Authors: Don Coldsmith

Daughter of the Eagle (14 page)

BOOK: Daughter of the Eagle

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The fugitives traveled
far during the time of darkness. It had taken only a short while to realize that with their horses gone, they must move rapidly.

Their direction of flight was a decision that mattered little. They considered what would be expected of them and tried to do otherwise. The Head Splitters would expect, they reasoned, that they would either try to return to their own Elk-dog band or to reach the Northern band. So it seemed that both the northern and southern trails would be watched. They must retreat either to the east or the west.

The westward choice would take them closer to the country of the Head Splitters. Therefore, that would seem the less likely course. They would move westward, hoping their pursuers would waste time in searching the other directions.

Both Running Eagle and Long Walker saw this as only a temporary delay at best. The enemy trackers would soon find the trail. It would require much skill to avoid capture.

One other possibility seemed to present itself. If they could strike a lone pursuer or two and obtain horses, it would increase their chances.

But for now they must move. Thin, dripping clouds still obscured the stars, so their direction was largely established from memory of the terrain. They felt their way, stumbling sometimes, up and out of the gully to higher ground. There they could travel more rapidly in the open grassland.

When the clouds began to part, to reveal points of light like distant camp fires in the blackness of the sky, they were far away. As the clearing continued, they paused to establish direction.

“There!” Running Eagle pointed. “The Seven Hunters!”

“And the Real-star,” Long Walker chuckled wryly. “Someone has moved it!”

Quickly they adjusted their course to the now well-established position of the stars and moved on. Once they were fortunate enough to find a shallow stream with a gravelly bottom and waded for some distance.

They left its protection to hide their tracks among those of a grazing herd of buffalo. The surprised animals raised shaggy heads to stare and snort at the two quiet figures slipping among them.

As morning drew close, they began to look for a hidden place to spend the daylight hours. A dark mass of heavy timber loomed ahead, and, before gray dawn began to show, the two established themselves in a hidden thicket of dogwood under the massive spreading boughs of giant sycamores.

Exhausted, they cuddled together to share body warmth against the chill of the morning damp. They shared one small robe, which had been tied to Running Eagle's saddle before the ambush.

Somehow, as they began to be more comfortable in the mutual warmth of the embrace, their physical contact seemed to change in purpose. Sleepily, Running Eagle pressed more firmly against her companion, enjoying his closeness.

Long Walker, though partly asleep, certainly had no objection to this turn of events. He returned the girl's embrace, pressing closer against her warmth. Both were breathing
more heavily now, face to face, lips searching hungrily for each other.

Suddenly Running Eagle pushed away and sat up, staring at him in angry accusation. Walker was never certain whether it had been a dream or the awakening that had spoiled the moment.

“I have my vows, Walker,” she snapped.

Never had the young man been so frustrated. He had been willing to take what pleasure he could from her companionship, to help her in her plan of vengeance. He had done so and had felt that he had in some measure been able to guard her from some of the dangers of the trail she had chosen.

Now, he felt, she was misinterpreting his wish for physical closeness. It had been her reaction to the embrace, no less than his, which had brought out the desire in them both. Besides, there was an urgency in the situation that affected their actions.

“Running Eagle,” he said softly, “vows mean little to one who is dead.”

For a moment her gaze softened, then she shook her head as if to clear it. “No!” she said firmly.

She rose to pace impatiently around the clearing, apparently preoccupied in thought. Once, Long Walker thought she was about to speak, but she turned on her heel to continue her restless wandering. He drew the robe around his shoulders and curled up to attempt more rest.

The day seemed long. Several times they thought they heard the sounds of searchers. A horse called in the distance. The fugitives waited, weapons ready, but no one came.

They alternated their periods of rest, one watching and listening while the other slept. Running Eagle actually slept little during her turn at resting. Her mind was in too much turmoil. It was late in the day when she finally spoke of that which troubled her.

