Stone Hand Page 9

  The son of a bitch, he thought between gasps. He wasn’t trying to hit me. He doesn’t want his fun to end too soon. There was no doubt the Indian was still playing with him. The thing that irritated him most was that he had no choice but to participate in the game. Now the hunt was on. At least it might occupy the Indian’s mind and possibly save Sarah from some abuse.

  He did not linger behind the boulder. As quickly as he could, he made his way up into the rocks, following the course of the stream. As he made his way over the rough terrain, he took inventory of his situation. He was on foot but at least he had his rifle. He cursed himself for not having taken his ammunition belt from the saddle before he ran for the tree. He had six cartridges left. Stone Hand was sure to come down to the dead horse as soon as Jason ran up into the rocks. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity for ammunition and supplies. He would have to cross the same open area that Jason had just fled from. So Jason decided to position himself to cover the open ground. Selecting a good-sized rock that afforded him protection from two sides, he settled in to wait for the Cheyenne’s move.

  An hour passed. There was no sound beyond that of an occasional insect buzzing by his head. He changed his position several times as the unyielding boulder pressed hard against his bones. “The bastard,” he swore, “he’s got all the time in the world.” The time passed.

  Along toward evening, a breeze kicked up and he noticed storm clouds forming over the hills. Moving this way, he thought. Soon the breeze increased until the wind gained force enough to blow the sand around and the sky began to darken. He had to squint in an effort to keep watch on the open ground below him. Just as darkness fell, the storm hit with full force. Lightning flashed, the crash of thunder came almost at the same instant, and then large raindrops began a steady tattoo on the rocks around him. Suddenly the bottom seemed to drop out of the heavy clouds overhead. In a moment he was soaked.

  It soon became too dark to see, except during the brilliant flashes of lightning. He decided to work his way farther down the hillside to a crevice in the rocks where an overhang offered some protection from the rain. It was difficult to see where he was stepping between lightning flashes but he made the best time he could. On the positive side, it was just as difficult for the Cheyenne to stalk him in this downpour.

  Under the overhang of the crevice and out of the direct deluge of water, he considered his options once again. They were few, but he knew that if he was to stand a chance of rescuing Sarah, he would need more than the six cartridges he had. He needed to retrieve his canteen as well as his cartridge belt. As he shifted his position to avoid a torrent of water gushing through the crevice from the hill above him, it seemed ridiculous to worry about his canteen but he knew that when the rain stopped it might be a month before another one came and he didn’t care much for the prospect of being without water. He weighed the possibility of getting to his horse and back safely. It was risky but he didn’t see that he had any other choice. “Best go now,” he murmured, “before it slacks up.” His chances of getting to his horse and back without being seen were definitely better in this downpour. A thought flashed through his mind of the girl and he wondered how she was faring on this stormy night. He tried not to let his mind form pictures of what might be happening to her. At least he knew Stone Hand was occupied now with dealing with him. Maybe it would buy some time for Sarah.

  After some consideration, he decided to leave his rifle under the rock ledge, where it would be dry. He could move more easily and a good deal faster if both hands were free. His pistol would serve just as well at close range, and he knew that if he had to use a weapon it would be at close range because of the poor vision afforded by the stormy night.

  Placing each foot carefully, he descended the steep slope, following the stream that had by this time been transformed into a torrent, until he neared the clearing. The night was as dark as a cave, with only occasional flashes of lightning that illuminated the rocks for seconds before blanketing him once more in darkness. The rain continued to beat down, plastering his shirt to him like a second skin. Near the bottom of the ravine he stopped and waited for the next flash of lightning. When it came, he could plainly see Henry’s carcass. The split-second image afforded by the lightning provoked an uncontrollable wave of melancholy for the loss of his horse. Henry would be hard to replace. Moving quickly now, he made straight for the dead animal. When he reached the body, he dropped down on his stomach, his pistol out, and paused to listen. There was no sound other than that of the storm.

