Free Absaroka Ambush by William W. Johnstone Page B

Pawnee came along, looked at the scene, and smiled. When the Crow awakened, the reins had been removed from his wrist and his horse was gone.
    That’s why Preacher never underestimated the Pawnee.
    â€œWe’re gonna have to be ridin’ with lady luck beside us, Preacher,” Ned remarked. “You know we’ve had Injuns all around us for several days.”
    â€œYep,” Preacher said, swinging into the saddle of a tough-looking, long-limbed roan. “Keep your powder dry, boys. Let’s go.”
    The women stood silently and watched the men ride out into the drenching rain, heading east. The men did not push their mounts, but left at a steady gait. They would alternately trot and walk their horses to save them.
    About a mile from the wagon train, the men split up, left and right, staying about a hundred yards apart, to better spot where the errant wagon had left the train.
    Ned had summed up the feelings of all the men on this ride. None of them expected to see the women again. At least not alive. If Indians had found them, anything might happen. They might be taken as slaves and treated reasonably well, after they were repeatedly raped. If it was a war party looking for scalps, they would be raped and then killed. If they were lucky. If the Indians were in a bad mood, the women might be tortured. There was simply no way of telling about Indians. Some would not harm them at all. They would just look at them and ride off, leaving the women be, to fend for themselves. But the plains Indians were warriors, fierce fighters; killing a woman meant no more to many of them than killing a poisonous snake, and no Indian held to the same moral code as the so-called civilized white people. The Indian was neither evil nor morally wrong—not to their way of thinking—to them it was the white people who were terribly cruel and unfeeling. Indians respected the land and most of the creatures who inhabited it with them. Not so the white man. The white man raped the land and cut down all the trees. He diverted the flow of water to suit his needs and to hell with what others thought. He killed off all the game, left nothing, and would not share. The Indian never killed more than he needed. White men would kill game for something they called sport and take only the best cuts, leaving the rest to rot. That was a sin to an Indian. And the white man lied. Everytime he opened his mouth he told great lies. You just could not trust most white men to keep their promises. Many people believed the western Indian knew nothing of how the eastern Indians were treated by the whites. That was a ridiculous theory and showed the arrogance and ignorance of the whites. As the tribes were pushed west, they brought their tales with them, and they were told over and over again. It was no wonder the Indians distrusted the white man. And the Indians knew that many whites believed that the only good Indian was a dead one. It was no wonder that many Indians soon believed the same to be true about whites.
    The Indians were not necessarily wrong in their beliefs and way of life. They were just different.
    After a few miles, the men reined up in a ragged group of trees to rest their horses and talk.
    â€œWe got to be gettin’ close now,” Blackjack said. “And the hair on the back of my neck is standin’ up, boys.”
    â€œThey’re all around us,” Steals Pony said. “Pawnee. I sense them.” He shook his head and his eyes touched those looking at him. “And I think they are Bearmen.”
    â€œDamn!” Ring said. “That would be our luck.”
    The Bear Society was a very elite one among the Omaha and the Pawnee. And they were feared by all. They were fierce fighters; like bears, unpredictable and dangerous.
    â€œIf they took the women, we’ll not never get them back,” Ned said.
    â€œNo,” Preacher agreed. “We sure won’t. We’ll be lucky to stay alive. The