Daughter of the Eagle (13 page)

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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: Daughter of the Eagle
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The two fugitives
huddled together in the twilight, waiting for full darkness to come. There was little chance of the enemy's risking a fight in the darkness. They would use the hours of darkness to travel.
There was no doubt that they would be followed, and among the Head Splitters were excellent trackers. The goal would be to put enough distance between themselves and the trackers to make their escape.
Running Eagle and Long Walker had left the stream the moment that the shouts behind indicated the discovery of the disappearance. They rode as rapidly as possible for a time, finally pausing in a rough and rocky canyon to hide and rest. They concealed the horses in a brushy draw, then hid themselves in another, where the tall plume grass offered concealment. Owl Dung's wound proved to be a minor one—a long gash across the rump, probably made by a sharp flint arrowhead.
Evening was near, and they had only to hide until dark, when the Head Splitters would stop the search until morning. Three times they had heard the sounds of searching
warriors. Each time they huddled against the stone wall of the canyon while the rider searched on the rim above them, looking down into their hiding place. Only the slight overhang of the ledge kept them from sight of the searchers. Several times shouts in the distance caused momentary uneasiness.
During the intervals between threatened discovery, they talked quietly or watched the day lengthen toward night. Both were more optimistic now; time was on their side. As if in good omen, a large flock of honking geese moved high over their hiding place in a long line. The birds were migrating, heading due south for the coming winter. The fugitives watched and listened in silence, until the birds were long out of sight and only the faint resonance of their cries was heard.
Just before dark a thin cloud bank moved across the prairie, and a scatter of light rain began to fall.
“It is good,” observed Walker. “It will help to cover our trail.”
Good though it might be, the cold rain chilled to the bone. The two huddled together for warmth, only partially sheltered by the overhanging rock.
“We could build a fire,” Long Walker joked.
Both chuckled. Then their eyes met in amazement.
“We could, Walker! Light it just before we leave. It would be morning before they discover it was a trick.”
Both moved quietly to collect fuel in the gathering darkness. They laid out a long and narrow pile of wood along the base of the rock. At one end a pack rat's nest of dry twigs would make a hot, smokeless blaze. After burning for some time, the flames would encounter larger, greener fuel to produce a big smoky fire. The Head Splitters would suspect a trick, of course, but it would take time to prove it. Meanwhile the fugitives would be on their way. They settled back down to wait. Darkness came slowly under the cloud cover, the light robe of Rain Maker.
“Walker, I have wondered. Why do you think this has happened?”
“Why has what happened?”
“That we are alive. They could have killed us both, easily. Those beside us were killed.”
Long Walker had wondered this, also. After his horse was struck there was a time when he lay there helpless, a leg pinned under the dying stallion. It should have been easy to kill him then, either by arrows or with the deadly stone clubs. Yet he had been spared. He shook his head.
“I do not know. But do you remember the young chief who rode away, after the fight on your first war party? I saw him today.”
“Young chief? The handsome one?”
Long Walker gave her a quick, resentful look “I do not know of that, Eagle, but he is the same one.”
“But who is he? What does he want?”
Running Eagle had some idea, already. She remembered the last, intense look as Black Fox rode away, the look of a man who wishes to kill but is prevented. Yet there was something else. There had been, intermingled, the admiring look of a man who covets a woman.
Even at the time, in the heat of the fight, there had been the momentary recognition, a feel of excitement mixed with revulsion. She had thought of it since, from time to time.
“I can only think,” Long Walker was answering, “that he wants us alive for some purpose.”
The two looked at each other in partial understanding that made their bewilderment even more frustrating. Neither voiced the gnawing suspicions, ones they were scarcely able to admit to themselves.
Both were thinking, of course, of the long-recognized desire of the enemy for girls of the People. “Our women are prettier than theirs” was not an idle saying. Raiders from the Head Splitters liked to carry off girls and young women whenever possible. Women of the People were traditionally tall, long-legged, and willowy in build, with facial features of outstanding beauty.
So it was no surprise that a young enemy chief would be
attracted to the beautiful warrior woman. Both fugitives accepted this as a strong factor in the situation.
Both were still puzzled over the enemies' apparent wish to spare the life of Long Walker. It made no sense, especially if the young chief had developed a special attraction for Running Eagle. But then, who knows what Head Splitters think?
Long Walker was irritated and concerned that his companion had used the term “handsome” in speaking of the man. In truth, Running Eagle would have given much to recall those words the instant they were spoken. She had no idea why she had described the enemy chief in such terms. She only saw that she had hurt Walker deeply, and she was sorry. But to speak further of it would worsen the hurt.
At last it was fully dark. The drizzling rain had stopped, and only the occasional drip of water from the trees in the draw broke the silence.
Long Walker had prepared fire sticks and now knelt to kindle the blaze. It would be necessary to leave quickly after the fire was lighted. Even a small blaze would reflect a glow in the night. A few strokes of the fire bow produced a wisp of smoke, a few more a charred powder that spilled from the point of the whirling spindle. At last a glowing spark could be seen in the darkness.
Carefully Long Walker enfolded the spark in a handful of dry cedar bark he had sheltered from the rain. Holding it above his lips, he breathed life into the fire until it burst into flame. He thrust the tiny blaze into a prepared pocket beneath the pack rat's nest. Flames began to lick upward, hungrily surrounding the dry twigs.
Long Walker stepped back quickly, stripping the thong from his fire bow as he rose. It would be saved for later use, but the sticks were abandoned as too bulky to carry.
He followed Running Eagle along a dim game trail down the floor of the canyon, partially feeling his way until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The girl led the way around a rocky ledge and into the brushy draw that concealed the horses.
