Savage Cry (23 page)

Several of those who had been standing with Bloody Axe walked toward the edge of the village to meet the riders. Screech Owl, Wolf Tail’s uncle, was among the foremost. The two white men stopped at the edge of the water while Wolf Tail continued on. When he rode up from the creek, he slid off his pony and stood talking to Screech Owl. There followed an animated discussion between the two with much arm waving
and gesturing toward the mounted white men. As she watched, standing beside the entrance to her lodge, Martha began to experience a feeling of dread. Something about the sudden appearance of these white men disturbed her greatly. She wished that Black Elk was there.

Finally, the discussion over, Wolf Tail motioned the white men over, and he and Screech Owl led them to meet Bloody Axe. Martha moved a few yards away from her tipi to get a better look at the visitors. What she saw stunned her, and for a moment, she felt that her knees were going to buckle.
Charley!
At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, and she strained harder to see him. She closed her eyes tight for a few seconds then opened them again. It
was
Charley, but the other man was not Robert. Martha’s mind was reeling! She had long ago accepted the fact that she would never see either of them again. Instead of joy at the sight of her brother-in-law, her impulse was to run, to hide from a part of her life that was no more. The thought of returning to a life with Robert made her almost sick with despair. She looked around frantically, seeking an avenue of escape, but there was none. So instead of running, she retreated inside her tipi, hoping that if she remained out of sight, maybe Bloody Axe would not tell Charley that she was there.

Seated at the back of her lodge, Martha tried to concentrate on the white antelope skin from which she would make a dress. But her stitching was slow and careless as she strained to listen to the sounds from the center of the circle of lodges. Then her heart began to beat wildly when she heard the soft pad of moccasined feet approaching outside, and she thrust her bone needle faster and faster through the soft hide. Dreading the summons that she anticipated, still
she jumped as if she had suddenly heard a gunshot when she heard her name called.

“Six Horses.” It was Bloody Axe’s voice. “Come, I would speak with you.”

For a moment, she considered not answering, hoping he would think her gone, but she knew that he had seen her working on the cow skin that morning. Reluctantly, she put her sewing aside and went to the entrance. Pushing the flap open no more than a few inches, she peered out cautiously, fearful that she might see Charley standing there. When, much to her relief, there was only Bloody Axe, standing waiting, she pushed the flap aside and went out.

“Six Horses,” Bloody Axe began, “two white men have come to our camp. They are searching for a white woman that was captured, and they heard that we have one with us. I think it is you they search for.” When he saw the look of alarm on her face, he hastened to assure her. “They look for a slave. I told them that Black Elk’s wife is a white woman, but she is not a slave. I’m going to send them away because they have brought the white man’s firewater to trade with our young men. It is an evil drink, and I will not let them bring it into our village.”

Martha was greatly relieved by Bloody Axe’s words, but when she looked toward the center of the camp, she saw Charley and the other white man still there, standing and watching. She felt a shiver skip along her spine. She looked into Bloody Axe’s face, wondering why they still remained. “I don’t want to see them,” she said, her voice trembling as her eyes focused upon her feet.

Bloody Axe nodded patiently, understanding her reluctance, but he encouraged her to come with him. “I do not want them to bring the soldiers. I should kill them for bringing the firewater that sickens our young
men. But if I kill them, the soldiers might still come to look for them. I think it is best if you tell them yourself that you are not a slave, and stay here by choice. Then maybe they will go in peace.”

Martha listened to the chief. There was logic in Bloody Axe’s words. There could be trouble if she did not face up to Charley and tell him that she preferred to remain with her Blackfoot family. It would be hard. She did not want to cause Robert any pain, but she knew that the choice she made was best for her and Robert. Knowing that it was not right to hide from the responsibility for the choice she had made, she finally relented. “I’ll talk to them,” she said.

Charley was not prepared for the change in his sister-in-law. He had expected to see a wretched shell of the wife of his late brother—downtrodden and abused, desperate to be rescued and consequently seeing him as her savior. Instead, he was stunned by the radiant vision, stepping softly in colorfully beaded moccasins behind Bloody Axe. For one brief moment, he wasn’t even sure that it was Martha. He had not remembered her to be so tall and graceful. Little wonder he had lusted for her then. Maybe, he thought, he had forgotten what a handsome woman his brother had taken for a wife.

