A day late again - sorry about that! A new arrival to my home, one of the four-legged and fuzzy variety is responsible for the delay. Many thanks to dreamsofhim for the emergency beta. Any mistakes? All mine, baby.
There are strong references to not-so-nice things in this chapter. Do not read if you are sensitive to such things.
We ride through the desert, heading towards a distant mountain range. The overcast skies have thickened, turning the air damp and cloying. We've passed the town, the mines; I have no idea where the hell we are.
But Red and White knows – he's our leader. We're behind him and the brothers are behind us. My Indian has been quiet the entire trip, the poke in my side always present despite the changes in terrain.
After what seems like hours, we stop to rest at a dry riverbed. One of the brothers approaches and speaks to my Indian. I can't understand one word, so I try to fathom what they're saying by watching their faces and body language.
The brother wants something from my Indian and my Indian is waffling on the decision. Red and White shouts at us and the brother nods. He then grabs me roughly and yanks, pulling me half off the horse. His other arm wraps around me as he tosses me over his shoulder. I yelp when I crash into him and I get a smack on my ass in return.
I try to free myself but the other brother hurries over to help. My arms are pulled behind my back and a scratchy rope is wrapped around them, tightly. Before I know it, I'm dropped to the ground and fighting to regain my balance.
Both brothers laugh as my Indian grumbles indignantly. He clearly did not want for this to happen, but it seems that he was overruled by the majority. One brother starts to taunt the young man, making gestures that seem downright obscene.
This really fuels a fire in the young man. He throws his gun to the ground and charges full bore into the other. The two fall in a heap, rolling and thrashing in the dirt. I use this opportunity to make my way towards the gun. I'm not sure what I can do with it with my hands tied, but right now, I'm willing to try anything.
Red and White is hollering at the two, trying to get them to stop. I inch closer to the abandoned pistol; I'm almost there when Red and White turns and notices me. His expression does not bode well for my immediate future. Neither does his rapid dash for the gun. It's deadly still in his hand as he positions it scant inches from my forehead.
I step away from him, my hands useless in portraying my surrender as they flop against my back. He grabs my shoulder and pulls me to his side, shouting at the fighting men as he does so.
They stop their tumbling and Red and White proceeds to chastise them, shaking me for emphasis and keeping the gun pressed against my ear. He finishes his diatribe and shoves me forward, making me stumble and fall face first. My chin scrapes against the ground and my teeth click loudly as my jaw slams shut.
Ow! I'm fighting back tears when my young Yellow Feathers comes to my side. I am expecting to be kicked, so I brace myself for the impact. But instead he helps me to my feet and snarls nasty words at Red and White. That unpleasant individual growls something back in return as he tugs on the bridle of his horse, leading it down into the riverbed.
Yellow Feathers guides me back to our horse, but instead of mounting, he ties my hands to one of the long lines of the horse's reins. We follow Red and White and the two brothers on foot, the one with the scar now sporting a nasty scrape along his chin that matches my own. Clearly the scar-free brother inherited some restraint and common sense from his parents that the other did not.
We walk across the riverbed and remount. It is awkward for me to ride this way, but my Indian holds onto the rope binding my hands to keep me upright. As we ride further away from civilization and closer to the unknown, I can't help but wonder…Why haven't they killed me yet?
oooooooooo
The sun is low in the sky when we reach a sheltered valley. The mountains are much closer now; I'm assuming they are our final destination. I think longingly of home, of my bed, of Annie and Al and David. What are they doing now? Did Pista return to the barn? Have they sent for help?
I contemplate my odds – they aren't favorable. I have fleeting fantasies of El Vaquero riding to rescue me. In reality, it would be Brass and Nick, or maybe a group of the townsfolk. Thoughts of Greg astride a white stallion send me into a minor giggle fit. Hysteria. I must remain calm.
All four men are setting up camp for the night. I watch from my new location; I'm tied to a gnarled tree trunk. My wrists are still bound, but they've hobbled me as well. A long length of twine connects the rope around my ankles to the tree. I study my captors. All are definitely younger than me, the oldest being Red and White. The three Yellow Feathers must be related and I'm almost sure the brothers are fraternal twins. They are amiable with Red and White, whereas Young Yellow Feathers is not. He seems to keep to himself and he keeps staring at me with a mixture of skepticism and awe.
They talk amongst themselves as they unpack their horses, now tethered to another withered tree on the other side of the camp. The brothers disappear, most likely in search of food or firewood. Yellow Feathers wanders off as well, but in the opposite direction. It's just me and Red and White now. He sits next to a large rock and starts to toy with his knife, carving away slivers of wood from a dead branch. He is eyeing me with an intensity that chills me to the bone.
Reality hits then: a dull thud in the pit of my stomach. They plan to rape me before they kill me. That's why I'm not dead yet.
Fear grips my insides and my head starts its own version of a tornado. Panic-induced nausea floods me as my whole body starts to shake. Dear God, I have to get out of here!
Think. Think. Think. I need to be calm. I need to be rational. Assess the situation and come up with possible solutions.
First things first, I am tired of standing. I try to sit but wind up with my legs folded beneath me and a knobby stump poking into my tailbone. Not the best situation. After some hard-core fidgeting, I make myself comfortable and study the rope attached to my ankles. It's thick and the knot looks pretty serious. I won't be able to untie it with my hands behind my back either.
