Wolf Shadow (22 page)

She screamed as she felt a powerful blow to her left
shoulder, followed by a sharp burning sensation, and then she was tumbling off
her horse, rolling over and over, to come to an abrupt halt in a thick stand of
brush.

Breathless, her whole body aching from the fall, she could
only lay there, her heart pounding in her ears as she waited for the mountain
lion to attack her. She pressed her hands over her ears as a horrible scream
filled the air and she knew that the lion had caught up with her horse.

She closed her eyes, the image of the mountain lion’s claws
tearing into her horse’s flesh making her sick to her stomach. With a sob, she
turned her head to the side and retched. How could she have been so foolish as
to leave the village alone? Grown warriors had been killed by mountain lions.
What chance would she have had against a wild animal that not only weighed more
than she did, but was armed with teeth and claws? Again, she thought of her
horse, no doubt dead by now.

She was suddenly aware of a growing pain in her left arm.
Afraid of what she might see, she slowly turned her head. The left side of her
tunic was in shreds. Bile rose in her throat once again when she saw the blood
that stained her dress. It flowed from four deep gashes in her left shoulder.

Trembling convulsively, she scooped up several handfuls of
dirt and spread them over the wound to stop the bleeding. As the shock wore
off, the pain grew worse. Tears welled in her eyes. What would she do if the
mountain lion came back?

She pressed herself deeper into the brush. In spite of the
heat of the day, she was shivering uncontrollably now, overcome by the pain in
her shoulder. The blood seeping down her arm frightened her as did the
realization that she might easily die out here. Even more frightening was the
thought of the mountain lion or some other predator finding her while she was
alive but helpless.

She had to make her way back to the village, had to start
now, before she lost any more blood, before she grew any weaker.

Biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out, she
crawled out from under the brush and looked around. There was no sign of the
cougar or her horse. Had the gelding managed to get away? And where was the
mountain lion?

Bracing her hand against a tree trunk, she gained her feet,
stood there taking deep breaths while she waited for the world to stop
spinning.

Which way was the camp? She glanced around in an effort to
get her bearings, then headed north, one slow step at a time, her gaze
constantly moving back and forth. Where was the mountain lion?

Why, oh why, had she ever run away?

Chapter Twenty

Chance urged Smoke into a trot, his gaze riveted to the
ground, silently thanking
Wakan Tanka
that Winter Rain’s trail was clear
and easy to follow. Time and again he asked himself where the devil she was
headed. There was nothing up this way but trees and more trees until, at long
last, you reached a rocky summit. The
Paha Sapa
was not the place for a
woman alone, and she had lived with the Lakota long enough to know it. It was a
wild land, dangerous and unforgiving. She could fall prey to so many dangers:
white hunters, the Calvary, warriors from enemy tribes. Aside from the
two-legged predators, there were bears and mountain lions and any number of
other wild creatures. Her horse could step in a hole and break a leg. She could
break a leg.

Muttering an oath, Chance leaned forward in the saddle as
Smoke began climbing higher still. Gradually, the trees grew taller and closer
together, so thick in some places they shut out the sun. Pine needles muffled
the sound of his horse’s hooves.

A short time later, with a sharp snort and a toss of her
head, the mare came to an abrupt halt in a small clearing.

Chance clucked to the mare, but she refused to move.
Instead, she stood quivering beneath him, her ears nervously flicking back and
forth.

“Come on,” he said, digging his heels into the mare’s
flanks. “I don’t have time for any of your nonsense.”

The mare shook her head and took a step backward.

And then he saw it, a patch of churned-up earth.
Dismounting, he held tight to the reins with one hand while he drew his Colt
with the other.

Smoke snorted and tossed her head as he moved slowly
forward.

Chance studied the bloodstained ground. It was easy to see
what had happened. A mountain lion had brought down Winter Rain’s horse, killed
it, and then dragged the carcass into the underbrush. He knew the mountain lion
would return to feed on the carcass for several days.

But where was Winter Rain? “Rain.” Her name whispered past
his lips, and then unable to suppress the rising note of panic from his voice,
he called her name again, louder this time. “Rain!”

