Savage Skies Read online

  Now and then, the sweet child used one of those words herself because she had no idea that it was wrong to speak them. Her papa had said those words. That made it alright in her young mind.

  A tugging at the skirt of Shirleen’s dress brought her out of her deep thoughts.

  She turned and gazed down at her four-year-old daughter Megan. The child’s blue eyes and golden hair had been inherited from her father, while her tininess had come from her mother.

  Shirleen had been married at the age of seventeen and had become with child soon after, while on the grueling trip to Wyoming.

  A small grave had been left beside the road on the day Shirleen’s abused body aborted that first child.

  While their traveling companions were fetching water from a creek, Earl had taken exception to her soft complaint about the heat. He doubled his right hand into a tight fist and hit Shirleen so hard that she had fallen from the wagon, landing on her stomach.

  Within the hour she had aborted the child and had learned what the word hate meant, although she had been taught that hatred was sinful.

  But she had hated Earl from the first time he’d hit her right up until this morning when he had given her the usual punch before setting out for the trading post.

  Their friends had never learned what sort of man Earl was, for he had put on a good show, appearing to be the most thoughtful of husbands while they were around. But he treated Shirleen like a punching bag when they were alone, when he was not lashing her with his horrible belt.

  “Mama, can I go and play with the baby chicks? Can I?” Megan asked, her blue eyes wide as she gazed up at Shirleen.

  Seeing the innocence of her child, Shirleen swept her daughter into her arms. Megan was one of the reasons Shirleen knew she must leave. Earl had never beaten the little girl, but Shirleen had no doubt that he would once Megan was older. She and her daughter must be far away from him before that happened.

  “Oh, how I love you,” Shirleen murmured as she gave Megan a soft hug. “You are all that I have in this world, and I must protect you, darlin’. We are going to leave soon, Megan. We are going on an adventure together. We are going on that adventure today.”

  “Papa not go?” Megan asked, stroking her tiny fingers through her mother’s long, red hair.

  “Papa not go,” Shirleen said, nodding. “But that is alright. We will have fun without him.”

  “Can we take the baby chicks with us?” Megan asked, searching her mother’s eyes.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Shirleen murmured. She fought back the tears that came so easily these past days at the thought of what she must do, and the dangers of doing it.

  They lived in a wild land, where renegade Indians roamed and killed every day.

  But that was the chance she must take in order to survive. She was sure that one day Earl’s meanness would end in her death.

  What then would become of her precious daughter?

  The thought of Megan living alone with such a man as Earl turned her insides cold. He was capable of all sorts of cruelty.

  “But I love the chicks, Mama,” Megan whined. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I love you more, and you are all that I want to take with me on our exciting journey,” Shirleen said, still trying to make the trip ahead sound like fun to her child.

  “Can I go now and play with the chicks?” Megan asked, squirming out of Shirleen’s arms.

  Shirleen pushed herself up to a standing position, placed a hand at the small of her back, which ached from her morning beating, and nodded. “Yes, you can go now and see the baby chicks, but be careful when you pet them,” she said softly. “Like you, they are tiny and fragile.”

  Shirleen walked Megan from the bedroom to the front door of their four-room log cabin.

  “Wait, Megan,” she said. “It’s cool this morning. You’d better wear a wrap.”

  She reached for a sweater she had recently finished knitting for Megan. As Megan had watched, Shirleen had embroidered tiny baby chicks on the upper left side of the sweater.

  She knelt down and placed the sweater on her daughter, securing the top button, then stood and watched Megan run from the house, squealing with delight at the prospect of holding one of the tiny chicks again.

  Not trusting anything her husband did these days, Shirleen peered from the door to check that the front gate was closed so that her daughter could go no farther than the yard.

  She sighed with relief when she saw that Earl had latched the gate.

  Now Shirleen must hurry to finish packing. The time had finally arrived. She was actually going to flee this marriage she so despised.

  These past two days, it had been difficult to find moments to prepare for her departure without Earl becoming aware of it before he left for the trading post.

  But she had managed to prepare a bag of provisions, which included food, clothing, blankets, and other necessities. She had hidden them beneath her bed, ready for the moment when she would leave.

  She knew that she must travel by the fastest means possible in order to get as far as she could before her husband found her missing. Consequently, she had chosen to make her escape on horseback. Using a buggy would slow her down too much.

  She had made a little sack from leather to put her daughter in, which would hang from the side of the horse, while on the other side she would fasten their sack of provisions.

  Breathless now that the moment was finally at hand, Shirleen hurried to the bedroom and fell to her knees beside the bed. Her hand trembled as she reached beneath the bed and pulled the rest of her belongings from beneath it.

  Her heart pounding, she secured a shawl around her shoulders, a bonnet on her head, then gazed at a rifle that she knew she must take with her. Who was to say who or what might become a threat?

  Although she did not know how to fire a rifle, she knew that just having a gun would provide some protection. Most men would leave her alone if she was pointing a rifle at them.

  As for wild animals, she’d just have to pray that she could shoot the rifle well enough to scare them away with the report of the firearm.

