They weren’t near the Platte. They weren’t in the woods that bordered it. They were at the edge of the prairie where the going was easy and they could cover a lot of ground quickly. They had a lot of ground to cover.
“I hope this works,” Winona said between deep breaths. “I do not want to go to all this trouble for nothing.”
“It’s the last thing they’ll expect.”
On they jogged, through the heat of the morning and the haze of the afternoon. They stopped to rest only once, at midday. Making their way to the river, they lay on their bellies and stuck their sweat-slick faces in the water.
“Oh, my. This feels so nice, Husband. You rest on the bank. I will pretend I am a fish.”
Rolling onto his side, Nate watched her dip her head back in. He reached over and lightly touched her shoulder, whispering, “If you only knew how much…” Then, easing onto his back, Nate laced his fingers under his head and exhaled a long, tired sigh.
Bright blue painted the vault of sky save for a few fluffy white clouds. A finch flew past, a spot of yellow dwarfed by the blazing yellow higher up. Nate started to close his eyes but snapped them open again.
Winona came up for air, and grinned. “I used to do this a lot when I was little.”
“You’re weird.”
Winona laughed, then stiffened and pushed up on her hands. “Did you hear something?”
“No. Relax. We’re well ahead of them by now.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. I checked the ground. If they’d already passed, there would be fresh tracks.”
Gaining her knees, Winona turned. “I would be more confident if we had guns.”
“We have these,” Nate said, and tapped his temple. “Guns or not, when it happens it will be fast and brutal.”
“Killing usually is.” Winona lay next to him. She ran a finger over a welt. “This is one time I will not mind. Were my mother still alive, she would be upset with me.”
“For wanting revenge on the men who did that?”
“Morning Dew had a gentle heart. She would fight when she had to, as the time our village was raided and when those Blackfeet attacked us. But she did not like violence. When my father talked about counting coup, she would say he had no need to prove he had courage. She knew he did.”
“What did your father say?”
“Black Kettle always smiled and told her that he didn’t count coup for her, he did it to protect our people.”
“I liked your father and mother.”
“They liked you.”
For a while they were quiet. Then Nate grunted and sat up. “Enough rest. We have to keep going. I figure we’re a mile and a half ahead of them by now. By nightfall I’d like to be three or four.”
“I am not an Apache, Husband. I cannot run forever.”
“If you tire, I’ll carry you.” Nate bent and offered her his hand. As he pulled her to her feet she came into his arms and kissed him on the neck. “What was that for?”
“When two hearts are one, neither heart needs a reason.”
They stood in silent embrace, his chin on her head, until the chirp of a robin brought them back to the here and now.
“When we get home I am barring our cabin door and we are not stirring out of bed for a week.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Nate said, and gave her a playful smack on her bottom.
They hiked to the edge of the prairie and resumed jogging. Minute after minute, hour after hour. They saw deer and elk. They saw rabbits and squirrels. They spied a few buffalo far out on the plain. Once they spotted a young black bear that ran off when it spotted them.
“Now that’s the kind of bear I like,” Nate said.
As the afternoon waned, Nate stopped frequently so Winona could catch her breath. She protested that she was holding him up and he merely smiled.
Nate could hardly stand to look at her bruised and swollen face. Hate festered in him, and he was not a hating man. The slave hunters deserved what he was going to do to them.
The sun was less than an hour shy of setting when Nate announced, “This is far enough!” He came to a stop.
Winona, puffing, doubled over with her hands on her hips. “I thought you wanted to keep going until sunset.”
Nate glanced at her heaving sides and the sweat dripping from her brow. “We’ve been at this most of the day and I’m wore out.”
With masterly sarcasm Winona said, “Oh, really?” She took hold of his hand and grinned. “Always tell the truth, Husband. You are stopping because you are worried about me.”
“We have a long night ahead of us.”
They went to the river, rested, drank and set to work. First they waded into the shallows and scoured the bottom for fist-sized flat stones with thin edges. These they chipped and sharpened with other stones. Then they went in among the trees, searching.
The digging was the hard part. Their palms blistered and hurt, but they kept at it, taking turns, until the job was done.
The night filled with the cries and shrieks of predator and prey, but the meat eaters left them alone.
It was pushing four in the morning, by Nate’s reckoning, when he stepped back and nodded in grim satisfaction. “This will have to do.”
“Limbs instead of rope,” Winona said. “I hope they work.”
“Whether they do or they don’t, there will be a reckoning.”
Samuel Worth squinted against the harsh glare of the sun and licked his dry, cracked lips. He had been tied to a stake for most of the day and his body was burning hot. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow and into his eyes and made them sting. For the umpteenth time Samuel strained against the stakes his wrists and ankles were tied to, but the stakes didn’t give. He glanced to the right at his wife and then to the left at his daughter and his son, and he summed up how he felt with, “Damn me to hell.”
Emala opened her eyes. “What have I told you about cussin’ in front of the children?”
“I’m not no child, Ma,” Chickory said.
“Me either,” said Randa.
The brush rustled and out strode Olan. “If the four of you don’t shut the hell up, I will damn well shut you up.”
“The whole world is cuss crazy,” Emala said.
There was more rustling and the others came out of hiding: big, bearded Trumbo; Bromley with his shotgun; Kleist, the German; and, last of all, Wesley. The backwoodsman glanced skyward and frowned.
“Another hour and the sun will set.”
“I don’t understand it,” Trumbo rumbled. “Where are the Kings? We were so sure they’d come after these darkies.”
“We’re people, just like you,” Samuel told him. “We have names, just like you.”
Olan uttered a cold laugh. “Will you listen to him? The airs he puts on.” He took a step and kicked Samuel in the ribs as hard as he could. “When will you get it through your stupid head that we don’t care? To me you’re the same as dogs.”
Agony gripped Samuel and wouldn’t let go. He tried to double over but couldn’t, staked out as he was. Gasping for breath, he shook from head to toe. At least one of his ribs was busted, he was sure.
Emala’s eyes filled with tears and she choked down a sob. “Leave him be, you hear? He never did anything to you for you to treat him like that.”
“He’s black. That’s all it takes.”
“Enough,” Wesley said. He moved past the Worths and gazed down the trail to the west. “This bothers me. It bothers me something fierce.”
“What?” Kleist asked.
“Yeah, what?” Trumbo echoed.
“The Kings. They’re not the kind to let this drop. They should have been here by now. They should have read the note and come on fast.” Wesley gestured at the Worths. “I figured they’d spot these four staked out and lose their caution, and we’d have them.”
Emala chortled. “Nate King ain’t no fool. He’d know it was a trap and hold back until dark.”