Wilderness Double Edition #10 Page 12

  “You are Shoshone? We did not know. There has been peace between our two peoples for a long time, and we would not like to have a quarrel with them.”

  “Tell that to Invincible One.”

  The Crow dropped back and spoke in hushed tones to several others. Soon the word was being spread among them. Jacob Pierce, unaware of what was going on, rode at the head of the war party with his chin high and his posture rigid, as if he was a victorious Roman centurion returning in triumph.

  Nate was pleased by the development, for it could only work in his favor. The Crows and Shoshones, who occupied adjoining territory, had a long-standing truce that neither cared to see violated. Both tribes already had enough enemies to contend with, without having another in each other.

  And although Nate was a white man, by being adopted he had become, to all intents and purposes as far as all Indians were concerned, a Shoshone. Indians never did anything halfheartedly. They put their hearts and souls into every enterprise, including adoption. When someone was admitted into a tribe, no matter the color of his skin or his race, then he became a bona-fide member of that tribe subject to the same privileges and discipline as everyone else. The tribe would do anything for him, and he was expected to give equally in return.

  Would the Crows risk war with the Shoshones by allowing Pierce to kill him? That was the crucial question Nate pondered as they traveled mile after mile. Pierce did not deign to glance at him even once, not until the village appeared.

  “Take a good look, King. You’ll never leave it alive.”

  The moment Pierce faced forward again, Nate used sign language to translate for Gray Badger. Naturally, some of the Crows noticed, and soon Pierce’s threat was being passed from man to man.

  The entire population turned out for their arrival, the women and children studying the new captive with great interest. Nate was escorted to the same small lodge in which his mentor had been held. His wrists were tied and he was pushed inside and left to his own devices.

  Since Nate no longer had to put on a stalwart front for the benefit of the Crows, he moved close to the wall and slumped against it. All the emotion he had kept pent up inside since learning of McNair’s death now gushed out from his innermost being, threatening to drown him in profound sorrow. Not Shakespeare! Moisture rimmed his eyes, and the only thing that prevented him from bawling like a baby was the knowledge the Crows would hear and think him weak because grown warriors were expected to control their feelings at all times.

  Still, the anguish was like a red-hot poker burning through Nate’s core, and he had to bite down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from sobbing aloud. Sweet memories filtered through his mind, of wonderful times spent in the company of the man he had come to regard as more of a father than his own had been.

  True friends were as rare as gold and were to be as prized as precious gems. The average person might have a handful in a whole lifetime, usually less. An affinity of souls, Nate’s grandmother had called such friendships. Rare moments in time when two people were in harmony. The next best thing to being married.

  Nate knew he would never meet another like Shakespeare. For all the jesting he had done over McNair’s fondness for the playwright, he would have given anything to have Shakespeare seated beside him at that very moment, spouting quotations as glibly as if he had been the one who wrote the plays.

  How much time went by, Nate couldn’t say. Mired in misery, he only roused himself when a pair of Crows entered, hoisted him to his feet, and pushed him outside.

  The Invincible One and a dozen warriors were waiting. “Enjoyed your little rest?” Pierce asked.

  Nate merely glared, his dislike of the man flaring into fiery hatred. Had his hands been free, had no one else been there to stop him, he would have clamped his fingers on Pierce’s thick neck and squeezed until the killer was as lifeless as McNair.

  “I was going to have you run a gauntlet, like I wanted to do with your friends,” Pierce mentioned. “But then I got to thinking. I can use you to teach the Crows a little lesson. They’ve been acting a mite uppity of late and I need to put them in their place.”

  “Killing me won’t teach them anything about you they don’t already know,” Nate responded.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Pierce said. “They believe my medicine is greater than any man’s since I’ve already demonstrated that I can’t be killed. Now I need to show them that I’m as hard inside as I am outside.”

  “You can’t be killed?” Nate scoffed. “Cut me loose and I’ll prove you wrong.”

  “Do you really think I’d be jackass enough to give you the chance?” Pierce said.