  His cartridge belt was gone! He swore softly. “Too late.” The ammunition, along with his saddle pack and canteen were all missing. Stone Hand had probably taken them right away while I was getting my tail up in the rocks, he thought. He had no choice now but to get himself back up out of sight. He would have to make do with the few bullets he had left.

  In the darkness, the rain pouring from the brim of his hat, he waited for the next lightning flash, planning to move back to the cover of the rocks. When it came, the crash of thunder came at almost the same instant as the flash that vividly illuminated the small clearing so that every rock and twisted tree stood out in sharp detail. And standing not twenty yards from him was the savage who hunted him, Stone Hand!

  Jason had never seen the man face-to-face but he recognized him at once. In the frozen moment of brilliant lightning, the man appeared to be more spirit than mortal. And though it was for no more than an instant, the image of the infamous killer was seared into Jason’s brain. Dressed only in buckskin leggings and breechclout, a necklace of claws that hung almost to his belt, and hide armbands just above his biceps, he imparted an eerie, almost ghostlike countenance. And like the flash of lightning that had brought this image, he was gone.

  Jason reacted immediately, although it seemed he was frozen for a few moments. He rolled over behind the carcass of his horse, his pistol ready, and prepared to shoot when the next bolt of lightning flashed. When it did, he could see no sign of Stone Hand. The man had disappeared. Like a spirit, he could not help but think. He questioned his mind for a moment, wondering if he had really been there or if it had been a vision. It was him, he told himself. Vision or reality, spirit or man, it didn’t matter. Jason was ready to deal with whatever Stone Hand was. One thing was certain, he had to leave that location right away. Stone Hand would be moving to position himself behind him and he was going to make sure that didn’t happen.

  He decided to make a dash for the stream and the rocks on each side of it. Without hesitating to give it further thought, he got up and ran for cover, his boots splashing in the rain soaked sand. There was no concern to disguise his tracks. The Indian knew where he was and where he was heading. Now it was a footrace for the rocks and Jason did not want to be cut off from his rifle. The last thing he remembered, before everything went black, was the sound of the rushing water as he started to jump the stream.

  When he awoke, his head throbbed with a stabbing pain that seemed to engulf his entire skull. It took a few moments to clear his vision and to allow his brain to right itself. When the world stopped spinning and he came to his senses, his first lucid image was that of the savage Cheyenne raider standing over him, watching his victim impassively. The rain had stopped, the thunderstorm having long since departed. How long had he been out? He could only guess. It must have been for a considerable length of time because the sun was beginning to lift itself over the distant hills.

  “Hard head.” The Cheyenne grunted. Jason knew enough Cheyenne to understand. He tried to raise his hand to examine the back of his head but discovered that his hands were tied behind his back. Then in a rush his wits returned and he looked around him in a frantic search for Sarah. She was there, off to one side of a small campfire, trussed hand and foot. Unable to speak, for there was a band of rawhide tied across her mouth, she attempted to motion to him. He felt completely impotent.

  “You all right?” he called out to her. Before she could answer, he received a hard backhanded slap
across his face from their captor.

  “No talk!” Stone Hand hissed.

  Sarah tried to nod to Jason but he could not see her response. Stone Hand stood over him, glaring down defiantly at his conquered enemy, his feet widespread, fists on his hips, his bearing that of complete dominance. The physical bearing of the infamous Cheyenne renegade seemed to convey a promise of violence. Jason could well imagine the fear Stone Hand’s fellow tribesmen held for this demonlike warrior. There was no evidence that compassion had ever cracked the rocklike face that stared down at his captive. He stood there a long while then he suddenly turned and went over to the campfire. There he squatted on his haunches before the fire and proceeded to eat a breakfast of the dried jerky taken from Jason’s saddle pack. There was no indication that he was planning to feed his captives. Jason surmised that the savage had no long-term plans for them so feeding them would be a waste of food.

  While their captor took his meal, Jason looked toward Sarah. Their eyes met and he was at once horrified by the glazed expression of despair he saw there. He did not want to think about the circumstances that had created her look of hopelessness. He could only imagine the cruelty suffered at the hands of an animal like Stone Hand. Her eyes told him that the last remaining shred of hope she had been clinging to had vanished with his capture. He could not know that until that moment she had resolved to stand up to her captor with courage. Now she gave up all hope.

