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Laughing to himself, he couldn’t get over being this lucky! He had built his cabin not that far from the mountains upon which he had left a massacre during the Civil War.
But never would he have guessed that the Indian of his past, the Indian who had wounded him during the Civil War, lived among those Indians.
He had not realized this until today—until he had seen Dancing Cloud and Lauralee come from the path that led down from the mountain.
He laughed into the air. He now had a way to finally get back at the damn Injun. This woman. She would be the way to repay the Injun for burdening him with a wooden leg for the rest of his life.
“He’ll never see her again,” Clint grumbled to himself.
He rode hard through the forest, ignoring Lauralee’s moans behind him.
* * *
Pierre kept Dancing Cloud occupied by talking in his rapid way of speaking in his mixed language of French, English, and Cherokee, while Dancing Cloud unloaded his bags on the Frenchman’s counter. The cabin was rich with the smell of leather, bear skins, and raccoon pelts, and countless other items that had been brought to the Frenchman for trade. A lone lantern lit the dark cabin, a cat snoozed near the fireplace where a lazy fire sent off a soft glow.
“Did you say you had a lady with you today?” Pierre asked, raising his eyebrows and peering toward the door. He twisted the ends of his narrow black mustache as he looked back at Dancing Cloud. “Where is she, this woman?”
Dancing Cloud’s eyes widened. A warning shot through him as he turned on a heel and looked toward the door.
He saw nothing.
He heard nothing.
The dog?
Lauralee?
Where were they?
He ran from the cabin. He stopped and gazed around him, his right hand going to the pistol holstered at his waist.
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“She is where?” Pierre asked, coming from the cabin. He scratched his brow. “And my dog? He is gone also.”
Now knowing for certain that something had happened to Lauralee, Dancing Cloud mounted his horse in one leap. His pistol held poised in one hand, he flicked his reins with the other and backtracked.
When he saw the dog lying in the path, lifeless, with a knife in its shoulder, his insides ran cold. Someone had knifed the dog. Someone had abducted Lauralee!
The heavy Frenchman came huffing and puffing on his horse, then emitted a loud shriek when he discovered his dog. He dismounted and fell to his knees beside the German shepherd. He cradled the dog’s head on his lap.
“He is not dead,” Dancing Cloud said, shouting over his shoulder as he rode away. “Remove the knife. See to the wound. He will be all right.”
“But what of your woman?” Pierre cried after Dancing Cloud.
Not knowing the answer, and hell-bent on finding Lauralee, Dancing Cloud’s jaw tightened. He knew that he could not follow any tracks that would lead him to Lauralee. There were too many tracks going in too many directions. His only hope was that he had not waited too long to discover her gone.
* * *
Clint wheeled his horse to a shuddering halt before his cabin. He slid clumsily out of his saddle, cursing his wooden leg as it again failed to cooperate with him, then looped his horse’s reins around a hitching rail. He could feel the eyes of his wife on him as she stood at the door. He ignored her presence.
With trembling, eager fingers he untied Lauralee from the horse. She was awake now. He smiled into her wide, fearful eyes as he carried her toward the cabin.
“What have you done?” Soft Wind asked, her voice shrill and afraid. “Who is that? Why have you brought her here?”
Clint brushed brusquely past her. He carried Lauralee to his bed and threw her on it.
Soft Wind ran to him and clutched at his arm. “Why are you doing this?” she cried. “Why would you bring this woman to our house? You have never done this before. Please let her go.”