  The cutthroat spoke in the Crow tongue, and several warriors propelled Nate toward the center of the village. Word must have already spread because it appeared that every last Crow had gathered for the spectacle. Nate foresaw his fate on seeing four stakes imbedded in the shape of a large rectangle. Beside one of them stood a brave holding four long pieces of rope.

  Nate wasn’t about to submit meekly. He dug in his heels and tried to tear free. More warriors came to the assistance of those holding him, and he was lifted and carried the rest of the way. Nate knew they would have to cut his wrists loose in order to spread-eagle him to the stakes, so he was ready when the loops parted. So were the warriors. The second he began to whip his arms around, four of them were on him, pinning him flat with their combined weight. He heaved and bucked, but his struggles proved useless.

  Nate fiercely resisted their attempts to tie him, yet once again their numbers prevailed. His arms were pulled to full extension and his wrists secured. The same was done with his legs. He yanked at the stakes, but couldn’t budge them at all. The Crows stood, then moved aside.

  Jacob Pierce reared over Nate, wearing a sadistic smile. “Not so cocky now, are you, King? In a few minutes you’ll be blubbering hysterically.”

  “Go to hell,” Nate declared.

  “After you, I’m afraid,” Pierce said, drawing his butcher knife. The blade gleamed brightly in the sunshine as he sank to one knee. “I’m fixing to make me a new ammo pouch. And you get to supply the hide.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nate King had heard stories about men skinned alive. The excruciating torment was said to be unbearable, so overwhelming that some victims went insane from the pain before the skinning was done. Some claimed that it burned, like having the body set on fire after being doused with kerosene. Whatever the case, no trapper in his right mind wished such a terrible fate on his worst enemy.

  Nate watched the blade dip toward the bottom of his left leg. He felt a hand grasp his pants, heard the buckskin being slit. The breeze touched his flesh as high as his knee. Then a sharp pang lanced his ankle and he could feel blood trickling down his foot.

  Suddenly there was a shout and a quartet of warriors advanced. Two of them addressed Pierce, who jumped up and angrily replied. The warriors, in turn, countered with sharp words and gestures.

  At a loss to explain the interruption, Nate craned his neck in order to glimpse his ankle. The knife had just pricked the skin, nothing more. He listened to the argument, trying to determine from facial expressions and motions why the warriors had interfered. As near as he could figure, the Crows didn’t want him slain. He suspected it had something to do with the seed he had planted about being an adopted Shoshone, and shortly he had his hunch confirmed when Pierce turned to him in vile wrath.

  “What the hell did you tell them, King?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Nate said innocently.

  “You damned liar!” Pierce fumed, and before Nate could guess the renegade’s intent, Pierce hauled off and kicked him in the ribs.

  Intense agony speared through Nate’s chest. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out and trembled uncontrollably.

  “Pretty damned clever!” Pierce snarled. “Claiming that you’re Shoshone because you know the Crows and the Snakes are on friendly terms! Now they don’t want m
e to touch a hair on your head!”

  “I am Shoshone,” Nate found the strength to say.

  “Like hell!” Pierce said, and drew back his leg to kick again. Instead, he glanced at the Crows and slowly lowered his foot. “You’re lucky I can’t afford to get on their bad side right now, or I’d stomp you to death.” Bending over, Pierce grabbed Nate by the throat. “But don’t think this lets you off the hook, bastard. You’ve bought yourself a little time, is all. Tonight I’m holding a council with the chiefs, and when I’m done convincing them, they’ll skin you themselves.”

  Nate didn’t respond. Crows cut him loose and hauled him to the small lodge, where he was bound hand and foot and rolled through the doorway. He wormed his way over to the side and pushed himself into a sitting posture. For the time being he was safe, but he couldn’t count on the Crows prevailing in the long run. Somehow he had to escape.

  Over the next several hours Nate worked diligently at doing just that. He rubbed and rubbed until his wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding. The blood helped to loosen the rope, but not quite enough to permit him to slip a hand free. His feet were another matter. The knife wound added more blood, making his ankles twice as slick. By wriggling and shifting his feet, he was able to finally slide one foot loose.

