Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (17 page)

Namid swayed her hips and allowed her hands to roam over her body, smiling as though he were the one caressing her stomach, rubbing her breasts, sliding along her hips, and easing between her thighs. She turned around and leaned her head back while stretching her arms up toward the highest point of the teepee. Just as she was about to bump against the interior of the shelter, she lowered herself down again. Although she straddled him once more, she did not squat on top of him as before. This time, she turned around so Hevo could drink in the sight of her smooth back and tight little buttocks as she went down on all fours and teased him with more carnal gyrations.

She kept her back to him, rubbing her slick pussy lips against the tip of his penis until he parted her and slipped inside. She reached between her legs to stroke him while easing him all the way inside and then stretched both arms out to claw at the dirt while rocking her entire body back and forth.

From his perspective, Hevo was treated to the delicious view of her backside as it bobbed up and down. The symbols painted along her spine and across her shoulder blades writhed as she continued to twist and stretch to the rhythm of their song. Since he could not grab her hips in his hands, Hevo did the next best thing and pumped into her. His feet pressed against the dirt floor to give him leverage so he could pound his cock between her legs with growing intensity.

When he touched the sensitive spot inside her, Namid held her position and turned her head around to look back at him. Sweat glistened upon her brow and her voice started to tremble. Finally, she could no longer hold back. She crawled forward, stood up, and drew the dagger that still hung from the thin strip of leather wrapped around her waist. Climbing on top of him, she reached around and cut the ropes encircling Hevo's hands.

No matter how badly he wanted to be free so he could exact his revenge, Hevo had more important matters to tend to. The instant his hands were loose, he grabbed her face and pulled her close enough to kiss. Namid pulled away, but only to cut the ropes binding his ankles before being swept up in his arms. He grabbed her roughly, held her in place, and gnawed on her like an animal. She smiled widely, turned back around, and opened her legs. Hevo wasted no time in grabbing her hips and pumping into her from behind.

After only a few powerful thrusts, Namid cried out as a powerful orgasm rushed through her body. Hevo gripped her tightly and pounded into her again. It wasn't much longer before he cried out as well and pressed his cock as deeply into her as it could go. By the time his pleasure had waned, he felt even more light-headed than when the Dreaming Dust had had its grip on him.

Less than a minute passed, barely enough time for the two of them to catch their breath, before the same brave poked his head into the teepee. He found Hevo sitting with his back against the post and his legs stretched out in front of him. His hands were clasped behind his back and out of sight. The few pieces of clothing Namid wore were draped across his ankles, hiding them.

“Will he join us?” the brave asked.

When Namid smiled, it was the same cruel smile she'd shown Hevo when she'd been pretending to be under Spirit Bear's sway. “I have reminded him of what he has missed.”

The brave nodded and looked at Hevo as he would look down at a rabbit caught in a snare. “What of the white man?”

“Mix some dust into his water and I will make sure he drinks it,” she said.

“He will be poisoned?” the brave grunted. “I could kill him quicker myself.”

“Spirit Bear wants Hevo to kill him.” Shifting her weight so she could curl up on top of Hevo while also giving the brave a generous view of her bare breasts, Namid said, “It will prove his loyalty to us before he rides on the next hunt.”

Although the brave was disappointed that he wouldn't be allowed to kill Slocum, he seemed willing to take the orders. After one last look at the naked beauty coiled on top of Hevo, he departed and passed the orders along to the other guard waiting outside.

Once they stomped away, Namid quickly gathered up her clothes and pulled them on. “You must wait here,” she whispered. “They will bring their water poisoned with Dreaming Dust and I will make it seem as if you are drinking it.”

“I can still take good amounts of it,” Hevo told her.

“I'll still try to spill more on your chin than what gets into your mouth.” Now that she was dressed, she went to his feet and positioned the cut ropes so they draped across his ankles and the severed ends were tucked neatly beneath them. “That will have to do. Try not to move,” she said while crawling around the post to do a similar job with the ropes around his wrists. Once they were wrapped around him, Hevo pressed his arms against the post to hold the ropes in place.

“When is this hunt supposed to happen?” he asked.

“Soon. The scouts have found the wagons that you and this other man have been trying to protect.”

