Read Online Bill Dugan_War Chiefs 04 by Quanah Parker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Quanah Parker
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thehands holding her relax a little. They lay there, spread on her back with the fingers splayed wide enough to balance her. If the Indian thought she meant to escape, he showed no sign, and she thought about trying to wriggle free.
To do that, though, she would have to open her eyes, and she didn’t want him to know. Letting her head hang and wobble, as if she had fallen asleep, she tried just peeking, but all she could see was a blur a couple of feet beneath her, where the carpet of pine needles flashed by, little spouts of brittle needles geysering with every hoofbeat. That was good, because the needles would cushion her fall.
But wriggling from even so casual a grasp would not be easy. She sensed that without really thinking about it. She might have to grab hold of something to pull herself free, maybe a tree limb or a sturdy vine. But she would have to choose carefully, because she knew she would get only that one chance. Once the Indian knew she meant to escape, he would be much more careful. And the more she thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that she might succeed. If she found just the right branch, at just the right height, she might be able to grab on, but that would throw her back into her captor, and he would react immediately, grabbing her with both hands. And it would probably make him angry. Instinctively, she seemed to know that if she were going to survive this terrible ordeal, the most important thing was to make no trouble,none at all. The less attention she called to herself, the better her chances of living long enough to find a way to escape.
Then, when she thought about John, the idea of leaving him seemed an impossible thing to do. He would be terrified as it was, and she would have to help him. If she stayed, maybe they could find a way to get away together. But John would never be able to escape on his own. He wouldn’t know how to go about it, and even if he found a chance, he would be too scared to take it.
No, it was better for both of them if she waited. The longer she stayed still, the more careless the Indian would become. Maybe. And if she was right, and he dropped his guard, maybe then she could get away, tugging John by the hand the way she dragged him home to supper.
She could see the trees flashing by her, and as she watched, her eyes bare slits, she realized the forest was thinning. They were reaching the edge of it, she thought, maybe going back to the fort. Maybe it was all a joke, maybe the Indian was taking her back, and her father would be waiting at the gate, laughing, tears rolling down his cheeks at such a great trick. Granny would be there, too, her hair pinned up again, a big bowl of bread pudding on the table, with brown sugar sprinkled all over it, just the way she liked it.
Maybe that was it. She allowed herself to relax a little at the thought, not quite believingit, but not wanting not to believe it, either. It would be …
But it was too hard to think that way. It was no joke. She knew that, deep down inside. And finally, she allowed herself to open her eyes wide. She turned her head then, partly to protect her face from the lashing pine branches and partly to sneak a look at the Indian.
She saw that his face was painted with red and yellow, and that his eyes were narrowed against the pines and the swarms of gnats that swirled around them. The broad nose was bridged with the garish paint, and his lips were set somewhere between a smile and a snarl.
And she screamed again. The sound went on and on in her own ears, and she thought it would never stop.
Unable to close her eyes, she saw him glance at her, then felt one firm hand pat her back as if she had hiccups. He said something she didn’t understand, and nodded as if to reassure her that he meant what he said.
Suddenly the sky exploded and there was sunlight all around her. It took her a moment to realize that they had come out of the forest and she tried to raise her head to look around. The dark
To do that, though, she would have to open her eyes, and she didn’t want him to know. Letting her head hang and wobble, as if she had fallen asleep, she tried just peeking, but all she could see was a blur a couple of feet beneath her, where the carpet of pine needles flashed by, little spouts of brittle needles geysering with every hoofbeat. That was good, because the needles would cushion her fall.
But wriggling from even so casual a grasp would not be easy. She sensed that without really thinking about it. She might have to grab hold of something to pull herself free, maybe a tree limb or a sturdy vine. But she would have to choose carefully, because she knew she would get only that one chance. Once the Indian knew she meant to escape, he would be much more careful. And the more she thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that she might succeed. If she found just the right branch, at just the right height, she might be able to grab on, but that would throw her back into her captor, and he would react immediately, grabbing her with both hands. And it would probably make him angry. Instinctively, she seemed to know that if she were going to survive this terrible ordeal, the most important thing was to make no trouble,none at all. The less attention she called to herself, the better her chances of living long enough to find a way to escape.
Then, when she thought about John, the idea of leaving him seemed an impossible thing to do. He would be terrified as it was, and she would have to help him. If she stayed, maybe they could find a way to get away together. But John would never be able to escape on his own. He wouldn’t know how to go about it, and even if he found a chance, he would be too scared to take it.
No, it was better for both of them if she waited. The longer she stayed still, the more careless the Indian would become. Maybe. And if she was right, and he dropped his guard, maybe then she could get away, tugging John by the hand the way she dragged him home to supper.
She could see the trees flashing by her, and as she watched, her eyes bare slits, she realized the forest was thinning. They were reaching the edge of it, she thought, maybe going back to the fort. Maybe it was all a joke, maybe the Indian was taking her back, and her father would be waiting at the gate, laughing, tears rolling down his cheeks at such a great trick. Granny would be there, too, her hair pinned up again, a big bowl of bread pudding on the table, with brown sugar sprinkled all over it, just the way she liked it.
Maybe that was it. She allowed herself to relax a little at the thought, not quite believingit, but not wanting not to believe it, either. It would be …
But it was too hard to think that way. It was no joke. She knew that, deep down inside. And finally, she allowed herself to open her eyes wide. She turned her head then, partly to protect her face from the lashing pine branches and partly to sneak a look at the Indian.
She saw that his face was painted with red and yellow, and that his eyes were narrowed against the pines and the swarms of gnats that swirled around them. The broad nose was bridged with the garish paint, and his lips were set somewhere between a smile and a snarl.
And she screamed again. The sound went on and on in her own ears, and she thought it would never stop.
Unable to close her eyes, she saw him glance at her, then felt one firm hand pat her back as if she had hiccups. He said something she didn’t understand, and nodded as if to reassure her that he meant what he said.
Suddenly the sky exploded and there was sunlight all around her. It took her a moment to realize that they had come out of the forest and she tried to raise her head to look around. The dark
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