  Now Nate could stand if he wanted, but the exertion had left him weak and woozy. He moved close to the entrance and peeked out. The village lay quiet under the late afternoon sun. A few children played with a hoop. Women were busy at various tasks. One was removing tissue and hair from a buffalo hide. Another was engaged in scraping a hide stretched taut on a square frame. Others were getting an early start on supper by boiling water in buffalo-paunch cooking pots. A few warriors were gambling using buffalo-bone dice.

  The Crows were so confident Nate couldn’t escape, they had failed to post guards. Not that he would get far if he made a break for it while the sun was up. There were too many Crows abroad, not to mention numerous dogs.

  Nate devoted himself to his wrists, chafing them worse as he twisted and slid them back and forth and up and down. The blood flowed thick over his palms and fingers, rendering them sticky. Yet try as he might, he still couldn’t free them.

  At length the sun hovered above the stark mountains to the west. The village quieted even more as most of the Crows went into their lodges to enjoy their evening meal.

  Nate knew the council session would soon be held in the biggest lodge of all. He noticed several warriors dressed in their finest buckskins go in, but saw no sign of the so-called Invincible One. Then, as he shifted for a better view of the council lodge, he detected movement in trees bordering the encampment to the north. Focusing, he saw approximately a dozen warriors, and for a moment assumed they were a hunting party on their way back, until he observed they were moving far too stealthily, slinking from tree to tree, and saw their painted faces and the weapons they held ready for use.

  It was a war party! Nate realized. Utes, most likely. And they had slipped past the perimeter sentries and were about to attack. Without thought for his own life, he rose and darted outside, bellowing at the top of his lungs the one word the Crows would understand because it was the same in their tongue and in English. “Utes! Utes! Utes!”

  The Crows still outdoors glanced at him, most in puzzled bewilderment. A few, more astute, rose to look around, while from many lodges came curious warriors wanting to know what the uproar was about. And in that frozen moment before the Crows awakened to their plight, the Utes launched their attack.

  Screeching and howling like banshees, scores of Utes poured out of the forest in a bloodthirsty wave, clubbing and shooting and stabbing every Crow caught in their path. Over twenty were slain in the first few seconds. Crow warriors were swiftly rallying to defend their loved ones, but as yet the Utes had the upper hand.

  Nate was fifty yards from the onrushing line. He knew the Utes would slay him without hesitation. In fact, they would be more eager to kill him since they prized whites’ scalps more than those taken from other enemies. So he spun and ran to the south, frantically struggling to slip his wrists from the rope. He passed Crow men charging to the fray. Women and children were fleeing in panic in the same direction he fled. He rounded a lodge, and was on the verge of being in the clear when the high-pitched shriek of a young boy made him look back.

  A lone Ute, well in advance of the rest, had clubbed a Crow woman, and was trying to do the same to a young boy resisting furiously. The Ute had the boy by the hair, and was trying to hold him still long enough to slit his throat. The boy was Gray Badger, and there were no Crows nearby to help him.

  Whirling, Nate barreled to the rescue. He had no idea what good he could do with his hands bound, but that didn’t stop him.

  Genuinely brave men never take their own welfare into consideration when they commit acts of raw courage. They simply do what has to be done without regard for the consequences.

  The Ute was so busy trying to firm his grasp on the boy that he didn’t look up until Nate was almost upon him. Lowering his shoulder, Nate rammed into the Ute’s chest, knocking the man into the side of a lodge. The Ute slipped, almost fell, then rallied, and thrust at Nate’s heart. Nate jumped backward, and was spared a fatal blow, although the tip of the blade nicked his chest. The enraged Ute came after him, slashing wildly, forcing Nate to retreat before the vicious onslaught. Nate ducked, weaved, leaped aside, always backing away, never slowing. He only had eyes for the glittering knife seeking his life. So it was that he failed to see the aged woman behind him until he collided with her. She had been fleeing, heedless of all else, and had not seen him. Together they toppled in a tangle of legs.

