Evelyn was about to introduce Waku and his family when she realized there weren’t any signs for their names. The best she could do was point at each of them and say their names out loud.
Wakumassee. Tihikanima. Plenty Elk had never heard of names like theirs. He repeated them and was corrected when he mispronounced the older daughter’s. He liked how she smiled at his mistake but not in a mocking manner.
Evelyn again asked about the scalp hunters. What she learned alarmed her. Turning to Waku, she translated, ending with, “We must leave before they get here. They won’t care that you and your family are friendly. It won’t matter that Miki is so young. All they’ll think of is how much money your hair will bring.”
Aghast, Waku nodded at his youngest. “They would kill her, too?” To slay another human being was bad enough. To kill a child was vile.
“They might.” Evelyn would have herself to blame. The scalp hunters had no idea she and Waku’s family were in the area until she went and butted in. Now the black would tell the rest and they would be after her and the Nansusequas like a pack of crazed wolves after sheep.
Plenty Elk coughed to get her attention. ‘Question. What you do?’
‘We run,’ Evelyn signed. Fly like the wind was more like it, and the sooner they started, the better.
‘You help me. I help you. I come with you. Together we fight scalp men.’
Evelyn hesitated. The Lord knew, they could use his help. But could she trust him? The Arapaho weren’t as friendly as the Shoshones. Then again, they weren’t as hostile as the Sioux. ‘We happy you want fight for us.’
First they dug a shallow grave using broken tree branches and lowered Wolf’s Tooth into the hole. They heaped dirt and branches and leaves on top to discourage scavengers.
Evelyn was grim as she climbed on the mare. They had gone from hunting buffalo to being the hunted, and it might well be that none of them would live to see the mountains ever again.
Chapter Seven
Venom was in no hurry. The two Dog Eaters who got away only thought they were safe. He would catch up to them presently and relieve them of their lives and their hair.
His company strung out behind him, Venom looked for the marks Rubicon made to guide them. At intervals the grass had been ripped out exposing the dirt. Each mark was about a yard long and half a foot wide and tapered in the direction they were to go.
Venom thought of the blood he had sucked from the scalp earlier and smacked his lips, wishing there had been more. Most folks didn’t realize how delicious blood was. Back when he did it for the first time, when he was dying of thirst on the desert, he’d never imagined how much he would like it or how addicting it could be. He hadn’t been joshing when he said that it was too bad blood wasn’t sold in bottles like whiskey and ale.
Hooves thudded and he acquired a shadow at his elbow.
“What do you want, Logan?” Of all his men, Venom trusted Logan the least. Logan was snake-mean and as shifty as desert sands on a windy day, and Venom suspected he had aspirations.
“How long do you aim to wander all over this grassland looking for redskins before we head for New Mexico?”
“As long as I want. Do you have a problem with that?”
“You’re the boss.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“Damn, you are a testy bastard.” Logan laughed, but the sound rang hollow. “Have I ever complained?”
“You’re too smart to gripe to my face.”
“I wouldn’t gripe behind your back, either. If I didn’t like the way you were running this outfit, I’d say so.”
“Or try to take over.” Venom cocked an eyebrow. “What the hell difference does it make how long we take to get there?”
Logan rubbed the stubble on his chin. He looked at the clouds. Finally he said, “You remember that cantina in Santa Fe?”
“The one you spent all your time in? What about it?”
“You remember Maria?”
Venom snorted in amusement. Maria waited on the tables. She had long black hair and large moon eyes and more pounds on her than a heifer. She was so heavy she waddled when she walked. “What about her?”
“I’ve got plans for her.”
Venom scowled. “You leave her be, you hear me? Too many people would miss her. There’d be folks nosing around, wondering where she got to. I learned my lesson with that Mex in Texas. Never kill anyone who will be missed.”
“No one will ever suspect me.”
“I just said no.”
Now it was Logan who scowled. “You’re not being fair. You get to drink blood all you want, but you won’t let me do what I like?”
“What you like is to tie women down and do things that would get you hung in the States. What you like is to see them suffer. What you like is for them to beg and cry.” Venom shook his head in disgust. “What you like is sick.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve tortured. I’ve seen you.”
“Now and then, sure. If someone makes me mad. Or if I need information. But I don’t get the pleasure out of it that you do.”
“It’s not fair, I tell you.”
Venom resented his tone. “I’ll make it plain. You’re not to touch Maria. Buck me on this and you will by-God regret it.”
Logan was holding his rifle across his saddle. He started to raise it, but then lowered it again. “I don’t like being threatened.”
“I don’t give a good damn what you do or don’t like. You’ll do as I damn well tell you.”
“This is how you treat me when I’ve ridden with you longer than practically anyone?”
“This is how I treat you. Let me hear your word on Maria.”
Logan swore and then growled, “I give you my word I won’t touch the cow when we get to Santa Fe. Happy now?”
“If you need a female so much, we’re bound to come across plenty of squaws. Do them.”
“They’re not as much fun. Most don’t beg or cry.” Logan went to rein around to fall back in line, and stiffened. “Look! Injuns!”
Venom whipped around in the saddle. To the northeast, so far away they were little more than vague shapes in the heat haze, were a lot of riders. Even at that distance it was obvious they weren’t white.
Venom turned and pumped his right arm three times. It was a signal he had worked out. To a man his company promptly dismounted. Each gripped the bridle of his mount. Tugging and pulling, they coaxed their animals to the ground. Then they crouched with their rifles at the ready, their mounts now barriers against enemy lances and arrows.
Venom had a lot of tricks like this. Tricks that kept him and his men alive.
“Use your spyglass,” Logan urged.
Venom disliked being told what to do, but he was about to take a look through the spyglass anyway. He opened his saddlebag, slid out the metal tube, and telescoped it as far it would go. Raising it to his eye, he studied the warriors. Lakotas, unless he missed his guess, or Sioux, as they were more commonly called.
“Well?” Potter nervously called out. “Can you tell who they are?”
Venom told him. “I count at least thirty. I think they’re wearing war paint.”
“You think?” Logan said.
“Have they spotted us?” Potter asked. “Folks say the Sioux are as fierce as Apaches. I sure don’t want to tangle with any.”
“You’re a damn coward,” Venom told him. A loyal coward who would do anything Venom wanted, no questions asked. “You can breathe easy. It appears they have no idea we’re here.”
“That’s a lot of scalps,” Tibbet remarked.