“Walker,” she began gently, “I am sorry about this morning.”

He shrugged indifferently, still hurt by her rejection.

“I wish it could be different,” the girl pleaded. “It is only that I cannot be both persons at once.”

She waited, but he said nothing.

“For now, Walker, it is important that we escape. I must be the best warrior that I can.”

Still no answer.

“Walker,” she was pleading now, “you know how important it is. It would be very dangerous to break my vows now. It could prevent our escape.”

He smiled then, a little sadly.

“I know,” he agreed. “It is only that I have always wanted it to be so different.” He gave a long sigh. “But, you are right. First, we must escape.”

Long Walker rose. “Evening is close. I will go to the top of the ridge to see where we must go tonight.”

He picked up his lance and began the climb. The hill was steep, and in addition he must be as quiet as possible. Twice he thought he heard a noise and paused to assure himself that there were only the sounds of the prairie.

The last few paces to the top were the most uncomfortable because there was no way that he could see ahead. Carefully he looked over the low, rocky ledge, and after a long pause he pulled himself up and over. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. He crouched to look and listen and remained in a guarded position to wait for a long moment, while he listened to the call of a night bird along the stream.
Kookooskoos,
the great hunting owl, called his name from the gathering darkness somewhere below.

Finally Long Walker stood erect and relaxed. He looked to the west, where Sun Boy had just gone to his lodge on the other side, leaving a red glow behind on the horizon.

There was a rustling movement behind him, and Long Walker whirled, too late to meet the rush of two burly warriors. He fought fiercely but was never able to bring a weapon into play.

In the space of a few heartbeats his arms were pinned and bound behind him. His captors jerked him roughly
to his feet to face a group of approaching warriors.

In the gathering dusk Long Walker recognized their leader. They had met before. The other man smiled thinly and opened the conversation in the sign language of the plains.

“Ah, we meet again! I am Black Fox.” He paused a moment, then continued. “You will tell me now. Where is the woman?”

Running Eagle rested,
waiting quietly for Long Walker to return. Shadows grew longer and darker, and the creatures of the night began to awake and start their activities. It was a pleasant time, this scrap of evening that hung for a soft warm moment between the day and the darkness. A bird called, another answered. There was the soft musical voice of the spring a few steps away, as it trickled from the rock ledge to fill a slight hollow at the base of the wall.

A coyote yapped from a distant hill, and the hollow cry of the great owl sounded nearer at hand. The darkness gathered, and Running Eagle picked up their few belongings to be ready when Walker returned.

At full dark she began to wonder. As her heart ticked away the time, her concern grew. Finally she had to concede that something was totally wrong. Walker should have returned long ago.

Now she berated herself for paying little attention. Had Long Walker attempted to call out for help, perhaps while she, preoccupied, had enjoyed the quiet of the twilight? The guilt that she felt over this possibility was overwhelming.

And where was her companion now? Had the enemy located her position from the direction taken by Long Walker? Had they forced him to reveal her whereabouts?

Something akin to panic gripped the girl. Her instincts told her to run, to remove herself from this hiding place. She turned and plunged into the thicket.

She had taken only a few steps, however, before her reason made her pause. Suppose, for a moment, that Long Walker had
not
been killed or captured. He might be out there somewhere in the night, skillfully avoiding their pursuers. If so, he would expect her to be where she could be found. He might even depend on her to be there, if he should be pursued on his return. Then she could ambush his pursuer. Yes, she owed it to Long Walker to remain where he had last seen her.

She stepped back through the thicket, into the little clearing, dropping the assortment of weapons and the robe that she carried. With a sigh of resignation, she sank to a sitting position.

It was, she recalled, the spot where they had lain together earlier. Gently, almost reverently, she touched the grassy knoll with her fingertips. She smiled sadly to herself. If onlyâ

Irritated with her preoccupation, she shook her head to clear it. She must force herself to think her way through this crisis. Wishing about what could not be would only interfere with her ability to function.

