Only The Strong

direction.

“What are you looking at?”

For a few anxious seconds Winona thought he was talking to her. She was on the verge of replying when Emala answered him.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I don’t care. Quit staring at me. Turn the other way or I’ll come over there and kick your ribs in.”

“Is it me or my skin you dislike so much?”

“I’ve never liked your kind. Your color, your hair—it’s unnatural.”

“And I suppose whites are fine?”

Cranston motioned at her with his cup. “White is better. White is smarter. White is stronger.”

“Bosh, boy. My Samuel could break you in half without tryin’. There’s not any of you as strong as my Samuel is except maybe that big one.”

“Says you.” Cranston turned his back on her. “I don’t want any more of your jabber.”

Winona got the last knot untied. She moved her legs to see if the blood had been cut off; they were fine.

“I never realized how much hate there is in this world,” Emala said to the young slave hunter. “There’s so much hate, if it was water, we’d all of us drown.”

“The stupid things you say,” Cranston said. “Now quiet, damn you. I won’t tell you again.”

Winona was on her feet and moving toward him before he finished speaking. He had a Green River knife in a sheath on his left hip. As silent as could be, she came up behind him, gripped the knife and eased it out. He felt the movement and his head snapped around just as she plunged the cold steel between his ribs. She knew just where to stab. She wasn’t a warrior, but she had been taught by Touch the Clouds, her cousin and an esteemed Shoshone warrior.

In a situation like this, where her life hinged on the outcome, Touch the Clouds had advised her to go for the heart or the head. She went for the heart, and when the blade was all the way in, she twisted it. She would have sworn she felt his heartstrings tear.

Young Cranston’s eyes grew wide, and he opened his mouth to scream but Winona clamped her other hand over it. He gurgled and stiffened. Fearing he would go into convulsions that would wake the rest of the slave hunters, she kicked his legs out from under him and lowered him to the ground.

Cranston died without another twitch or peep.

Winona glanced at the other whites, but none had stirred. She jerked the knife from Cranston’s body and wet scarlet spurted over her fingers and wrist. His shirt was as good as anything to clean it on. Then she slid the blade into her own sheath. It fit fairly well.

Picking up the rifle, Winona also jammed one of his pistols under her belt. Being armed boosted her confidence. She backed up to where Emala lay and hunkered down to cut her free.

Emala was agog. “You…you…you.”

“I took a life. It is them or us, and it will not be us.”

“I could never do that. ‘Thou shalt not kill.’

” Winona sliced the rope from Emala’s wrists and then the rope around her ankles. “There,” she whispered, and held the knife out to her, hilt first.

Emala scrunched up her face. “You want me to touch that? After you done got blood all over it?”

“I cleaned it.”

“Not good enough.”

“Would you rather die?” Winona shoved the hilt into Emala’s hand. “Cut your husband and children free.”

Shaking with revulsion, Emala sat up. “I never saw the like.”

“You never saw anyone die before?”

“I never met a female like you. Ladies cook and sew and knit. They don’t kill folks.”

“Out here ladies do.”

Emala started to say more, but Winona put a finger to her lips. “We can talk about this later. We must get away while we can.”

“Lordy. I am touching human blood.”

“Hurry. Please.”

Winona stood guard. It would be easy to put a slug into Wesley, but the others would swarm her before she could reload, and in their fury maybe kill the Worths as well as her.

Emala shook Samuel awake and cut him free. Then she crept to Randa, while Samuel moved to Chickory.

They had a tense moment when Olan muttered in his sleep and rolled onto his side. Bromley was snoring like a buffalo, puffing his long mustache with each exhale. Kleist had his blanket pulled up half over his blond hair.

Winona was surprised that Wesley hadn’t woke up. Of all of them, she considered him the most dangerous, and she didn’t take her eyes off him until Emala whispered her name and crooked a finger.

The Worths were hurrying to the horses.

Winona backed toward them. She didn’t realize she had stepped in the pool of blood that ringed Cranston’s body until her foot slipped out from under her and she nearly fell. It was amazing, how much blood the human body held. Going around, she dashed over.

Chickory was about to climb on.

“No!” Winona whispered. “We will lead them until we are far enough away that Wesley and his friends cannot hear us. And we will take the other horses with us.”

Samuel showed his big teeth. “I like how you think. We’ll strand them afoot. It will take them weeks to get back to civilization.”

“Months,” Winona amended.

“Just so we hurry,” Emala urged, wringing her hands. “We can’t be shed of these devils fast enough to make me happy.”

Randa said, “We should kill them in their sleep.”

“Hush, child,” Emala scolded. “I won’t have no daughter of mine stickin’ folks like Mrs. King does.”

“We could bash their heads in with rocks.”

“Do you see any rocks handy?” Emala shook her head. “Let’s just scat while the scattin’ is good.”

Winona was at her mare. She patted its neck and bent to cut the tether that linked the horses to one another.

A metallic click warned her they had run out of time.

Out of the darkness came Peleg Harrod, his rifle level. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Chapter Fifteen

Nate King awoke to the dank scent of the earth in his nostrils. He remembered passing out. Fear filled him, fear he had been unconscious the whole night, but when he sat up he discovered, judging by the position of the Big Dipper, that it must be between three and four in the morning.

Nate slowly stood. He half expected another attack of dizziness, but he appeared to be fine. His arm hurt where he had cauterized the cuts but not that badly. Nearby lay his spear.

Then came a loud splash from the Platte River.

Nate turned, dreading it would be a bear. He almost laughed when he spied the silhouette of a doe in the act of crossing. On the shore beyond others waited for her.

“Enough wasting time,” Nate said to himself, and began to hike east. Worry for his wife eclipsed all else. He must reach her without any more delays.