piled with goods.
Geist began talking and gesturing.
It was the chattering of a squirrel to Spotted Fawn; she didn’t understand any of it. “Stay back,” she warned. “I will not let you hurt me.”
Geist’s eyes roved from her hair to her moccasins and back again.
Spotted Fawn’s breath caught in her throat. She had seen that kind of look before. Geist wasn’t there to hurt her. He had something else in mind. “Do not come near me. I do not want you.”
Geist reached out.
“No!” Spotted Fawn smacked his hand away. It seemed to amuse him. He reached out again and she smacked him harder. He was staring at her breasts. “You cannot do this,” she said, knowing full well he was going to, that there was no appeal she could make that would dissuade him.
Suddenly lunging, Geist wrapped his arms around her waist. He laughed and nuzzled her neck and stuck his wet tongue in her ear.
Spotted Fawn kneed him. He grunted and his grip slackened, but he didn’t let go. She kneed him again, but he shifted and caught the blow on his thigh. His eyes acquired a glitter that had nothing to do with his hunger for her. He growled some words and tried to press his mouth to hers.
Spotted Fawn fought. She pushed and kicked and struggled to break free, but he was much too strong. In desperation, she butted his face with her forehead. Wet drops spattered her face, and he stepped back, blood streaming from his nose. He bunched his fists.
Spotted Fawn tried to dart past him to the door. A punch to her belly sent her reeling. She slammed against a shelf but managed to stay on her feet.
Outside, there were yells. The door started to open, but Geist barked and it slammed shut again. He sneered at her, said something, then touched himself and advanced.
Spotted Fawn yearned for a knife. She grabbed a folded blanket and threw it at him, and he laughed. Backpedaling, she picked up a metal tin and threw that at him, too. He easily dodged. She retreated and bumped into more shelves. On one was an object with a wood handle and a head made of metal. She had no idea what it was. Standing so Geist couldn’t see, she grabbed the long handle in both hands.
“Stay away from me.”
Geist sneered and came on, blood on his mouth and chin. He spoke in a harsh tone.
Spotted Fawn pretended to cower, and just as his fingers touched her, she swung with all her might. He tried to duck, but he wasn’t quite quick enough and she clipped him across the top of his head. He fell at her feet. She raised her weapon to strike him again, but he wasn’t moving.
Dropping to a knee, Spotted Fawn put down the thing with the long handle and helped herself to Geist’s knife. She hefted it, uncertain. It would do her little good against the other whites. There were too many. They would overpower her. She put the knife down and pulled his pistol. It was heavier than she had expected. She had never held one, but she had seen whites use them and knew that one of the secrets to firing it was to pull back the metal spike on top. She applied both her thumbs and the spike clicked.
Swallowing her fear, Spotted Fawn went to the door. She pressed her ear to it, but heard nothing. Cautiously, she worked the latch as she had seen the whites do. There was another click and it opened. She quickly stepped out.
Gratt and Berber were talking. Berber froze in astonishment, but Gratt started to take a step toward her.
Spotted Fawn pointed the pistol at him and he froze, too. “Stay where you are,” she commanded. They might not understand the exact words, but the tone was clear. Keeping her eyes on them, she backed down the hall. When she and her friends were exploring, they had discovered a back door into the trading post. She would use it and flee into the welcome sanctuary of the night.
Gratt yelled.
Probably telling her to stop, Spotted Fawn thought. She continued to retreat until her back bumped the door. Reaching behind her, she fumbled at the latch. Finally it moved and she pushed on the door and was outside.
Flooded with relief, Spotted Fawn whirled around and ran to the west. Although the flames had dwindled some, the other lodge still burned. She raced toward it, eager to reach the dark beyond.
The pounding of running feet behind her filled her ears.
Spotted Fawn glanced behind her. It was Petrie. She sought to raise the pistol, but he was so very, very quick. The stock of his rifle filled her vision and then she was on her back on the ground, in great pain. He raised his rifle to hit her again, but a shout stopped him. Petrie lowered it and stepped back.
Spotted Fawn tried to rise onto her elbows, but a boot caught her. The breath left her lungs, and she was nearly paralyzed by agony. Blinking, she stared up into the fiercely contorted features of the man known as Geist. He was holding his knife.
Geist bent and spit in her face.
Spotted Fawn wanted to defend herself, but her arms wouldn’t move as they should. His did, though. She saw his knife gleam in the light from the fire, gleam in an arc again and again and again, and she felt wet and warmth and an emptiness that knew no end.
Chapter Nineteen
The three women had run all night and were on the verge of exhaustion.
Raven On The Ground gasped for breath. She came to the bottom of yet another slope and into the shadow of the hill they had crossed, and stopped. “This should be far enough. We will rest.”
No one objected. They had put a lot of distance between them and the trading post.
To the east, the black sky was lightening to gray. Dawn was breaking. The birds were astir, and in a nearby copse of woodland, sparrows chirped.
Lavender wearily sat. “I haven’t run this much since I was a girl.”
“I have lost feeling in my legs,” Flute Girl said.
“It was worth our effort,” Raven On The Ground said. “They won’t catch us now.”
“Unless they have a tracker,” Flute Girl said.
“I can’t stop thinking about Spotted Fawn,” Lavender said. “Do you think she is all right?”
“They wouldn’t be foolish enough to harm her,” Raven On The Ground replied.
Flute Girl disagreed. “They are white. They do not think like we do. What is foolish to us might not be foolish to them.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Poor Spotted Fawn,” Lavender said.
“Let’s not talk about her,” Raven On The Ground said. She eased to the ground and wearily scanned the crown of the last hill they had crossed.
Flute Girl was bent over with her hands on her knees. “If your lover was here, I would tell him what I think of his precious whites.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Why not? You have made no secret of your desire to have him be yours.”
“You blame Chases Rabbits for our plight when it is the fault of the whites?”
“Who convinced us that working for the whites was a good thing to do?”
“You forget. The whites held council with Long Hair. They fooled him, too. They pretended to be our friends when they were not.”
Lavender raised her head. “Enough, both of you. There is no question who is to blame. The whites schemed to use us to fill their pokes with money. That is what brought us to this.”
That ended the argument. Raven On The Ground eased onto her back. Streaks of gold lit the eastern sky. The sun was rising. She closed her eyes. Fatigue overwhelmed her. Almost instantly she fell asleep.
Although it felt as though she had slept for only a few minutes, when she opened her eyes the sun was directly above them. She had slept half the day away.
Feeling sluggish and sore, Raven On The Ground sat up. Her friends were sound asleep, Flute Girl snoring.