Red and White is chuckling softly as he whittles down the wood. It is like a timer: as each piece falls to the ground at his feet, he's one step closer to running out of tree branch to keep him occupied. Once he finishes, he'll find something else to do. Something that involves me; something highly unpleasant.
I need to think. What are my options? Well, he'll have to release my ankles if he plans on doing anything serious. When he does, I can kick him. Kick him right where it counts. It'll be tough for him to do anything dangerous after that!
He could cut me with his knife, though. Perhaps I could disarm him – kick him and then when he doubles over, kick again at his hands. Knock the knife away. In fact, if I could get a hold of that knife, I could use it to release my wrists.
Then I could make a dash for one of the horses and ride east. I like this. I'm optimistic about this plan. Positive thoughts, right? Think positive and positive things will happen.
Young Yellow Feathers returns, branches and twigs overflowing in his arms. He's brought the firewood so the twins must be hunting down dinner. The thought of eating raw or barely cooked meat instills another wave of nausea. I doubt these Indians will understand that I can't eat it.
I watch while Yellow Feathers stacks the kindling and starts a small fire. His return seems to have delayed Red and White's progress on his branch, but my initial assumption is confirmed when Red and White walks over to me and drops the branch a few feet in front of me. I scramble to my feet when he approaches. He speaks and I don't need to know the words to know what he's saying.
"We'll finish this later."
My Yellow Feathers hears this and is not pleased. They begin to argue in earnest, with lots of gesturing and pointing at me. Yellow Feathers comes up and stands before me, stating something in a very authoritative voice. I watch him pound his fist against his chest.
Aha. It seems I belong to him. That would be why he's defending me and why he's been watching me so closely. The thought of becoming his slave or whatever they do with white women in Indian society is not appealing. However, this means that he'll keep me from being raped by all of them, right? That's a positive, isn't it?
They are still arguing. Red and White is taunting Yellow Feathers, making what must be extremely offensive gestures because Yellow Feathers is furious. He runs to his horse and reaches in the saddlebag, going for the gun.
Red and White cackles, the sound muted against the snap and crackle of the fire. Yellow Feathers freezes as he and I both realize that the one gun in our party is now in the wrong hands. I didn't see Red and White do it, but he must have taken it from the saddle bag. He reaches behind the rock and there it is – glittery cold in the twilight.
My mind is racing in high gear as Red and White points the gun at Yellow Feather's chest. He says something in a low voice and Yellow Feathers turns his head to me, desperation and anxiety clear in the dark eyes. He looks to Red and White and then back again at me. With great resignation, he backs off and makes the universal gesture of "after you."
Oh shit. Red and White is openly leering at me now, his face twisted in the firelight. Yellow Feathers is still standing by his horse, content to be an observer. A shudder runs through me, straight from the back of my neck to my toes. This is not good at all.
Where are the twins? Why haven't they returned? Would they stand up for their little brother or friend or whatever he is – make sure that his future slave woman is safe?
Red and White still has the gun in one hand. He approaches me slowly, prolonging each step. He's toying with me and I keep visualizing how he's going to release my ankles first, and how I'm going to kick him. I'm going to kick him so hard that his balls will come out his throat. I'm going to kick him again and again. I will not go down without a fight!
He presses the gun against my temple and growls something in that low voice of his. He pushes down hard on my shoulder, forcing me sit like I was before. My legs are folded and crossed; I will have to untwist myself in order to strike. I try to relax and prepare. I'll only have one shot at this.
His fingers make short work of the twine attached to the tree. I'm free but still bound and hobbled. He pushes me on my side and my heart starts to pound when he doesn't untie the rope around my ankles. I know what he's going to do now, and I'm defenseless against him.
I look up at him, tears blurring my vision. "Please," I say, "don't do this."
He sneers down at me, pressing the gun hard into my head. I close my eyes and prepare to do whatever I can to save myself. "Dear God," I pray, "please, please help me!"
A soft swish cuts through the night air and I hear a strange sound above me. I raise my eyes as the pressure against my temple lessens. What I see is nothing short of a nightmare. An arrow is impaled lengthwise through the man's neck, arterial blood spurting off to one side. I try my best to scramble away as his body starts to slump. I hear strange choking noises and realize they are coming from me.
I can only focus on one thing – getting away. Eventually I can go no further and I curl up into myself, shaking. I'm away, I tell myself. It'll be okay. He's dead. Someone killed him.
I look past the fire and see a cluster of men standing off to the side. The Yellow Feather twins are there along with an older Indian. This Indian wears an ornate headband with leather strips hanging down – most of them decorated with large yellow feathers. An authority figure if I ever saw one. He is scowling deeply, the empty bow still in his left hand. Young Yellow Feathers is behind him, looking sheepish and ashamed. And next to them all stands a man in black; a man I recognize.
I sob in relief. El Vaquero has saved me. I don't know how, or who the other Indian is, but they both just saved my life.
He approaches me quickly, severing the bonds around my wrists with a small knife. The glow from the fire adds a soft cast to his covered face, making him less intimidating and more…human.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his palm flat against my cheek as his thumb brushes away a forgotten tear.
I look up at him. "I…"
I can't continue. I'm frozen...spellbound. There's no denying the intensity in his gaze, no denying the emotions I sensed from him but was too stupid to understand. There's no denying him and his damn eyes because I've seen them before – vibrant blue and mysterious as all hell. No wonder I was so attracted to both of them. They're the same man.
His real name passes from my lips before a cacophony of light and pain hurls me into numbing oblivion.