  In an attempt to help her keep her hopes alive, he tried to encourage her with a nod of his head and a slight smile. She did not respond. Instead, she averted her eyes as if ashamed for him to see her torn riding skirt and her disheveled appearance. He wished he could tell her how sorry he was to have let her down. But as long as he still drew breath there was hope. The bastard had better not make a mistake! Jason had never been a practitioner of the doctrine of despair. He would bide his time and wait for the opportunity he had to assume would come. He was counting on the knowledge that Stone Hand enjoyed his dominance over him too much to end it abruptly. It wouldn’t be quick. No, Stone Hand would want to watch him suffer first. He didn’t have long to wait before the savage proved his theory.

  His hunger satisfied, Stone Hand stood up and stretched. His body, broad and sinewy, was not typical of the average Cheyenne warrior, whose muscles were smooth and supple. Stone Hand’s, by contrast, were like steel straps, wrapped tightly around his limbs, never seeming to relax, displaying a power that lay coiled like an angry rattlesnake. He stood before them now, cold in his appraisal as he looked at Jason and then Sarah and back to Jason. There was no disguising the look of intense satisfaction behind the cold, measuring eyes as he contemplated the cruelty he was about to impart. This was not going to be pleasant, Jason told himself and steeled himself for whatever was to come.

  It started simply enough. Stone Hand walked over and stood over Jason for a long moment, glaring down at him, a decided look of disgust for the man who had the insolence to think he could trail Stone Hand. Jason saw the kick coming and tried to roll with the blow to minimize the effect. The heel of Stone Hand’s foot caught him beside the head, knocking him facedown in the dust. Before he could struggle to right himself, Stone Hand’s toe landed solidly in his rib cage, forcing the wind from his lungs. Jason rolled over on his back, helpless to defend himself. Stone Hand glared down at him with the years of contempt he had built up for all white men. Jason regained enough breath to speak.

  “I have heard that Stone Hand is a mighty warrior,” he started slowly, drawing on his knowledge of the Cheyenne tongue. “His medicine is big. He has taken many scalps.” Stone Hand stared down at him impassively. “This man I see now must be someone else, stealing Stone Hand’s name. A warrior as mighty as Stone Hand would not attack a man who cannot fight back. There is no honor here. Maybe Stone Hand’s scalps are all women’s.” Stone Hand’s expression did not change. “Cut my hands loose and we will see whose medicine is strongest.”

  Stone Hand sneered. “The white coyote thinks to make a fool of me. I do not fight with coyotes.” He drew his scalp knife from his belt and held it up before him, a hint of a smile creased the steel-like countenance. “I skin them.”

  It wasn’t going to work. Jason would have to hope for another opportunity. Stone Hand was too clever to let his ego throw away his advantage. However, the savage was not above amusing himself by taunting his victims.

  “So, the white face has come to kill Stone Hand and save the soldier chief’s daughter.” He waited for Jason’s reply. When there was none, he chided, “I was told that you are a great tracker. Why did it take you so long to find me?” Jason remained silent. “Maybe this white bitch is your woman. Is that why you came? I saw her mate with the soldier medicine man. Maybe she is not your woman.” His lips parted in a cruel smile. “But you are the one who comes for her.”

  “Maybe I came after you to see if there really was a mighty warrior called Stone Hand…a mighty warrior with big medicine. But all I have found is a cowardly dog who is brave as long as I am tied up.”

  Stone Hand smiled. He seemed genuinely pleased with Jason’s attempts to goad him. But he would not be baited. “Stone Hand does battle with the grizzly and the mountain lion. He does not waste time fighting with prairie dogs. When I am ready, I will slit your throat.” The smile broadened. “Maybe I will send the soldier chief one of your eyebrows so he will know what happened to his great tracker. The wolves and coyotes will have the rest of you.”

