He turns to the two men standing next to him with a smile. “The famous Newton Brothers.” Two, twenty-two-year-old twin brothers. They are fast-moving, aggressive, cold hearted bastards, who know how to track the people that Barclay needed to kill. “I need you to track a white woman. She escaped this morning on one of our horses. It shouldn’t be a problem for you to find her. I want her scalped, and the body burned. You can have whatever fun you want, just make sure she is dead”
“Weapons?” Evan Newton asks while watching the butchery of the dead.
“A pistol, with ammo in the saddlebags. She’s injured.”
“Direction,” Craig Newton asks, drawing out his silver compass and sighting North on it. They have been with him since the war and are loyal to whatever the General wants done.
“I believe he said west down the river.” He glanced away as a pregnant Indian, starts screaming. “Don’t come back until she’s dead.”
“No problem. We’ll probably beat you to Fort Steele,” Evan says with a cocky grin.
“Let’s hope so. We’re leaving in the morning. Some of the bodies are already inches deep in the snow. By morning we’ll have to chip them out.” He talks to himself as he walks away from the brothers. “I need some more trophies to add to my bag,” he murmurs and draws his knife.
The brothers mount up and head down to the river to try to pick up her trail. It doesn’t take long to find it. One set of horse tracks followed by a second set. “Someone else is after her, Brother,” Evan frowns.
“Barclay forgot to mention that,” Craig quips looking at his silver compass.
“He was busy carving up Indians, Brother. That’s understandable.” He pats his own pouch of trophies and smiles.
“True. We’ll catch up to her by tonight. She’s bleeding, cold, scared and…”
“Now you’re turning me on, Brother.” They throw back identical blonde heads of hair, laughing.
“Barclay called her scalp, but we get the rest.” Craig sneers.
Evan points down, “She left in a panic, I’d say she rides fast, following the river, judging by the tracks, Brother.”
“I agree. The gunshots forced her to stay along the river,” they kick their horses into a trot, following the sets of horse prints. “This is kind of disappointing I was hoping for a challenge, Brother.”
“I understand. Don’t be distraught, we’ll play before we bring Barclay his trophy.” They grin at each other and continue on.
Chapter 6
It’s the beat of the drums that wake her this time. The sound of the tribe chanting in time with the drums. Disoriented she glances around trying to remember where she is. Her eyes fly open wide when she realizes the horse is laying in front of her forming a wall between her and the world. His body heat is the first thing she notices, besides the smell. Sitting up, every bone in her body screams at her. When she reaches out to steady herself, she grabs the saddle.
The leather has a familiar scent, and the memory strikes her fast. Dane Rivers, coming to the tribe and teaching her. The boys didn’t like learning with a girl, but she was a quick study. At Chief Nashoba’s request, Dane taught Kimani, the ways of the white man. From how to ride a horse with a saddle to how to shoot a rifle and pistol.
Kimani glances past the horse and sees the snow still falling. “How long did I sleep?” She murmurs and closes her eyes against a headache as she glances in the direction of the soldier’s body. He was too heavy for her to move on her own, so she left him in the cold allowing the snow to cover him. Judging by the amount of snow on his body, she had slept at least an hour or two. His horse is tied at the entrance to her cavern, and she knows she must get moving before the trackers catch up to her.
A cold breeze slaps her, and she shutters before glancing at the horse once more.
“The saddle blanket!” Rising quickly to her knees she digs in the saddle bag and starts pulling everything out. Finding a folding knife is like gold in her hands. “Oh!” She slices the rope on both sides and grabs the blanket with a grunt. It’s much heavier than she expected.
Though not as soft as the fur blankets they use, the brown wool will protect her from the ground. She unrolls the bed roll and gasps in relief at the supplies that fall out. An extra blanket, change of clothes, a small tin pan, knife, spoon, tin cup, twine, baling wire, and even a sewing kit. The canteen makes her weep. Water, fresh and sweet soothes her dry, scratchy throat. With trembling hands, she digs through the saddlebags and finds a small ration of oats for the horse, which she quickly gives to him.
A tin of biscuits has her weak in the knees. She chews on it while she continues searching through the items. Her hands tremble when she finds the matchbox. Opening it, Kimani closes her eyes and gives a prayer of thanks for the kindling and matches inside.
“Thank God.” Scrambling to her feet, she grabs the second blanket and places it over the horse before limping from the safety of the cave. “Get wood,” she tells herself. The snow is falling heavier now, but she knows where to go to get what she needs. Being the daughter of the Chief has some advantages. She was taught along with her brother and sister how to start a fire, shoot a bow and set traps.
The base of a large pine tree with its heavily laden branches topped by snow forms a perfect canopy. Crawling underneath Kimani finds the branches she needs. Using the folding knife, she cuts