Hevo sat up with almost enough force to send his broken ropes flying through the air. When he spoke, it took every last bit of restraint to keep from raising his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. The warriors are anxious to take those women and strip the wagons. Some even speak of taking the children and selling them as slaves.” When Hevo tried to stand, she pushed him down again with one hand flat upon his chest. “You know as well as I that we cannot move too swiftly. There will only be one chance to stop them, and if we miss it, we will die along with those families.”

“The dead ones will be the lucky ones.” Hevo pulled in a deep breath and nodded. “But you are right. We cannot move too swiftly. We must be ready for when the time comes. I must get to John Slocum and free him before one of the braves takes it upon himself to kill him.”

“They will not. I spoke the truth about Spirit Bear's request that you should kill the white man. He likes the idea of you pledging yourself to him again in this way.”

“There is much that must be done,” Hevo insisted. “We must get our weapons back. I will also need a chance to speak with my friend before the others come. We need to make sure—”

Namid silenced him with a kiss. “I will see to your friend. Give me some time and then make your way back to the cabin where he is being held. Be careful, my whirlwind. I do not want to lose you again.”

18

Slocum was in the same spot as he'd been when Namid had taken Hevo away. When she returned, there was only one brave accompanying her.

“Looks like you had a good reunion,” Slocum said. “I think I heard some of it not too long ago.”

“Hevo was wrong to stray from the righteous path,” she said. “I have come to give you a chance to follow that path as well.”

“Oh, really? Are you going to make me an offer to join up with you?”

“Would you accept it?”

“Somehow I doubt that matters. I may be new around here, but I haven't seen a whole lot of faces that weren't Indian. Doesn't look like all of these men were pulled from the same tribe, but none of 'em are from Wichita, that's for damn sure.”

“Spirit Bear sings of better times for this land and I believe those times are drawing close.” Namid wore a water skin strapped over one shoulder. As she approached him, she removed the stopper and allowed some of its contents to trickle into one hand. “This is your first taste of the dreaming waters. Hevo will come soon to give you the rest. Then you will see the truth in Spirit Bear's words.”

“What if I tell you to take that truth along with all those words and cram them sideways up Spirit Bear's ass?”

The brave stepped closer, holding a sawed-off shogun decorated with symbols painted along the barrel and feathers dangling from the stock.

“You would be wiser to hold your tongue and listen to what I say,” she told him in a terse voice.

“Enough of this,” the brave grunted as he thumbed back the hammers of his shotgun. “Spirit Bear wants this white man dead. After all the trouble he's caused, I think he will not care if I am the one to do it.”

* * *

Hevo sat in his teepee, shifting nervously while trying to keep his ropes in place. The second brave that had dragged him from the cabin stood guard over him now, filling the entrance while holding the flap open using the tip of a large spear. Instead of a spearhead chiseled from rock, a blade that would have looked more at home on a Bowie knife had been lashed to the end of the shaft by several strips of rawhide.

Looking at the spear and then at the man who stood behind it, Hevo asked, “Which tribe did you belong to?”

“I am Sioux.”

“Your weapon looks like no Sioux weapon I have ever seen.”

“All that matters,” the Sioux said, “is that my weapon is strong enough to kill what I put in front of it.”

“Is that why you stand outside, afraid to be in the same space as a man who is bound to a post?”

“You do not speak like a warrior who wants to join the hunt with Spirit Bear's tribe.”

Hevo chuckled under his breath. “You must have just come along. I rode with Spirit Bear and spilled many white men's blood. He must be desperate to fill his ranks if he is allowing a Sioux pretender to ride alongside his warriors.”

Chanting was beginning to fill the camp again. Just being among the Dirt Swimmers and warriors again, Hevo could feel the rage that flowed through them all. Spirit Bear's camps never truly slept like a normal community. Some members would collapse and rest when they had to while others would dance and fight among themselves. As for Spirit Bear himself, none knew for certain if he ever slept. He would merely sit in his shelter and stare into his medicine fires. Because of the smoke that always hung in the air, it was difficult to tell when it was night or day. There was never any telling when the songs would start again and when hunters would be sent out. Now, it seemed, the drums were stirring the camp for another celebration. Soon after that, more blood would be spilled.

The Sioux hunched over and stepped into the teepee. His spear remained firmly in his grasp and the blade at its tip pushed against Hevo's chest until it broke the skin. “You call me a pretender? You think I am not a real warrior?”

Even as the end of the knife bored into his chest, Hevo looked up and said, “I think you're just another one of Spirit Bear's dogs who barks and runs whenever he is told.”