He studied the ground once more, closer this time, but there
was no sign of footprints. Keeping his gun at hand, he backtracked the horse’s
trail, climbing steadily upward, until he came to the place where the lion had
launched itself at the horse. And there, barely discernable on the hard ground,
he saw where she had landed in the dirt, rolled, and gained her feet. He saw a
bit of blood, too. Hers, or the horse’s? There was no way to tell.

“Rain! Dammit, where are you?”

He followed the sign, saw where she had crawled into a dense
thicket, then crawled out again and started walking. She couldn’t be that far
ahead of him. He holstered his weapon, then swung into the saddle.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’m coming.”

* * * * *

She wasn’t going to make it. In spite of the dirt she had
spread over the wound in her shoulder, blood continued to drip down her arm.
Her vision was blurred, her legs were weak, she felt lightheaded and dizzy.

With a low groan, she sank down on the ground and closed her
eyes.
Help me, Wakan Tanka. I am so afraid.

Sitting there, she lost track of time. Bits and pieces of
her childhood flashed through her mind as she drifted between sleep and
awareness—the rag doll her father had given her the Christmas she was six, the
pretty white lace pinafore her mother had bought for her to wear for her
seventh birthday party, the day she had taken Snowflake over a jump for the
first time, the way Heidi used to curl up on her pillow at night. But mostly
she thought of Wolf Shadow—the sound of his voice whispering in her ear, the
touch of his hand in her hair, the shivery way it made her feel when he looked
at her. Because of her foolishness, she might never see him again.

She pulled the knife from the sheath at the back of her belt
as she heard a rustle in the brush to her left. Had the mountain lion come
back? The very thought made her mouth go dry.

With an effort, she gained her feet. Her legs were shaking. Her
hand was shaking.
Help me, Wakan Tanka.

The rustling grew louder. Whatever was coming was big. She
stared toward the noise, resigned to her fate. She was too weak to fight, too
tired to run.

Her eyes widened as a big bay horse emerged from the brush.
Relief washed through her. The knife fell from her hand. The strength drained
from her legs. She whispered his name, and then she fainted.

Chance was off his horse before Smoke came to a stop.
“Rain!” Running forward, he gathered her into his arms, his gaze moving over
her face, the blood that trickled down her arm, the ragged tears in the left
shoulder of her tunic. It took but one glance to know that the mountain lion’s
claws had grazed her arm when it attacked her horse.

“Rain?” He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Sweetheart,
can you hear me?”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Wolf Shadow.”

“I’m here.” Putting one arm around her shoulder and the
other under her knees, he stood up and carried her to where Smoke waited.
Settling Rain on the horse’s back, he uncorked his canteen. “Here, drink this.”

She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. Now, she drank
greedily.

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

Reaching around behind her, he untied her sash and wrapped
it around her shoulder to stop the bleeding.

“Hang on to the horn,” he said, placing her hands on the
pommel.

When he was certain she was steady, he picked up her knife,
and stuck it in his belt. Vaulting up behind her, he slipped one arm around her
waist.

“Just relax,” he said. “We’ll be home soon.”

She leaned back, her head nestled beneath his chin. “That’s
right, honey,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

How was he ever going to let her go?

* * * * *

Edward and Rosalia were outside when he rode up to
Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s lodge.

Rosalia shrieked when she saw the blood that stained her
daughter’s tunic. “Teressa!
Mi bambina!”

Corn Woman ran toward Chance and Winter Rain, followed by
several of the other women.

Edward looked up at Chance, his face pale as he put a
comforting arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Is she…?”

“She’ll be fine,” Chance said. “Someone go find my cousin,
quick!”

“I will go,” Corn Woman said.

Dropping the reins, Chance stepped from the saddle, then
lifted Rain from the back of his horse and carried her into Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s
lodge.

Rosalia hurried in after him. She spread one of the
bedrolls, stood aside while Chance placed Rain on the blankets.

Kneeling, Rosalia smoothed a lock of hair from her
daughter’s brow.

“Teressa?”

Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open.

“Let her be,” Chance said. “She’s lost some blood. She needs
rest and…” He glanced over his shoulder as Kills-Like-a-Hawk entered the lodge,
followed by Edward Bryant. From outside, he could hear the hushed voices of
Corn Woman and Leaf and some of the other women.