She remembered something her uncle, Owl, had once said. “You look, but you do not see.”

At the time he had been attempting to show her the nest of a green heron. They were crouched to peer between the stems of the rushes along a quiet pool.

“See, the bird stands in the reeds on the other side,” he whispered.

The girl looked and looked but could see only the myriad of foliage, the slender stems and leaves reflected by the smooth surface. Frustrated, a little irritated, she began to study each individual stem, one at a time.

Then she saw the eye. Bright, unblinking, pale yellow in the sunlight, the bird's gaze was focused directly on her. In an instant the entire bird was clearly visible. It remained completely motionless, but with the new knowledge she now had, its form was quite plain.

The eye, of course, was in one side of a slender head. The elongated beak unmovingly pointed upward, mimicking the pointed blades of the reeds. The entire coloration of the heron, it could now be seen, was intended to confuse the observer.

Narrow stripes of dark green, buff, and red-brown alternated to produce the effect of the thicket of rushes. Even standing completely in the open, the creature could blend against the background of water plants and be unseen to a casual observer. She had been thrilled at the discovery.

“You look, but you do not see.”

Was there that which was not easily seen about this present situation? She leaned back against the tree trunk to think again of the circumstances of her being here in the darkness of the prairie night.

First, for reasons not entirely plain, their pursuers wanted both her and Long Walker alive. In her own case she had suspected that the enemy chieftain looked on her with desire. As for their reasons for keeping Walker alive, she was puzzled. It did seem that they could have killed him easily, however, if they had wished.

She set aside this puzzle to move on in her thinking. Why had Walker not returned? If he were able to, he surely would have done so by this time. Even if he were pursued, he could have managed to elude or trick the enemy before this. Add to this theory the known reluctance of the Head Splitters to engage in night conflict. Yes, Walker would have managed to return to her if he were able.

She accepted with reluctance the answer she sought. He had not returned, so it must be that he was unable to do so. The only reasons she could think of were that he must be dead or captured.

Her mind recoiled from the first possibility, but she must
look at it again. Once more she studied the fact that the enemy had earlier rejected the opportunity to kill Long Walker. Could the young enemy chief have thought of some use for Long Walker alive?

Suddenly the entire thing became clear in her mind, just as with the heron so long ago. She had been looking directly at it, but not seeing.

If the young Head Splitter wanted her, then he might use Long Walker to achieve his goal. The more she thought, the more certain it seemed. Somewhere beyond the ridge was the camp of the enemy war party, and in that camp Long Walker was almost surely a prisoner.

Yes, now everything seemed to fit. Once more Running Eagle realized her choices were narrowing.

She need no longer fear pursuit. The Head Splitters had no reason to try to capture her. Now she would come to them.

For a moment she thought of attempting to approach by stealth to free Long Walker. She quickly abandoned the thought. They would be on guard for such a move.

No, there was only one course open to her now to save Long Walker. She knew what she must do. She stretched on the robe to lie sleeplessly, waiting for morning.

When the gray of the false dawn began to brighten the east, she rose and gathered her weapons. She tossed the robe across her shoulder and began the ascent to the top of the ridge.

Boldly she swung over the last ledge and stood upright on the flat top of the hill. The first rays of the sun slanted across the prairie. The girl swept the surrounding landscape with her glance, searching. To the west hung a blue-gray haze of smoke from morning camp fires, and Running Eagle turned in that direction, along the ridge. She had traveled only a short distance when a warrior rose from a thin clump of sumac on the hillside, his bow ready.

The girl stopped, and, still standing erect, she raised her right hand, palm outward. The enemy warrior came cautiously forward, but she signaled him to stop.

“I would talk with your chief,” she said in sign talk.

The man considered a moment, then nodded. “Come,” he beckoned.

He set off at a swinging trot, and Running Eagle followed.

BOOK: Daughter of the Eagle

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