Savage Skies (3 page)

After Blue Thunder had lost sight of the tracks he had been following, he wasn't certain where to look for Big Nose. The renegade was known to change his hideout often in order to keep anyone from finding it.

Blue Thunder and Gray Eyes had agreed that they would ride until dark today, and if
they didn't find Big Nose, they would resume the search tomorrow.

They were determined not to give up. Blue Thunder would not rest until he knew whether Big Nose was the one who'd killed his wife, and Gray Eyes had vowed to rescue his warriors.

Suddenly Blue Thunder drew rein and stopped his steed, followed by the others. Ahead, all could see the huge billows of black smoke not far away.

“There are no villages near here, so what is burning must be a white settlement,” Blue Thunder said. “
Hakamya-upo
, come. Let us go and see if there are any survivors.”

They rode hard toward the smoke.

Soon they discovered three cabins aflame, where settlers had lived in close proximity to each other.

They rode onward and stopped close to one of the raging fires. The sight that met their eyes made Blue Thunder's stomach churn with disgust.

He swallowed hard and looked away from the dead bodies. Those who had came today and ambushed these white people had not stopped at killing the women, but also their children, who lay scattered on the ground.

And all had been scalped.

Blue Thunder did not have to take a closer look at the women to know that they had been raped, for their skirts were hiked up past their waists, leaving their lower bodies exposed.

“There are no men,” Gray Eyes said as he sidled
his horse closer to Blue Thunder's. “The coward renegades took full advantage of the innocent while their men were away.”

“The men, even the sons, are more than likely at the trading post, unaware of what they will find when they return,” Blue Thunder said, his voice full of loathing for whoever had done this.

He had to admit that he was not a lover of white people, but he did not hate them enough to kill and ravage their women.

He had learned to keep his distance from white people, except for those he dealt with at the trading post at Fort Dennison.

He would only attack whites if they attacked him first.

If at all possible, he avoided war.

“This is the work of Big Nose,” Blue Thunder announced. He shook his head. “And it seems he has gotten careless this time. The cabins and barns are still burning, so he cannot be far from here.”

“
Ho
, that is so,” Gray Eyes said, smiling smugly. “Let us follow the tracks. We shall surely find him soon.”

Blue Thunder dismounted.

He studied the various tracks, and then followed some to a fence that had been ripped out of the ground. From there, many tracks of both horses and people on foot came together.

He looked quickly over at Gray Eyes. “He has taken captives,” he said, frowning. “Perhaps
that
is why we saw no white men. They have all surely been taken captive.”

“The horses from all three homesteads are missing,” said Proud Horse, one of Blue Thunder's most loyal warriors, as he ran up to him.

“And so they not only took captives as their spoils of war, but also
mitasunkes,
horses.” Blue Thunder nodded. “I would have thought they would only want
mitasunkes
. Taking captives is unwise, for it will not only awaken more hatred against the red man, but it will also slow Big Nose down.”

Gray Eyes bent to a knee and studied the footprints. “
Ho
, the white captives are made to walk, not ride,” he reported. “That will slow the renegades.”

“He has made one mistake after another today,” Blue Thunder said. He slowly kneaded his chin. “I wonder if it is on purpose. Or has he finally made an unwise decision?”

“Why would he do this on purpose?” Gray Eyes asked, slowly standing.

“He might want to lure those who will follow into a trap so that he can have more captives,” Blue Thunder suggested. “I think it is time that his plans are foiled, no matter what they may be.”

Blue Thunder turned and gazed again at the death and destruction all around him. He swallowed hard as his gaze fell upon the dead women.

He went to the first one and then another and lowered the skirts of their dresses over their nakedness, trying to give them some dignity in death.

He then ran to his horse and leaped onto its back. “Let us ride!” he shouted, a fist in the air.

He lowered his fist and gave Gray Eyes a slow smile. “Today we will not only find the white survivors, but also the warriors who were taken from your village,” he said.

Gray Eyes nodded, his eyes filled with flame; then they rode off, side by side, with Blue Thunder's warriors following behind them.

As they rode off, the smoke still spiraled into the sky, and Blue Thunder looked over his shoulder at the devastation left behind by a demon who had no heart, and surely no soul.

“Big Nose, I know you did this. I will find you and you will pay for your heartless ways, not only toward whites, but to all,” he whispered to himself.

He looked straight ahead, the renegades' tracks leading him onward. The sun was now making lengthy shadows of the trees, and the cool breeze of late afternoon had sprung up.

His jaw was set tight in his determination to find Big Nose. The other times he had searched for him, his efforts had been in vain.

But today?

Ho
, today, he felt confident that Big Nose had become careless, careless enough to finally be stopped!

All's to be fear'd,
Where all is to be lost.

—Byron

The sun beat down on Shirleen, almost blinding her as she walked wearily along with the other captives. They were all roped together in a long line, being led by renegades on horseback.

As the shadows of evening began to lengthen, Shirleen realized that the air was growing cooler. She worried now what the night would bring. Once the sun went down, temperatures plummeted, and often in the morning there were thick patches of frost atop everything.

When she had fallen to the ground after being hit over the head, her shawl and bonnet had fallen away from her. If she didn't die at the hands of these terrible renegades, the cold of night might take her life.

She looked ahead of her, and then behind her. She was the only survivor of the ambush. All of her friends had been murdered. She was now a captive, tied to a long length of rope
with several Indian warriors who were captives as well.

Shirleen felt lucky to be alive and wondered why her life had been spared, but she could not help shuddering at the thought of what might lie ahead for her. She had seen how many of the renegades gazed hungrily at her. She expected to be raped when they stopped for the night.

