He kissed her, then kissed a very surprised new wife who probably did not yet
understand that she had taken on that title. He pointed to himself and said in
Hyiakutt, Walks With the Night Hawks. She nodded, and he pointed to his wife
and companion. Cloud Dancer. Then he pointed to her. Silent Woman, he said,
and she nodded and looked pleased. He turned and gestured toward the door.
Check to see if all’s clear. Time to live or die.
All was clear; so far they had moved without detection. The rain was still
falling, and the mist was so thick that they could have made it to the canoes
and gotten away without anyone seeing them, but to do so would have meant
inevitable pursuit in force and probable recapture within two days. Hawks took
the hunting knife and a kitchen hatchet; Cloud Dancer chose the spear, with
which she was more proficient, and a long, thin kitchen tool that resembled an
ice pick. Silent Woman carried the supply bag and the throwing knife. They
headed for Roaring Bull’s lodge.
The lodge door was directly across from the storehouse, which would have had the
usual two guards on it’ had the rain not forced them inside. Hawks hoped the
crude wooden door of the lodge wasn’t barred from the inside. There was no other
way in that was practical. But fire was a constant hazard to anyone in such
wooden and hay-lined lodges, and it was unlikely that anyone would bar their
only possible escape, particularly with two guards less than five meters away.
Hawks crept around the side of the lodge, checked again for signs of anyone
about, then pulled on the door. It gave easily, but he hadn’t remembered it
making that much noise. He could only hope that the sound of the rain would mask
their entrance. He had his knife in one hand and a hatchet in the other, and he
took a deep breath and stepped into the lodge.
He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark of the room. There was no
light left in the fire, and the two alcohol lamps were long extinguished. The
ventilation came from wooden slats near the ceiling propped open with sticks,
and it was still quite dark outside. He wondered if he would break his neck.
The place smelled like a pigpen, but it was relatively warm and dry, one of the
few lodges here with wood floors. The two large tables were littered with the
remains of the previous night’s activities, and many of the large skin flagons
would need refilling. The sounds of scurrying and chewing told him that the mice
were first on the cleanup detail.
In one corner was a small collection of weapons, including a bow and a quiver of
arrows. He kept that in mind, although they were of no use in here.
When lodges this large were divided into rooms, it was usually with blankets.
Roaring Bull, however, had actually had a wooden partition built so that none of
his trader guests would get into his bedroom even by accident.
Hawks jumped at a sound behind him, then recognized the slender form of Cloud
Dancer. He eased back over to her, and as soon as she was used to the dark, he
gestured toward the curtained-off doorway to the back room from which came the
sounds of deep snores.
The darkness was a complication neither had thought of. Cloud Dancer moved to
the fireplace, found a stick, and gently stirred the remains while crouching
down and blowing on them. There were still a few spots of red. She got one of
the torches from a holder, and after many tries it ignited. It was not, however,
in the best of shape and gave them at the start only a bit more light than a
match would have. It would have to do. Hoping that it wouldn’t burn out, she
replaced it in its holder, from where it lit the room with an eerie half glow.
Hawks cautiously pulled back the curtain and looked inside. He wasn’t really
prepared for the sight of the old fat man stark naked, sleeping between two
equally naked women, both obviously slaves like Silent Woman. The light shone on
the face of the nearer of the two women and she stirred, opened her eyes,
turned, then opened them again and stared at Hawks in stark terror. He put a
finger to his lips, then motioned for her to get up and stand away from the old
chief. For a moment she couldn’t move, then she did as instructed. He was
relieved. He’d kill the old boy if he had to, but he sure as hell didn’t want
innocent blood on his hands.
He leaned back out, whispered to Cloud Dancer, and exchanged his hatchet for her
spear. At this distance and in these crowded conditions, the spear seemed the
best weapon. The slave girl’s eyes widened as she realized that the invader was
not alone.
Hawks poked Roaring Bull with the spear, gently at first, then more rudely when
the man merely stirred. Finally the chief raised his lids just a little.
Enough acting! Hawks hissed. Sit up and face me!
Roaring Bull smiled, sat up, yawned, and stretched. Or you’ll do what? he
asked genially in Sioux. Kill me? That will get you nowhere. One shout from me
will bring in a horde of sleepy but dedicated warriors.
Make that shout and you feel the spear, Hawks responded. We have already
resolved that this will work or we will die. No other choices. I am comfortable
with either. Are you? Shall I make a small, painful hole in you to prove a
point?
By this point the other woman had awakened, gasped, and now sat up, pressed into
the corner.
Roaring Bull seemed to consider his position. Seems I underestimated you, boy.
Few Council types would have the ability, and fewer the courage, to get this
far.
Hawks rudely pulled on the curtain, bringing it down. The torch was burning more
brightly now. Come on out, and quietly. No tricks! If we are discovered in
here, we will die, but you will die, slowly and painfully, before we do. Even if
you are hurt, you do not cry out, or at the very least I will sever your
tongue.
