For a long while now, Evelyn had secretly wondered if she was weak. There were incidents in the past, times when she should have slain someone out to do her harm, and she didn’t. She couldn’t find it in her. Maybe—and the thought troubled her—maybe she was one of those who couldn’t harm another living soul no matter what the circumstances.
Her father killed when he had to. Her brother did it time and time again with no remorse. Even her mother had taken a life or two. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t do the same?
Evelyn put it from her mind. Now wasn’t the time. They rounded the next bend and there were the Nansusequa, anxiously waiting. “Look what we found,” she announced.
“Why is he not dead?” Waku asked.
“We’re taking him with us. First I need someone to tie his wrists. Dega, would you do the honors? There’s a rope in my parfleche.”
Dega was happy to do anything she asked. The mare shied when he reached for the saddle, but Evelyn spoke to it and the horse stood still while he opened the parfleche and took out the rope Evelyn used to tether the mare at night. Drawing his knife, he cut a suitable length and replaced the rest. As he walked over behind the captive, the black man grinned.
“Tell me, green boy, do you savvy the white tongue?”
“I speak white,” Dega said. “And I not be green.”
“Your buckskins are.” Rubicon bobbed his chin at the rest of the family. “So are theirs. What gives?”
“No give you our clothes. Our clothes ours.”
Rubicon blinked, and chortled. “No, no. What I want to know is why are you dressed all in green?”
“Green for Manitoa,” Dega explained. “Green for life.”
“Not green for grass?” Rubicon taunted.
“Put hands back so I tie them.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” Rubicon moved his arms behind him and felt his wrists gripped.
“Not move,” Dega directed.
“You’ll get to go on breathing if you cooperate,” Evelyn said.
“I’m all for breathing.”
Dega gave the rope a shake. “Once you tied we no danger.”
“That’s what you think.” Rubicon noticed that the girl had lowered her rifle partway. The Arapaho still had an arrow notched to his bow, but the boy about to tie his wrists had stepped between them. No one else had a weapon ready to use. They were green in more ways than one, these people, and it was about to cost them. Suddenly stiffening, he looked back the way they had come and yelled, “Venom! Potter! It’s about time you got here.”
The ruse worked. All of them turned. Every last one. Even the boy with the rope.
Rubicon whirled. He had the boy’s tomahawk in his hand before any of them could think to stop him. He swung it and caught the boy across the head with the flat of the blade. He’d meant to cleave the boy’s head, but in his haste he misjudged his swing.
Plenty Elk saw Degamawaku start to fall. He stepped to the right for a clear target and took a split second to sight down the arrow. At that range he could hardly miss, but he was going for the heart, for a kill shot, and he wanted to be sure.
Rubicon expected the Arapaho to react first. The Dog Eater was seven or eight feet away, too far to hit. So Rubicon threw the tomahawk. He didn’t expect to inflict a wound, only to make the Arapaho duck and buy him the time to grab a gun from the girl.
The tomahawk spun end over end.
Plenty Elk went to fling himself aside and was turning when the tomahawk struck his bow and glanced off. The keen edge caught him in the side of the neck, slicing through skin, flesh and blood vessels. He clutched at himself as a red mist sprayed every which way.
“Plenty Elk!” Evelyn cried. She jerked her rifle up.
With a howl of triumph, Rubicon was on her.
Chapter Thirteen
Venom had no time to rein around, no time to spur his horse. He felt no fear, no panic. Bracing for the impact, he hiked his leg clear of the stirrup.
In a flurry of driving hooves, the bull crossed the space separating them. Just as it lowered its head to rip and gore, its front legs buckled and it crashed heavily to the ground, its momentum carrying it past Venom and his mount, missing them by a hand’s width.
A twitch of the bull’s tail, a final grunt, and it was dead.
“That was close!” Potter exclaimed. He had managed to push out from under his horse and was rubbing his left leg.
“You must have nerves of steel,” Tibbet threw in. “Sitting there as calm as could be.”
“I’m proud to ride with a man like you,” Jeph Kyler said, and his twin nodded in agreement.
Venom hadn’t done it to impress them. Still, anything that made them fear him more made it that much less likely they would cause him trouble. “We’re losing time,” he said, and reined around.
“Wait!” Potter hollered. “What about me?”
“Throw your saddle on one of the Injun ponies we took and be quick about it.” Venom chafed at the delay. He was eager to catch up to Rubicon and see the white girl. From the way Rubicon had described her, she must be about the prettiest young filly this side of the cradle.
The Kyler twins came up on either side.
“Want us to go on ahead and see how the darkie is doin’?” Jeph asked.
“Rubicon knows how to take care of himself.”
“That he does,” Seph agreed. “But there are seven of them and one is an Arapaho warrior.”
Venom still didn’t see the need, but since he preferred to stay on the twins’ good side, he replied, “I’d rather you stay with us, but go on if you want.” To his annoyance, they did. That left him with four, this close to Sioux territory. “Hurry up with that damn saddle, Potter.”
For the next several hours they rode nearly due west. Around them the prairie was awash in the golden glow of the sun. Butterflies flitted amid patches of wildflowers. Jackrabbits bounded off in incredibly long leaps. A red fox watched them go by, unafraid.
Venom supposed there were those who would call the prairie beautiful or God’s handiwork or some such. He wasn’t one of them. Grass was grass, flowers were flowers. As for the Almighty, he stopped believing the day he saw a little boy’s head crushed by the flailing hoof of a horse.
Toward the middle of the afternoon Venom was surprised to see the twins galloping back. He raised his arm and the others stopped to await them. “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he said as the pair reined to a stop.
“Indians,” Seph declared. “Thirty or forty. Northwest of here, heading east.”
“They’ll pass within a quarter mile of you,” Jeph took up the account. “We felt you should know.”
“Could you tell which tribe?”
“They were too far off. If I had to guess, I’d say Sioux, but that’s a hunch more than anything.”
Venom reined to the south. “We’ll go a mile or so out of our way so they don’t spot us.”
They went less than a quarter of that when Venom drew abrupt rein. To the southwest was a dust cloud. Only two things raised that much dust; a lot of buffalo or a lot of riders. He got out his spyglass. “Indians,” he announced. An awful lot of Indians.
“It can’t be the same bunch we saw,” one of the twins said.
“They’re heading northeast and will miss us by a good long way,” Venom calculated.
Potter anxiously remarked, “This country is crawling with the red heathens.”
“Maybe they’re looking for us,” Tibbet speculated.
“Or that girl and her friends,” Calvert said.
“Or that freight train,” Ryson threw in.
Venom had a different notion. “I bet they’re holding a powwow. Maybe they’re fixing to go on the war path against the Shoshones or some other enemy and the bands are gathering. Just our luck we happen to be passing through.”