Lakota Honor (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

The full moon brightened Otakatay's path into town. He'd been to Willow Creek before and knew the streets well. He stretched and accidently kicked the brown sack hanging from his saddle. He never looked inside the bag. Even when he'd shoved the contents inside, he closed his eyes.

He pulled his duster back around him. Although half Sioux, he chose to wear the white man's clothing. It allowed him to move about towns and be discreet. But he never took the eagle feather from his hair and he always wore it down, acting as a mask of sorts it shadowed his features from any prying eyes.

He tugged on the left rein and rode past the jailhouse. Inside the barred windows, a musty office displayed wanted posters for murderers, men who killed for greed and lust. Men like Gabe Fowler, wanted for the slaughter of three children and their parents outside of Rapid City, and Leroy Black, a bank robber who killed anyone that stood in his way. Men he'd hunted and destroyed.

It didn't matter to him if they were wanted dead or alive. Most times he brought them in slung over Wakina's back. It was easier that way. He'd learned long ago never to turn his back on the men he sought. A dead outlaw was better than a wounded one. He helped capture the worst kind of men—men like him.

He was a slayer of men and women—ruthless and unforgiving. He was Otakatay, one who kills many. A bounty hunter that killed men that needed killing. He received good money for the lives he stole. He had a purpose, a reason for ending their lives and nothing would stand in his way. Killing was what he did, and it had never bothered him until two years ago when he took this job. Now he preyed on something else. Now he killed innocent women.

He went from being a bounty hunter to a murderer. No better than the criminals he'd dumped at the sheriff's feet. The bitter taste of his transgressions tainted his mouth, making it hard to swallow. He spat, remembered his promise and justified his actions. There was no time for pity. No time to remember the way he was. He would never be those things again. He was evil. He was a nightmare come to life. He was death.

His horse trotted down the street. All the stores were locked up for the evening. Houses black, their residents fast asleep. He glared at the homes of the white eyes. He despised them. A half breed, he wasn't given the same rights as the wasichu.

He was not wanted in the white or red race. His village long ago disowned his family casting them from their tribe. Two years ago, the government had ordered all natives onto reserved land. He didn't even know where his people were and he didn't care. They'd shunned them, cast them into the world of the white man to be ridiculed and treated no better than a dog.

He was alone. He depended on no one and he liked it that way.

He led Wakina into the forest to the clearing by the river. There he dismounted and waited for the wasichu to arrive. A half hour later he heard branches cracking. He leaned against his horse's side and waited for the white man to appear.

"You're early," the wasichu said. "Did anyone see you?"

"No one saw me."

The man lit a cigar, and the sweet aroma puffed in a cloud above his head. "Well, did you bring them?"

He grabbed the bag and flung it at the wasichu.

"There are only three in here. You've been gone almost four months and you only found three?"

"I have other jobs."

"I don't care if you have fifty jobs, you do mine first." He held up the bag. "This comes before anything else."

"You got what you wanted."

"There should be more in here."

Otakatay shrugged.

"No more jobs until you've killed them all."

"I take orders from no one," he growled.

"You work for me, and I want my job done first. Do you hear me, breed?"

It was the name he'd been called since he was young. The name that separated him from any other race. He gnashed his teeth, and stepped forward, ready to kill the bastard with the tailored vest and pressed pants. Otakatay's hand pressed into the man's throat, squeezing he lifted him until his toes touched the ground.

"You will call me Otakatay," he snarled and squeezed some more. "Or you will call me nothing at all."

The wasichu's face turned red. His mouth opened and closed, trying to suck in air.

Otakatay released him and watched as he fell to the ground gasping. His knife, sheathed to his side, poked his hip. The wasichu would die, but not until he had all he needed from him.

"Where's my money?"

The man stood, while rubbing his neck. He reached inside the pocket of his dress shirt and pulled out a roll of bills.

Otakatay ripped the greenbacks from his hand and counted them. "You owe more."

"Are you absurd? I've already given you way more than you're worth."

"No, white man, you owe more."

"I've given what is owed."

The arrogant fool wasn't backing down. But that would change. Otakatay would get what was owed to him.

"The price went up."

The wasichu swung the sack against his pant leg. The rhythmic sound brought back memories of his Ina as she'd sit around their cooking fire, tanning and raking the hide of a deer. He shook his head.