“We need to get her to a doctor,” Bryant said brusquely.

“Kills-Like-a-Hawk is a doctor.”

Bryant looked skeptical. “A witch doctor?”

“He’s a
shaman
, one of the best. I suggest you and
Mrs. Bryant stand back and let him get to work.”

Edward glared at Chance. “Now, see here…”

“Eduardo,
prego, venuto via.
” Rising, Rosalia took
her husband’s hand and moved to one side of the lodge.

Squatting on his heels, Kills-Like-a-Hawk stirred the coals
until he had a small fire burning. Picking up a buckskin bag painted with
colorful symbols, he sprinkled the contents into the fire. There was a gentle
hiss, followed by a wisp of blue smoke. Reaching into a larger bag, he placed a
handful of white sage into the fire. In moments, the scent of sweet sage filled
the air.

Kills-Like-a-Hawk passed his hands through the smoke,
chanting softly as he drew the smoke over Winter Rain. Moving to her side, he
carefully unwrapped the sash from her arm. He ran his fingers lightly over the
wound, chanting all the while.

Next, he filled a bowl with water and gently washed the dirt
from the wound. She stirred but didn’t awake.

Still chanting softly, Kills-Like-a-Hawk spread a layer of
thick yellow salve over the gashes in her arm and shoulder, then covered the
area with a piece of soft cloth. When that was done, he passed his hands
through the smoke again, drawing it over her.

“What is he doing?” Bryant asked impatiently. “Dammit, this
is a waste of time.”

“Back off, Bryant,” Chance said curtly. “He’s saved a hell
of a lot more lives than you have.”

Muttering under his breath, Edward took a step backward.

Kills-Like-a-Hawk sat back on his heel. “She is not bad
hurt,
tahunsa
. She has lost some blood. The scratches are deep and will
leave scars. But she will heal.”

“
Pilamaya, tahunsa
.”

“She should rest now,” Kills-Like-a-Hawk said.

With a nod, Chance gained his feet.

“I would like to stay with her,” Rosalia said. “Would you
ask Mr. Hawk if it is all right?”

“Of course it is,” Chance said.

Kills-Like-a-Hawk handed Rosalia a waterskin. “She will be
thirsty when she wakes.”

“Thank you.”

“How soon will she be able to travel?” Edward asked.

“A few days,” Kills-Like-a-Hawk replied. “If the wounds do
not become infected.”

“Infected!” Rosalia exclaimed softly. “Oh, my.”

“Barbaric country,” Edward said. “Heathen medicine. No
hospitals. I don’t know how these people have survived.”

Chance took a deep, calming breath. “Mr. Bryant, why don’t
you go outside?”

“See here…”

“No, you see here. You’re a guest in this place. Your money
and your social position don’t mean a damn thing. My cousin knows what he’s
doing. If you can’t respect him, at least keep your opinions to yourself. You
got that?”

Bryant’s face flushed a deep red; then, without a word, he
stomped out of the lodge.

“I am sorry,” Rosalia said. “My Eduardo does not handle
these things well.” She shrugged apologetically. “He does not mean to be
unkind. It is just that he worries so.”

Chance nodded. “I think I understand.”

“
Grazie
,
Signore
McCloud.” She offered him a
faint smile, then moved to her daughter’s side. Murmuring Teressa’s name,
Rosalia clasped her daughter’s hand and pressed it to her breast.

Chance watched the two of them for a few minutes and then
ducked out of the lodge.

Damn, why had he ever gotten mixed up in this mess? The
answer came quickly enough—he’d had fifteen thousand good reasons and once he
got shed of the Bryants and their all too tempting daughter, it would be worth
it.

Teressa. He needed to get shed of her, too, the sooner the
better. She was too big a distraction, too big a temptation, and he didn’t need
either one in his life, not now.

* * * * *

Winter Rain moved through a sea of pain and confusion toward
his voice. Blinking, she glanced at her surroundings. She quickly recognized
Kills-Like-a-Hawk’s lodge though she had no recollection of the journey back to
the village. Her mother sat beside her, her head bowed, her eyes closed, her
rosary clasped in her hands.