Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (21 page)

"To him it is painful, terrible. He cries out in his sleep." Her voice choked, remembering the way Max bolted upright in bed, the expression in his eyes so haunted by the past that held him prisoner.

"Yes, the past holds him prisoner," True Dreamer echoed aloud. "He sees so many dead, black and white...and he feels guilt. This is what calls up the dead warriors night after night. The very battle he won in the real world, he is losing in his dreams. It robs him bit by bit of his spirit, leaving only darkness. There is much darkness inside him...as there is in you, Daughter, stripping away what your first husband would call your souls."

"What do you know of my first husband?" she asked, dreading the answer, knowing her quest for vengeance went against everything Will had believed in. She had broken her pledge to him, made as he lay dying. Yes, there was great darkness in her soul.

"It is difficult for one such as you, pulled between two worlds, red and white. Do you think the Powers have shown me the Pale Moon Stalker's story and not your own? In dreams, I have seen you standing beside him. You guard him. It is a fitting honor for a Sioux warrior-woman..." He paused and smiled at her gently, adding, "Even if your blood is thin."

"I have lived among the whites and been educated in their schools to help my Ehanktonwon family."

True Dreamer nodded again. "You have done this with the aid of your first husband. He was a holy man among the whites with a good heart for our peoples...and he was killed by an evil one with the eyes of a weasel and a heart as cold as a snake's. Do you believe you sought out the Pale Moon Stalker to achieve the vengeance you call justice against this weasel-snake?"

She swallowed hard. Yet when she met the old man's eyes, she saw no condemnation there, only gentle patience. "We made a bargain..."

True Dreamer shook his head and smiled at her. "You are mistaken. The Powers, the ones your people call Grandfather Spirit, have brought you and the Pale Moon Stalker together to heal each other, Sky Eyes of the Sioux."

Sky's mouth was suddenly dry, her heart pounding as she digested what he was saying. Was it true? How else could he know what he did about her and Max? "Perhaps I have too much white blood to understand," she said hesitantly...but hopefully.

The old man sighed in resignation. "Yes, and your man is all white, yet the Powers that control our fate have woven a design. No mere human, red or white, can change it." His chuckle sounded rusty as he looked over at Max once more. "Right now your man's dreams have changed. He is with his woman. There is no more bargain."

She knew her cheeks were hot with embarrassment. Did Max dream of her...of them, making love passionately as they had done so many times since their supposed marriage of convenience? If the old man's visions were right about this...

He interrupted her unsettling yet wistful ruminations, saying, "Tomorrow you will convince your man to allow me to accompany you on your journey. When we enter a white man's village, no matter how large, I will know if the weasel-snake is there. Together, we will find him and rescue my granddaughter."

Sky stared into his dark mesmerizing eyes. "Yes, I will convince him," she said in a shaky voice.

"Good. But I do not think it wise to tell him the true reason I join you. He will not believe. You will think of another way." He chuckled again. "Women always can."

* * * *

In the morning, Sky awakened to the heavenly aroma of fresh brewed coffee. A thoroughly rested Max poured a cup and handed it to her when she approached the fire. He already had beans soaking and bacon in the skillet ready to place on the fire. "Good morning, love. You must've been exhausted—or did that old medicine man keep you up with his yarns all night?"

She accepted the tin cup and swallowed gratefully. "Where is True Dreamer?"

"Probably at his morning toilet. I heard some splashing downstream as I was finishing a quick bath myself. Bloody cold water." Max smiled wryly. "When I first came to America, I shared the common British prejudice of equating soap with civilization."

"In other words, you believed all Indians lacked proper hygiene," she said, knowing he now knew better.

"Imagine my surprise when I found many actually break the ice on streams to bathe every morning, even in coldest winter."

Sky nodded. "Daily ablutions are part of morning rituals for plains tribes." As Max placed the skillet on the fire and turned the bacon strips, she sipped her coffee, mulling over how to explain True Dreamer's request to join them. Using subterfuge on a man as clever as Max would never work. He was the least gullible or malleable male she'd ever met. She would have to risk the truth.

"Max, True Dreamer wants to ride with us after Deuce. I think it would be a good idea." She waited to see if he'd object.

But he merely cocked his head and looked at her. "To what end, love? We'll bring his granddaughter to him after we've run our quarry to ground."

"We've not had much luck so far picking up Deuce's trail. Perhaps the old man can help us. He certainly has a vested interest in finding the killer he calls the weasel-snake."

"What form would this help take, pray?" he asked, studying her with keen green eyes.

As her brother would say, "In for a dime, in for a dollar." "True Dreamer says if we get close to Deuce he'll be able to tell."

Max continued turning bacon as he added the beans to the sizzling grease. "And you believe him?"

"As Uncle Horace says, 'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' " She nodded. "Yes, Max, I believe him."

He sat back to let the beans and bacon simmer, sighing. "I don't know. He's spry, but bloody hell, he must be ancient. He'll hold us back, Sky." He did not dare say that the old man might get in the way if he had to protect his wife under fire.

"You watched him ride yesterday, after the beating he took in that awful town. He's strong as a bull and he has an excellent horse. He won't hold us back. In fact, I think he'll guide us directly to Deuce. He really is a powerful medicine man."

He looked at her, startled.

"I was skeptical at first," she admitted, plunging ahead. "But he knows all about us—about your nightmares."

Max sucked in his breath and cursed. "What of 'my nightmares'?" he asked with icicles in his voice. Damn, all those nights traveling from Leadville. He'd revealed as much as he'd feared he had, maybe more.

"I knew you had terrible dreams about a battle back when you were a soldier—but that was all I knew. He's seen everything, Max. The thousands upon thousands of what he calls dark warriors who keep charging the soldiers under your command...and how guilty you feel because so many men died." Her voice was hushed now, and she was almost afraid to meet his cold eyes.

