Daughter of the Eagle Page 12

  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.”

  29

  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 hidde
n 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.

  30

  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?”

  31

  Running Eagle rested, waiting quietly for Long Walker to return. Shadows grew longer and d
arker, 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.