"You charged more last time."

"I kill women." He stepped forward, towering over the man.

"You've always killed women." He held up the bag. "
They
are all women."

He hung his head. He battled with the guilt over what he'd done. He never looked into their eyes. Never heard their voices—never saw their faces. From behind he slit their throats and took their lives.

"More."

"No!"

Otakatay stepped forward glaring. "You will pay."

"And if I don't?"

"You will die."

The wasichu's brow furrowed and his lips formed a thin line.

He waited.

The wasichu pulled out a twenty dollar bill and slapped it against Otakatay's hard chest. "You better find me more than three next time. They must be repopulating. What about children?"

He tore the money from the man's hand and gave him a shove.

"I do not kill children." He would kill this man and enjoy doing it. "The numbers have dwindled. There are few left."

"I don't give a damn if there's one left. You will find her and you will kill her."

He placed the money in the waistband of his denims. He'd been doing business with this jack ass for two years, and he was getting tired of the white eyes. Tired of the nightmares his duties caused. But he needed the money, and he'd made a promise.

"When will you return?"

"I will stay around here for a while."

He strode up to Otakatay. "No. You will leave. I can't chance someone seeing you."

He smiled. A toxic smirk with no sincerity attached to it. "I do what I want."

"No. You do what I damned well tell you."

He pulled the knife so fast the wasichu didn't know what was happening until it pinched his throat. "I'm beginning to think you have no brains, white man. No one tells me what to do."

He gulped and nodded.

I should kill this ass right now.
As much as he longed to drive his knife into the wasichu's heart, he needed him for a little while longer. He put his knife back in its sheath.

The man walked to the river and dumped the bag's contents. "Contact me when there are more."

Otakatay watched him leave. By the next round moon, he would slide his knife across the wasichu's throat.

CHAPTER THREE

Nora waited an hour after lunch before slipping out her bedroom window. Father hadn't come home for the now dried and unappealing sandwiches she'd made. She knew she had time to sneak into the forest. She followed the path behind the stores so no one would see her. The day was hot for the beginning of May. Flies buzzed in front of her and she sidestepped so she didn't run smack into them.

The back door to the Mercantile was open, and she heard the owners, Willimena and Fred Sutherland, bickering. She didn't know them well, but from the few times she'd been allowed to go inside the clean, organized store, that's all they seemed to do.

Willimena, everyone called her Willy, was a large woman with a boisterous voice. Fred was short and slight with a bald spot on top of his head. It was clear to Nora from the first day she went into the store that Willy made all the rules. There was no credit allowed, except for the doctor of course. However, Fred was known to give candy sticks to the children who came into the establishment.

She picked up her pace, longing for the cover of the forest. She felt safe there. She loved to listen to the birds and watch the deer while she sat and reflected on her life, which would be easier if she didn't heal anyone. She knew this, but she couldn't turn a blind eye to those in need. God had given her the gift to heal wounds and save lives. To waste such a gift was immoral.

On the other hand, Pa might trust her, and she'd be like everyone else. She frowned. But how was she supposed to walk away from someone who was injured? How could she stare into the eyes of a person in pain, knowing she could help?
I can't.

Jess Chandler had been hurt. The old woman would've died had Nora not healed her. Yet, her father refused to understand this. He saw the danger her gift caused and kept her locked up in the house all day. She was like a bird in a cage, longing to spread her wings and fly. To be free.

Pa had become distant and spent most of his free time at the saloon. She feared he'd begun to resent her for the life they lived. She couldn't blame him. It wasn't easy moving all of the time, or the constant worry he felt when she'd used her power to heal someone. She closed her eyes.

Pa's tirades were justified. He'd stomp around and yell at her for putting her life in danger while throwing their meager belongings into bags. It was a scene she'd witnessed many times. Even though she wanted to argue, she always went along with him. She could never leave him, not after everything he'd done for her.

The long days on dirt roads, sometimes not even on a road, had worn on Pa. She could see that now. Once a handsome man, his face now bore creases and sharp edges. His dark blue eyes seldom reflected the happiness she used to see in them as a child, instead they were bloodshot from the horrible habit he'd formed. When he looked at her, all she saw was anger and bitterness.

She sighed. She loved him. He'd always been there for her. Even though he was over bearing and demanded she live confined to his rules, her love for him would never change.

