Savage Courage (8 page)

Shoshana wondered what sort of business he was talking about. What was he going to do with her while taking care of this other “business”?

And where was he taking her?

A thought came to her that made cold dread swim through her. Had he spared her life in order to trade her as a slave to some depraved man?

If that was his plan, was he taking her where he was going to trade her, instead of to his hideout as she had originally thought?

No matter where he planned to take her, or why, she
must
find a way to escape, and soon. If not, she was doomed to a life far different from any she had ever known.

As the sun lowered in the sky and shadows fell all around her, she knew that George Whaley would be concerned about her not having returned to the fort with the young major.

Tears stung her eyes as she thought of Major Klein and how he had died. But she could not dwell on that. Her prime concern now must be herself.

Somehow, some way, she must find a way to flee this horrible man and whatever horrible fate he had planned for her.

She guessed they were near their destination, for she doubted that Mountain Jack would want to travel along this steep, narrow pass at night, especially without a moon to guide them.

She glanced up at the sky. It was cloudy. There wouldn’t be a moon tonight. There might even be a storm.

The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun. She began to tremble. She ached to be near a comforting fire.

She ached to be safe back at the fort. Or even back home in Missouri. She could not deny missing Missouri and the friends she had left behind there.

But she longed even more to find traces of her true people, perhaps even her mother, here in Arizona. This was where her life started. She wondered if it would end here, too.

She gazed farther up the mountain in the direction of the setting sun. Not long ago, she had seen the sun reflecting from something in the higher elevations above her.

Perhaps it was an Indian. It might even have been Chief Storm, sending a message to another Indian
with a mirror instead of smoke, which could attract too much attention.

Upon learning that she was going to Arizona, where her Apache people lived, Shoshana had read as much material on Indians as she could find. She had read about smoke signals and learned that it was a swift way to send messages to friends.

She learned that “smokes,” as the smoke signals were called by the Apache, were of various kinds, each one communicating a particular idea.

A sudden puff, rising into a graceful column from the mountain heights, indicated the presence of a strange party upon the plains below.

If the column was rapidly multiplied and repeated, the signal served as a warning that the travelers were well armed, and numerous.

If a steady smoke was maintained for some time, the scattered bands of Apache would congregate at some designated point.

She hadn’t seen any smoke signals today, but she might have seen a mirror being used to send similar signals. If it
was
an Indian watching her and the scalp hunter, should she hope that he might save her? Or should she be even more afraid of an Indian than the scalp hunter?

“Make a sharp right turn,” Mountain Jack suddenly growled out to her. “We’re leavin’ the pass now. Just keep on ridin’ and doin’ what I say and you’ve got a good chance of surviving.”

Good chance?
Shoshana thought to herself. She didn’t know how to interpret that.

They rode for a long time, the darkness like a shroud around them. Mountain Jack seemed not to have need of any light. He knew where he was going, guiding Shoshana down first one pass and then another, leveling off to a flat stretch of land, and then climbing higher again.

But finally the way grew wider and Shoshana began to believe that she was going to at least survive the journey to wherever he was taking her.

The murky clouds suddenly split apart to show shiny, blue-white stars, and the moon now silvered the crest of distant spruces.

Shoshana could see much around her, for everything was splashed by the white reflection of the moonlight. It was such a clear, bright night now, it was as though night had turned to day.

“Here we are,” Mountain Jack said, interrupting Shoshana’s thoughts as he rode up beside her. “Cast your eyes yonder, squaw, and you’ll see my hideout.”

She gazed at a newly built log cabin well hidden in a narrow canyon, trees on each end hiding the entrance and exit.

Unless one knew that it was there, it would not be found.

“Especially by the cavalry,” she whispered to herself dismounting and being forced to enter the cabin first.

After he lit a kerosene lantern, Shoshana gasped and felt bitter bile rise into her throat as she fought back the urge to vomit. The cabin was filled with stacks of scalps, as well as three hanging from hooks in the ceiling, with fresh blood on them.

“Come here, squaw,” Mountain Jack said as he dropped his saddlebag to the floor.