The small gathering of people parted to make way for her, eager to hear what would be said between Six Horses and the white men. As she approached, Charley started to step forward to meet her, but was immediately restrained by Screech Owl’s hand on his arm. Marlowe’s warning frown reminded him that the two of them might well be in peril.

“Martha,” Charley began as soon as she had halted some ten paces from him, “I’ve come to rescue you.” He affected a wide smile as he waited, anticipating an emotional outpouring of relief upon seeing he had
come to save her. But there was no sign of gratitude in her expression. Instead, she stood close to Bloody Axe as if seeking his protection. “It’s all right, Martha, I’m gonna take care of you now. You ain’t gotta be afraid no more,” Charley went on, still baffled by her unexpected lack of response.

Martha didn’t answer at once, looking at her brother-in-law and then at the dark menacing-looking man with him. She thought it odd that Robert was not with them, that there was no mention of Robert. So she asked, “Where is Robert?”

“Well, now, that’s a sad piece of news to have to bring you,” Charley replied, shaking his head sorrowfully. “Poor Robert’s dead, murdered by outlaws.” When she drew her breath sharply, stunned by the news, he hastened to assure her. “It’s a mighty distressing thing to have to tell you, but it can’t be helped now. I’m gonna take care of you from now on. That’s the main thing.” He looked around him at the gathering of people. “Which one of these bucks is Black Elk?” he asked, ready to buy Martha’s freedom with one of his jugs of whiskey.

She ignored his question while she fought to control her emotions.
Robert dead! Murdered!
Charley’s words so stunned her that she grabbed Bloody Axe’s arm to steady herself. There was an immediate murmur of angry voices in the circle of men and women surrounding the white men. Thinking Martha had been threatened by the strangers, the people pressed closer, almost touching Charley and Marlowe. Some of the men brandished weapons, causing Marlowe to quickly plead their innocence. Speaking in his halting Blackfoot, he explained that they had not threatened Martha.

“What he says is true,” Martha said, quieting the angry voices. “He just brings sad news of someone’s
death.” In an emotional quicksand, confused by old feelings and new beginnings, she found it hard to know what to say to Charley. The news had shocked her, for she had once thought that she loved Robert. To think of him slain by a craven murderer was a horrifying thing to accept.
Poor Robert,
she thought,
he was never strong enough for this wild new country.
For a moment, she felt guilty for having been abducted, leaving him alone. It was difficult to understand why things happened the way they did, and she was truly saddened by the news of Robert’s death. After a moment, it occurred to her that she was now free of the guilt she had lived with for embracing Black Elk as her husband while still legally married to Robert. It was not the way she would have chosen, but she could now close that chapter of her life.

Shifting nervously from one foot to the other, Marlowe continued to glance around him at the restless crowd of Indians. He was thinking that he and Charley should have stuck with their original plan to find Black Shirt’s camp. He didn’t know this Bloody Axe, only his fierce reputation. His prior thinking, that Wolf Tail would vouch for them, looked to be a mistake now. Bloody Axe had already forbidden them to bring their whiskey into his village. Charley was foolish to think he was going to buy the woman with it.
She don’t look in no all-fired hurry to come with us, anyway.
Nudging Charley on the elbow, Marlowe whispered, “We’d best take our leave of this place while we still can.”

Charley was less concerned. “Hell, they’re not gonna jump us as long as we’re holding these repeating rifles. They’d lose too many. Anyway, it looks to me like there ain’t nobody in camp but old men, women, and boys.” Looking back at Martha, and raising his voice again, he repeated his question. “Where’s Black Elk?”

Meeting his eyes with a steady, straightforward
gaze, Martha said, “I’m sorry about Robert, and I’m sorry you have troubled yourself to come all this way to find me, but I can’t go with you, Charley.”