The elm trees rustled their leaves, welcoming her as she entered the thick woods.
I will make him see he can trust me.
She walked with a spring in her step, determined to work on this problem with Pa.

She made her way to the clearing by the river, her favorite spot. Water swished as it rushed by. Crickets chirped in the distance, and the birds whistled up above. She sat on a large rock and inhaled the air around her. Dirt, water, the musky scent of the spruce trees and the pungent smell of fish surrounded her.

She slipped off her boots and peeled off her stockings. She dipped a toe into the cold water, scrunched her face and dunked her whole foot in. Hands clenched at her sides, she waited for the shock to wear off and her muscles to relax before she put the other foot in. She giggled as the water rushed between her toes. Nora kicked her feet and splashed water onto her skirt. She could sit here all day.

A horse whinnied nearby, and she glanced across the river to try and catch a glimpse of the animal. She held her breath, when she saw a man standing amongst the trees. Branches rested on his wide shoulders. He was tall. A black duster hung to his shins. She squinted against the sun's rays to try and see his face. The Stetson he wore was pulled down low so she could only make out a square jaw and long black hair.

Nora slowly released the breath she'd been holding without taking her eyes from him. She pulled her feet from the water and sat up taller to get a better look. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was glaring at her from across the river. She shivered. He didn't seem friendly that was sure. In fact he looked like an outlaw. Determined to stay where she was and not scare off, Nora held her position.

Her bottom slipped down the back of the rock, and she reached out to stop herself from falling onto the ground. Minutes passed while she righted herself, when she looked up, he was gone.

She searched the outline of the trees for the stranger and saw nothing. The hair on her neck stood, and she touched her feet to the mossy ground.

The sound of breaking branches startled her and she froze.
The stranger.
She stared straight ahead.
Her hands balled into tight fists as she waited for whoever stood behind her to make themselves known.

"Afternoon, Miss Rushton."

The voice seemed pleasant and somehow familiar. She searched her mind for anyone with the clipped tone and southern drawl. One face came to mind, Doctor Spencer's. She listened to his long strides as he came closer and stood beside her.

She glanced up at him from her log. "Hello, Doctor."

"Miss Rushton." He tipped his round hat. "You shouldn't be in the forest alone. With the mine nearby, you never know who might be passing through Willow Creek."

She thought of the stranger. Doctor Spencer was right. She'd seen the men that sauntered in from the mountain. One man in particular disgusted her. Elwood Calhoun owned the mine and had taken an interest in Nora. He'd come to call several times, even though Pa or she had turned him down.

"Come on, I'll walk you home," Doctor Spencer said and offered her his hand.

On the few occasions she'd seen the doctor, the elderly man had always been kind to her. She sighed. She didn't want to leave the forest, she'd just gotten here, but rather than tell the doctor about her troubles, she put her stockings and boots back on and took his hand.

"Thank you, but I can find my way home, Sir."

He chuckled.

"Well, that may be, but I'm headed into town so we may as well keep each other company."

Even though she liked the doctor, she wanted to walk home alone. She was a strong individual but, fighting with Pa was a losing battle.

She scanned the countryside as they made their way out of the forest. Colors melted into one another as brown, green and orange smeared across a canvas of swaying stalks. She'd give anything to be able to run through them right now. She wanted to live without restraints. She wanted to stomp her foot and demand her father see her for the woman she was.

The doctor's long strides had her taking two steps to his one to keep up. He smiled as they walked into the street. Nora froze. She always went around back and crawled in her bedroom window.

He stopped also and gazed at her with kind brown eyes.

"Everything okay, dear?"

"Yes, yes. Everything is fine."

She smiled.

"I have to attend to some business at the Mcaffery home. Seems little Billy has broken his arm and I need to check on it. You'll be okay?"

"Of course. Thank you for accompanying me into town."

He nodded while taking out his pocket watch. "Very well." He glanced at the time. "Good day, Miss Rushton."

"Good day, Doctor."

She scooted toward home the back way, passing by Sheriff Reid.

She tipped her head and continued walking. She liked the Sheriff, but couldn't afford to stop and talk. Pa could venture out for a walk and see her. She glanced back into the forest. She'd never seen the stranger in the woods before, and her curiosity was champing at the bit to find out who he was. Why was he in Willow Creek, and why had he stared at her for so long?