  Nate tried to rise quickly, but was hampered by being unable to use his hands. The old woman stood first. She looked down at him and smiled, then bent to grip his shoulders to help him to stand. To Nate’s horror, the Ute abruptly appeared behind her, seized her by the hair, and drove his knife into the back of her neck. Nate saw the bloody point slice through the front of her throat, and recoiled as a crimson geyser sprayed him.

  The Ute wrenched the knife out, then flung the aged Crow aside. Uttering a bestial growl, he raised his arm for another killing stroke.

  Flat on his back, with no time to roll out of the way, Nate did the only thing he could. He drove his right foot into the Ute’s knee. There was a loud crack and the warrior staggered to the left. Nate coiled his legs under him and pushed erect just as the Ute recovered sufficiently to stab at him. He skipped out of reach. And when the Ute shuffled in pursuit, he bounded to the right, dropped low, and kicked again, this time into the warrior’s other knee.

  Hissing like a serpent, the Ute fell. He was in great distress, but not willing to give up. Lunging, he cut at Nate’s legs, and Nate leaped high into the air to save himself. On coming down, Nate lashed out with his foot, catching the Ute in the elbow. The man howled when the bone shattered.

  Nate danced out of reach and crouched. He tried for the hundredth time to slip his wrists free, but the rope wasn’t loose enough. The Ute, teeth grinding, tried to stand, and couldn’t straighten his legs. Anxious to end their clash, Nate darted in close to try to kick his enemy in the face. The Ute drove him off with a low swing of the knife.

  Desperate circumstances called for desperate measures. Nate had to do something before more Utes appeared. He took a running step forward as if to kick at the warrior s body, and when the Ute attempted to bury the knife in his leg, Nate vaulted high into the air, over the Ute’s arm, and rammed the sole of his foot into the Ute’s nose. The warrior buckled.

  Nate kicked twice in rapid succession, each time planting the sole of his foot on the other’s jaw. Groaning, the warrior went limp, and the knife fell from his fingers. Nate crouched beside it, and bent way down so he could grasp the hilt. Reversing his grip, he frantically sawed at the rope.

  Meanwhile, a general melee had erupted. The Crows had rallied and were slowly driving the invaders off, but at a high cost. For the most part t
he battle was being waged man-to-man, although here and there small groups clashed fiercely.

  Nate made aggravatingly slow progress. His palms were slippery from blood and sweat, preventing him from getting as firm a hold as he would have liked. Bending his hands as sharply as he could, he cut and cut. Suddenly a hand fell on his shoulder.

  With a start, Nate glanced around, dreading it was a Ute out to kill him or a Crow intending to recapture him. But it was neither. Gray Badger took the knife and bent to the ropes, and in seconds they parted. He gave the knife back to Nate, then gestured urgently, signing, “We must get away while we can!”

  The crack of guns and the riotous clamor of war whoops had reached a crescendo. Mingled in the din were screams, loud whinnies, and vociferous barking. The Utes had been driven northward to the last line of lodges, but had taken a high toll of the defenders.

  Nate ran alongside Gray Badger toward the trees. They passed a dead Crow and Nate saw a rifle lying nearby. It was Shakespeare’s Hawken, which Nate promptly claimed. Rolling the Crow over, Nate found Shakespeare’s powder horn and ammo pouch. He stripped both off despite the heated urging of the boy to flee.

  Once rearmed, Nate sped into the woods. They ran for hundreds of yards, glimpsing clusters of frightened women and children. No one challenged them. The women were too afraid of the Utes to bother about an escaping prisoner.

  Once Nate was in the clear, he halted and reloaded the Hawken. It felt grand to have a gun in his hands again. He would have liked nothing better than to encounter Jacob Pierce and demonstrate to the Crows their folly in believing any man impossible to kill.

  “We must keep going,” Gray Badger signed. “Once the Utes have been driven off, Invincible One will send men to hunt us.”

  “I am not running,” Nate signed.

  “What will you do?”

  “Find Invincible One and kill him.”

  Gray Badger clutched at his throat in dismay. “He cannot be slain! Many have tried, many have died. We are better off running.”