Finding it difficult to believe, Charley questioned her statement. “Can’t come with me? Whaddaya mean, you can’t come with me? Hell, I’ve got enough whiskey to buy you from this buck Black Elk. Don’t you fret about that, he’ll let you go. We’ll go down-river and set up camp. That old chief ain’t gonna be able to keep his young bucks from coming after that whiskey.”

“You don’t understand,” Martha said calmly. “I
won’t
go with you. I belong here with my husband’s people.”

Charley jerked his head back, aghast. “You what?” he sputtered, unable to believe his ears. Looking around him at the people crowding around them, he demanded, “You’d rather stay here with a bunch of heathen savages than go with your own kin?”

“You’re not my kin, Charley. You never were. I have a new life now, here with my husband.”

Charley was seething, having been rebuffed again by his brother’s wife. His stare intensified as if to sear her with his gaze. “So that’s how it is, is it?” Glancing around him again at the bodies pressing closer, he snarled, “I always knew you were a damn slut.”

“I think you’d better go now,” Martha replied.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Marlowe interjected. “Our business is done here.” He was getting more and more nervous as he watched the faces around them. There was enough English in the group to begin to catch key words, and the crowd was showing signs of getting testy. If things got out of hand, Wolf Tail, who understood every word, might refuse to hold his tongue, figuring to get more than the one jug he had bargained for.

“I’ll be damned . . .” Charley started to protest.

Marlowe cut him off. “Don’t be a damn fool, Charley. They’re lettin’ us leave with our scalps. I’m ridin’ outta here. You can stay if you want.”

Charley’s face was twisted with anger he made no attempt to hide. His deep-set eyes flashed with a renewed hatred for this woman who had held herself too good for him, choosing instead to live with a savage Indian. He was tempted to raise his rifle and clear out some of the crowd gathered around, but his instincts told him that the satisfaction would most likely cost him his life. Seeing Marlowe already backing away toward his horse, Charley reluctantly conceded. “I’m going,” he snarled between clenched teeth. He shot one more threatening look in Martha’s direction, a silent warning that this might not be the last of it, then he followed Marlowe.

Wolf Tail, after seeing the ill feelings that were spawned by the visit of the two white men, stood aside with his uncle, silently watching Charley and Marlowe cross the creek and pick up their packmules. Lest there be any question where his loyalties lay, he would bide there a while before leaving again for his own village. But he had no intentions of losing the jug of firewater that had been promised him for guiding the white men to Bloody Axe’s village. As he watched Charley and Marlowe catch up the lead lines and start off downstream, he was thinking how fortunate it had been for them that most of the men were off hunting.

They had ridden no more than ten or twelve miles when Charley pointed toward a stand of trees along the riverbank. “That looks like a good place to camp.”

Marlowe looked around, surprised. “It’s a little early to set up camp, ain’t it? There’s a lot of daylight
left, and we ain’t far enough away from that Blackfoot camp to suit me.”

A sly grin creased Charley’s face. “We don’t wanna be too far away when some of them bucks slip outta camp and come looking for their firewater. Besides, I saw which one of them tipis Martha came out of. I might just pay her a little social call tonight.”

“Damn!” Marlowe swore, his patience with Charley’s single-minded craving for Martha having just about run its course. “You’re just bound and determined to git us kilt over a little piece of tail, ain’tcha? Well, I say hell no. We’ll keep on ridin’ if we know what’s good for us, and the devil take that damn woman.”

The grin on Charley’s face immediately disappeared, and his dark brows pressed down until his eyes were no more than tiny black coals glaring out at his partner. When he spoke, there was more than a hint of warning in his voice. “You got no say in it. This ain’t no partnership. I own every last scrap on these mules, and I reckon I’ll decide where we camp.”

The two men continued to glare at each other for a long moment, locked in a fierce battle of wills. There was no backing down by either man, so Marlowe decided right then and there that this would be Charley Vinings’s last night above ground. That decision made, he affected a thin smile, and said, “I reckon you’re right. It’s your goods we’re haulin’. I’m just sayin’ it ain’t healthy to camp this close to them Blackfeet.”