Shoshana hesitated, then felt her insides tightening when he came to her with a long chain.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked faintly.

“What do you think?” Mountain Jack said, chuckling. “You’re my prisoner, ain’t you? Well, let me show you how I treat my prisoners.”

He twisted the chain around her waist, locked it in place, and then attached another part of it to her wrist.

“See how long it is?” he said, smiling at her as he stepped away from her. “That’s so’s you can be free enough to roam outside. I know a woman has private duties to tend to. I’d rather you do them outside, not here on my floor.”

He threw his head back in a fit of laughter, then sobered again and glared at her as he stepped closer and yanked the red bandanna from her hair. “Mighty fine hair, squaw,” he said, his eyes gleaming as he dropped the bandanna and moved his hand toward her head again. “Yep, that’s mighty fine hair.”

With her free hand, Shoshana grabbed his wrist
and thrust his hand away just before he got a chance to touch her hair. “As long as my hair is still mine, I’d rather your filthy hands aren’t on it,” she said tightly. She shoved his hand away. “But I doubt that you want to scalp me just yet. Surely you have other . . . other . . . sordid plans for me first.”

“Rape?” Mountain Jack said, walking away from her. He removed Major Klein’s scalp from his bag and held it out before Shoshana.

She turned her head away, again fighting not to vomit.

“You have me all wrong,” Mountain Jack said, placing the scalp on another hook in the ceiling. “I don’t want your scalp, nor do I want to rape you.” He chuckled. “Not yet, anyways.”

He stepped around so that she was forced to look at him. “I’ve chores to do,” he said. “Chores I’ve got to take care of before decidin’ what to do with you.”

When she turned away from him again, he stepped directly in front of her. He glared into her eyes. “I only wish I could get pleasure from your body as I used to get pleasure from squaws before I scalped ’em,” he said thickly. He leaned his face into hers. “But you don’t have to worry about me fornicatin’ with you. Some time back, when I went by my real name, Jackson Cole, I was a major in the cavalry. I was injured in the worst possible place by an Apache brave. Because of that injury, I can no longer function as a man in that particular way. But
it doesn’t keep me from enjoyin’ the company of a beautiful squaw, now does it? I’ve been terribly lonely. ’Cept for my pen of wolves, which I breed and raise for their skins, I’m totally alone.”

He stepped away from her. “While you’re here, you’re going to behave like you’re my bride,” he said. He laughed a strange sort of cackle, then again gazed into her eyes. “You’re gonna cook and clean for me. You’re gonna care for my wolves. That’s the other reason why the chain has been left purposely long. You’re to feed my wolves when they get hungry.”

“I won’t do anything for you,” Shoshana said bitterly. “I won’t clean. I won’t cook. And I most certainly won’t go into a pen of wolves and feed them.”

Mountain Jack shrugged. “Then you’ll starve,” he said. He walked away from her and began placing logs on the grate in his fireplace. “It’s up to you.”

After he got a good fire going, he went to Shoshana and again spoke directly into her face. “I’ll be leavin’ real soon to take my scalps to the buyer,” he said stiffly. “While I’m gone, by God, you
will
feed my wolves. If you don’t, and any of ’em die, I’ll kill you immediately when I return. And I’ll be movin’ my hideout again as soon as I return. That’s how I’ve been successful at eludin’ everyone, by stayin’ on the run, by buildin’ new hideouts in the most remote places.”

Seeing how insane this man truly was, Shoshana ran from the cabin, but she got a rude reminder that
she wasn’t going far, not as long as the chain held her prisoner.

Mountain Jack ran after her. He grabbed her by the wrist and swung her around to face him.

“You do as I say, squaw, or by God, your scalp’ll join those that I’m takin’ to sell tonight,” he warned. “Promise that you’ll obey me. Promise me now! Tell me you’ll feed my wolves. Tell me now that when I return you’ll cook a good meal for me.”

Knowing she was risking her life, yet feeling that she was a dead woman anyway, for she doubted that anyone could ever find her so far up in the mountains, she spat at Mountain Jack’s feet.

He raised a fist, but didn’t hit her.

