Chapter Three

The call of the crow preceded the sentry's sudden appearance on the trail. Ponies whinnied, tossed their heads and pranced as the warriors rode into the encampment. Despite the terror gripping her, Cesca took note of her new surroundings. Several hundred tipis sat a short distance from the banks of the Platte River. Arranged in a large circle, their openings faced east. Across the river, mountains held up the sky, the same lofty peaks she'd grown to adore since arriving in this rugged country.

A forest protected the lodges, a blend of chokecherry, cottonwood, ponderosa pine and blue spruce. At their feet, dense bracken of juniper, buck brush, and sumac rustled in the breeze. Similar to the vegetation around Denver City, wild grass sprouted from the earth—wheatgrass, prairie and bunch. The familiar terrain brought her comfort. When the opportunity for escape came, she and Marsh wouldn't be traversing an entire state.

A throng of bronze faces surrounded the braves and their mounts, their undulating echoes of triumph chilling Cesca to the bone. She offered Marsh a false, encouraging smile. He made a feeble attempt to return a grin, but she knew he quaked with fear. The riders split off at the center of the village. Her captor headed for a tipi straight ahead and Choking Wolf veered to the left.

"Where are they taking Marsh?" She couldn't squelch the panic in her voice. The thought of him out of her sight made her nauseous.

"Choking Wolf will decide."

"What do you mean?" She fought an overwhelming urge to jump from the horse. "What will they do with my brother?"

Stopping his beast before a symbolic-painted tipi, he slid from the mount and dragged her from the saddle. "Have you no fear for yourself, little one?"

In a dizzy frenzy from the pounding in her head, she collapsed against his chest. "Please, I must know what will happen to Marsh."

He led her toward the flap of the tipi and prodded her in with a firm push between her shoulder blades. Through a smoky haze, Cesca spied an elderly woman huddled near the fire. The native with the long silver plaits glanced in her direction, her wrinkled face void of expression.

Her captor spoke to the woman before turning to her again with icy reserve. "Hear me well. Do not leave this lodge. Brown Wing will bring you food and water."

Then he left through the flap of the tipi again.

The moment he left the lodge, the old woman pointed to the ground across from the fire. Her cue she'd been invited to sit. Cesca sank to her knees with an exasperated sigh and watched the stranger fill a bowl with a concoction resembling stew. The woman rose, walked around the fire and handed her the food and a gourd of water.

Too distraught to eat, Cesca picked at the meal, sloshed down the water, and took mental inventory of the tipi. A shallow hole had been dug into the earth in the center of the lodge. Above it, a layering of stones supported a stack of charred wood. Smoke curled upward and drifted out an opening overhead. A collection of dried roots and herbs hung from a rope on one wall, their pungent aromas not altogether unpleasant.

The old woman pilfered a handful of stems and stalks from the reserve and tossed a pinch or two into the fire. Aside from the strong scent of burning wood, Cesca detected a faint aroma of cherry and possibly lemon.

A sleeping berth of fresh pine boughs and animal pelts graced one corner. To her right, a pile of clothing and two leather pouches filled up a ledge above the bed. They resembled saddle bags painted in bright designs of green, red and yellow. Cattail mats canvassed the hard earth to keep the cold from seeping through. Much to her surprise, the floor wasn't drafty or uncomfortable. The absence of weapons in the lodge led her to believe the woman lived alone. She swallowed hard. Dare she hope the demon who brought her here had relinquished her now?

Drawing her inspection to an end, a series of questions left Cesca's lips. "Where am I? How many miles to the nearest white man's town? What's the name of the mad man who brought me here?"

The woman's placid expression annoyed her.

"Do you speak English?"

A toothless grin curled the woman's lips.

Intent on finding her brother, Cesca jumped up and headed for the entrance.

"You not hear so good."

Startled, she whirled around. "So you do speak English?"

"Many years ago, I wife of white trapper. Is silly talk."

"I'm ecstatic to hear that, but where am I?"

"With Tsitsistas."

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, and immediately wished she hadn't. The less she knew about her fate right now, the better. She had to reunite with her brother. "Oh, never mind. Do you know where Choking Wolf stays?"

"Everyone in village know where tipi is. Know where I Am The Wind's lodge, too."

"I Am The Who?"

"I Am The Wind. Man owns you now. People call him Meko."

Dread rumbled in her belly. "Owns me? What do you mean?"

"You belong to him now. Will do what he want with you."

She couldn't allow the meaning of the old woman's words to sink in, thought only of finding Marsh before it was too late. She closed her eyes against the vision of bloody scalps. "Listen, Little Wing, I must find my brother."

"Brown Wing."

"Broken Wing, Blue Wing . . .." With hands on hips, she paced before the entrance.