He squatted in front of the fire and stirred the skillet's contents with swift, angry motions. She'd heard his raving—damn, bloody damn! Of course, how could she not have by this time? How often, he wondered, had she lived his own personal hell with him as they lay side by side since becoming lovers? He did not ask, only shoved the skillet away from the fire and sat back, waiting for her to continue. "There is more?"

Sky swallowed for courage. "Yes. He even saw into your dreams last night. He told me that you were with another boy."

"It was my brother Edmund. He was teaching me to play rugby." Some of the coldness left his voice. Then he remembered that he'd also dreamed about his wife...vividly. He picked up the skillet without looking at her. Had the old man told her that, too?

Encouraged, Sky continued. "He...he knew how Will died...and that I've broken my oath to him by seeking you out to kill Deuce."

Max almost dropped the skillet into the fire this time. He placed it on the ground and shook his head in amazement, brushing his hand over his eyes. "I guess he isn't a fake. I met a few genuine mystics in India. Frightening chaps. Saw them in Africa, too, different names, same strange powers."

She placed her hand on his arm. "Can True Dreamer come with us?"

He gave a weary chuckle without mirth. "Bloody hell, I'd be afraid to try stopping him."

As if on cue, the old man emerged from the brush carrying an old Springfield rifle slung over his shoulder. His hair was still wet from his bath. He deposited the weapon by his bedroll, then walked to the fire and squatted down effortlessly "That smells good," he said in English, looking into the skillet.

Max stared at True Dreamer speculatively "My wife tells me that you can help us find Deuce," he said simply.

The Cheyenne nodded, accepting a tin plate of bacon and beans that Sky dished up. "Thank you, Daughter." To Max he said, "Yes, Pale Moon Stalker. The Indian agent who has a trading post where my people get food and blankets, he has a good heart for us. Not like many others. He said to me the weasel-snake told him he was going to Texas."

Max sighed. "There is quite a bit of Texas, Grandfather."

Undisturbed by the Englishman's pronouncement, True Dreamer added with utter certainty, "He goes to a place called Fort Worth."

The Pale Moon Stalker smiled coldly. "Yes, that would be our Johnny's kind of place. A wide-open cow town with plenty of saloons, gambling halls and people who don't ask questions. To Fort Worth we go, to find a weasel-snake."

* * * *

The flat terrain of the western part of the Indian Nations gradually gave way to rolling hills and then the Wichita Mountains cropped up on the southern skyline. It was a dry, brushy land dotted with large boulders and sparse plains grasses. The rivers in summer's heat were little more than rocky gullies gouged out during torrential spring rainstorms. Now all was still and dry. Even the rattlers barely moved while the buzzards seemed to circle more lazily than they had farther north.

The trio rode southeast, headed for the big muddy river whose runoff of rust-colored soil gave it the name of Red. Once they crossed it they would be in Texas. Whatever strange potions or medicine prayers the old man employed, they appeared to help Max sleep through the nights without fearful dreams. The travelers fell into a pattern of rising just before dawn and making camp in midafternoon to avoid the worst of the heat.

With the stubby bluffs of the Wichitas directly ahead, Max reined in his horse and casually removed his hat, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve as he said, "Don't look up now...have you seen it?"

Sky and True Dreamer stopped beside him. She fought the urge to stare at the sharp ridge in front of them, but the old man grunted, dismounting calmly as he commanded her in English, "Get down from your horse."

"I take that as a yes," Max said, casually turning his horse so as to shield his wife while she dismounted and led her mare toward the trickling stream where True Dreamer stood. When he swung down and joined them, she gave him a puzzled look.

"What is there to see?" she asked, trying to look at the skyline without raising her head visibly.

"A flash of light coming from the top of that bluff," Max replied. "A glint of sunlight on a rifle barrel—or perhaps a spyglass."

"I wondered how soon you would notice it," the Cheyenne replied. "For an English, you have good eyes."

Max snorted. "Thank you, I think. This could be dangerous. McKerrish's money has a long reach." He looked at the old man, wondering if he would know about the incident on the train.

Sky disliked the way the men were ignoring her, but they had seen the spyglass and she had not, she reminded herself.

Then she remembered the other attacks on them. "It might not be McKerrish's men. We were attacked in Central Park and I was nearly shot outside St. Louis, remember?"

Max nodded. "Whoever it is, we're within range—at least for high-powered rifles. Interesting that they haven't opened fire."

"Perhaps they're bad shots, waiting for us to draw nearer," she replied.

"How far from here to there?" he asked True Dreamer.

"Four or five arrow flights," the old man replied.

Max sighed and looked at Sky for an explanation.

"Eight hundred to a thousand yards," she said.

"So, the question is how do we get near enough to catch them without having them open fire." He looked at the old man, again wondering how long he had known about the ambush...if it was an ambush.

Before anyone answered him, three shots rang out in rapid succession, echoing down from the bluff. "Get down!" he hissed at Sky, shoving her behind a rock pile by the side of the stream as he yanked his rifle from its scabbard and knelt protectively in front of her.

But True Dreamer stood calmly. "It is finished, I think," he said serenely.

Max cautiously moved to his skittering horse and removed a glass from his saddlebags to see what was going on above them. Damned if he was not starting to trust the old man's intuition! Once he swept the ridgeline, he muttered, "Flaming hell, would you look at that? There are three of them. One appears to be a woman."

Sky seized the glass from him and peered through it. "It's the woman from St. Louis and her helpers!" she said excitedly, observing the small female figure wearing a sand-colored pith helmet and English riding breeches. "She
must
be English. Jodhpurs in the Indian Nations, for heaven's sake!"