The Sioux had been smiling confidently before. Hearing this wiped his smile away. He wasn't quite sure if he should be more angry or confused by the words coming from Hevo's spiteful mouth. “I could kill you.”

“You could, but you won't.” Smirking petulantly, Hevo added, “Spirit Bear has not snapped his fingers yet.”

Baring his teeth like the dog Hevo had so recently mentioned, the Sioux gripped his spear and took another step into the teepee. The weight of his body was put behind the weapon as his arms tensed to drive it home. Half a second before the attack was made, Hevo twisted around the post so the knife slid across his chest and his shoulder bumped the spear to one side. The Sioux had already started ramming the weapon forward, and now that it had been deflected, he could only go farther into the teepee.

Hevo climbed to his feet. By the time the Sioux's spear had been driven into the dirt, Hevo had come all the way around the post to stand behind the warrior. He reached out to pluck a short-bladed knife from the scabbard hanging from the Sioux's belt. It was a traditional weapon with a carved stone blade and a handle made of bone that had most likely been passed down through the warrior's family. That bloodline would end when Hevo drove the blade in between the other man's ribs to puncture his organs. The Sioux tried to fight, but his strength was already leaving him.

“You chose the wrong side of this fight, my friend,” Hevo whispered as he took hold of the spear and pulled it free from the soil. The Sioux tried to hang on to his weapon, but his grip was already failing him. Hevo set the spear aside in favor of the knife. “You have a killer's eyes. You would not have joined me.”

The Sioux stood up as straight as he could. When Hevo pulled the knife from his side, blood poured from him like water from a punctured canteen. He opened his mouth to speak or cry out, only to be immediately silenced by Hevo's hand clamped over his face. Then, the bloody knife was dragged across his throat and he was lowered to the ground.

Hevo crouched above him, placing one hand upon the Sioux's twitching body just to make sure there was no more fight in him and watching the entrance flap for any reinforcements. For the moment, it seemed the teepee was entrusted to only one guard. Others would be coming, he knew.

The night was still young.

* * *

Slocum's challenge still hung in the air. The Indian with the shotgun stalked forward and came to a stop just inside the weapon's most effective range. That still put him outside of Slocum's kicking distance.

“What's the matter?” Slocum asked. “Big, bold spirit warrior has to put a man down using a weapon that any woman could fire?”

But the Indian merely shook his head. “You are nothing to me, white man. The only purpose you serve is to bring money and gold to us so that we may take it.”

“And here I thought you tribal folks were more concerned with the land.”

“It is your people who value money so much. Good thing for us, your people do not care where that money comes from. I can take it from you and spend it as I please. Then I can take more until I can live better than your government would have me live on some patch of land that you do not want.”

Squirming against the wall, Slocum ground his wrists against the nail that acted as a hook to keep his arms stretched above his head. Over the last several minutes, he'd been scraping at his own flesh to get a good flow of blood going. It wasn't the most ideal solution and it hurt like hell, but the blood got the ropes good and slick while the pain acted as a fire in his belly to keep him going. “How about you untie me and I'll give you a real fight?” he asked.

Once again, the Indian shook his head. “Don't want one,” he replied. “Spirit Bear gives us plenty of white men to fight.”

Namid rushed forward. “Come away from here! Spirit Bear will want to—”

The shotgunner cut her off by twisting around and slapping her face with the back of his hand. “Spirit Bear's a crazy old fool!”

The moment the shotgunner turned around, Slocum pushed away from the wall with all the power he could muster. He pulled his hands as if he had no doubt in his mind they would come along with him. The ropes dug into his bleeding wrists, sending a jolt of pain all the way down to his shoulders, and when he launched himself at the shotgunner, his hands slid through the bindings just as he'd hoped.

Still focusing on Namid, the shotgunner was slow to react and too proud to call for help. Perhaps her surprised yelp had been loud enough to mask the sound of Slocum's escape, or the impact of her hands and knees against the floorboards blended with his hurried footsteps. Either way, Slocum was able to close in on the shotgunner before the Indian knew what was coming.

Every instinct in Slocum's body told him to grab the shotgun and put it to use. That would most definitely bring plenty more warriors running so Slocum pounded a fist against the Indian's chin to loosen the other man's grip on the weapon.

