A Gown of Spanish Lace Page 13

  Laramie pulled the collar of his heavy coat up more closely to his chin and nudged the buckskin with a blunted spur.

  He lifted his face to try to judge the time of day. It was hard to tell with the sky so overcast. He turned his thoughts back to the camp behind him. Had they discovered his absence? How had his pa responded? Laramie could easily guess. Were they already on his trail?

  Then his thoughts turned to Ariana. He had no reason to think that White Eagle would have had any trouble getting the girl to the safety of the hidden cave. The sentry posted on the ledge would not have been able to see the brave and the girl, and certainly would not have heard them creeping through the cover of darkness. The rest of the gang members would pose no threat. They much preferred their bunks or the card table during the hours of night.

  It seemed to Laramie that the first part of the mission had gone as planned. The hardest part was still to come. He had to backtrack and lead the girl from the cave to further safety. That would mean getting her out almost beneath the noses of the gang, and they were bound to be stirring about like a nest of disturbed hornets.

  Laramie set his jaw and pushed on. If only the second part of the plan worked as well as the first.

  Laramie watched as White Eagle separated himself from the overhanging spruce and moved forward. Without a word to the waiting brave, Laramie swung out of the saddle. Three ponies stood ground-tethered in the shadows. The horses exchanged whinnied greetings and stomped in impatience.

  White Eagle began to undo the girth of the pack saddle even as Laramie began to uncinch the belly straps of the riding saddle, still warm from his body.

  “Any signs?” asked White Eagle.

  Laramie shook his head. “Didn’t see a soul,” he replied. “The storm made sight and sound nigh impossible.”

  “They follow,” White Eagle informed him. “Five.” He pointed his hand straight up, and Laramie understood that he was saying the five men had not ridden out of the camp until near noon. That had given him even more time than he had counted on. For one moment he wished his plans had not included the trip to the cave. He should have just taken the girl and headed right out. But how could he have known that a spring storm would move in? How could he have known that the camp would not stir and discover the missing horses, then the girl’s empty cabin, until noon? No, it was better that they had played it safe. But now—?

  “What do you think, White Eagle?” he asked his friend. “Do you think it is safe to keep on riding, or should we change horses as planned and wait?”

  White Eagle looked at the clear sky overhead. Laramie followed his glance and knew what his friend was thinking. The storm was over. Now there would be no advantage of being hidden by a winter storm or of having the trail covered by falling snow. There would only be drifts of whiteness on the ground. It would be impossible to cover one’s tracks.

  “Wait,” said the young brave. “Send horses. Wait.”

  In spite of his similar assessment, Laramie wanted to argue. He had hoped White Eagle would assure him that it would be days before the men at his back would be able to sort out his trail. After all, they would not be expecting him to head straight to the Indian village.

  And he had hoped—had just hoped—that he might not have to lose his buckskin. He had a great deal of affection for the animal. He would have liked to have left the saddle on the horse’s back and just ridden out of the encampment the way he had ridden in.

  Besides—things looked good right now. But what if something happened they had not anticipated? It could mean a long delay. Ariana was waiting. She would be restless, fearful. Wondering.

  He hated to wait.

  “I watch,” White Eagle spoke again. “I take you to hiding place. Then I watch.”

  “Do yer people know I’m here?” asked Laramie.

  “They know,” said White Eagle solemnly. “My father say, ‘Leave to White Eagle white brother.’ They know. You safe. But for other men—my people not like white man.”

  Laramie knew that to be an understatement. There had been bad blood between the little pockets of outlaws and the Indian people. Raids—especially of horses—took place back and forth and often resulted in bloodshed.

  “What if someone else—from another tribe—discovers me?” he asked his friend.

  White Eagle shook his head. “I take you to sacred mountain,” he said in a conspiratorial tone. “No Indian go there. Afraid.”

  Laramie nodded and removed the bridle from the buckskin. Without comment he ran his hand over the soft neck, the sleek back of the horse. He sure would miss him. He hated to let him go.

  “Take care, partner,” he whispered under his breath, and then he gave the surprised mount a slap on the rump with the flat of his hand. The startled animal leaped forward at the same time as the big bay who had been turned loose by White Eagle. Both animals started off at a gallop, the little roan fast on their heels. The Indian ponies stamped in impatience, their heads tossed high, their nostrils flaring, and pulled against their tethers.

  The two men stood and watched the driven horses gallop on through the woods.

  “He go back to ranch?” asked the Indian about the big bay, who had quickly taken the lead.

  “I shore do hope so. He’s tried to head thet direction each time I take him out,” replied Laramie.

  “Maybe he go,” nodded White Eagle.

  As the three horses disappeared from sight, the two men turned their attention to the other mounts.

  “These fellas broke to saddle?” inquired Laramie as he carried his saddle toward them.

  For the first time, White Eagle laughed. “We see,” was his response, and Laramie guessed they might have a bit of a rodeo show in store.