  She grabbed it, then stepped out on the porch with Megan’s travel bag and her own, and the sack of provisions.

  She sucked in a deep breath and felt the color drain from her face when she saw that the front gate was no longer closed, but gaping open. She also saw that the baby chicks were running free all over the yard.

  Worst of all, Megan was nowhere in sight!

  Panic filled her, and she dropped her bags and the rifle and ran from the porch, crying Megan’s name.

  Then she almost fainted from fear when more than one flaming arrow flew past her, slamming into the barn, which soon caught fire.

  “Megan!” she screamed as she ran in the direction of the open gate. Sudden whoops and hollers filled the air, while the sound of horses’ hoofbeats rumbled like the thunder of a horrendous summer storm.

  Tears rolled from Shirleen’s eyes at the realization that Megan was gone. Oh, Lord, surely she was dead, and Shirleen was living her own last moments of life.

  Suddenly she stopped, frozen stiff, when the Indians, their faces painted with black and red war paint, rode out of the shadows of a great stretch of trees just beyond her fence.

  She watched, wild-eyed, as their horses leaped over the fence and thundered toward her.

  The last thing she knew was paralyzing fear for Megan. Then a club hit her across the back of her head, rendering her unconscious.

  Behind her, and on past her yard, fires raged as the nearby homes and barns were set afire by the flaming arrows, while people Shirleen had grown to love as much as brothers and sisters fell, one by one, at the hands of the murdering, heartless renegades.

  And then there was silence.

  Chapter Three

  More firm and sure the hand

  Of courage strikes,

  When it obeys the watchful

  Eye of caution.

  —Thomson

>   Blue Thunder and Gray Eyes and Blue Thunder’s warriors rode across the land. They were searching for any signs of the Comanche renegades led by the fierce and fearless Big Nose. These renegades were giving the Comanche people a bad name, leaving a swath of bloodshed behind them wherever they rode. But Blue Thunder had a more personal reason for wanting to hunt them down. He had reason to believe that they might be the ones responsible for the brutal rape and killing of his lovely young wife, Shawnta.

  After Blue Thunder had lost sight of the tracks he had been following, he wasn’t certain where to look for Big Nose. The renegade was known to change his hideout often in order to keep anyone from finding it.

  Blue Thunder and Gray Eyes had agreed that they would ride until dark today, and if they didn’t find Big Nose, they would resume the search tomorrow.

  They were determined not to give up. Blue Thunder would not rest until he knew whether Big Nose was the one who’d killed his wife, and Gray Eyes had vowed to rescue his warriors.

  Suddenly Blue Thunder drew rein and stopped his steed, followed by the others. Ahead, all could see the huge billows of black smoke not far away.

  “There are no villages near here, so what is burning must be a white settlement,” Blue Thunder said. “Hakamya-upo, come. Let us go and see if there are any survivors.”

  They rode hard toward the smoke.

  Soon they discovered three cabins aflame, where settlers had lived in close proximity to each other.

  They rode onward and stopped close to one of the raging fires. The sight that met their eyes made Blue Thunder’s stomach churn with disgust.

  He swallowed hard and looked away from the dead bodies. Those who had came today and ambushed these white people had not stopped at killing the women, but also their children, who lay scattered on the ground.

  And all had been scalped.

  Blue Thunder did not have to take a closer look at the women to know that they had been raped, for their skirts were hiked up past their waists, leaving their lower bodies exposed.

  “There are no men,” Gray Eyes said as he sidled his horse closer to Blue Thunder’s. “The coward renegades took full advantage of the innocent while their men were away.”

  “The men, even the sons, are more than likely at the trading post, unaware of what they will find when they return,” Blue Thunder said, his voice full of loathing for whoever had done this.

  He had to admit that he was not a lover of white people, but he did not hate them enough to kill and ravage their women.

  He had learned to keep his distance from white people, except for those he dealt with at the trading post at Fort Dennison.

  He would only attack whites if they attacked him first.

  If at all possible, he avoided war.

  “This is the work of Big Nose,” Blue Thunder announced. He shook his head. “And it seems he has gotten careless this time. The cabins and barns are still burning, so he cannot be far from here.”

  “Ho, that is so,” Gray Eyes said, smiling smugly. “Let us follow the tracks. We shall surely find him soon.”

  Blue Thunder dismounted.

  He studied the various tracks, and then followed some to a fence that had been ripped out of the ground. From there, many tracks of both horses and people on foot came together.

  He looked quickly over at Gray Eyes. “He has taken captives,” he said, frowning. “Perhaps that is why we saw no white men. They have all surely been taken captive.”

  “The horses from all three homesteads are missing,” said Proud Horse, one of Blue Thunder’s most loyal warriors, as he ran up to him.

  “And so they not only took captives as their spoils of war, but also mitasunkes, horses.” Blue Thunder nodded. “I would have thought they would only want mitasunkes. Taking captives is unwise, for it will not only awaken more hatred against the red man, but it will also slow Big Nose down.”

  Gray Eyes bent to a knee and studied the footprints. “Ho, the white captives are made to walk, not ride,” he reported. “That will slow the renegades.”

