Keokotah was waiting for me. He pointed toward the canyon where grapes grew. “They have gone that way. They go to the river, I think.”
“Of course.”
We walked steadily on but my heart was numb. Once, I glanced back. Paisano was following us. My brain had only one thought.
Itchakomi was gone! Itchakomi, my love … gone!
THIRTY-SIX
Keokotah had followed this trail to the Arkansas not long after we had begun building the fort, but I had never gone to its end.
We ran, for our enemy was time. If they had boats waiting at the river we might never overtake them, and Kapata, now that he had captured Itchakomi, would waste no minutes.
It had been a long, bitter day, but we ran smoothly and easily. A mile, another mile. We slowed our pace. It would soon be dark, and their tracks would no longer be visible. Now we had to pick our way among the rocks, weaving through trees. In the bottom of the canyon it would grow dark quickly.
Also, they might try an ambush, although I doubted that.
Kapata had taken them during the fighting, with the end of the fighting still in doubt. He would not know if I were alive or dead, and I doubted if he would think of anything but getting safely away.
At the same time, I knew he would welcome a meeting with me. Particularly as he would like to show Itchakomi he was the better man.
Here and there we stopped to listen, while trying to make no noise ourselves. The canyon rocks carried sounds. How long had they been on the trail? At most, two hours. Hence they must be at the river or nearing it now.
They would have no campfire to help us to find them. They would offer no such invitation to the Komantsi that might still be about. My feeling was that the Komantsi had gone on to the south to steal horses in Mexico, but other enemies might be about. It was a time of change, and many tribes were on the move, displaced by others to the east who had obtained firearms.
We ran no longer, but walked, pausing often to listen. The canyon was behind us and we were moving into an area of scattered clumps of trees and occasional ridges. The general trend of the ground was sloping toward the river.
Here we were beset by a problem, for we had no idea whether they had gone directly to the river or had angled off to the east or west.
We stopped at a small stream, drank, chewed on some dried buffalo meat and listened. We heard nothing. It was completely dark and despite the stars overhead we could see nothing beyond a few feet.
Somewhere, within a mile or so, our women were prisoners. Itchakomi would be taken back to Natchez and the villages on the great river, but there was no reason to believe they would keep either the Ponca woman or Keokotah’s woman alive.
“We will go now,” I said at last. “You go toward the river and mountains. I will go toward the river and the plains. If you find nothing, come here at daybreak. If I am not here I have found them, and you can come to me. And if I return and you are not here, I will know you have found them.
“If either of us finds them, he will do what he can.”
We parted in the night. He went westward and north, and I turned toward the east and north, angling across the country, feeling my way at first, and then weaving through the trees. My route was a zigzag, to cover as much ground as possible.
How many warriors did he have with him now? It would be a good-sized party, a dozen at least. He might have lost men. It was doubtful if he had recruited any.
The trees were thick along the slope, and I edged between them, taking each step with care and testing the earth before resting my weight. A snapping branch could be the end of me.
It was a slow, painstaking search, and I was filled with impatience. What I would do if I found them I had no idea.
On cat feet I went down over the rocks and into the trees again. Not far away was the river, and it was likely they had gone where they knew there would be water. They might not have a fire, but they would wish to drink and they would eat and rest.
There was a musty smell of rotting vegetation, the smell of pines—after a time the nose becomes sensitive to the very slightest odor. I was going steeply down a slope now, using the trees to help, gripping first one and then another.
How dark was the forest! My eyes, accustomed to the darkness, identified the trees and the shadows. A heavy odor in the air, a dampness on a tree against which I rested my hand. My fingers felt around on the bark and snagged a long hair.
A wet bear had come this way, perhaps within the last thirty minutes, a very large bear that had probably just swum the river. That stopped me. I had no desire to come upon a full-grown grizzly bear in the night.
Abruptly I changed direction, starting once more toward the river. Suddenly I stopped. What it was I had no idea, but I stopped on one foot, hesitating to lower the other.
Something, some sound in the night! I waited. A sound? Or a smell?
Something rustled, moved, and then I heard a faint mutter as of a sleeper in the night. Waiting, listening—a smell of fresh-cut wood! Of pine boughs for … a bed? A bed for Itchakomi?
There were some Natchee Indians with Kapata. They would prepare the bower in which Itchakomi would sleep. They had done so, and she was near, very near.
With infinite care I drew back my foot and put it down, testing the earth as it came to rest. Slowly, carefully, I backed away. When a dozen yards away, I stopped and crouched at the base of a tree to think.
Their camp was here. They would move at dawn. Had I stepped into their camp I might have been overpowered by a half dozen braves.
At daybreak they would move. At daybreak Keokotah would come to join me, so I must stop them. I must not permit them to move.
Before daybreak I would attack. Or … the thought came suddenly, should I challenge Kapata?
Should I challenge his courage? His leadership? Demand he fight me for Itchakomi?
If I appeared and challenged him, would he accept the challenge? Or would they all attack me at once? He was several inches taller than me, and he was heavier.
Dawn was hours away. I would rest, and when the day came, make my decision then. On a bed of moss near several trees, I lay down and slept, tuning my mind to awaken before the first hint of light in the sky, and when I slept the great beast came again, the red-eyed monster with the elephant’s trunk and the long hair. It loomed through the trees and came at me. It had great tusks that curved out before it and one was red with blood. It charged, but I stood my ground. Why did I not flee? Why did I stand there, spear in hand, as it rushed upon me?
My eyes wide open in the dark I stared up at the canopy of leaves above, and then I sat up, wiping sweat from my face. Was it a warning? If so, a warning of what? Was it a pre-vision of something to come? Of my death, perhaps?
At least it was a monster that would kill me, not Kapata.
Where was Keokotah? Had something happened to him? Or was he even now lying somewhere near and waiting for the dawn, as I was?
Standing up, I moved my arms about and my shoulders, loosening the muscles. I checked my weapons. The sky was faintly gray, and easing myself down through the trees again, I could make out their camp.
The fire, Indians lying about, and among the trees, Itchakomi’s bower, and wonder of wonders, three Indians lying guard before it!
The Natchee! Had they proved loyal, after all? Or would they protect her only up to a point? Kapata was half a Natchee, and a warrior respected among them. Yet, obviously, the Natchee had moved to protect her as a Sun.
Taking up my bow and spear I walked down from the trees into their camp, and it was a Natchee who saw me first. He came to his feet suddenly, facing me.
“She is my woman,” I said.
“She has said this. She bears your child.”
Startled, I stared at him. Was this true? Or was it a trick she had used that might protect her?