"Miss Rushton." Sheriff Reid tipped his hat. "How are you this fine day?"

Damn it.
"I am well, Sheriff." She took a step but he blocked her path.

She craned her neck to stare up at him. He had a square chin with a dimple in its center and was clean shaven. The sheriff was Pa's age, but that didn't stop her from thinking he was handsome. She'd bet in his younger years he'd broken a few hearts.

She inhaled and could smell the hint of cigar on him. She felt sorry for the lawman. His wife had died a year ago of pneumonia. They'd had no children, and she wondered if he regretted it now that he was all alone. She liked him, even if the town gossips thought he drank too much. She never took to gossip, and in her judgment he was a good man.

She fidgeted with her hands.

"Are you all right, Miss Rushton?"

He missed nothing
. "Yes, yes I'm fine. Anxious to get home is all." Her insides tightened, and she pivoted on her heel. "Good day, Sheriff."

He didn't move.

She tapped her foot and peered around him toward the blacksmiths.

"I know you moved here last year, and Willow Creek is pretty quiet but you shouldn't wander into the forest by yourself."

Odd, first the doctor and now the sheriff was warning her to be careful? Did this have something to do with the man she'd seen earlier? Maybe he was an outlaw. His attire did fit the bill if the dime novels she'd been reading held any truth to them.

"I'd been thinking on talking to Jack about it, too."

Nora's breath caught in her throat. She pulled her gaze from the blacksmiths to stare up at the sheriff. She didn't know what to say without giving away that she wasn't allowed anywhere past the yard. If he told Pa she'd be in hot water.

"I'll do right to remember that. Thank you, Sheriff." She smiled and willed him to step aside so she could get home.

"If it's just the same, I'll walk you home and speak with Jack." He headed in the direction of the blacksmiths.

He was relentless.
Damn it. What in hell am I going to do now?

Father wasn't going to be happy. She frowned. She didn't want to move again and that was always the outcome when Pa felt like things were beyond his control. Her shoulders slumped. She had to figure a way out of this. She had to stop the sheriff.

"Um, Sheriff Reid." She paused, unsure what to say next. "Thank you for your concern, however I am an adult and my father has no say over where I go during the day."
Seem convincing. This is my one shot.

"Is that so?" he said and gave her a long look.

She tipped her chin up and nodded.

Their pleasant conversation had shifted to an uncomfortable silence, and she knew it was now or never.

"Thank you again, Sheriff, but I think I will walk the rest of the way on my own."

He stopped and glanced down at her. His eyes held a hint of sadness while they gazed into Nora's. "Good day to you," he said. His gun belt sat low on his hips and hugged his backside as he walked away.

He missed his wife. She'd seen the loneliness in his eyes. Understanding settled like a rock in her stomach. She knew what it was like to be alone and wish for someone to talk to—someone to confide in. She turned toward home and came within inches of being trampled by two horses pulling a fancy black wagon.

Would this day ever end?

She jumped out of the way, lost her balance and landed face first in a puddle. Mud caked the front of her dress and hung from the skirt. She pulled herself up and smacked her hands on the ruined dress. She licked her lips and regretted it the instant she tasted the mud. Nora ran her arm along her mouth.
I just want to go home.
She lifted her head to apologize to the driver for getting in his way. When she recognized him and cringed.

The wagon stopped.

"Miss Rushton." Clean white teeth smiled down at her. "You should be more careful. I'd hate to hit a pretty little thing like yourself."

She didn't want to talk to Elwood Calhoun. She didn't want to be anywhere near him. The black wolf dog tied to the wagon growled, and she stepped back. The mud-soaked dress clung to her legs making it difficult for her to move.

"Sorry," she called and turned from the mangy dog and his owner.
Keep walking.

"Miss Nora, Miss Nora." The voice stopped her.
Joe.

Elwood came into town once a month. Always clean shaven and dressed in the latest fashion, he boasted of the coal he got from the mountain. He was very well-to-do and flaunted his money in the saloon while gambling. His son Joe was what folks called simple. Born a cripple, he got around with thick wooden sticks that he leaned into and used as legs. Nora had seen him a few months back waiting outside the bank for his father. She was drawn to the kind boy and every time he was in town she'd made an effort to talk with him.

"Hi Joe," she said.