He lowered his fist to his right side. He laughed.

“You’re an Injun squaw all right,” he said. “You’re full of spunk and sassiness.”

Then he glared at her. “I want to know why you’re wearin’ white woman’s clothes when it’s obvious that you’re a full blood,” he said tightly. “You’re an Apache, ain’t you? I ain’t never seen any Apache squaws wear duds such as you’re wearin’ today.”

Shoshana proudly lifted her chin. “Yes, I am full blood all right,” she said. “I
am
Apache. And it’s none of your business why I’m wearing the clothes of one people while my blood is of another.”

He slunk away from her, pale at the knowledge of the tribe she belonged to. It was an Apache that took his manhood from him.

He grabbed his pistol from his holster.

Breathing hard, his eyes glittering in the moonlight, he aimed at Shoshana. “The Apache are the worst of all Injuns,” he said, his voice drawn. “I loathe ’em all. It is always a pleasure to remove their scalps. And it will be a pleasure to remove yours now that I know for certain you are Apache.”

Her heart pounded and her knees went weak at the realization that she was going to die at any moment now. Yet, being strong-willed and proud, as proud as her Apache mother and father had been, Shoshana held her chin high and challenged him with her sparkling black eyes.

Seeing that Shoshana showed no fear, and intrigued by her courage, Mountain Jack lowered his pistol and slid it back in his holster. “For now you’re safe, but you’d better watch yourself,” he warned darkly. “Too much insolence on your part will send you into an early grave.”

He took her elbow and forced her back inside the cabin.

Shoshana stood back from him as he gathered up the scalps, took them outside, and prepared to place them on his horse. He hid them in blankets, then tied them securely behind his saddle along with several skins of various animals, wolves the most prominent.

Shoshana stepped aside as Mountain Jack came back into the cabin and got his saddlebag. Again he
spoke directly into her face. “There’s plenty of grub,” he said solemnly. “Help yourself.”

He nodded toward the wolves in the pen. “And don’t forget to feed them,” he flatly ordered. “There’s fresh meat outside in a shack. It’s for the wolves.”

Laughing gruffly, he left.

Shoshana stood still, scarcely breathing, until she heard Mountain Jack ride away into the night.

She felt as though she was in a state of shock over everything that had happened to her. She was the prisoner of a crazy man!

Dragging the chain behind her, Shoshana began searching the cabin for something she could use to cut it off. She guessed that her search would be fruitless, for surely he wouldn’t have left anything for her to find.

“A key?” she whispered. “Could there be a key?” She searched in the cabin until she lost hope of finding one, then went and sat down on the floor before the fireplace.

She hid her face in her hands.

“Please come and find me,” she whispered, uncertain whom she was imploring. “Anyone . . . please . . . ?”

She shivered when the wolves outside in the pen began howling at the moon.

It was an eerie, lonesome sound.

It made Shoshana feel even more alone . . . and afraid.

There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow,
A heavenly paradise in that place
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.

—Thomas Campion

Almost ready to give up the search for both the panther and the scalp hunter, knowing that traveling at this hour on the mountain was full of risks, Storm began wheeling his horse around. He stopped halfway when the moonlight revealed something he had not seen before while traveling up and down the mountain.

But his travels had never brought him to this part of the mountain before. He had never expected Mountain Jack to be daft enough to hide on the
very mountain that was home to a proud Apache chief!

But perhaps Mountain Jack was more clever than anyone gave him credit for. Cleverness and cunning had to have played a role in his elusiveness.

Storm gazed at length at a thick aspen forest, and through a break in the trees he saw a canyon beyond, where the moon worked its light into every crevice: the shine of silken trees, moon-bent grass, and gray-blue cliffs.

Ho
, yes, in all of Storm’s ventures, he had never seen this canyon, yet his exploring had never brought him so far from the pass in this direction.

The mountain was huge. It would take a lifetime to explore all of it.

Determined to discover what was in the canyon, forgetting the dangers of the night, of the panther that stalked the darkness, Storm sank his heels into the flanks of his horse and rode through the aspen forest and into the canyon.