and all that was left were lingering puffs of dust. Nate and Eric were alone in a shimmering sea of buffalo grass that rippled and waved in the mild northwesterly breeze.
The unconscious Englishman was in a bad way. His forehead was warm to Nate’s touch, and he tossed and turned frequently while mumbling incoherently.
Nate used his butcher knife to cut a strip of fabric off Nash’s jacket. Once the material had been dipped in the stream, he applied the drenched strip to Nash’s brow and sat back. There was really nothing else he could do except let Nature take its course. He’s seen the results of enough head wounds to know Nash would revive in due course and probably be none the worse for wear.
Other than the whispering of the rustling grass, all was quiet. Not even a bird chirped. Nate dipped his hands in the cool water and splashed some on his face. Rising, he made a survey of the horizon in all directions, checking for game. There was none, not even the ubiquitous antelope.
Over the next hour the only life Nate observed was a single red hawk that swooped in low to inspect them and then arced high into the air in its never-ending search for prey. Shortly thereafter the hawk dived into the tall grass to the west, and when it reappeared a struggling rabbit was clutched in its iron talons.
Nate sat down next to the Englishman, plucked a blade of grass, broke off the bottom portion of the tender stem, and stuck it between his teeth. He wondered how long it would be before Nash could move on, and whether he should scout around for something to eat right then or wait until later. The voice at his side inadvertently made him jump.
“Where are the rest?”
“They left a while ago.”
“Damn them.”
“If there’s one thing I learned long ago, it’s to never blame others for our own stupidity. You knew the risks you were taking when you came along. You’re as stubborn as a mule, Eric,” Nate said, grinning. “And I admire you for it. Most folks say I’m a hard-headed cuss myself.”
“So what now?”
“Now we cool our heels here until they swing back this way.”
“I wanted to be there when they find Morning Dew.”
“Sorry, Eric. I truly am.” Nate gazed up from the Englishman’s dejected countenance and saw the mare straying off to the east. “Be right back,” he said. Pushing to his feet, he hastened to catch her before she went too far while mentally berating himself for not hobbling both horses earlier.
Even greenhorns knew it was better to count ribs than tracks.
Nate was fifteen yards from the spot where Nash lay when the sight of a hoofprint in the soft earth beside the stream gave him pause. Glancing down, he spied many more, fresh tracks of unshod horses, nine in all. The horses that made them had been moving eastward at a gallop.
Perplexed, Nate studied the ground. He absently scratched his head and mulled over the possibilities until, in a rush of insight, he realized the truth and he stiffened as if jarred by lightning. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?” Eric called.
“Four Bears and the others are following the wrong trail!”