Bold words, the chief sighed, but he got up and came out into the main room,
where Cloud Dancer sat on a table, one of the bows from the corner in her hand,
its drawstring stretched with a small hunting arrow.
Hawks turned back to the two women. Do either of you want to come with us? he
asked, first in Sioux, then in several other languages when they did not
respond. He was about to give up when one whispered, in a language close enough
to Cheyenne for him to make it out, He is death. We must not go with him.
Choose now, he responded in Cheyenne. I have seen many men in this village,
young and old, but I have seen few old women. Come now, or you will remain here
forever.
Come where? the other asked, frightened. There is no place for us to go.
With me. Perhaps to death. Perhaps to life. The mute one goes with us.
But she is addlebrained.
Never had he met two people more intent on remaining slaves. He did not argue
further; he had done his duty. He began cutting up some blankets and rope while
Roaring Bull stood in all his naked majesty watching with seemingly little
concern.
The two women stared at Hawks. What are you going to do with those? one asked.
If you will not go, then you cannot be allowed to raise any alarms too soon. I
must bind and gag you both.
Their acceptance of the bonds bothered him almost as much as their refusal to
go. Is this what we have come to? he asked himself, knowing he was no
professional at this and worrying that the bonds were too tight—or not tight
enough to hold. Or is this what we have always been? It disappointed him. He
could not imagine slaves, freed of their chains and told that there was a slim
but real chance of freedom if they ran, who would run and put the chains back
on. No wonder the lords of the dark had come to the top!
Roaring Bull was still sleepy, but he was alert enough. Will you allow me at
least to put my pants on? he asked almost genially.
I would give you what you gave us if I had it available. Wait. He still had a
length of rope left. Here. Tie this around your fat belly and fasten these
blankets to it. It’s the least I can do for modesty’s sake.
The chief refused. Hardly matters, considering what it sounds like outside and
the fact that you two look like you have been rolling in fresh horse dung. May I
ask what you intend to do now?
We go to the south landing, and all of us get into a canoe or some other
floating thing we can use.
You’re going on the river, in the dark, in fog and rain? It’s treacherous not
far south of here. The Ohio and Mississippi flow side by side for a while, but
finally they merge, and when they do, it is messy.
Then we will survive, or drown and die. You left us no choice, and no promise
of yours now could be believed. He switched to his native tongue. Cloud
Dancer, see that all is clear out there, and then we will move.
He held the spear at the ready as she went to look. Roaring Bull sighed and
moved a bit closer to the nearest table. Suddenly the old man made a move for
something suspended under the table. Hawks reacted instinctively, not spearing
but whacking the old man hard with the stick. The chief gave a little cry as an
object dropped to the floor, then dived for it, but now the spear came down on
the old man’s right hand. He gave a sharp cry, but Hawks had already pulled the
knife, and the old boy saw it and gritted his teeth.
Hawks kicked the object away, pulled out the spear, then leaned down and picked
up the thing without ever taking his eyes off Roaring Bull, who now sat nursing
a bloody hand.
The thing was a pistol. One-shot, ball type, very basic, of either Caje or
Caribe origin. The damned thing was too inaccurate a weapon to have been a
threat to his person, but it would have raised a tremendous noise.
You’ve mangled my hand! Roaring Bull said in wonder. The pain and injury
seemed to affect him less than the fact that someone had actually harmed him.
Yes. Too bad. Now you cannot paddle. Now, get up and move in front of me or you
will find this knife mangling the only thing about you your pet women in there
really care about. Move!
Roaring Bull moved, nursing his hand. He seemed utterly unable to comprehend the
fact that someone had actually speared him. But it’s bleeding! It must be
bandaged and tied off!
I care as much about that as I care whether or not I kill you, which is not
much. You will move ahead of me and do just what I say. If you try anything
else, you will not see me die.
Much of the confidence seemed to have drained out of the old chief. But I will
not be able to swim when you are swamped! he objected.
Then you had better give us expert advice on how to avoid that, hadn’t you?
They went out into the cold and wet to join Cloud Dancer and Silent Woman.
Roaring Bull, upon seeing the mute woman, gave her a withering glance. She spit
at him.
The south landing was on the Ohio and down a bit from the junction of the two
rivers. Cloud Dancer went on ahead to scout the landing, then returned. Two men
with spears, bows, and probably knives, she told him, gesturing as she spoke.
Silent Woman nodded and seemed to understand.
We must get both at once, he told her. Or the survivor will raise the alarm.
Give me the bow and arrows. I am a pretty fair shot with them.
It can’t be done, Roaring Bull offered. Those are among my best. See that
they guard even in this weather. Forget this. We can make a deal.
Silent Woman pulled out the throwing knife, then pointed to her skin case of
supplies. Hawks wondered if he had the idea and tried to make sure with
gestures. You—Go—Down—There. Kill—one—with knife?
She nodded. It might work, he decided, if he was ready and accurate when she
made her move. She was, after all, a slave, a familiar figure, and one thought
dim-witted, and she might be up at this hour. It wasn’t a regular thing, but it
might make sense to the guards to see a familiar figure currying favor by