  Ariana had worked her way through Genesis. When she came to portions that she had not memorized, she filled in accounts with her own version of events. Then she moved on to Exodus—easily recalling many of the stories and even quoting some of the scriptures. She reviewed each of the Ten Commandments, studying thoughtfully each one in a way that she had not troubled to do in the past. On to Leviticus. She found she had a difficult time untangling the laws and rules for living, worship, and sacrifice. Numbers. Deuteronomy. “I’m going to have to study those books more,” she chided. “I haven’t paid close enough attention.”

  She began her mental journey through Joshua, marveling how God led His people to victory time after time—whenever they were walking in obedience.

  Occasionally she stopped to wonder how many days had passed. How many more meals the little store would provide. How long her supply of candles would last. At times fear gripped her and she wanted to scream against the confines of her quarters. Was her present circumstance really that much better than her former state had been? At least in the cabin she had had the blessing of seeing daylight. At least she had known whether it was day or night.

  Then she would determinedly force her thoughts to other things. It would not do for her to get despondent. To give up. She must keep fighting for survival. She must eat her daily rations—must light her candle. And she must fight the urge to stumble her way out of the dark cave and into the sunlight. Her very life depended upon it.

  Laramie chafed with the delay. It wasn’t that he feared for his own safety. White Eagle had led him to a well-hidden spot close to the Indian settlement. It was not likely that the men from the gang would search for him here, and White Eagle had assured him that Indian braves stayed well away from the “place of the angry gods.”

  Still he paced restlessly. Shouldn’t he be on the trail? Shouldn’t he have picked up Ariana and galloped off while the men searched for him in the other direction? What was keeping White Eagle? Had something happened to the young brave?

  It was all Laramie could do to hold his post. His agitation seemed to take hold of his very being. He had never been so troubled before.

  Would Ariana be facing the same doubts? Would she be as restless? As irritated? Would her impatience drive her to do somet
hing foolish?

  Laramie had to hold himself in check. He felt it would be easier to face a herd of stampeding buffalo—a nest of rattlers—than just to sit and wait. At least then he would feel that his destiny, to some measure, was in his own hands.

  Just as he was about to explode from the tension, White Eagle slipped quietly into the little camp.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Terror

  Laramie moved eagerly forward to meet the young Pawnee. “What’s the news?” he asked impatiently.

  White Eagle shook his head, and Laramie feared the word was not good.

  “Red horse not go,” he answered evenly.

  Laramie stopped midstride. “Did they find ’im?” was his next question.

  White Eagle nodded in reply.

  Laramie licked his lips. He felt confused—betrayed by the animal.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “They backtrack—close to village,” responded White Eagle.

  “They think yer people captured us?”

  “Maybe yes,” said White Eagle. “Maybe no.”

  Laramie waited. He was sure White Eagle had more to report.

  “They know Indian not let horse go,” said White Eagle simply.

  Laramie thought on that and then nodded. It was true. The Indians would not have released the horses.

  “So they know it’s a false trail,” he admitted aloud.

  “They wait—just outside village—in draw.”

  “Are they still there?” asked Laramie.

  “Had to tell Father to stop young braves,” went on White Eagle. “They want to raid. Like horses. They wait now.”

  Laramie nodded.

  There was silence as the young men pondered their situation.

  White Eagle spoke. “You want braves attack?” he asked simply.

  Laramie shook his head. He could not utter the order that would surely send the gang members to their death—including his own father. Nor did he wish to cause danger to the Indian braves—though he imagined the chief was having difficulty holding his men in check. They would have welcomed an opportunity to attack the little camp of desperadoes and plunder their supplies and their horses.

  “No. No, don’t attack. We’ll wait.”

  But at the same time he still hated the thought of waiting.

  “One thing more,” said White Eagle thoughtfully.

  Laramie turned to him.

  “One sentry. One. He sits by big rock on hill.”

  Laramie waited.

  “Leaning Tree, brave man. He like big red horse.”

  Laramie still waited patiently.

  At last White Eagle continued. “Leaning Tree will silence sentry. Me take horses.”

  Laramie’s eyes grew serious. “Kill the sentry?” he asked. He wanted no part of killing if there was another way out.

  “Maybe yes. Maybe no,” said White Eagle.

  “Tell him no,” said Laramie. “Take his guns. Leave him tied if you have to.”

  White Eagle looked dubious but nodded. “Leaning Tree not like this….” He shrugged his shoulders when Laramie did not change his mind.

  White Eagle spoke again. “Leaning Tree get big red horse. You—buckskin. Me—rest.”

  Laramie nodded. It would make White Eagle a very wealthy young brave. He would be able to pick from all the maidens of the village.

  “Wait,” said Laramie, raising his hand to show that the deal had not been completed.

  White Eagle watched his face closely.

  “I get back the buckskin—and the roan,” said Laramie, remembering the excitement when he first had put his saddle on the Indian pony White Eagle had provided. “You git yer mustangs back.”

  White Eagle looked amused. Then nodded in agreement. “Come,” he said simply. “I take you to girl.”

  “Now?” Laramie was both surprised and excited.

  “Now. You must be ready to ride tomorrow when horses come.”

  Laramie nodded. It sounded reasonable. After all, the whole gang that sought his hiding place would then be on foot.