Although Slocum started to take the shotgun away, the guard immediately tried to grab it back. That put the two men in a deadly tug-of-war when it came to fighting for control of the shotgun. Slocum had one hand near the trigger and another at the base of the barrel. The Indian's were just above the trigger and at the end of the barrel.

Both men had a chance at getting a finger to the trigger and would suffer burnt hands if the gun went off.

When one tried to pull the weapon closer, the other dragged it in another direction.

Finally, Slocum pivoted his body to the right. When the Indian countered by leaning against him, Slocum switched directions and pulled the guard in closer while slamming his left elbow around to knock against his ear. It wasn't a powerful blow, but it caused the bigger man to stagger. The Indian shook it off in less than a second and renewed his attempts to retrieve his weapon with even more vigor.

Slocum pulled the weapon in, bringing the other man less than an inch toward him in the process. Then, he snapped his right leg up and out to pound his knee into the brave's stomach. A few inches lower and he would have hit an even more sensitive spot. Judging by the snarl coming from the Indian's throat, however, that may have just incensed the shotgunner further.

Grunting with an exhale, the Indian absorbed the blow fairly well. He responded by pulling the shotgun back and bringing Slocum in to receive a knee of his own. He thumped his leg into Slocum's midsection once and again in quick succession. The first hit knocked some wind from Slocum's lungs. The second made him unsteady on his feet. When he was too weak to do anything before the third blow came, Slocum began to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off hanging from a nail in the wall like a crooked picture frame.

Suddenly, the Indian leaned back. His face twisted into an angry mask that flushed with color. When he tried to speak, all he could get out was a hoarse gurgling sound. That's when Slocum noticed the thin arm wrapped around the guard's neck from behind. He took advantage of the opening that had been created for him by pushing the shotgun out and up. Even with his hands wrapped around the weapon, the Indian couldn't keep its barrel from being jammed beneath his chin.

“All right, big man,” Slocum grunted. “You'd best get real still before I yank this trigger.”

The Indian's eyes were already wide, but they became even more so when he looked down at that shotgun. His hand was still near the top of the trigger assembly, but Slocum's was much closer. Suddenly tentative to draw another breath for fear of getting his brains splattered onto the ceiling of the cabin, the Indian nodded slowly while Namid continued to dangle from the back of his neck. Despite all of that, he refused to take his hands completely off the weapon.

“You can let go of him now, little lady,” Slocum said.

Her arm relaxed, allowing her to slide along the large man's back and land on her feet.

Slocum kept his eyes on the guard as he told her, “Back away.”

She did and immediately went to the cabin's door.

“Looks like I've got the upper hand here,” Slocum said to the man in front of him. “That is, unless you'd like to keep trying to wrestle this shotgun from me?”

“If I let go, you will shoot me anyway.”

“You might have a point there.” Slocum cracked the barrel against his chin and followed up with a kick to the Indian's stomach. This time, his knee found its exact mark, landing in the spot needed to double the other man over.

Slocum's biggest concern was to keep from pulling the shotgun's trigger. He kept his finger poised over it without setting the gun off. As soon as the other man's grip went slack, he took the shotgun away and swung the stock around to connect with the Indian's temple. By the time the guard landed heavily on the floor, Slocum was wheezing.

“That was even harder than I was expecting,” he said. “Get over here before I decide to fire this gun after all.”

Namid didn't move from the doorway. “I came to help you.”

“That doesn't mean I trust you all the way. Now get over here.”

She stepped away from the door, only to go to the window. “The others are preparing for a hunt. They mean to go after the rest of your wagons.”

“Where's Hevo?”

“He is close.”

Slocum searched the Indian he'd knocked cold, but didn't find much more than a few spare shotgun shells in a pouch hanging from his belt. Stuffing the shells into his pocket, he took the shotgun and went to the window. “Where are our weapons?”

“They will probably be with the rest of the guns, but there isn't enough time to get them. Spirit Bear will be coming.”

“And I don't aim to be here when he arrives. Take me to the weapons.”

She shook her head, even when she saw Slocum pointing the shotgun at her. “I tried to help you get away,” she said. “I have made it so Hevo can also escape. The entire camp is preparing for war. I cannot get to your weapons, and even if I did, we would not make it to that part of the camp without being seen. Someone will be coming for you any moment now. If you want to escape with your life, you must go now! You are to be killed before the hunt,” she said. “Even now, I am supposed to help with preparations.”