The Scalp Hunters

Chapter Seventeen

Dega glided through the dense growth with an ease born of experience. He had been raised in the thick woodlands east of the Mississippi. The forest was his home. Whether lowland, prairie or mountain, he was as much a part of it as the trees and the brush and the animals he shared it with.

Dega made no more noise than the breeze as he wound among the boles. He moved low to the ground so his enemy wouldn’t spot him before he spotted his enemy. The man called Logan must not get away with their horses. His father was counting on him. He would not let Waku down, would not let his mother or his sisters or Evelyn, fair Evelyn, down.

At the thought of her, Dega tingled. Last night had been the best night of his life. To think they had kissed. To think she cared for him as much as he cared for her.

Dega stopped in his tracks. Now was not the time for daydreaming. Not during a stalk. Not when he soon might need to do that which his people only did as a last resort.

The People of the Forest never spilled blood for the spilling’s sake. They held life in too high esteem, all life, from a salamander’s to a bear’s, from a butterfly’s to a wren’s. Life was the gift of That Which Was In All Things, the Manitoa, a gift to be cherished, not destroyed.

There came moments, though, moments like this one, when in order to preserve life, a Nansusequa might have to take it.

Of late, Dega had taken to wondering if his people would still be alive if they had been less fond of peace and more fond of war. The Sioux and the Blackfeet were both warlike people, and the whites didn’t dare try to take their land. Maybe if the Nansusequa had been more willing to go to war, they would still exist.

The clomp of hooves brought Dega out of himself. With a growl of annoyance he plunged through the greenery toward the source. He spied Logan on a horse, pulling on the lead rope to the others. Bursting into the open, Dega drew the arrow to his cheek and sighted on the white man’s torso.

“Stop or die.”

Logan whipped around and began to raise his rifle but froze and cursed. “Damn you, Injun. You’ve got no more sense than a slug.”

“Get down,” Dega directed.

“I don’t have time for this. Even if you stick that in me I’ll get off a shot and we’ll both be dead, and for what?”

“Get down.”

“Venom and his friends will be here any minute. You should be with your family and that girl.”

Dega took another step and aimed at a point just below the sternum, where the shaft would penetrate to the heart. “I not say again. You no take horses. Drop rifle and get down.”

Logan was mad at being taken off guard. By an Apache or a Sioux he could understand. By a smooth-faced boy who if he were white would barely be old enough to shave was an insult. He lowered his rifle stock-first, then slowly swung his leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, his hands in front of him to make the boy think he was as meek as a kitten. “There. Happy now?”

“We go back. You walk front of me with horses.”

Logan had expected the boy to tell him to drop his pistols, too. The mistake would cost him. “Whatever you say, boy.”

“I man, not boy,” Dega said indignantly. “I Nansusequa warrior.”

Logan had the lead rope in one hand and the reins in the other. He turned as if to retrace his steps. “The Nansusequa? That’s your tribe? Never heard of them. Where are you from, anyhow? Not from these parts, I’d wager.” Logan was stalling. All it would take was a moment’s lapse on the so-called warrior’s part, and he could gain the upper hand.

“We from east of great river,” Dega answered.

“I could guess that much. Where exactly?” Logan tugged on the rope and the reins. The arrow’s barbed tip moved as he moved. He had to pass his would-be captor.

“Ever hear New Albion?”

“Isn’t that a town somewhere? Indiana or Illinois or one of those states? You’re a long way from home.”

“All my people die. Mountains home now.”

“You don’t say.” Logan looked away so the boy wouldn’t suspect, and then, on his very next step, he darted around his mount and drew both flintlocks.

Dega did the only thing he could think of; he spun and ran. He braced for a searing pain in his back but no shots boomed. Veering to avoid an oak, he spotted a thicket and without hesitation dived in, holding the bow at his side so it wouldn’t become entangled. He went several steps, and crouched.

“You’re as dumb as a stump, boy.”

Dega peered through the interwoven limbs and leaves. He hadn’t moved fast enough. The white man was at the thicket, both guns leveled.

“Not that you’ll live long enough for it to do you any good, but here’s some advice. Never talk when you should kill. Never let yourself be distracted. Now come on out with your hands empty and I might let you live a bit.”

“No.”

“To call you a jackass is an insult to jackasses. Either get out here or have holes blown in you.”

Dega eased onto his hands and knees. “I must come this way,” he lied. “It hard to stand.”

“Crawl if it’ll make you happy, just so you get your stupid self out here.” Logan backed off. “Make like a rabbit.”

“I crawl not hop.” Dega moved slowly. His left arm brushed his hip—and his knife sheath.

“A briar patch, for God’s sake. Didn’t you say most of your tribe is dead? No wonder. Stupid makes for early graves.” Logan laughed.

“Much stupid,” Dega said.

“You call yourself a warrior, boy, but you’re not. You’re a boy playing at being a man.” Logan wagged the pistols. “When you get out of there, stand up and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“I will,” Dega lied. He came to the end of the thicket and unfurled, his head hung low, as if he had given up hope. He turned slightly so he was sideways to Logan and the pistols.

“This was too easy.” Logan laughed again.

Dega struck. He whipped his knife out and sprang, stabbing at the other’s throat. The boom of a flintlock and pain in his side were simultaneous. Then he and the white man were on the ground, struggling fiercely, with death hanging in the balance.

Venom was puzzled. His quarry wasn’t behaving as most quarry did. It made no sense for them to stop in the belt of trees yonder when they should be fleeing pell-mell for their lives. He didn’t like it. He suspected a trick. “You’re sure they’re in there?” He had used his spyglass and not seen anyone.

Jeph and Seph Kyler were on either side of him. “We wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t so,” the former declared.

