CHAPTER ELEVEN
They rode upon only his horse, a black-and-white-spotted stallion. Her own pony, Black Slippers, had been pressed into service as the pack pony and was keeping time with the stallion. Strikes Fast must have secured the pony at the fort, where Sharon had left her. It was the only explanation for Black Slippers to be here.
Sharon, sitting behind Strikes Fast, placed her arms around his waist to keep from falling off the animal. Apparently, both horse and pony had been waiting for them, Strikes Fast having hobbled the animals away from the fight.
And, because the animals had been hobbled, both stallion and pony had not been able to wander too far from where Strikes Fast had left them. It had then been easy to find them, mount quickly and ride away from the scene of the fight with all possible speed. And, as they rode fast across the brown and dry prairie, it seemed to Sharon as if Satan himself were after them. Perhaps he was.
They rode at a dizzying pace, racing across the prairie through the rest of the night. And, from the many constellations of stars above her, Sharon could distinguish their direction; it was in a northeasterly direction, and she could clearly see a mountain range ahead of them, though, at this distance from it, she could barely distinguish its peaks.
Was the attacking Indian party hot upon their trail? Was this why she and Strikes Fast were riding as though the Hounds of Hades were after them?
Hopefully, no one was following them. But, if not, why were they riding so furiously, and without any breaks?
She didn't stir, nor did she speak, if only because she dared not disturb this man who was using every ounce of his strength and intellect to bring them both to safety, if they were, after all, being followed. But, her rear end and buttocks were so sore, she felt as if she couldn't continue to keep her seat for much longer. However, knowing her pain was a small price to pay for their freedom, she simply placed her arms more securely around Strikes Fast's waist and rested her head against his bare back, even though the many bags around his shoulders and his quiver full of bow and arrows made indentations in her clothing.
Oddly, her dark-green cape streamed out behind her, the sight of it strangely pretty as it waved in the wind. How odd it was to notice the beauty of an article of clothing in this, their bid to escape the scene of a fight. Yet, strange though it might have been, an unusual sort peacefulness was settling within her.
And, why shouldn't she feel a little harmony? She was with Strikes Fast, and, whether they were to live or to die, she would be with him. The thought was enlightening and brought her a shred of hope.
They rode on through the morning, and the sun was high when they reached the foothills of the mountains; within little time, they came to a deep coulee. It was their first change of scenery from the brown and seemingly endless prairie they had been racing across.
The way to the bottom of the coulee, however, was hampered by a range of thin shale upon the rocks. Being composed of layers of minerals and fine mud that split apart at the touch of a foot, Sharon was for turning back and finding another way into the coulee. Strikes Fast, however, merely dismounted and reached up to bring her to the ground, as well.
Looking at the slippery nature of the way down and fearing what might happen were they to fall, Sharon signed, "Is there another safer way down into the canyon?"
"Maybe," returned Strikes Fast in sign. "But, Cree warriors cannot easily follow us here. This is the best way to the bottom. Follow me."
Cree warriors? Were they being followed, after all? All Sharon did, however, was nod.
With one careful step after another, Strikes Fast led the two ponies down the slippery cover of fine shale, until, almost to the bottom of the coulee, they all four suddenly lost their footing and began their slide to the base of the sharp-pitched slope, almost in a free fall.
Having yet another twenty or thirty feet to the bottom of the coulee, and, because the slope was at an almost vertical slant, when the free fall began, Sharon feared they would not live through it. But, when Strikes Fast reached out to place an arm around her shoulders and steadied her, she felt safe, if only because he was there beside her.
Anything could have happened; landing with a twisted foot or with a leg slightly turned could have caused a serious injury, allowing the war party at their rear to come upon them and do their worst. But, none of these fears materialized.
Instead, both their horses landed surefootedly, as did Strikes Fast. And, with his arm wrapped carefully around her, she came to no injury, also.
Turning his gaze toward her, he looked at her with a critical eye and questioned with sign, "Are you injured?"
She smiled up at him and shook her head. With sign, she said, "Except for several sore places on my body, as well as my torn dress, I am well, I think."
He nodded, and, with a quick sign, said, "Stay here," and he paced toward his stallion and her pony, where he squatted next to them one at a time and rubbed his hands up and down each one of the horses' legs, and then all over their bodies. And, as he did so, Sharon watched the tender care and love he showered upon each animal.
Gazing toward them, Sharon felt herself fall even more deeply in love with this man. How could she have not realized until now the intensity of the love she felt for him? And, even with the full realization of what he meant to her, how was she to tell him?
At last, as though he were satisfied with the well being of her and both of the ponies, Strikes Fast took hold of the ponies' buckskin reins, one in each hand. Then, taking the lead, he guided the ponies and her to the eastern wall of the coulee on their right, heading north.
Strikes Fast kept his path close to the coulee's wall where there was an occasional cover of trees. And, although they did not stop to catch their breath, Sharon was at least given the chance to stretch her legs. Soon, after pacing past a slight bend in their path, a stream came rushing by from an opening in the bluff above and west of them. The stream's current was furious, as though it were urgently needed at some distant rendezvous.
Turning back toward her, Strikes Fast signed, "Stay here where there is tree covering while I water the horses. Do not follow me. There are enemies who still follow us, and, although I have crossed my trail many times, this trick does not fool a wise tracker."
She nodded. "Why is the war party being so persistent in coming after us?"
He merely shrugged. "They are Cree. I am Crow and also Pikuni. They are enemies of both tribes. They think I present them with an easy chance to take a Crow or a Pikuni scalp. They know not which tribe I am because my moccasins are Pikuni made, but they have seen I am Crow."
"How would they know you are Crow if your moccasins are Pikuni?" she signed.
"The style in which I wear my hair is Crow. They have seen me. They know."