And after they raped her, would she be killed? She would want to die of shame, yet she must live. She had her daughter to consider.

She turned her eyes straight ahead, her mind filled with thoughts that filled her with despair.

Megan!

Where was she?

Who was she with?

She knew Megan wasn't with the renegades, or she would have seen her.

So how had Megan gotten out of the fence? Shirleen had most definitely seen that it was closed when she allowed Megan to go outside to see the baby chicks.

Did that mean that although it had appeared to be shut, it really wasn't?

Oh, surely her husband hadn't latched it properly and her daughter had wandered out just prior to the Indian attack and was even now alone in the woods.

Or had the Indians come silently at first and stolen Megan away, and then made their attack?

But Shirleen didn't see how that was possible. She had not seen her daughter with any of the
Indians. That had to mean that even now Megan might be wandering alone, scared, and helpless.

The pain in the back of Shirleen's head, where the Indian had struck her with his war club, was almost unbearable.

But she did feel fortunate to be alive. The other women and children, her friends, had perished, and worse than that: She had awakened to a gruesome scene she would never forget . . . a scene of rape and scalping.

She had to get hold of herself and stop thinking about what had passed, and think of what would be. She must think about survival. She must think about her daughter's well-being.

And she could not help thinking about her feet. Oh, Lord, how they ached from walking so far, and she knew she surely had much farther to go before reaching these heathens' hideout.

There was only one hope that kept Shirleen sane: Surely someone would come along and see what was happening and try to stop the renegades!

Of course she knew that if someone did intervene, the chances were good that she would die during the ensuing battle. And not only she, but the other captives as well.

Truly puzzled that one red man would steal another red man, Shirleen looked over her shoulder at the captive Indians.

She noticed that many of them were scarred by smallpox and recalled how not long ago there had been an outbreak of the disease in the area.

When word had arrived that the deadly illness had struck the trading post, she and Earl and their friends had avoided going there for over a year.

Earl's current trip to the post was the first since they'd stopped their visits because of the smallpox. All the families in their small settlement were in dire need of necessities and had no choice now but to go and get the needed supplies.

Word had finally arrived that it was safe now to trade there.

It seemed the true danger had lain in staying home. No doubt the renegades had watched the men depart, leaving their families defenseless, and had waited long enough to make sure they would not return before attacking.

What puzzled her was why these pockmarked red men were among the captives. What could they have done to cause the renegades to take them captive?

Tears fell from her eyes as she again thought of her daughter and what might have happened to her. If Megan was out in the wilderness all alone, she might be the victim of animal attacks, or . . . other redskins.

She gazed heavenward and silently prayed that the good Lord would make all of these wrongs right, and look after her child, who was so pure and helpless.

Again she hung her head, her sore feet dragging even more heavily along the ground. Her
legs were weak from walking so far without stopping to rest.

She reached up and found dried blood in her hair from her head injury, and a huge knot almost the size of a chicken egg.

It pounded as if someone were hitting her over and over again in the head with a hammer; the pain was so bad sometimes, she had the urge to vomit.

But she had thus far successfully kept herself from vomiting, for she was afraid that if she did, she might choke.

Her mouth was so dry. She couldn't remember when she had last had a drink of water.

Her stomach ached from hunger, so much that it felt as though something was twisting in her intestines.

No. She had never been so hungry, or thirsty, or afraid, as now. And she was so sad and empty at the loss of all of her friends. But worst of all was not knowing the fate of her lovely, sweet Megan.

All she could do was hope that her prayers reached the heavens and would be answered.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could last under these conditions, and the warriors seemed even more listless than she.

She tried to focus on something else. She wondered about her husband and the other men who were away trading. When they arrived home and discovered the massacre, what would they do?

Yes, she had planned to flee her husband today, but now she hoped that he cared enough to come and try to save her, although the scars on her back made by his belt proved the ugliness of his spirit. Perhaps she would be better off with Indians!

At least she knew that her husband cared enough about his daughter to search for her. He had never laid a hand on Megan. As far as Shirleen knew, Earl did truly love his daughter.

A movement to her far left, on a rise of land, drew Shirleen's attention suddenly. She saw a lone Indian there gazing down at those who were traveling below him. She wondered if he belonged to this renegade group, or another that might be even more heartless. Was he a scout of some kind?

By the way he turned to follow the procession down below him, it was certain that he had spotted her and the others.

She looked quickly ahead at the renegades and saw that they had not yet noticed the Indian who was spying on them. They were too cocky about their victory today, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

Her heart pounding, Shirleen gazed quickly up at the rise where she had seen the lone Indian, gasping when she saw he had disappeared.

The renegades continued to ride nonchalantly through the long, waving grass, unaware that they'd been seen.

She was not certain how to feel about that lone Indian. She did not know whether to feel
hopeful that he and his friends might save her from the renegades who had come and raped and killed today.

Or should she fear them even more?

Thus far she had not been harmed by her captors except for the blow to her head.

Might these others rape her as soon as they had her as their captive?

Were they another band of renegades, or were they from a decent band of Indians?

Shirleen hoped for the latter. Perhaps they were a good-hearted band, who would let her go and search for her beloved Megan.

But knowing that most Indians hated white people because of what the white people had taken from them, Shirleen did not have much hope that she would be treated any better by a new group of Indians than she was now being treated.

Again she hung her head and walked dispiritedly through the grass, ignoring the splash of golden wildflowers at her far left. Usually she enjoyed seeing flowers. She would never hesitate to take a bouquet home for her supper table.