“We’re not liars,” said the other.

Venom had his men dismount. They were out of rifle range. Only the white girl had guns. She was the one they had to worry about, if they worried at all. After tangling with Apaches and Comanches, going up against a puny girl would be like stomping an infant. “Spread out and move in. Remember I want the white girl alive. Anyone who harms her answers to me.”

“And the redskins in green?” Potter asked.

“Need you ask? We’re after their hair.”

Tibbet coughed. “What about the Injun women? You’re not fixing to deprive us of our fun, are you?”

“Drag them off and have your way. Just don’t damage the scalps.” Venom advanced. When he dropped flat and snaked forward on his belly, so did the others. The trees loomed closer.

Venom didn’t intend to lose another man as he’d lost Rubicon. He was going to outwit the little bitch and her friends, and to that end, as soon as he came within earshot of the trees, he stood, cradled his rifle, and put a smile on his face. “I know you’re in there, girl. My name is Venom. How about you and me palaver?”

Evelyn had him in her sights. She’d expected the scalp men to charge to the attack. Panic had set in when they went to ground. She had never been in a situation like this; she didn’t know what was best to do. Now here was the head scalp hunter, saying he wanted to talk. It must be a ruse. Maybe, she told herself, she could use it to her advantage. “Go away, Mr. Venom. We don’t want to have to kill you.”

“Ahhh.” Venom stared at the spot the voice came from. “Show yourself, girl. Neither me nor my men will shoot. You have my word.”

Evelyn stayed on her belly behind a log. “I wasn’t born yesterday,” she responded.

“It’s good you’re cautious,” Venom said, and went on smiling. “All I want is to find out what happened to one of my men. We came across him a ways back. We’re buffalo hunters, you see. He was my best tracker and…”

“You’re what?” Evelyn asked in surprise.

“Buffalo hunters.” Venom’s lie hadn’t worked with the freight train captain, but he figured the girl was bound to be more gullible.

“That’s not what I was told. I heard that you’re scalp men, that you lift hair for bounty money.”

Venom feigned shock. “Wherever did you hear such a bald-faced lie? I’ve got more decency in me than that. No, girl. We’re buff hunters and only buff hunters.”

“Plenty Elk said different.”

“Who? You don’t mean that Arapaho buck we found buried with Rubicon? Hellfire, he fed you a pack of lies and you believed him.” Venom chuckled in as friendly a fashion as he could manage.

“Suppose you explain your side,” Evelyn said skeptically.

“There’s not much to tell. A war party jumped me and my men. We fought them off and a couple of bucks escaped. I sent Rubicon after them. He killed one and was about to kill the other when you and your friends came along. He didn’t know what to do so he came and told me. I sent him to follow you and make sure the Arapaho didn’t lead you and your friends into a trap.” Venom was pleased with his lie. He told it so well, he almost believed it.

Confusion swamped Evelyn. She tried to remember if Rubicon ever admitted to being a scalp hunter. “I saw the warrior your tracker killed. He had been scalped.”

“That’s normal out here, girl. Injuns scalp us. We scalp them. It doesn’t make us scalp hunters. Rubicon took it as a trophy, is all.”

Evelyn refused to believe him. “What about Mr. Logan? Where does he fit into the scheme of things?”

“You’ve seen him?” Venom thought fast, wondering how much, if anything, Logan had told her. “I booted him from the outfit a few days ago. Caught him trying to steal from one of my other men. He’s nothing but a thief. He even stole a horse.”

Evelyn bit her lower lip, uncertain what to do. Everything the man said was plausible. “You want me to believe that you came after us to help us?”

“We came to see if you were safe. You being a white girl and all, we were worried.”

“I’m perfectly safe, thank you. So you can go find those buffalo you claim to be after.”

Venom raised his voice. “You heard the little lady, boys. Show yourselves. Let’s leave her and her friends be.” He grinned as his men all stood and gave him questioning looks. “Mount up,” he commanded. “I’ll be right with you.”

They turned and made for the horses, Potter scratching his head and muttering.

“There!” Venom said to the girl. “We’ll be on our way. Now do I get to see you? It’s the least you can do after I went to so much trouble.”

Evelyn reluctantly rose. She kept her rifle trained on him and said, “I still don’t know whether to take you at your word.”

“It’s smart not to be too trusting.”

The man was acting so friendly that Evelyn felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I just can’t take the chance.”

“Don’t worry. There’s no hard feelings on my part.” Venom went to leave. “Say. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me your name?”

“Evelyn King.”

Venom touched his hat brim. “Pleased to meet you. What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere, anyhow?”

“Hunting buffalo, like you.”

“You don’t say? If you want, when we find a herd I’ll send one of my men to let you know.”

“We’ll manage on our own, thank you.”

“I understand,” Venom said with feigned politeness. “Well, my men are waiting. It was nice to meet you.” He touched his hat again and strolled off, whistling.

Evelyn watched them ride away with mixed feelings. Part of her still didn’t trust them and another part thought she was being silly. “Oh well.” She shifted the Hawken to the crook of her elbow and called out, “You can come out. I guess they weren’t scalp hunters, after all.”

Waku and his family emerged from their hiding places.

“You think he spoke truth?” Waku asked.

Evelyn shrugged. “I’m the first to admit I’m not much good at judging people. He seemed nice enough but you never know.”

“Do you want your pistols back?”

“Tihi and Teni can hold on to them for a while, just in case,” Evelyn said. She stared at the retreating figures, relieved no blood had been spilled. Then she stiffened. “Wait. Where’s Dega? Shouldn’t he have been back by now?”

As if in answer, a shriek pierced the air from the direction Dega had gone.