  Jason was not getting every word because the Indian was talking rapidly, but his Cheyenne was sufficient to permit him to understand what his fate was to be. He glanced quickly in Sarah’s direction, wondering what Stone Hand’s plans for her might be. He hoped, for her sake, that he planned to keep her as a wife or trade her. But he had learned enough about this fierce savage to know that the man preferred to ride alone with no ties. His inclination might be to kill her as soon as he had done with her.

  Stone Hand did not miss Jason’s quick glance toward the girl and he was quick to pounce on it. “You want her for your woman?” Jason shook his head no. Stone Hand insisted. “I think you want her. Now she is Stone Hand’s woman. Before I kill you, I will let you watch me take her.” His sneer indicated the pleasure the thought brought him. “If she pleases me, I may let her live a few more days until I have my fill of her.”

  He had been holding the scalp knife during his taunting of the helpless man, turning it in his fingers, testing the cutting edge with his thumb. Suddenly the smile froze on his face, transforming it into a mask of undiluted fury, and he grabbed a handful of Jason’s hair. Jerking his head back, he pressed the blade against his neck. Jason braced himself but the fatal slash did not come. Instead, Stone Hand pressed just hard enough to bring blood. “It will not be that quick for you, white man,” he said with a hiss. He released the handful of hair and shoved Jason over backward. Then Stone Hand turned his attention to Sarah, who had gasped in horror when the savage had threatened to slash Jason’s throat. He took the dozen or so steps over to the terrified woman, swaggering triumphantly, pleased with his dominance over the two captives and gratified by the woman’s terror.

  Stone Hand did not ordinarily rape his victims. There were only occasional reports of his having sexually assaulted women before killing them. The thing that drove him was his passion for slaughtering the white invaders of his lands. That passion was so great that he felt little interest in the fulfillment of sexual desires. For the most part, he had no sexual desires. Killing was his passion and the thought of mating with a member of a race of people he hated so fiercely was repugnant to him. His desire to torment his captives was so great, however, that he would rape this white woman only because he knew the pain and humiliation it would cause them.

  Impassive, he reached down and taking a handful of Sarah’s blouse, ripped the garment away, revealing a white undergarment that puzzled him for only a brief moment before he grabbed it and tore it from her bosom. Her exposed breast prompted a curious gr
unt as he paused to examine the stark whiteness of her skin. Sarah, almost in shock, whimpered softly as the fearsome savage leered down at her, the rawhide gag cutting her mouth as she strained to pull away from her attacker. Her reaction pleased him and he turned to see Jason’s reaction.

  Jason felt as helpless as he had ever felt in his entire life. He was bound hand and foot. There was nothing he could do to help Sarah. All he could do was encourage her to try to make it as easy on herself as possible. “Sarah,” he called out, “don’t fight it. It’ll just make it worse. Try not to concentrate on it!”

  “No talk!” Stone Hand hissed. He looked menacingly at Jason. Then he reached down and pulled Sarah’s riding skirt up over her hips and ripped her undergarments away. Before untying her ankles, he paused to marvel at the smooth, pale hips and buttocks, still raw with the welts of the whipping he had administered. After he had satisfied his curiosity, he roughly turned her over and prepared to mount her.

  Sarah was crying, almost out of her mind with the awful anticipation of what was to come. Jason strained at his bonds, knowing it was useless. Still, he could not help but try. It was hopeless. The rawhide cut into his wrists as he pulled against his bonds. It was no use. The renegade had not been careless in securing his prisoner. At last he gave up the struggle and lay back. From his position against a gnarled tree trunk he could see Sarah’s face. It was a mask of terror. Her eyes, wide with fright, seemed glazed as she stared, unseeing, as the savage groped her from behind. He could do nothing to help her.

  Unable to watch the assault, Jason turned his head away. The fury that was burning inside almost drowned by the frustration of his helplessness. Her scream when the savage entered her tore through his brain like a knife.

  When it was over, Stone Hand tied the whimpering girl securely to a small tree and swaggered over to gloat before Jason. “She was not very good. Maybe she will be better the next time.” He stood leering down at Jason, an evil smile was etched across the brutal features of his face. “How do you like your woman now?”