Perceptive eyes pierced her with a glare. "No make fun of name."

"Brown Wing, I'm sorry." Cesca curtailed her anger. This woman wasn't to blame for her kidnapping. "I have to find Marsh."

"Why you dress like boy?" Bushy brows wiggled above the dark eyes. "You no want Meko to see tits?"

She stuttered. "I—I don't want to be ravished by the likes of your maniacal chief."

"Meko not chief. He leader of Dog Soldier."

"I don't care if he's the leader of a vicious pack of wolves. I want to know where they took my brother!" The savage's words tumbled through her brain, 'Hear me well; do not leave this lodge.'

The old woman fumbled through a pile of clothing on a nearby ledge. "White woman wear this." She thrust a doeskin shirt and a pair of pants toward her.

"I will not!" Cesca hugged her elbows. "I'm comfortable in my own attire, thank you very much." Resuming her frantic gait, a thought struck her. "Who is your chief?"

"Black Kettle."

"Fine, I'll speak to him." Seized with determination to find her brother she pressed on. "Will you take me to him?"

"He no here. No live with Dog Soldier."

"Dog Soldier again."

Cesca pressed her lips together to control her burgeoning apprehension. She tried to recall the horror stories she'd heard about the Dog Soldiers. If she had any god-given sense, she should be worried about herself. She prodded her memory while pacing. Didn't they massacre a wagon train west of Denver City two months ago? Hadn't they slaughtered another group of settlers on their way to Fort Lyon last week? Sweet Mother of Jesus, didn't the newspaper claim they were the most feared Indian of the Plains? Even among their enemies? Heaven help her and Marsh!

The woman's words interrupted her paralyzing thoughts. "Best not know what happen to brother now."

Cesca stopped in mid-flight. "What do you mean, what are they about?"

"He run gauntlet."

"Oh, Lucifer, run the gauntlet!" She nearly choked on the words. "He's only a young boy, will never live through the ordeal."

Her heart pounding against her ribs, Cesca bolted from the tipi and sprinted through the village. A crowd had gathered up ahead, and soon she passed a group of elders hobbling toward the excitement. Recognizing a foreign presence in their territory, camp dogs nipped at her heels, but she ignored them and focused on the mass of people ahead.

Onward she ran, calling out for Marsh before a moccasin caught her ankle. She tumbled through the air and hit the hard ground with a heavy thud. Gasping for breath, she scrambled to her knees and peered at the circle of maidens surrounding her. As if Moses had parted the sea with his mighty staff, the masses scattered. And from the center of the circle a tall, buxom girl walked forth. Cesca clawed her way to her feet amid a chorus of snickers.

The woman rounded her several times and then poked her chest with a pudgy finger. Unmitigated rage simmered up Cesca's chest. If this woman, or anyone else, meant to keep her from her brother they'd sorely misjudged her determination. The maiden grabbed a length of her hair and yanked so hard tears sprang to her eyes.

Cesca charged. Bodies tumbled to the ground with a jarring thump, arms and legs fought to gain to the upper hand. Cheers of encouragement from the agitated crowd filtered to Cesca through a tunnel. She thought of what she'd lost this morning, and thought of Marsh's fate.

Lacking experience in fisticuffs, she'd have to rely on her wits and speed to beat a woman twice her size. Clenched knuckles slammed into Cesca's mouth. She returned the punch with every ounce of her strength and pinned the woman to the ground. Warm, sticky blood trickled down Cesca's chin, fueling her anger. She raised her fist again, ready to deliver another blow to the woman's face when an iron arm seized her about the waist.

She struck at her new opponent with a series of well-placed blows before her arms were pinned to her sides by brute strength. Raising her head, she looked into the face of her enemy. Meko's steel-gray eyes gleamed hard and cold.

A huff of pain left her lips when he clutched her wrist, so hard she thought he might break it. She counted off the seconds, waiting for the blow from his raised fist. A hush settled over the crowd, and after a few guttural words from him, the women disappeared. He turned his attention to her again, his tone ruthless. "You stupid little fool. I told you to stay in the lodge!"

"I couldn't." She fought back tears. "I must find my brother." The white line around his pinched lips sent a shudder through her, but then she thought of Marsh.

"You want to see your brother?"

She nodded. "Please."

"You shall have your wish." Grabbing her by the wrist again, he dragged her behind him.

The noisy masses parted and a thousand eyes followed him lugging her behind him. At the front of the crowd, women and youthful members of the tribe formed two parallel lines. The heavy sticks and branches in their hands told her a sinister event would unfold soon.

Cesca scanned the crowd for Marsh. Choking Wolf emerged from a lodge at the far end of the village. Behind the fiendish man, tethered at the neck by a leather thong, walked her beloved brother.