  Ariana paced the small hideout. She told herself she had to keep limber—but in truth she knew she was just restless.

  She had been in this hole in the rocks for such a long time. She didn’t know how much longer she could endure it. Even the reciting of scriptures failed to quiet her troubled spirit.

  She walked back and forth—back and forth.

  Now and then her eyes traveled to her little stack of supplies. She had already eaten all the biscuits and the dried fruit. Only pemmican remained. Ariana was not sure just how long she could stretch it out. She was drinking more and more water in order to keep her stomach from gnawing with hunger.

  Her pile of candles was being quickly used up too. Ariana would not let herself think about being left in the dark. She simply would not be able to endure it. She would bolt for sure. But did she know her way out? The young Indian had turned this way and that, selecting one tunnel over another—and he had a lantern. She would get lost in the labyrinth for sure without any light. She might wander forever and never find her way to daylight. The mere idea was more than she could bear.

  “Sleep,” she told herself. “Sleep. Time will pass more quickly. Surely he will come soon. Surely…”

  She checked the candle to make sure it had plenty of burning time left and eased onto the bed of fur. She tucked the blanket firmly about her and closed her eyes. The constant dripping of water distracted her, but she fought against it. She found a hymn whose beat kept time with the dripping and sang it over in her mind. Over and over—until it was almost hypnotic. Finally she drifted off into a troubled sleep.

  Ariana awoke, fighting for full consciousness. Something was wrong. She knew it—but in her state of drowsiness she was unable to reason it through.

  She listened, straining to hear in the darkness. Nothing. Nothing but the soft drip of the seeping water.

  Then if a noise had not disturbed her—what had?

  She groped to pull the blanket more closely about her chin. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

  And then the truth hit her full force. There was no light! Her candle was no longer burning. What had happened? What had put out the flicker of light?

  It took several minutes before Ariana could gather enough courage to reach out in the darkness. The place where the candle had been was just a sticky spot on the wooden holder. She had slept too long. Her candle had burned out.

  “Oh no,” she cried out. “No.” Her voice echoed around her.

  Panic nearly suffocated her. She would never be able to stand it alone in the dark. Never. She wouldn’t be able to find her food. Her water. She’d die. She’d surely die.

  A feeling of total desperation overtook her. She found herself praying that she might die quickly. Then Ariana buried her face in the warm fur, and for the first time since the early days of her capture, she wept uncontrollably.

  “Ya sure we won’t be spotted?” Laramie asked as he followed White Eagle along an unmarked trail.

  “Leaning Tree watch,” replied the brave.

  The answer satisfied Laramie and he picked up the pace. Each man led one of the mustangs, saddles again in place after a struggle to get the horses to accept them. But White Eagle insisted it would be safer for them to walk through the trees rather than to ride. The horses had now quieted to the saddle, but accepting a rider in the saddle would start the battle all over again. They had no time to lose.

  As it was, it was getting dark by the time White Eagle pushed aside a small bramble bush and motioned Laramie into the mouth of a hidden cave.

  They had moved in a short distance when White Eagle stopped and lifted a lantern from a hidden place in the rocks. Silently he lit it and then moved stealthily on.

  Deeper and deeper into the cavern they went, winding first one way and then angling back another. Laramie was counting on his friend to eventually get them to the right place—and to make sure they would find their way
out again.

  They had walked what seemed to be a long way when White Eagle stopped and put a hand to Laramie’s chest.

  “What is it?” Laramie whispered, the hair on the back of his neck lifting eerily.

  “No light,” responded White Eagle.

  “No light?”

  “No candle,” repeated White Eagle.

  Laramie felt his whole body tremble. Had something happened to Ariana? Was the whole effort in vain? He closed his eyes and willed strength back into his body. White Eagle began to move forward again.

  They pushed their way through one last opening and entered a wider hole in the rocks. Laramie could see the pile of furs and blankets in the corner. Were they too late?

  Then the blankets shifted. And she was looking at him, her eyes wide and terrified, pale cheeks stained from the cave dust mingled with her tears. Her hair hung about her shoulders in a tangled mass of uncombed curls, and her face looked gaunt.

  “My candle went out,” she gasped, then with a look like a wild thing, she turned her face back into the furs and began to weep again, her whole body shaking.

  “I had to crawl about in the dark to—” she continued along with the sobs. “I had to—”

  But she could not go on. The two men exchanged glances. One felt as helpless as the other. What could they do to comfort her? How did one reassure a distraught woman? What unspeakable terrors had she experienced in the darkness of the cave?

  It was White Eagle who moved forward, handing the lantern to a stunned Laramie.

  He knelt on the rock floor beside her bed and reached out one hand to her shaking shoulder. “It’s over,” he crooned softly. “Over. Soon you go. Soon. You safe now. Alone no more. Safe now.”

  As he talked he patted her shoulder rather clumsily and pushed back her hair. It reminded Laramie of one gentling a terror-stricken horse. Gradually the words and the human contact brought calm to the frightened girl. The sobs lessened. The shoulders stopped their shaking. Ariana began to fight for control.