They made their way quietly among the scrubby trees to the place where the horses were tethered, their muzzles tied. No, not here, Long Walker indicated, that next clump of trees. The two stepped forward, but the area looked entirely different in the darkness. It would be very easy to become disoriented.
For a moment a near panic gripped Running Eagle. Then she steadied herself. Never had a night looked blacker.
“We must stay together, Walker.”
The two moved cautiously through the thicket, searching. Perhaps the animals had pulled free and wandered off.
They attempted to identify landmarks, unique shapes of rock or trees, but everything was different in the dark. Distances were deceptive, direction confused.
After searching for some time they encountered a stunted oak with a triple fork that both remembered.
“Walker, this is where we tied the horses!”
“Yes,” he agreed sadly. “They are gone. We must move without them.”
Black Fox was
furious. His plan had been going so well. The head of the column, led by the two he wished to capture, passed through the narrow part of the trail. His warriors struck at the right moment from their hidden positions in the tall grass. The opposing war party had been effectively cut in two.
Crazy Woman and her companion were isolated with a handful of their warriors, and Black Fox's hidden bowmen swiftly cut the warriors down. He was elated when the bay stallion went down, further fragmenting the party of the warrior woman.
Then things began to turn wrong. The girl whirled her horse and returned to help the fallen warrior. Black Fox would never understand how the two had reached the shelter of the woods, riding double on her rawboned gelding.
The time lost in hesitation before his charge into the trees had permitted the fugitives to escape. The dead warrior's body was discovered, and Black Fox's anger grew. He realized then that both the fugitives were well mounted.
There was more delay as the trackers painstakingly
searched the opposite bank. Finally the signal came. The spot where the riders had quit the water was located. The pursuing party dashed across and spread out to search. It was not without great caution that the effort proceeded. Even outnumbered, the fugitives were the most dangerous warriors that the Head Splitters had faced.
The trail led into a rough and broken area, a canyon with many smaller spur canyons and small draws. There the trail disappeared. Black Fox fumed in rage, and the party split into ones and twos to comb the area.
There was a great deal of hesitation on the part of the younger warriors when it came to entering the dark gloom of the tree-shaded draws. Somewhere in the shadows crouched Crazy Woman and the tall man, waiting to strike from hiding. The knowledge that these two had sent many of their fellow tribesmen to the spirit world made the hairs rise on the necks of the searchers.
Consequently most of the search was carried out from the flat top of the ridge. The horsemen were riding along each fingerlike projection of land, looking down into the gullies between.
At one point there was a flurry of excitement. Two horses ran from a growth of dense brush and timber into a more open part of the canyon, frightened and with broken reins trailing. One of the animals was a nondescript brown mare, but the other created more interest. It was the unique white-splashed dun gelding of Crazy Woman.
Black Fox was jubilant. Now the fugitives were on foot. His warriors cautiously moved into the gully, looking into every bush and corner. Near the closed end of the draw, a rocky area seemed to partially conceal the entrance to a small opening or cleft, a cave in the limestone rock of the wall.
The searchers agreed that this must be the last hiding place of the two fugitives. Quietly they moved forward. Black Fox signaled, and dry wood was brought for a fire. They would smoke their quarry from hiding.
The fire was never lighted, however. From the depths of
the dark cleft came a resentful, snarling growl. The warriors scattered, eager to be out of range of an irritable black bear, who now peered from the opening.
Immediately Black Fox reconstructed the situation. The fugitives had tied their horses and gone to hide elsewhere. The animals had scented the bear's den in the shifting breeze and had broken loose in panic.
Now, while he and his warriors followed a false trail, the girl and her companion were undoubtedly escaping. Angrily he motioned the men away from the bear's den. They must hurry now, because darkness was falling.
A light cloud bank moved across the sky, and drizzling rain began to fall. Almost frantically, Black Fox sent riders in all directions, looking for sign. All traces would be wiped out by the rain, if not found before dark.
The search was fruitless. One by one, riders returned to the camp fires along the canyon as darkness deepened. None had any findings to report. Black Fox paced angrily back and forth. Had Crazy Woman beaten him?
The strange mixture of hate and physical desire had now begun to dominate all his moves. He would find the woman. He must, or he would never rest.
Now he stood, hands on hips, staring at the black emptiness of the night. He scarcely felt the chill of the drizzling rain, so deep was his anger.
Then his eyes focused on a dim light in the distance, like the glow of the rising moon. But it could not be. The clouds and rain would cover the moon's face.
A fire! The answer finally occurred to him. The glow was firelight from a hidden blaze, reflected on the fog and haze of the low-hanging clouds.
A trick, of course. The fugitives would never light a camp fire in such a situation. But it must be investigated, and that was probably their purpose. Black Fox called to a couple of men to follow him and moved off into the night.
They must move with caution. Their quarry was dangerous, and there was the gnawing doubt about the danger of death in the dark. It was possible, even, that Crazy Woman
might have set this fire to draw the pursuers into ambush.
Black Fox moved forward, as quietly as possible, avoiding places which might conceal a hidden warrior. The others spread out on either side, slipping through the damp, waist-high grass, feeling their way in the dark. Ahead was the glow of the fugitives' fire. Even so, much time had passed before Black Fox could advance to a position affording a clear view of the fire.
There was no one there. Just as he had expected, Black Fox told himself. But it did not make him feel better about it.
Now he began to feel concern. If they were not by the fire, the two he sought were somewhere in the darkness, perhaps behind him. A cold chill crept between his shoulders and prickled along the back of his neck.
It was not worth the risk, he decided. The fugitives could not travel far in the dark. Softly he called to his companions, and they began a careful retreat. There should be no great difficulty in finding their quarry in the morning. After all, Crazy Woman and her companion were now known to be on foot.

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