To her left, a rumble of drumbeats split the air, the sound sonorously ominous. A hawk screeched above the treetops, dipped in the sky, and flew over the crowd; another omen evil would descend soon. Every muscle in her body tensed when she looked at Marsh.

Choking Wolf removed the strap and pointed to a lodge at the end of the long columns. The crowd fell silent when the warrior held his hand in the air.

Beat . . . beat . . .beat.

The thump of the drums constricted her chest. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she fought against the grip on her wrist. Dressed in a breechcloth, leggings and moccasins, Marsh pulled his shoulders back and faced the heathens. His eyes found hers. He offered a shrug and his lips moved. Dear, God, had he mouthed the words I love you?

She pummeled the dark warrior's chest with her free hand, the words falling from her lips. "I hate you! Let me go! He's only a boy!"

Meko's hold tightened. The drum roll ceased and the air hissed with whistles and hoots from the warriors on the sidelines. "A'evo'oh! A'evo'oh!"

"Sweet Mother of Jesus!" She clasped a hand to her mouth. "What are they shouting?"

A dispassionate voice answered her. "Knock him down, knock him down."

Swish . . . swish . . . swish.

The women and children raised the sticks and branches above their heads. Marsh dropped into a crouch, rays of sunshine glimmering off his sandy locks. Choking Wolf lowered his hand and Marsh sprinted down the line. Cesca covered her ear with one hand and screamed with every chunk of wood that connected to his tender flesh.

A lean-muscled youth blocked Marsh's path, the twisted branch in his hand swaying with the drumbeat. Seized by a powerful momentum, Marsh knocked the boy aside, pressed onward, and shielded his face with his arms. Raised welts and cuts appeared on her brother's naked skin and oozed streams of crimson. Overcome by lightheadedness, Cesca sagged against Meko's shoulder.

He pulled her upright and forced her head forward. "If he can endure, so must you."

Blood trickled from Marsh's forehead, ran into his blue eyes from a large gash above his brow, yet onward he sprinted, lunging left-to-right, parrying their blows. The crowd went wild, their arms flailing above their heads. "Hi ni ho nanóse'hame! Hi ni ho nanóse'hame!

Amid Cesca's fervent prayers, over and again the words rang in the air. She heard a high, piercing scream. Hers? "God, please help him! Are they calling for his death?"

"No, little one," Meko said. "They admire his bravery. 'Her brother has the courage of a mountain lion,'" they shout.

In unison they dropped their switches and broke into a chant. "Hi ni ho Nanóse'hame! Hi ni ho Nanóse'hame!"

Marsh stood before Choking Wolf, his head bowed, his body a mass of bloody wheals and bruises. He turned to her, his youthful face breaking into a smile. He'd run the gauntlet and survived. Cesca wanted to go to him, take him in her arms and protect him from all this lunacy, but Meko pulled her from the scene and dragged her back to the lodge.

Brown Wing stood outside the tipi, her eyes narrowed. "She no listen to old woman. I tell her, 'you no run'. She heap of trouble."

Meko pushed her toward the entrance of the lodge, dropping his stern voice while addressing Brown Wing. "Wash her face and I'll return to deliver her punishment."

"Look like she already punished. What happened to lip?"

"She met Black Bonnet."

Brown Wing grabbed her elbow and ushered her into the tipi, clucking about her like a frantic hen. "You learn now. Meko very mad for disobey."

Cesca sank to the ground and stared at the fire. "He's an oppressor, a savage beast who preys on women and children. I hate him!"

The old woman's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Black Bonnet no hate him."

Cesca thrust her chin out. "Oh, her. She won't bother me again. Her black eye matches her hair now."

"How little one fight big woman like Black Bonnet?"

"I'm not afraid of her or anyone else in this camp." Tears welled in her eyes again. "When you lose everything, you no longer care if you live or die."

"What about Nanóse'hame."

"Who?"

"Brother?"

"Don't call him by that pagan name!" She spat the words. "His name is Marshall, Marshall DuVall."

"He fearsome little Mountain Lion now. Brown Wing hear them shout."

"Why weren't you there?"

"Is silly custom." She shook her head, setting her gray plaits in motion. "Old women and children chase boy with sticks."

"Oh, leave me alone." Cesca wailed her despair. "I need to rest."

Brown Wing cleaned her face with a cool cloth and pointed to the bed of fresh pine boughs. "You sleep now. When Meko come back, need your strength."

Cesca sucked in a small gasp and remembered his promise to return for her punishment. Rising to her feet, she shuffled to the makeshift bed. Unable to sleep, her mind raced over the day's events. She wanted to see Marsh. Visions of him running the gauntlet stormed through her mind and pride swelled her heart. She closed her eyes and trembled. How would the dark warrior punish her when he returned to the tipi?