  “He has made one mistake after another today,” Blue Thunder said. He slowly kneaded his chin. “I wonder if it is on purpose. Or has he finally made an unwise decision?”

  “Why would he do this on purpose?” Gray Eyes asked, slowly standing.

  “He might want to lure those who will follow into a trap so that he can have more captives,” Blue Thunder suggested. “I think it is time that his plans are foiled, no matter what they may be.”

  Blue Thunder turned and gazed again at the death and destruction all around him. He swallowed hard as his gaze fell upon the dead women.

  He went to the first one and then another and lowered the skirts of their dresses over their nakedness, trying to give them some dignity in death.

  He then ran to his horse and leaped onto its back. “Let us ride!” he shouted, a fist in the air.

  He lowered his fist and gave Gray Eyes a slow smile. “Today we will not only find the white survivors, but also the warriors who were taken from your village,” he said.

  Gray Eyes nodded, his eyes filled with flame; then they rode off, side by side, with Blue Thunder’s warriors following behind them.

  As they rode off, the smoke still spiraled into the sky, and Blue Thunder looked over his shoulder at the devastation left behind by a demon who had no heart, and surely no soul.

  “Big Nose, I know you did this. I will find you and you will pay for your heartless ways, not only toward whites, but to all,” he whispered to himself.

  He looked straight ahead, the renegades’ tracks leading him onward. The sun was now making lengthy shadows of the trees, and the cool breeze of late afternoon had sprung up.

  His jaw was set tight in his determination to find Big Nose. The other times he had searched for him, his efforts had been in vain.

  But today?

  Ho, today, he felt confident that Big Nose had become careless, careless enough to finally be stopped!

  Chapter Four

  All’s to be fear’d,

  Where all is to be lost.

  —Byron

  The sun beat down on Shirleen, almost blinding her as she walked wearily along with the other captives. They were all roped together in a long line, being led by renegades on horseback.

  As the shadows of evening began to lengthen, Shirleen realized that the air was growing cooler. She worried now what the night would bring. Once the sun went down, temperatures plummeted, and often in the morning there were thick patches of frost atop everything.

  When she had fallen to the ground after being hit over the head, her shawl and bonnet had fallen away from her. If she didn’t die at the hands of these terrible renegades, the cold of night might take her life.

  She looked ahead of her, and then behind her. She was the only survivor of the ambush. All of her friends had been murdered. She was now a captive, tied to a long length of rope with several Indian warriors who were captives as well.

  Shirleen felt lucky to be alive and wondered why her life had been spared, but she could not help shuddering at the thought of what might lie ahead for her. She had seen how many of the renegades gazed hungrily at her. She expected to be raped when they stopped for the night.

  And after they raped her, would she be killed? She would want to die of shame, yet she must live. She had her daughter to consider.

  She turned her eyes straight ahead, her mind filled with thoughts that filled her with despair.

  Megan!

  Where was she?

  Who was she with?

  She knew Megan wasn’t with the renegades, or she would have seen her.

  So how had Megan gotten out of the fence? Shirleen had most definitely seen that it was closed when she allowed Megan to go outside to see the baby chicks.

  Did that mean that although it had appeared to be shut, it really wasn’t?

  Oh, surely her husband hadn’t latched it properly and her daughter had wandered out just prior to the Indian attack
and was even now alone in the woods.

  Or had the Indians come silently at first and stolen Megan away, and then made their attack?

  But Shirleen didn’t see how that was possible. She had not seen her daughter with any of the Indians. That had to mean that even now Megan might be wandering alone, scared, and helpless.

  The pain in the back of Shirleen’s head, where the Indian had struck her with his war club, was almost unbearable.

  But she did feel fortunate to be alive. The other women and children, her friends, had perished, and worse than that: She had awakened to a gruesome scene she would never forget . . . a scene of rape and scalping.

  She had to get hold of herself and stop thinking about what had passed, and think of what would be. She must think about survival. She must think about her daughter’s well-being.

  And she could not help thinking about her feet. Oh, Lord, how they ached from walking so far, and she knew she surely had much farther to go before reaching these heathens’ hideout.

  There was only one hope that kept Shirleen sane: Surely someone would come along and see what was happening and try to stop the renegades!

  Of course she knew that if someone did intervene, the chances were good that she would die during the ensuing battle. And not only she, but the other captives as well.

  Truly puzzled that one red man would steal another red man, Shirleen looked over her shoulder at the captive Indians.

  She noticed that many of them were scarred by smallpox and recalled how not long ago there had been an outbreak of the disease in the area.

  When word had arrived that the deadly illness had struck the trading post, she and Earl and their friends had avoided going there for over a year.

  Earl’s current trip to the post was the first since they’d stopped their visits because of the smallpox. All the families in their small settlement were in dire need of necessities and had no choice now but to go and get the needed supplies.

  Word had finally arrived that it was safe now to trade there.

  It seemed the true danger had lain in staying home. No doubt the renegades had watched the men depart, leaving their families defenseless, and had waited long enough to make sure they would not return before attacking.